Fierce September by Fleur Beale

didn’t want technology: I wanted proper books with real pages I could turn. I was lucky. This shop sold paper books, some new, but most old. I went inside. Books – shelves of them. Would I be allowed to touch them? I took myself off to a corner to watch what other people did. After a few minutes I worked out that I could take a book from the shelf, flick through it, then put it back.
    I was absorbed, but even so I kept an eye on the time. I would not give those boys cause to moan that I was late back.
    This, I decided, was where I wanted to spend my money, but every book I looked at cost more than five dollars. In desperation, with only a few minutes to spare, I approached the man behind the counter.
    ‘Can you help me? I’ve only brought five dollars with me. Do you have anything I could buy for that amount?’
    He was young – probably not much older than Oban and Vima. His wiry hair sprang out from his head and his body was curved as though it spent too much time bending over a computer monitor. His smile was friendly. ‘There’s not much, I’m afraid. This sort of stuff is a bit of a luxury now.’ He frowned. ‘But why am I telling you that? You’re a book person, so you know it only too well.’
    I smiled and tried to look knowledgeable.
    He didn’t say anything for ages, and I was about to thank him and leave when suddenly he swooped down and pulled something from under the counter. ‘Ah! I knew it! There’s this if you’d like it. It’s battered and slightly torn, but it costs exactly five dollars.’
    He held out a book of fairy tales.
    I took it, barely able to speak. A dream come to reality – a book of my own to hold in my hands. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered as I handed over the money. ‘Thank you so very much.’
    He slipped the book into a paper bag and presented it to me with a bow.
    ‘My very great pleasure, Madame.’ He tipped his head on one side. ‘Where are you from? Haven’t heard an accent like that before.’
    I went cold. I glanced down at the parcel I held, but then made myself look up at him and grin. ‘Yeah, I know. Everyone tells me that. It’s my grandmother’s fault – she practically brought me up. Thanks for finding me the book.’
    I got out of there as fast as I could without running. I was still shaking when I got back to the fountain. I sat down on an empty bench to wait for the boys, and it took me a few moments to realise the clouds had cleared to leave a faraway sky of blue. I was too afraid to stare at it.
    No sign of the boys. I scrubbed at a mark on the footpath with the toe of my gorgeous new boots. They were made of a stretchy deep red that moulded to my feet and ankles. Many of the feet wandering past sported similar boots, but I’d got mine wrong – the tops of every boot I saw were sculpted into a different pattern. Some had been folded down, others were pleated, a few were scalloped like the petals of a flower. Nobody wore them straight up and skintight the way I did. I tucked my feet under me.
    After ten minutes the boys still hadn’t returned.
    I waited a few minutes longer, content to be alone and unnoticed, but the day grew colder and I shivered despite my jacket. Wretched boys! I got up. I’d have to drag them out of that shop after all.
    It was warm inside the shop. I paused to look around. Okay, it was a bit interesting. I wondered if my grandfathers had come in here and seen the musicians playing inside what seemed to be soundproof booths. Maybe that was where the street music was coming from. As I watched, one group left their booth and another took their place. I didn’t recognise the instruments which had been left for the incoming group.
    I wandered around for a while longer, marvelling at the variety of electronic stuff, watching the displays of how it all worked, before I found my bodyguards. The three of them, along with a couple of men in shop uniform, were bent over, staring at something lying on a bench. On the wall behind them