The Liberators by Philip Womack

pouring out of the houses, and of a crazed-looking man holding a meat cleaver dripping with blood. ‘Madness, loss of control. Throughout the centuries they have worked to sow chaos.’ The scene changed to one of tanks rumbling across battlefields, and war-ravaged towns, and bombs; screams echoed from the speakers; a woman ran across, blood pouring down her face, mouth open in pain. ‘Excess is their watchword. The end of everything is their goal.’ Felix, Miranda and Ivo each shivered with horror; Miranda put her hand to her face, and Felix held her by the shoulders; Ivo stood a little aloof, almost transfixed by the screen.
    â€˜Freedom is Nothing,’ said Blackwood again, and disappeared; the two carved fish glided back into their places in the mantelpiece, where they looked as if they were nothing but ornamentation, not strange messengers from a stranger world.
    Felix, Miranda and Ivo all sat down at once, speechless.
    â€˜So that’s it,’ said Ivo. ‘That’s who killed Blackwood. They were on to him. The Liberators. The Koptor. That’s what we heard, in the tunnel. It all fits. So now . . . Now we have to stop them. Unless you want . . .’
    Felix said, ‘Hey, look, Ivo –’ But Ivo spoke over him.
    â€˜It’s OK, don’t worry, there’s no way I could have expected you to . . .’ He stopped, unsure how to continue, and Felix moved in awkwardly, and hugged him.
    Miranda made a gagging sound. ‘God, honestly, you boys are worse than girls.’
    â€˜So we’re OK?’ said Ivo. There were sounds of assent from Miranda, and Felix drew his brows together, pursed his mouth and made the slightest of nods.
    They resumed their search vigorously, a clear aim in mind. ‘Hunter. He said find Hunter. An address book,’ Ivo said, ‘a letter, something, there must be something.’ They continued their search until the clock rang out three times, and Felix said, ‘I’m so hungry.’
    â€˜Is that all you ever think about?’ said Ivo.
    â€˜Well, I am!’ he said, plaintively. ‘I think I’ve got a tapeworm or something . . .’
    â€˜Shall we go and get something to eat? Maybe there’ll be something in the kitchen . . .’
    â€˜No need. Got it!’ said Miranda, tossing her elegant head back, brushing her hair behind her ear, from which some small earrings jangled and clanked. ‘It’s a letter from one Alice Hunter. Her address is at the top. It’s in Kensal Rise.’
    â€˜God – that’s miles away,’ said Felix. ‘We can’t go now – we’ve got to get back or Ma’ll be furious. Perkins has got his day off, after all. He’s probably off slinking in some rank hole somewhere.’
    â€˜Don’t,’ said Miranda. ‘You’re making me feel ill.’
    â€˜That man is evil , I swear,’ said Felix.
    So clutching the letter from Hunter, they let themselves out of Blackwood’s house and got back on the bus in the opposite direction.
    â€˜Can you remember what Blackwood said to you on the platform?’ asked Miranda when they were on it.
    â€˜Yeah,’ said Ivo. ‘But I don’t really understand it. He said “ koptay thurson ”, whatever that means.’
    Felix’s eyes glittered with excitement, and, balancing his bony face on his hand, he said, ‘That’s Greek. It must be. Can you write it down?’
    â€˜Felix loves Greek,’ said Miranda.
    â€˜Shut up ,’ Felix said, poking her in the ribs.
    â€˜He does!’
    â€˜OK, I do,’ said Felix, smiling a little. ‘Go on, write down what the syllables were.’
    Ivo searched in his pockets, found a receipt, and Miranda found a pen in her bag; Ivo wrote, in big letters:
    .
    KOP-TAY THUR-SON
    â€˜You know what I think that is?’ said Felix. ‘It’s this.’ Underneath he added some squiggles in the