‘A hermit,’ Alex stated, continuing their conversation. ‘Is that what you want to be?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t like that word. It sounds old and stuffy. I’m not old and stuffy.’
‘No, you’re not,’ he said bravely, ‘you’re the most exciting and interesting person I’ve ever met.’
The owl nodded, as if satisfied, then climbed back on to his perch on Amanda’s head.
Amanda glanced at Alex quickly. ‘Oh, dear – Alex.’
‘No, no – I’m not saying I want you for a girlfriend,’ he added. ‘I just think you’re – you’re really cool.’
This was not the first time he had used phrases or words which meant very little to her.
‘I hope I am your friend, even though a girl.’
‘Well, yes, I didn’t mean that …’
‘And I don’t mean to be cool towards you, but you must understand a young woman like myself has to maintain some distance, some decorum. The Organist didn’t understand that.’
‘What I meant was,’ he said desperately, ‘is that I like you and I think you’re great company.’
She gave him an elfish grin. ‘Thank you, that’s a very nice compliment.’
A fresh draught suddenly caught Alex unawares. It ran its invisible fingers over his face. On its back it carried many scents and fragrances, as well as a few less pleasant odours, but one in particular made him sit up and take heed. There. There was a faint whiff of curry. Was it curry? Yes, surely it was. All of a sudden he missed his mother’s cooking. Dipa could whip up a curry that would have you drooling before a single mouthful was taken. If he stayed in the attic he would never taste his mother’s curries again, would he? And with the thought of that loss a thousand others came crowding in, things he missed about home and family, things that would be out of his reach for eternity if he remained a bortrekker. He loved his mother and sister, was growing fond of Ben and Jordy, and he needed Marmite on toast for breakfast like people needed to breathe air.
‘Will you ever go home, do you think?’ he asked Amanda, as the owl turned a complete circle on her head. ‘You might want to one day.’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘I cannot. I have been here too long.’
‘Does it hold you then?’
‘In a strong grip – of which I approve,’ she added hastily. ‘This was my choice, to stay up here. You are not yet in its thrall, but the longer you stay, the less likely it is you will be able to go back. You must make your choice soon, you know. To remain, or to return. Ah, I see a new light in your eyes, Alexander the Great, you have made up your mind.’
‘Yep.’ He stared out over the waters of the tank. ‘I can’t do it. I thought I could, but I can’t. I need to go home. I know you say time has stopped for me and them, but I’ve got this image in my head, of my mother crying, putting notices in the newspapers, searching for me. I can’t get hold of the idea that nothing is moving down there. It’s got to, somehow or other, and when it does I won’t be there. I can accept that time has stopped for me, but I can’t get the idea that it’s stopped for them. It just doesn’t work in my head, no matter how many times you tell me it’s true.’
‘It is a difficult concept to grasp,’ she admitted. ‘It doesn’t hold with the science we’ve learned in the schoolroom, does it? Well, if you have to go, Alexander, you should do so very soon. I know of a way to get you back quickly and easily, without a great deal of danger.’
CHAPTER 21
Saviour of the Wooden World
‘I can’t do hang-gliding,’ Alex said, ‘if that’s what you’re thinking.’
Judging from her expression that wasn’t what Amanda was thinking.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she replied. ‘What I mean is, I can sail you across the Great Water Tank much swifter than you can travel on your raft. Then I can lead you through the attic on the safest and quickest paths, avoiding horrible mountains and the scissor-birds.’
‘You would do that for me?’ Alex said, surprised. ‘Don’t you have to stay here and guard your watches?’
On the mention of the word ‘watches’ the owl swivelled its head, first 360 degrees one way, then the same the other way. Two complete circles. It seemed disappointed there were no watches on view. It gave Alex a hard stare, as if it believed the boy had been trying to trick it.
‘Oh, I have to go sometimes. There are more watches out there to collect. It would be a poor collection, Alex, if I didn’t seek to enlarge it, to make it the best collection the attic has ever seen. I usually go after I’ve beaten back an attack by the Music Makers. That brattish Organist takes time to reorganise and regroup, before attempting another assault.’
‘What if he stole some of your watches and hid them?’
‘He’s tried that. I always find them again. They tick, you see.’
Alex said, ‘Why doesn’t he just smash them?’
She blinked several times then stared hard at him as if he had just told her he approved of murder.
‘That would be such a terrible wanton act of destruction,’ she said, ‘which no sane person would even contemplate. In any case, a thousand watches? How would he carry them all away? How could he manage to smash them before I got to him and scratched his eyes out?’
‘How long has it been going on like this?’
‘Oh, years and years.’
‘Well maybe this Organist has become so obsessed with the idea of getting rid of you he’s not sane any more.’
She said, ‘I can’t even think like that.’
They were quiet for a while, during which Alex thought he heard something, in the far distance, that he recognised.
But she soon interrupted his thoughts.
‘Now, Alexander the Great, we have to plan our passage. I’m a very good pathfinder you know, Alex. It’s not just the bortrekkers who can find their way across the world. The board-combers are good at it too. Perhaps not quite so good as bortrekkers, but nearly. How soon can you be ready? Shall we set out tomorrow morning?’
‘You want to get rid of me that quickly?’
The owl nodded thoughtfully.
‘Alex,’ said Amanda, looking him in the eyes (it was very difficult to take her seriously with an owl on her head), ‘I’ve told you, if you don’t go down quickly, you’ll never get down at all. Every day counts. The attic is working on your soul every moment you’re here.’
‘But I haven’t found Mr Grantham’s watch yet.’
‘It’s not over this side of the tank, Alex,’ she told him. ‘I’ve covered every inch of this territory, believe me. We’ll have to search for it on your way home – and if we don’t find it, why, then it’s truly lost, for the other side of the Great Water Tank is a vast landscape. No one has ever explored all of it to the eaves. It seems to go on for ever. I’m sorry.’
He sighed. ‘That’s all right.’
There it was again, that familiar sound. Faint music. A tune from a folk song. Was it in his head? Or was it really out there somewhere? Perhaps he too was becoming obsessed. Obsessed with the idea of finding Mr Grantham’s watch. Now it had stopped. Very spooky.
The owl screeched loudly, shattering his reverie.
Amanda dashed forward and leapt on someone sneaking around out in the darkness. She struggled for a moment, then returned into the evening gleam of the skylight. She had a village boy by the ear, one of those mercenaries who had ridden the bagpipe-spiders in the attack. His face was screwed up into a tight wad of indignation.
‘A spy,’ said Amanda, satisfied with her own detection. ‘I thought I heard something out there.’
The boy was about half her size. He had stopped kicking and struggling and now stared at the ground. Amanda began to speak to him. To Alex’s ears she sounded like a creaking gate, but he had heard the language before and knew it to be Attican. The boy answered her, defiantly it seemed, glaring at her. He kept pointing back into the darkness, in the direction where the Music Makers had come from. H
e seemed adamant about something. Finally Amanda let go of his ear. The Attican youth remained for a few more moments, still creaking away, then he ran off.
‘Well?’ asked Alex. ‘What was all that about?’
‘Fireworks.’
Alex raised an eyebrow. ‘Fireworks? You mean bonfire night fireworks?’
‘That brat,’ she waved a hand at the departing child, ‘said the Organist had made a firework. A very big one. I don’t believe him.’
‘Why not?’
‘Why make a firework? They had a box up here that went off once. The Removal Firm dealt with it, but it was terrible. It started a great fire which spread over a large area of the attic. They managed to put it out but if it hadn’t been close to a water tank the whole attic might have been destroyed. You can go to the place now and walk for three days over charred wood with charcoal beams overhead. Now the Removal Firm seek out any boxes of fireworks that are put up here and throw them in a water tank.’
‘But one firework – I doubt that would do much harm.’
Amanda shrugged. ‘Then what would be the point?’
Alex thought about it for a bit, then said, ‘I suppose – I guess it would depend on how big it was.’
‘The spy said the Organist had put torch batteries on it.’
‘That doesn’t sound right,’ admitted Alex. Then he asked, ‘Why did the boy tell you – about the firework?’
‘He said he was scared – he said they all are – they don’t like sudden loud noises, the village children. He said the Organist is bragging that it’ll make the loudest bang the attic has ever heard. That one said the other children had sent him as their messenger, behind the Organist’s back.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t believe it. I think it’s another one of his tricks.’
‘Does he think you’ll run, threatened by a firework?’
She shrugged again. ‘He’ll try anything. We’d better get some sleep now. We’ve got a long journey in the morning.’
Alex found himself a comfortable spot and curled up, trying to go to sleep. But something was bothering him. He kept thinking about the big firework and the batteries. In the middle of the night he woke up with a start. Something awful had come into his head. Something really bad. He went over to where Amanda lay and shook her.
‘Amanda! Did he say anything about a timepiece?’
‘Wha— who, what? What timepiece?’
‘Did the boy mention a timepiece of any kind?’
She sat up and rubbed her eyes.
The owl, guarding the camp, looked down with contempt on Alex from a rafter above his head.
Sleepily, Amanda said, ‘Oh – the firework. Yes, that was the stupidest part. The boy said the Organist had fixed a pocket-watch to the firework.’ She thought for a bit. ‘I suppose the Organist might have stolen one of my collection. Do you think he’s going to launch one of my watches into the high rafters on a skyrocket?’
‘No.’ Alex stared at her. ‘I think he’s made a time bomb.’
‘A bomb?’ Amanda shook her head in disbelief. ‘He wouldn’t do that.’
‘Why not? He’s crazy, isn’t he?’
‘A bit – well, quite a bit, actually.’ Amanda stared at Alex with wide eyes from behind her mask. ‘Do you really think he’d make a time bomb? Only anarchists do that, don’t they?’
‘We call them terrorists.’
Just at that moment Alex felt himself being gripped by strong hands. He tried to break away, but they held him fast. Looking round, he saw he was being held by two large Atticans wearing dustcoats. He recognised them as the same ones Nelson had chased off on the other side of the Great Water Tank. The others were standing close by. Six in all. One of the others tipped out the contents of Alex’s backpack. Among the things that fell out was the small camping stove, along with boxes of matches.
‘You let me alone,’ Alex cried. ‘Who do you think you are?’
‘The Removal Firm, that’s who they are,’ replied Amanda in a low voice. ‘Are those your matches, Alex?’
‘I only use them to light the stove. I need to cook my food.’
‘Oh, Alex,’ she said in a voice of despair. ‘You’re in very grave trouble.’
‘But what about the bomb?’
Amanda said something to the Removal Firm. One of them, a male with very dark eyes, answered her. Then he looked at Alex very sternly, and said something to the two who held him. Alex’s arms were released. He rubbed the circulation back into them. They had gripped him very hard. Amanda continued to speak with the leader of the Removal Firm and there followed a lot of pointing and gesturing in the direction of the region where the Organist had his Music Makers.
‘It seems,’ said Amanda, turning to Alex at last, ‘the Organist has fled. The Removal Firm came here looking for you because they sensed that the attic was in great danger. They believe a disaster is about to occur and of course they blamed you, the newest incomer. But when they got here the Organist saw them. He panicked and ran. Oh, Alex, I’m sorry.’ She regarded him through the eyeholes of her mask. ‘If I doubted you before, I’m inclined to believe you now. The Organist would never run away and abandon this place if he wasn’t guilty of something very bad.’
‘Who said he’s gone?’
‘They did.’ Amanda nodded towards the Removal Firm, who stood like a solid wall before Alex. ‘They came past his camp. When he saw them approaching he ran like a scared rafter rat. He won’t get very far. They’ll catch up with him, sooner rather than later. But they’re very concerned about the possibility of this bomb. Are you sure, Alex? Are you certain?’
‘Of course I’m not,’ Alex answered. ‘It was just a theory. But torch batteries and a watch? It’s got to be more than some firework banger. We’ve got to find it, Amanda, before it goes off. You know him best. Where would he be likely to plant it?’
The bits of Amanda’s face that weren’t covered by the mask went very, very pale.
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘In one of the pianos? Perhaps he’s trying to blow up my defences?’
‘Well, we’d best start searching. Who knows how powerful he’s made that bomb? I bet he doesn’t even know himself. If he’s good at music, he’s probably lousy at science. Tell these twerps they’d be better off helping us than beating me up, if that’s what they’re going to do.’
Amanda spoke rapidly in that creaking voice. To give them their due the Removal Firm went into action with alacrity. All six ran with Alex and Amanda to the line of pianos and began lifting lids and looking inside. Once they had exhausted the pianos they tried other places, peering in dark corners, looking in odd shoe boxes, tipping out crates, lifting the lids of trunks. There were so many places the Organist could have hidden his bomb.
Bundles of clothes were turned over, the underside of card tables were inspected, rattan chairs were frisked. The Removal Firm went to the village and questioned those who had assisted the Organist in his battles, but the villagers insisted they knew nothing more about the firework than had already been divulged to Amanda by the boy.
Amanda thought about her boat and ran to the quay to go over it, but the bomb was not on board.
‘Where? Where? Where?’ she cried. ‘We must find it.’
Once, while they were all searching, something returned to irritate Alex: that little melody that had been haunting him. He couldn’t pin it down though. It was like the faint sound of some insect in the air. It hummed on the edge of his reasoning, but he could never quite decide whether he could actually hear it or not. Then he forgot about it, deciding that seeking the bomb was the most important thing. Other less worrying things could wait for a more tranquil time, when he could think more clearly.
The others were sitting in a circle not a great distance away from Amanda’s collection of watches. Alex looked round at them. There were six bald-headed wrestlers in khaki dustcoats and, in stark contrast, a girl festooned with coloured ribbons and feathers. They all looked very tired. Was he leading them on a wi
ld-goose chase? They didn’t seem to think so, or they would have scorned his theory and dragged him away to his fate.
The Removal Firm, he had to admit, worked like Trojans. They battled tirelessly with piles of junk and heaps of rubbish, sorting through them with never a creak. Finally they seemed to have exhausted every possibility and even Alex was beginning to think the whole thing was a hoax. Perhaps the Organist had made a fake bomb and had then taken it apart and scattered the pieces over a large area? But then why would he run? That bit didn’t make sense. He had fought Amanda for years over this territory. Why would he abandon it just because the Removal Firm were close by?
Yet where was the bomb? They had looked everywhere.
At that moment Amanda’s watches began to chime the hour.
It was noon.
Among the tunes that started up came the one that had been haunting him.
He put words to it in his head:
Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques …
There it was! That was it. The bothersome sound.
… dormez vous? dormez vous? …
‘Out of the way!’ cried Alex, jumping up and leaping over the heads of the Removal Firm.
He ran to the pillar of watches.
… sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines …
All the chiming watches were in full sound now, spilling out their own tinkling variations.
… ding, dang, dong …
Alex scraped away at the base of the pillar, scattering Amanda’s precious collection over the boards.
… ding …
There was the bomb! There Mr Grantham’s watch! There the batteries!
… dang …
Alex ripped out the wires, tore away the watch.
… dong.
Alex fell back, sweating, the watch in his palm. He felt drained. He held up the pocket-watch and looked at its hands. The hour hand had been bent inwards so that when it reached it, it would touch the metal figure 12. Hair-thin wires were connected to both. Vertical noon. It had almost made it. Almost. If it had touched that would have completed the circuit and detonated the bomb. How close it had been! After a while he was aware of a ring of faces above him, looking down on him. Amanda was smiling. He could see the curve of her mouth below her mask. He could see the twinkle in her eyes. There was hero worship in those eyes.
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