Attica (36 page)

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 wild-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.

‘Alex,
you did it. You found the bomb. You are
so
clever.’

She gently took the pocket-watch from his hand.

He explained. ‘I heard the tune. I’ve been hearing it all day, somewhere in the distance. But it didn’t connect until now. Frère Jacques. You said you hadn’t got a watch that chimed
Frère Jacques
.’

‘And I don’t. I didn’t. The Organist must have found it himself, while he was out looking for musical instruments.’

Alex sat up. ‘It nearly did for us, that French monk’s song. If the bomb had gone off – well, I think it would have brought the pillar down.’ Alex slapped the wooden support. ‘And if that one had come down, they would all have started snapping.’ He looked up. ‘The roof of the world would fallen on our heads.’

Once this had sunk in, Amanda interpreted it for the Removal Firm, who all nodded their heads sagely and patted the pillar.

Amanda turned back to Alex and said, ‘They agree with you – they say you saved the whole attic from destruction.’ Her eyes showed how proud she was to be associated with him. ‘Oh, Alex.’

He shrugged modestly. ‘Anyone would have.’

‘No, they wouldn’t. They wouldn’t have the brains. An
engineer’s
brains. However …’ She looked downcast.

Alex said, ‘What is it?’

‘They – they say you can’t stay. You have to go. Go back to where you came from. You’re a risk, you see. You play with fire.’ She looked into his eyes again. ‘But they won’t arrest you. You’re free to go. In your own time.’

‘That’s nice,’ he remarked sarcastically, then said, ‘Oh well, you can’t fight the Removal Firm. Will they let you take me?’

‘Yes – they trust me.’

‘That’s all right then.’

Alex turned
away. He felt a little flat now. The saviour of the world ought, he felt, to be given a parade or something. But they wanted him to go: said he
had
to go. He’d broken the rules, the law of the attic. All right, he’d take his punishment. He knew he had done one of the best things in his life. Something he would never forget. They couldn’t take that away from him. Nobody could. It was his moment and they all knew it too.

‘Goodbye,’ he said, turning and shaking their hands, one by one. ‘May all your removals be as easy as this one.’

They looked surprised. They probably weren’t used to shaking hands, he thought. Maybe they didn’t do such things? But they looked pleased. These were the guardians of the attic, the preservers of wood and life up here among the beams and timbers. And he, Alex, had shaken their hands. Not many humans would have done that.

They left then, probably in pursuit of the Organist. Would he get the same punishment: banishment from the attic? Or did they indeed imprison criminals in sea chests or changing room lockers? He couldn’t think they did. But then again, this was not Alex’s world. This was the attic.

Amanda left him to go down to the jetty to prepare the boat for sailing. He noticed she had not given him back Mr Grantham’s watch. Was she going to keep it after all? He trailed down to the quay after her.

‘Hello,’ he called, walking down to the jetty where the little boat bobbed on the waves. ‘Are we ready?’

The owl looked at him and nodded slowly.

‘I don’t like your owl much,’ he told Amanda, as he put his backpack into the boat. ‘Or rather, he doesn’t like me.’

‘Oh, he’s just jealous. Usually he gets all my attention.’

‘Well, he’ll have you all to himself soon.’

Once they were all in the boat, the owl left Amanda’s head and perched on the prow. Then they were off, scudding across the waves at a speed which thrilled Alex. Spray hit his face and ran down his cheeks in rivulets. They cut through pillars of golden sunlight, and tacked through avenues of deep shadow. Once or twice Amanda barked an order and Alex had to jump to some task with alacrity or earn her displeasure. Still, even though she treated him with less respect than gentry do their scullery maids, he found the whole experience exhilarating. He loved it. It filled him with a white wind that carried his spirit to the very heights of the attic.

‘Free!’ he
cried, as the little boat shot over the surface of the water, its spinnaker billowing proudly. ‘Free as a bird!’

The owl’s head swivelled and the big eyes glared.

‘Well,
some
birds,’ amended Alex weakly. ‘The ones that actually are free.’

They made excellent progress. Amanda taught him even more about the skylight suns and stars, filling in his knowledge where there were gaps. She was much more adept at following the motion of the swell than he was and her touch was sensitive enough to feel it in the tiller when it was hardly even there. Certainly when Alex tried it, he could feel nothing at all. The shape of the dust clouds, the colour of the waves, the angles of the rafters high up in the roof, these were her guides. Her navigating skills were, as she had said, almost as good as those of the bortrekker. She also had the mystical uncanny knack of missing flotsam and jetsam which might damage her boat.