goodness inside had all been eaten. He pulled open the two cupboards over the sink. One shelf contained a half-full box of Cornflakes, a jar of honey and a loaf of sliced bread overrun with blue mould. Beneath that were a bag of fun-sized chocolate bars and a tin of spaghetti. He found a bag of salt and vinegar crisps (his favourite) on another shelf, along with a packet of the type of curry-flavoured noodles that you just needed to add water to. There was nothing on the last shelf except cleaning products. It wasnât exactly a four-star meal, but it looked more appetising to him now than anything heâd ever had to eat before.
He yanked his school uniform out of his backpack, guessing he wouldnât be needing it any time soon, and stuffed all the food inside in its place. He even took the noodles, hoping heâd be able to find a working kettle somewhere to cook them. Then he went back to the main area of the toy store. He took out the packet of crisps and a chocolate bar and set about devouring them as he wandered down the quiet aisles of the shop.
As he munched, he remembered seeing Loki here for the first time all those months ago. He hadnât even known who or what Loki was at the time; he had just sensed that he was evil. Although, I guess thatâs all I really needed to know, he reminded himself.
He walked past the garden toys, looking at the trampolines and inflatable pools and swings, and then saw something that made him stop. An idea popped into his head. He stared at the stack of bright-yellow sandpits, wondering if it would work. It will work, he told himself. It has to.
Half an hour later and he was back on the water, putting his plan into action. Heâd borrowed one of the sandpits, along with a pair of spades and a few other supplies. He thought of it as borrowing and really did intend to return everything once this was all over. At least thatâs what he told himself.
The idea had come to him when heâd seen the label attached to each sandpit. It showed two images: one of a couple of toddlers making sandcastles, the other of the same toddlers using the sandpit as a watertight pool. So, Arthur had reasoned, if the sandpit could be used as a paddling pool, did that mean it was watertight enough to be used as a boat?
He was sitting in the sandpit-boat right now and it seemed to be doing the trick. It was bobbing under the surface of the water more than a real boat would, but at least it was holding him afloat. He rowed out through the first-floor window, using one of the spades as an oar. He took the second one as a spare, just in case. Getting through the window was a tight squeeze but he managed it. Rowing was tough â especially since the round sandpit shape wasnât exactly hydrodynamic â but it was a lot easier than the swimming had been.
Arthur took one last look at the toy store, then turned and rowed for the Dublin estate he thought of as home.
The outer reaches of the city were in just as dire straits as the shopping district, if not more so. Whole houses were submerged, along with garden furniture, cars, bicycles and anything else that had been rooted to the ground when the floods came. Arthur could tell he was heading in the right direction, but it was surreal rowing through the familiar yet alien landscape. Once, the sandpit-boat brushed against something and almost got trapped. Arthur looked into the water to find out what was causing the obstruction. A tall, once-healthy oak tree was under the flood and heâd gotten wedged in the thick upper branches. He managed to get free and rowed on. Moments later, he passed a house whose rooftop was just above the waterline. He could see a ladder leaning against the house leading up to the roof. Clearly some people had taken residence on top of the building as the water rose. But they werenât there now. He shuddered to think of what might have happened to them.
An hour later, as he was pondering why he
He yanked his school uniform out of his backpack, guessing he wouldnât be needing it any time soon, and stuffed all the food inside in its place. He even took the noodles, hoping heâd be able to find a working kettle somewhere to cook them. Then he went back to the main area of the toy store. He took out the packet of crisps and a chocolate bar and set about devouring them as he wandered down the quiet aisles of the shop.
As he munched, he remembered seeing Loki here for the first time all those months ago. He hadnât even known who or what Loki was at the time; he had just sensed that he was evil. Although, I guess thatâs all I really needed to know, he reminded himself.
He walked past the garden toys, looking at the trampolines and inflatable pools and swings, and then saw something that made him stop. An idea popped into his head. He stared at the stack of bright-yellow sandpits, wondering if it would work. It will work, he told himself. It has to.
Half an hour later and he was back on the water, putting his plan into action. Heâd borrowed one of the sandpits, along with a pair of spades and a few other supplies. He thought of it as borrowing and really did intend to return everything once this was all over. At least thatâs what he told himself.
The idea had come to him when heâd seen the label attached to each sandpit. It showed two images: one of a couple of toddlers making sandcastles, the other of the same toddlers using the sandpit as a watertight pool. So, Arthur had reasoned, if the sandpit could be used as a paddling pool, did that mean it was watertight enough to be used as a boat?
He was sitting in the sandpit-boat right now and it seemed to be doing the trick. It was bobbing under the surface of the water more than a real boat would, but at least it was holding him afloat. He rowed out through the first-floor window, using one of the spades as an oar. He took the second one as a spare, just in case. Getting through the window was a tight squeeze but he managed it. Rowing was tough â especially since the round sandpit shape wasnât exactly hydrodynamic â but it was a lot easier than the swimming had been.
Arthur took one last look at the toy store, then turned and rowed for the Dublin estate he thought of as home.
The outer reaches of the city were in just as dire straits as the shopping district, if not more so. Whole houses were submerged, along with garden furniture, cars, bicycles and anything else that had been rooted to the ground when the floods came. Arthur could tell he was heading in the right direction, but it was surreal rowing through the familiar yet alien landscape. Once, the sandpit-boat brushed against something and almost got trapped. Arthur looked into the water to find out what was causing the obstruction. A tall, once-healthy oak tree was under the flood and heâd gotten wedged in the thick upper branches. He managed to get free and rowed on. Moments later, he passed a house whose rooftop was just above the waterline. He could see a ladder leaning against the house leading up to the roof. Clearly some people had taken residence on top of the building as the water rose. But they werenât there now. He shuddered to think of what might have happened to them.
An hour later, as he was pondering why he
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