group,
together with her two youngsters, a fine son and a portly daughter.
Long Ears’ mate and daughter and Timid One and her son made up the
rest of the group. All there, Fat One nodded to himself. Our new
society.
It had all
become so clear to him when Sharp Claws announced the Assembly and
told of the awful fate planned for Twisted Foot and Long Ears. He
had acted quickly, gathering together Small Face and the four
mates, spelling out what might occur to them and their children if
they remained in the underworld. They had all agreed readily to
proceed with the escape plan. It was left to him now to ensure that
the dream – the dream begun by his doomed comrades – was realised.
He was the leader now, no longer the fat, lazy grumbler of the
lair. First, though, he would have to stand by impassively while
the Protectors destroyed his companions. He would have to show
strength. He must not grow afraid; he must stay angry, hold his
nerve, grasp the right moment.
The members of
the Inner Circle had taken up their positions on the platform. The
Chief Protector would return imminently from the Scavengers’
dungeon with the rebel Watchers and slave-rats in tow. Long Snout
rose up from the centre of the platform. He stood rigid and
all-powerful. His fierce red eyes surveyed the rows of eager,
upturned faces. Fat One stared into those eyes, directing the full
force of his hate at them. He swore silently. Just one opportunity
– a moment alone with the old tyrant – and he would rip the throat
from him.
Long Snout’s
screech now filled the lair, stilling every movement, silencing
every voice.
‘ Comrades of the Dark World!’ he began the Assembly. ‘Yet
another threat to our society has shown itself. This time,
comrades, the threat comes from within –’
He broke off
suddenly to watch the commotion that had erupted at the entrance to
the Scavengers’ lair. The Protector who had shot out of the tunnel
was still catching his breath. He was staring up, panic-stricken,
at the platform.
‘ The slaves! ...’ he gasped. ‘The slaves are coming!
...’
In the brief,
utter stillness which preceded the carnage, Fat One and Small Face
locked eyes. The moment had come much sooner than they had
expected.
– o –
– Chapter Twenty-Four –
The little
plum-coloured boat lurched through the angry, swelling sea on its
way from the Hawes Pier in South Queensferry to Inchgarvie Island.
Big, spume-tipped waves sprang up from the sea to leap over the
prow of the boat and crash into the narrow windscreen. Heavy rain
slanted from the east, lashing the boat’s starboard side and
pummelling the flimsy roof of the cabin. Inside the tiny cabin, the
three occupants stood close together, peering into the wildness of
the day.
The two young
men felt queasy. Their pinched pallor contrasted with the gaudiness
of their apparel: shiny yellow anoraks and trousers; orange
lifesaving jackets; and green Wellington boots. Their ‘skipper’,
Charlie McNulty, thought that they looked like overdressed parrots.
Charlie was a thin man in his forties; a six-footer with shoulders
which seemed permanently hunched, a long face with a square chin,
unruly black hair and wild, bushy eyebrows. It was his job to
patrol the waters under the railway bridge in case any of the
maintenance team fell into the sea. If they were lucky, they might
still be alive after they hit the water. If they were even luckier,
he might just get to them before they drowned or perished from the
cold. No-one was working on the bridge today – the weather would
have prevented it anyway – but he had been called out urgently to
ferry the ‘whiz-kids’ from the exhibition company to Inchgarvie.
Charlie had been on duty every weekend while the floodlighting was
installed on the bridge. He would be on duty again during the whole
of the next day’s festivities. He wasn’t too happy about this
latest inconvenience, nor was he pleased about the storm which was
tossing and
together with her two youngsters, a fine son and a portly daughter.
Long Ears’ mate and daughter and Timid One and her son made up the
rest of the group. All there, Fat One nodded to himself. Our new
society.
It had all
become so clear to him when Sharp Claws announced the Assembly and
told of the awful fate planned for Twisted Foot and Long Ears. He
had acted quickly, gathering together Small Face and the four
mates, spelling out what might occur to them and their children if
they remained in the underworld. They had all agreed readily to
proceed with the escape plan. It was left to him now to ensure that
the dream – the dream begun by his doomed comrades – was realised.
He was the leader now, no longer the fat, lazy grumbler of the
lair. First, though, he would have to stand by impassively while
the Protectors destroyed his companions. He would have to show
strength. He must not grow afraid; he must stay angry, hold his
nerve, grasp the right moment.
The members of
the Inner Circle had taken up their positions on the platform. The
Chief Protector would return imminently from the Scavengers’
dungeon with the rebel Watchers and slave-rats in tow. Long Snout
rose up from the centre of the platform. He stood rigid and
all-powerful. His fierce red eyes surveyed the rows of eager,
upturned faces. Fat One stared into those eyes, directing the full
force of his hate at them. He swore silently. Just one opportunity
– a moment alone with the old tyrant – and he would rip the throat
from him.
Long Snout’s
screech now filled the lair, stilling every movement, silencing
every voice.
‘ Comrades of the Dark World!’ he began the Assembly. ‘Yet
another threat to our society has shown itself. This time,
comrades, the threat comes from within –’
He broke off
suddenly to watch the commotion that had erupted at the entrance to
the Scavengers’ lair. The Protector who had shot out of the tunnel
was still catching his breath. He was staring up, panic-stricken,
at the platform.
‘ The slaves! ...’ he gasped. ‘The slaves are coming!
...’
In the brief,
utter stillness which preceded the carnage, Fat One and Small Face
locked eyes. The moment had come much sooner than they had
expected.
– o –
– Chapter Twenty-Four –
The little
plum-coloured boat lurched through the angry, swelling sea on its
way from the Hawes Pier in South Queensferry to Inchgarvie Island.
Big, spume-tipped waves sprang up from the sea to leap over the
prow of the boat and crash into the narrow windscreen. Heavy rain
slanted from the east, lashing the boat’s starboard side and
pummelling the flimsy roof of the cabin. Inside the tiny cabin, the
three occupants stood close together, peering into the wildness of
the day.
The two young
men felt queasy. Their pinched pallor contrasted with the gaudiness
of their apparel: shiny yellow anoraks and trousers; orange
lifesaving jackets; and green Wellington boots. Their ‘skipper’,
Charlie McNulty, thought that they looked like overdressed parrots.
Charlie was a thin man in his forties; a six-footer with shoulders
which seemed permanently hunched, a long face with a square chin,
unruly black hair and wild, bushy eyebrows. It was his job to
patrol the waters under the railway bridge in case any of the
maintenance team fell into the sea. If they were lucky, they might
still be alive after they hit the water. If they were even luckier,
he might just get to them before they drowned or perished from the
cold. No-one was working on the bridge today – the weather would
have prevented it anyway – but he had been called out urgently to
ferry the ‘whiz-kids’ from the exhibition company to Inchgarvie.
Charlie had been on duty every weekend while the floodlighting was
installed on the bridge. He would be on duty again during the whole
of the next day’s festivities. He wasn’t too happy about this
latest inconvenience, nor was he pleased about the storm which was
tossing and
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