‘I know where there’s another model steam engine.’
‘Where?’ cried Alex. His heart suddenly started beating fast and his blood pulsed rapidly through his veins. ‘I must have it.’
‘It’s a swop. Do you know what a swop is?’
Alex was scornful. ‘Of course I know what a swop is.’
‘That’s what we’ll do. You get the soapstone walrus for me. I’ll get the car for you. Then we’ll swop.’
Alex was cagey. ‘How do I know you’re telling the truth? Maybe you’re saying you’ve got a steam engine, just to get the carving. Show it to me.’
‘I can’t. I haven’t got it at the moment. But I’ll get it.’
Alex was still not sure. This creature could be lying to him. Or it could be telling the truth. One thing was sure, the urge to get yet another steam engine to go with those in his pack was very great. Alex had never felt anything like it. He would have sold his own grandmother – both grandmothers – to get a steam car. It was as if there was a shape inside him which had to be filled. The shape of a model steam engine. He craved it. Could not live without it. It was an irrepressible yearning.
‘I’ll get the carving for you,’ he heard himself saying. ‘She doesn’t really want it, I’m sure.’
‘Good. Good.’ A filthy mitten full of holes suddenly projected from one of the many dangling sleeves. ‘Shake on it.’
Alex eyed the mitten with disgust.
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said, revolted by the dirt. ‘We don’t need to shake.’
Just at that moment Alex heard a rattling of the boards. Some large Atticans were coming, swiftly and seemingly with some definite purpose. They wore khaki dustcoats with brown buttons. Alarm and confusion rushed through him as the board-comber instantly collapsed into a heap of rags on the floor. Alex copied him, crumpling himself from within, falling and folding down to the planks. There they lay, two piles of old clothes, as the trackers advanced.
The board-comber knew it was the Removal Firm.
The board-comber was cursing his carelessness, hoping for a miracle. His dealings with the visitor should have been short and swift, for the board-comber had known there was danger in the air. Instead they had stood there chatting like two old men sat on a bench. It was not that the Removal Firm would be suspicious of one heap of rags. But two? Why, they were so close together the board-comber could smell the feathers of the human’s boa.
One of the Removal Firm stopped and stood between the two heaps, glancing quickly right and left. Clothes. Piles of them. It sniffed hard. Then it sniffed again. All it could smell was attic. These clothes had been up here a long time. They were steeped, saturated, in attic smells. Layers of dirty lambswool and cotton hid the inner scents. The creature might have picked through the pile, but it didn’t. It sniffed again, hard.
It must have drawn in dust through its nose, for it sneezed right on to the board-comber, showering the rags with spittle. Then, after a terrible few seconds the tracker moved on, scuttling forward to examine a box. For quite a while afterwards their boots could be heard clattering over the boards. Alex kept very still, very quiet, and thought about something else. He made up a shopping list, for Dipa. In his mind he argued with Ben about football: which was the best team and which the worst, as if he cared.
Finally, he felt a tap on his head.
‘They’ve gone,’ said the board-comber. ‘Hey, you did well for a beginner.’
‘Thanks,’ replied Alex, extremely pleased with himself. ‘I’m learning. Who were they?’
‘Hunters,’ replied the board-comber, not wishing to go into time-consuming explanations. ‘Beware of them.’
‘I shall.’
‘By the way,’ said the board-comber, ‘I love the mask.’