think you’ve just got a head full of scurf. We’ll have to be on the look-out for some shampoo. Come on, let’s get on now. If Jordy’s not far away, as you think, we need to find him.’
‘They escaped from the voodoo dolls.’
Lucky for them.
‘’Twasn’t luck, master, ’twas Makishi.’
I think we’re wasting our time with this bunch.
‘Then let’s not bother with them.’
The board-comber is tempted to let the children go. He takes his bag of Inuit carvings out and feels the soapstone figures through the cloth. How he would love another one for his collection. Perhaps a wolf? Or an arctic fox? Or even another human: a shaman of the clan? What a delight that would be. New eyes. That was what the children represented. New eyes had always been better at spotting things than tired old ones. Old eyes that had travelled over the same piles of junk a thousand times. Maybe he’d better stick with them just a little while longer.
I’ve got nothing better to do.
‘That’s the spirit.’
Where are they heading at the moment?
‘Oh dear. Look.’
We may have to get them out of there.
By the time evening came Chloe and Alex were in a part of the attic which seemed darker and more eerie than anywhere they had been before. There was an atmosphere of unnatural calm about the place. Chloe sensed that no one had visited this region for a very long time. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed in this corner of thick dust and dead air. On the one hand this was good, for it meant there were no Atticans here or strange beings like the voodoo dolls, but on the other hand there might be a good reason for the lack of life.
‘Alex, what do you think?’ asked Chloe, shivering and hugging herself. ‘Should we stay here?’
‘I dunno,’ replied her brother, putting down his pack and sending up a grey cloud of dust. ‘Don’t feel right, does it?’
‘No.’
They stared about them, their eyes getting used to the dimness. This was an area of the attic where the roof was lower than usual. In fact there were places here where the children had to duck to prevent their heads banging against rafters. Crouching, they explored a little, finding not the usual piles of old clothes, but clusters of dulled brass crosses and chalices, with heaps of shabby hassocks between. Neither child was particularly religious. Their father had been a Hindu and while he was alive Dipa had followed that path, but neither parent had been particularly zealous. The children had been mildly interested, but they had also had influences of Christianity and Islam on their doorstep by way of school friends. Here, clearly, were the trappings of Christianity, but they had little idea what they meant and why they were here.
The children moved forward.
‘It’s creepy, isn’t it?’ said Alex. ‘Spooky. Yuk, there’s a huge spider’s web here, blocking the way.’
Alex swept his hand through thick silken threads, breaking the snare of the absent spider.
‘You know I’m not scared of spiders,’ said Chloe. She tilted her chin in that typical pose of defiance she adopted when she was prepared to do battle against her fears. ‘And I’m not scared of spooks. People talk about ghosts being in graveyards, but if ghosts haunt old houses how can they be where their bodies are buried as well? This is just stuff from old churches. You’d expect an attic in England to have this sort of thing.’
‘I guess.’
Suddenly they came across a broken sign, held by a rusty nail to a low rafter. It read: DORM, but part of the sign was missing. Beyond this sign was a very low-roofed area – so low they would have to crawl to get in there – with mounds covered by dirty white sheets. At the head of each mound was an oil painting, leaning against the humped sheet. They were all portraits of smiling and unsmiling people, looking stiff and awkward in their poses. Some of the subjects in the paintings were dressed in historical costumes – dark old oil paintings with brown varnished surfaces – others were in more modern clothes, the colours a bit brighter and more vibrant.
Chloe sniffed at the horrible musty odour of the place and shuddered.
She asked, ‘Do you think that sign once said DORMITORY?’
‘Dunno,’ replied Alex in that infuriating couldn’t-careless voice. ‘I’m tired. Let’s just rest here the night and see what happens in the morning.’
‘Well, a dormitory is the right place to sleep,’ agreed