Cat's Cradle by Julia Golding

and bitter winds this far north. In Northumberland, we passed an earth bank littered with tumbled stones. Hadrian’s Wall according to a friendly cleric – boundary of the Roman Empire, last bastion of civilization.
    â€˜Beyond this, they’re all savages,’ he joked.
    After three days of bone-wearying travel and a coach change in Edinburgh, Bridgit and I finally arrived at the Scottish town of Lanark, both heartily sick of being constantly on the move. Our bags were thrown down at our feet and the coach rumbled onwards, bound for Glasgow.
    Bridgit put her hands on her hips and gazed round the marketplace, crowded with people coming and going, their pattens and boots clacking on the dark cobbles. I rubbed the small of myback, feeling my spine would never be quite the same after all that jolting. In the light drizzle that was falling, Lanark did not appear very welcoming. The stallholders were packing up after a morning’s business. The houses were built of sombre grey stone and reminded me of a huddle of Quakers waiting in silent worship around the square. The town was built on a slope and surrounded by steep wooded hills, giving the impression that if the houses did not hang on tight we would all slide off and land in the bottom of the valley like children spilling off a sledge.
    â€˜What now, Cat?’ Bridgit asked.
    Mentally giving my spirits a kick, I replied, ‘We find our cotton mill, of course. Let’s ask someone.’
    I approached a boy of about my age lounging by a mounting block. He feigned indolence as he chewed on a straw but I’d noted that he had been watching us closely ever since we got off the coach. He had a book stuffed in the pocket of his jacket and a pair of steel-rimmed glasses hanging from a buttonhole in his waistcoat. I took these signs to mean he was educated, which in turn wouldhopefully mean he would have wit enough to help us.
    â€˜Excuse me, can you direct us to the mill?’ Even to my ears, my voice sounded obviously and ridiculously English compared to the locals.
    The boy spat out the stalk and rubbed his freckled nose as if pausing to translate my question.
    â€˜Ye’ll be wanting New Lanark?’ *
    â€˜Er, I think so. Is that where the mill is?’
    â€˜Aye.’
    â€˜Can you show us?’
    The boy grinned, displaying his crooked front teeth. ‘I can –’ I opened my mouth to thank him, but he laughed – ‘but I didna say I would.’
    Too tired for teasing, Bridgit turned away. ‘Leave him – he’s no use at all.’
    â€˜Nae use? I ken the place like the back of myhand. I live there. Ye’ll find nae one better to show ye.’
    â€˜Maybe, but we want someone willing,’ I replied. ‘And as you so obviously have an important task here today keeping that mounting block company, we’ll bid you good day,’ adding under my breath, ‘
blockhead
.’
    He whipped a cap up off the stone and shoved it on his scruffy hair. ‘Stop all yer bletherin’ and come along wi’ me.’ He strutted off without pausing to see if we were following, like a master striding in front of recalcitrant pupils.
    I looked at Bridgit, who shrugged.
    â€˜Seems the professor has changed his mind.’ I picked up my bag. ‘Let’s not lose him.’
    We caught up with our unhelpful guide as he turned down a road leading out of town.
    â€˜The mill – is it far?’ I panted.
    â€˜Very far for sapsie Sassenachs.’ He refused to look at us.
    I guessed this was an insult. ‘And for un-sapsie ones?’
    â€˜No so far.’
    â€˜Good.’
    â€˜What you want wi’ the mill?’
    â€˜Employment. What else?’
    â€˜It’s sair-work, no for soft lasses.’
    â€˜We’re not soft.’
    He shrugged as if he doubted my word but did not feel it worth the bother of arguing.
    Bridgit gave me an expressive look and took over the