the front door I was joined by four insiders.
Jimmy saluted. “Ready for work, boss.”
“How’s that arm?”
“It’s good.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“No, really, it’s fixed and I’m good to go.”
“Good. Let’s start shifting the rubbish.”
I left them to their dusty work and washed the dirt off my hands and face. I wanted to get round to all the timber and builders’ merchants in the city, to get a feel for the different places and order the tools and materials we would soon need.
I called into the square to see if Min would like to come with me, but she was busy teaching in the garden.
It was interesting to see all thirteen of the kids together in one place. The five youngest ones, sitting cross-legged on the grass with their scruffy exercise books, looked like an outdoor class in a real junior school.
I wandered over and caught some of Min’s lesson.
“The Mayflower sailed from Plymouth in September 1620, with thirty crew and one hundred and two passengers. Thirty-two of them were children. Next time you’re down by the Mayflower Steps on the Barbican, take a look at the bronze plaque on the wall across the road. All their names are there. It wasn’t a big ship. Just a fat-bellied, creaky, old wooden boat with sails. There wasn’t even enough bed space for everyone, so some passengers had to sleep in boats on the upper deck.
“It took them sixty-six days to reach America, and it must have been an uncomfortable crossing. Most of the passengers had never been to sea before, and they were scared before they left, especially the families. The weather was already turning bad, but they’d run out of money and had to leave right then.”
Min’s descriptions were so vivid, it almost sounded as if she’d been there. I told her so when she sent the kids off for a break.
“Maybe I was.” Her eyes glittered with mischief.
“Those kids are a credit to you.”
“Thank you, but it isn’t all down to me. We all muck in.” She nodded over to a bench where Linda, one of the insider mothers, was using tattered issues of National Geographic to teach the older group.
“As far as the outside is concerned,” Min continued, “these kids don’t exist. They’re totally free. No one out there knows their real names, and no one ever will. We all have aliases. If the police want a name, the kids know to give a different one every time. You won’t see many insiders with tattoos. Distinguishing marks make things difficult.”
“That’s why the kids hang around the square in normal school hours.”
“To avoid drawing attention to themselves.” She nodded. “And that’s why they need to know how to read and write, at least. Anything that makes them stand out from the crowd is dangerous. They need to look and act just like normal children. It’ll be a lot easier for them in a few weeks when the outside schools close for the summer.”
She called them back from play and settled them under the tree again as I left for my shopping trip.
I spent five hours, and several hundred pounds on my credit card, buying tools and materials and arranging for them to be delivered as soon as possible. The timber merchant’s warehouse smelled like heaven, and I spent twice as long in there as I needed to. I usually did in those places and always left in a good mood.
I returned to the city centre to buy a Cornish pasty for lunch and was attracted by the deep, breathy, plaintive notes of a woodwind instrument somewhere nearby. I followed the mellow sound into a tree-lined pedestrian area, where Andrew was playing a pipe of some description. His tune was slow and thoughtful—sad, even, although not mournful. I was pretty sure it was a Native American instrument. I’d never seen one being played before, but I recognised the sound.
A young couple dropped coins into his upturned leather cowboy hat as they passed, and smiled as they walked away. He was certainly an engaging character, and his music was beautiful. I
Jimmy saluted. “Ready for work, boss.”
“How’s that arm?”
“It’s good.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“No, really, it’s fixed and I’m good to go.”
“Good. Let’s start shifting the rubbish.”
I left them to their dusty work and washed the dirt off my hands and face. I wanted to get round to all the timber and builders’ merchants in the city, to get a feel for the different places and order the tools and materials we would soon need.
I called into the square to see if Min would like to come with me, but she was busy teaching in the garden.
It was interesting to see all thirteen of the kids together in one place. The five youngest ones, sitting cross-legged on the grass with their scruffy exercise books, looked like an outdoor class in a real junior school.
I wandered over and caught some of Min’s lesson.
“The Mayflower sailed from Plymouth in September 1620, with thirty crew and one hundred and two passengers. Thirty-two of them were children. Next time you’re down by the Mayflower Steps on the Barbican, take a look at the bronze plaque on the wall across the road. All their names are there. It wasn’t a big ship. Just a fat-bellied, creaky, old wooden boat with sails. There wasn’t even enough bed space for everyone, so some passengers had to sleep in boats on the upper deck.
“It took them sixty-six days to reach America, and it must have been an uncomfortable crossing. Most of the passengers had never been to sea before, and they were scared before they left, especially the families. The weather was already turning bad, but they’d run out of money and had to leave right then.”
Min’s descriptions were so vivid, it almost sounded as if she’d been there. I told her so when she sent the kids off for a break.
“Maybe I was.” Her eyes glittered with mischief.
“Those kids are a credit to you.”
“Thank you, but it isn’t all down to me. We all muck in.” She nodded over to a bench where Linda, one of the insider mothers, was using tattered issues of National Geographic to teach the older group.
“As far as the outside is concerned,” Min continued, “these kids don’t exist. They’re totally free. No one out there knows their real names, and no one ever will. We all have aliases. If the police want a name, the kids know to give a different one every time. You won’t see many insiders with tattoos. Distinguishing marks make things difficult.”
“That’s why the kids hang around the square in normal school hours.”
“To avoid drawing attention to themselves.” She nodded. “And that’s why they need to know how to read and write, at least. Anything that makes them stand out from the crowd is dangerous. They need to look and act just like normal children. It’ll be a lot easier for them in a few weeks when the outside schools close for the summer.”
She called them back from play and settled them under the tree again as I left for my shopping trip.
I spent five hours, and several hundred pounds on my credit card, buying tools and materials and arranging for them to be delivered as soon as possible. The timber merchant’s warehouse smelled like heaven, and I spent twice as long in there as I needed to. I usually did in those places and always left in a good mood.
I returned to the city centre to buy a Cornish pasty for lunch and was attracted by the deep, breathy, plaintive notes of a woodwind instrument somewhere nearby. I followed the mellow sound into a tree-lined pedestrian area, where Andrew was playing a pipe of some description. His tune was slow and thoughtful—sad, even, although not mournful. I was pretty sure it was a Native American instrument. I’d never seen one being played before, but I recognised the sound.
A young couple dropped coins into his upturned leather cowboy hat as they passed, and smiled as they walked away. He was certainly an engaging character, and his music was beautiful. I
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