Attica

chapter 10

Punch and Judy, I Presume?

Having left the villagers to fight their battle, Alex and Chloe continued their safari across the boards of Attica in their search for the region where the ink imps lived among their writing bureaux. With their packs on their backs and the coat-muffled Alex continually consulting his compass, they managed to march in a straight line no matter in what direction the boards lay. They trusted to the compass and set their eyes on the far horizon.

For the moment though, they seemed to be in a wide long corridor, hemmed in with a roof that fell sharply from a high apex. Above and around them the timbers of the attic formed pillars and angled arches and Chloe had the distinct feeling of being inside a magnificent cathedral or temple. Certainly there were benches and chairs of all kinds, lining their route. Whether it was in her mind or in actuality, Chloe had a sense of walking through hallowed rooms and would not have been surprised if priests had appeared to admonish her and her brother for trespassing.

However, they came out of this corridor into a wider, more open landscape covered with fake Christmas trees. The trees were decorated with lights which were not lit. They were also draped with tinsel and covered in baubles. In piles, here and there, were red-and-white robes: Father Christmas costumes, complete with fake hoary beards.

‘How do I look?’

Alex was trying one of the costumes on.

‘You look ridiculous in that mask, especially with the white beard decorating it,’ replied Chloe. ‘Anyway, you can’t wear a Santa Claus robe on top of that greatcoat. It looks awful.’

‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’

His voice had deepened and he held out his arms as if ready to embrace the children of the world.

Chloe giggled. ‘I’d like a red sports car, if you don’t mind, Santa.’

Alex growled, ‘You’ll get what you’re given, young lady. Have you been good? I should say not. You’ve been yomping over attics, haven’t you? I can tell by your dusty demeanour, your smutty mush. No red sports car for you. A box of Smarties and an orange, that’s what you’ll get.’

The game suddenly struck at the heart of Chloe’s feelings. A great pang of homesickness went through her and she almost burst into tears. Alex saw the expression on her face and said, ‘Sorry, Clo.’

‘No, no,’ she said, a single tear trickling down her cheek, ‘it’s not you, I – I was just missing Mum and Dad.’

‘Our old dad, or our new one?’

‘Both of them, I suppose, but I meant Ben. Funny,’ she managed a smile, ‘that’s the first time I’ve thought of Ben as Dad. I knew it would happen one day. I just didn’t think it would be so soon.’ She paused before asking, ‘Don’t you miss home, Alex? Don’t you miss Dipa and Ben?’

Alex took off Makishi, who let out an audible sigh.

He thought about it hard, his face wrinkling with the effort, before he replied, ‘No, and I’m sure it’s because I still think of them as being near. I’m not like you, Clo. I see this place differently. To me Ben and Dipa are just under the floorboards. I like this place. I’m having this adventure up here, above their heads, and they’re down below, content to wait for me to come back. Maybe they are, Clo? You can’t say they’re not.’

‘But that’s not the same as being with them.’

He shrugged. ‘I guess not. Nelson’s here though. He makes it seem like home.’

She smiled again. ‘Yes, he does, doesn’t he?’

They were quiet for a little while, before Chloe spoke again.

‘I feel I’ve changed while we’ve been up here. I’m growing too fast.’

‘Haven’t got a tape measure.’

‘No, I don’t mean physically – I mean inside. I was a little girl when I came in here, now I’m not.’

‘I didn’t think of you as a little girl, Clo.’

She laughed. ‘Your voice goes all funny when you dress up.’

He took off the Father Christmas robe and beard.

Chloe was pleased when Alex removed the Santa Claus outfit. She was a little troubled by the fact that recently her brother always wanted to be someone else. Whenever the opportunity arose, like with the mask, or with the army greatcoat, he would put them on – and change. The change was not subtle either. One moment he was a shy young boy, the next a great adventurer, and the next someone far more sinister. It was as if he had transformed into some weird personality she alone had to deal with. She wanted to talk to her brother not some creep in a mask and costume.

He had never been interested in dressing up when they had been down below. In fact, there had been times in their childhood when she had wanted him to dress up. That time she wrote a play and asked him to act in it. Alex had categorically refused, saying he wasn’t interested in such things. In those days it would have been quite out of character for him to dress in strange clothes.

‘And leave the mask off,’ she ordered. ‘I want to see your face.’

For once Alex didn’t argue. He did as he was told.

‘It was getting hot inside Makishi,’ he said. ‘Hey, we’re coming to the end of the Christmas tree forest. What’s that out there, more junk?’

‘What else would you find in Attica?’

This area turned out to be Chloe’s worst nightmare. Along with what appeared to be stage sets there were piles of costumes, fake weapons and jewellery everywhere. Most of the sets were cardboard cut-outs, painted backgrounds, tapestries and cloth hangings. Of course it was the costumes that worried Chloe. No doubt if it was her nightmare, it was Alex’s dream. If Alex wanted to be a pirate, he could be one in seconds. Or Henry IV. Or Peter Pan, Sinbad the Sailor, Ali Baba. He could be anything he wanted to be. All the costumes were here along with their trappings.

She glanced at her brother. Indeed, his eyes had lit up as he reached for a plastic Roman helmet.

‘We haven’t got time for plays, Alex,’ she said quickly. ‘Come on. We must catch up with Jordy.’

‘Plays?’

‘You know, messing about with costumes and things …’

‘Ah,’ said a voice from behind them, ‘do I detect that we have a Thespian among us? How gratifying.’

Chloe whirled round. At first she could not see the speaker. Then she realised he was standing in the shadows of a stage set. Was he ugly? He certainly wasn’t pretty. With his hooked nose and pointed chin she recognised him instantly. Punch. Of Punch and Judy. He was wearing his traditional brightly coloured costume, including a hat with points and bells. Punch came forward, gliding forward on a skirt, the hem of which brushed the dust on the floor.

‘Ah,’ said Punch, following her eyes and looking down at himself, ‘you’re wondering how I walk, aren’t you, madam? Being a hand-puppet, I should have no legs, eh? I decline to reveal my secret. It’s a puppet thing. I hope you won’t consider it poor manners on my behalf to keep it close.’ He reached them and held out a small mittened hand. ‘How do you do? Punch is the name. But – oh bliss, oh gratification – you know me, don’t you? You know this old ham. I can see by your expressions. Many children don’t, these days,’ he sighed, ‘there being so many other distractions for the young. Computers, video games, TV, mobile phones. Still, the seaside remains the seaside, even if most of them go to Spain in these affluent times.’

To her irritation, Chloe found herself shaking the tiny wooden paw.

‘How do you do?’

Alex said generously, ‘You’re not an old ham – I thought you were a pretty good actor when I saw you at my seventh birthday party.’

‘A fan! My boy, you’ve a voice for sore ears. Thank you from the bottom of my little wooden heart,’ replied Punch. He sighed again. ‘Of course, I always wished to play Hamlet. We all did. I know I would have made a magnificent Hamlet. Not to be.’ He smiled wistfully. ‘There’s a little joke in there, if you care to look for it. Very weak, but subtle.’ He brightened again. ‘Come on home and meet the missus. She’d be tickled to see real people again. Ah! Aha! Young lady, I can see what you’re thinking, but our domestic scene is one of bliss, off-stage. We get on very well, Judy and I, in our way. Of course the violence on stage is pretty bad, but it’s traditional you know, and the croc sorts me out at the end. I mean, where would television soaps be without the domestic violence? But I know what you mean, I truly do. It’s a bad influence on the kids. That’s another reason why we’ve been discarded, thrown up into the attic. Times change, attitudes change, and if you can’t change with them, then you’re made redundant. Come on, I’ll take you back to the village …’

Alex looked at Chloe and shrugged, grinning broadly.

‘What can we lose, sis?’ He trotted up beside Punch, who was stepping out a bit. ‘Have you got anything to eat there?’

‘We can certainly rustle you up something. Do you like birds’ eggs? Of course you do, a chicken is a bird, isn’t it? Well, we can find lots of eggs in the eaves. Not as big as those produced by chickens, who unfortunately don’t fly up to gutters and get in through holes, but they lay eggs just the same. I’m sure you could put away a dozen or so, couldn’t you?’

‘Definitely,’ replied Alex. ‘Thanks a lot.’

‘Don’t mention it. Ah.’ Punch’s voice had lowered as they approached the puppet village. ‘There’s that fellow Krishna. Thinks a lot of himself because he represents a holy figure – a Wayang Kulit he calls himself – but he’s not so bad.’ He raised his voice again. ‘Hi there, Krishna. Look who I’ve found. People like us, from down below.’

People like us? thought Chloe.

There, standing beneath a colourful paper arch which led into the open square, was a puppet Alex recognised from the time they had been on holiday in the Far East. It was a leather shadow-puppet dyed blue for the skin and red-and-green for the clothes he wore. He stood on one leg, leaning against the arch, but hopped forward as they approached.

‘Well, well, people from my own land, by the look. How very welcome. What news from Bali?’

‘Actually we’re not from Bali,’ explained Alex. ‘We’re from Winchester, but our granddad came from India. Our right-hand granddad that is – our left-hand granddad came from Portsmouth. That’s what we call them. Right and left granddads. It’s a family thing.’

‘India?’ The puppet brightened. ‘What are your names?’

‘Alexander and Chloe,’ said Alex.

Krishna looked a little disappointed.

Chloe explained, ‘Our dad thought western names would be less trouble for us at school. I don’t know why. Other kids with Asian ancestry get on all right with eastern names.’

‘So, that’s the explanation then. Good. Punch treating you all right?’

‘Of course I am,’ muttered Punch a little testily. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I thought you might feel the need to bash them with your truncheon. No? Ha, ha. Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to fill them full of arrows or go sticking them with my sword, so there’s no reason why you’d want to thump them, I suppose. Well, see you around.’

Krishna hopped away, towards one of the stripy Punch and Judy tents which stood about the place, and disappeared inside.

Chloe asked, ‘Why hasn’t he got his own tent – a Bali tent?’

‘They don’t have them, you know,’ explained Punch. ‘Shadow-puppets are worked behind these white screens. I don’t think there are many puppets who have their own tents, like Judy and I. We Punch-and-Judy sets have to share with other puppets. The big fellows – the ventriloquists’ dummies – they have a hard job fitting inside one of our tall tents, but what can they do? Live in a suitcase? I think not. Space inside luggage is even more limited. Ah, here we are, home sweet home.’

Punch threw back the flap and called for Judy, telling her to ‘bring some eggs for visitors’. After calling to his wife he said to the children, ‘I’d invite you in, but there’s not room for the two of you.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Chloe, who had been having misgivings about Punch ever since she had met him. ‘We’re quite happy to wait outside.’

Chloe felt that Punch was being too nice. The attic had made her a very suspicious person. What, she asked herself, if this was an elaborate trap? Most of the creatures in the attic had proved to be antagonistic, if not downright hostile to them. Why should puppets be any different? Surely they had been abused too at times, and held resentment towards the humans that had mistreated them? Chloe was determined to remain on her guard, just in case.

A policeman puppet came out of the tent, trailing his skirts.

‘Hello, children, eh? Jolly good. Jolly good. Judy’s coming out in a bit. She’s dusting herself off at the moment. So, where are you from?’

‘Winchester at the moment,’ replied Alex. ‘We’ve just moved there.’

‘Winchester, eh? Have we done Winchester, Punch? I’m sure we have at some time. I remember a statue of King Alfred.’

‘That’s right,’ cried Alex eagerly. ‘In the square.’

‘Yes. Yes, we’ve done Winchester all right.’ He tipped his helmet back on his head with his truncheon. ‘Was it a good audience though?’

Here it comes, thought Chloe. Now we get the blame for all the bad audiences they’ve ever had.

‘I do believe it was,’ interrupted Punch. ‘A very good audience. But when did we not get a good reception from our own kind? Small children are easily pleased. We don’t have to try very hard, now, do we? Oh, I should like to think of us as brilliant actors, but in truth it’s just a bit of slapstick.’

‘Slapstick’s not that easy,’ replied the policeman. ‘You have to be able to convince them.’

‘Well, that’s true also.’

Chloe relaxed a little.

Alex said, ‘You said earlier, people like us …’

The policeman looked at Punch, who frowned.

The policeman said, ‘Puppets are people too.’

Chloe saw that the situation was about to deteriorate and she jumped in with, ‘Oh, he didn’t mean you. He meant us. I mean, my brother has always felt inferior around puppets. I mean, you’re so lively and animated. You’re so famous. We don’t often meet great celebrities like you. We’re certainly not in your class.’ She laughed. ‘We’re very ordinary.’

Punch’s expression cleared immediately.

‘Oh, that. You don’t want to worry about that. We like mixing with the general public, don’t we, policeman? They’re our bread and butter – or were. Where’s my darling Judy? I must go and chivvy her up. Won’t be a sec.’ He disappeared into the tent.

Chloe said to the policeman, ‘He’s a very kind Punch – are they all like that?’

‘Oh yes. Up here we can be ourselves,’ he replied, ‘but to tell you the truth, this Punch is rather special. He believes in acting the Good Samaritan whenever he gets the chance.’ He leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner and murmured, ‘This one’s very pious, very religious. It’s said that one of his hands is made from a piece of the True Cross.’

The wooden Good Samaritan eventually emerged again.

A buxom red-cheeked Judy in a mob cap and wearing an apron came out of the striped tent with Punch. She beamed at the children, holding the apron out in front of her by its two bottom corners. In the hollow were about thirty birds’ eggs: probably pigeons’ eggs by the size of them.

‘Well, how nice,’ she said, clearly very pleased. ‘Alex and Chloe. What nice names. Punch said you would like some eggs? I’ve got some here …’

She sat down on the floor. The others joined her. Judy handed one egg to Alex and one to Chloe. Alex went to peel his straight away and was dismayed when it came apart in his fingers. Yolk and white dribbled to the floor. The egg was raw. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘Not cooked.’

Disappointment showed on the faces of the puppets.

‘But we can soon cook them, Alex, on your little stove,’ said Chloe.

The puppets looked at each other in alarm.

‘Not with fire, I hope,’ said the policeman. ‘Fire in an attic, you know, is not a good thing.’

‘Oh, of course,’ replied Alex. ‘You’re right, I wasn’t thinking.’

He then took a handkerchief out of his pocket, took the eggs from Judy and placed them in it, tying the corners carefully.

‘We’ll eat them later,’ he said for the benefit of the puppets. ‘Raw, naturally.’

‘Now that we’ve met some – some real people,’ Chloe said earnestly to the puppets, ‘perhaps you can help us?’

‘Certainly, of course we can,’ replied Judy. She turned to Punch. ‘Can’t we, dear?’

‘Naturally, my love, we always try to assist our own kind.’

Chloe had to be very careful in the way she phrased her questions.

‘Why is it,’ she said, ‘that in the attic, things talk that normally don’t? Like, er – like masks, for instance – can talk. Alex has a mask – the one hanging on his back – which talks all the time. Yet there are other objects that stay as they are, and don’t walk or talk.’

‘Perfectly reasonable question,’ answered Punch, with the policeman and Judy nodding at each other. ‘You see, my dear, the attic is like – how shall I put it – like a continent. It is vast. And not only that, it’s an invisible vortex – do you know that word? Good! Very bright children,’ he said in an aside to Judy and the policeman. ‘Without being able to help yourselves you are drawn into the middle, into the very centre of the maelstrom – that’s a foreign word for whirlpool which clever children like you need to know.

‘As you leave the edges and are pulled further into the middle of the attic, things get more peculiar. Anyway, the long and short of it is all sorts of inanimate objects come to life, can move and talk, even think in a way. Just as we do,’ he added quickly. ‘Others, as you say, remain inanimate, unmoving. The attic’s not consistent you know. That’s what makes it so interesting. One day you might approach a statue and nothing happens, the next day it leaves its pedestal and runs after you. I love that side of the attic, the quirky, unpredictable side. Anything can happen. One thing is certain: you should stay out of the middle and away from the eaves.’

Middle? Eaves? What was left? The in-between areas?

Alex said, ‘Why, only yesterday we were right up against the eaves. It’s hard not to be near the eaves.’

‘Ah,’ interrupted Judy, ‘that’s because the roof isn’t just an up and down triangular roof. It’s lots of rooftops, all fitted together. If you were to go up there, outside – God forbid,’ she crossed herself, her wooden hand making hollow wooden sounds on her breast, ‘you’d be in something like a desert with sharp dunes, if you know what I mean. It goes up and down like wild waves on a stormy ocean, if that isn’t mixing my metaphors.’

‘I think it is, my dear,’ admonished her husband gently, his hooked nose bobbing up and down, ‘but you’re entitled. It’s not easy to describe our roof with just a single simile or metaphor.’

‘So keep away from the centre of the attic and the edges?’

‘Precisely,’ replied the policeman to Alex. ‘You’d make a good witness, you know. You catch on quickly.’

‘But why are some of the creatures we’ve met so strange?’ asked Chloe. ‘I mean, like the villagers.’

‘Ah,’ explained Punch, ‘that’s because there are insiders and outsiders. The villagers are insiders, they’re of the attic, so to speak. They belong here. They are indigenous – I can tell by your expression you know what that means – while we are not. Of course, many of the creatures in the attic are immigrants, like us. Some of us came here by accident or design – like yourselves – others were banished here, exiled. Like us. You are people and as such will come up against a lot of hostility from things that used to be inanimate and now have life of a sort. Objects which were mistreated in the real world – or simply felt they were mistreated.’

‘The villagers acted very peculiarly,’ said Chloe, involuntarily copying Punch’s manner of speech. ‘Very peculiarly.’

‘That’s because they see you as phantoms. In their eyes you have a certain translucency. They can’t see right through you – as through something transparent, like a window – but you have – now what’s a good simile? – yes – you’re like a jellyfish to them. They think you want pictures of your ancestors. Did they give you any photo albums? Yes? There you are then. They think that’s what you’re after.’

‘Oh. That’s why they sort of jumped back in fright when they came across us? That explains it. But I’ve got another question. A very important one. You can’t tell us where we can find any watches, can you? We’re looking for a special pocket-watch that belongs to a neighbour of ours.’

‘No, I can’t, I’m afraid. You need a map for that. There’s a map not far from here. Watches? That sounds like something a board-comber would look for. It’s my guess most of the watches in the attic have been collected at some time. You need to find the whole collection.’

‘Where?’

Punch shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea, have you?’ he asked his wife and the policeman. They shook their wooden heads. ‘Maybe beyond the Great Water Tank, which is close to the centre of the attic. None of us have been over the Great Water Tank. None of us ever wanted to go there.’

Alex said, ‘What about trapdoors? We don’t seem to see any of those any more.’

Punch said, ‘There are trapdoors, though where they lead is anyone’s guess. You’ll find them if you look, mostly in the dark corners. But be careful if you go down them. You might find yourself in an even stranger place than the one you’re in now. Chinese boxes within boxes, so to speak. If you have to come back up again, it might not even be here, but somewhere else. And the further away you get from your original entry point, the more difficult it’s going to be to find your way back. Do you understand?’

‘I think so,’ replied Alex. ‘Yes. Don’t go down.’

‘It’s probably best not to,’ Judy confirmed. ‘You could find yourselves in all sorts of trouble.’

‘By the way,’ asked Punch, ‘did you go round or come over the mountain of weapons?’

Alex said, ‘Over.’

‘So you met our monster?’

‘You mean Katerfelto,’ said Alex. ‘I sorted him out all right, with – well, I sorted him.’

‘How very brave,’ murmured Judy. ‘He’s terrifying, isn’t he? It’s all those weapons collected in one place. They’ve seen death, you know.’

‘Dispensed death, my dear,’ said Punch, patting his wife’s wooden hand with a clunking sound. ‘Dispensed death in anger. One weapon on its own has very little power, but so many gathered in one place … The dark spirits of gun, sword and shell seep out, mingle like gases, and become Katerfelto. An evil cocktail of terrible spirits. You can’t experience such horrors as they have seen and made – yes, they have made horror – and come away without absorbing something very dark.’

Chloe said, ‘You mentioned board-combers a little while ago. What are they?’

‘Oh,’ Punch laughed, wooden head dipping in mirth, ‘yes, of course, you probably haven’t seen anything of them, though they’re bound to have been around. They’re masters at camouflage, the board-combers. They melt into the environment. It’s more than a disguise – they’re chameleons, those board-combers. And they often follow newcomers around, hoping they’ll lead them to whatever it is they’re collecting. Board-combers are collectors, you see. They collect the thing that interests them most.’

‘Why board-combers?’

Judy explained. ‘Rather like beach-combers, only they search the attic strand. It’s like a fever, an obsession. Collecting sometimes can be. With some of them it’s mirrors, with others it’s masks, or toy cars, or watches. Once they’ve got too many to carry, they gather them in one place and go out on forays, searching for more. The melancholic board-comber who collected the weapons, God rest his morbid soul’ – the puppets crossed themselves, producing that drumming noise again – ‘succumbed in the end to his very own collection. I believe he was frightened to death by Katerfelto. Very tragic, but I wonder what he expected?’

‘How dreadful,’ agreed Chloe. ‘And are these board-combers native to the attic?’

‘No,’ replied Punch gravely, ‘they’re from down below. They often carry a friend with them. An attic creature of some kind. A mouse. A bird. A very large hairy spider with long front legs.’ He shuddered a little, before continuing with, ‘You know the way pirates always have a parrot on their shoulder? Board-combers carry live creatures much in the same way, for company.’

Chloe suddenly felt overwhelmed by it all.

‘If you don’t mind,’ she said, ‘I’d like to get a little rest now. I’m exhausted. What about you, Alex?’

Alex shrugged inside his greatcoat. ‘Yeah – if you like.’ He got to his feet.

‘Where are you staying?’ asked Punch.

Chloe was still unsure about the situation and remained a little suspicious of the puppets’ intentions, so she waved vaguely at the gloaming beyond.

‘Oh – out there.’ She got to her feet. ‘Thank you for your kindness, and your explanations. We hope to see you again.’

‘We hope so too, don’t we my dear?’ said Punch, nodding at Judy.

‘Yes we do, and you’d be most welcome any time,’ said Judy, making Chloe feel guilty for harbouring doubt about them. ‘Don’t stand on ceremony.’

Alex and Chloe gathered up their backpacks and went on their way.

Once the children had disappeared into the twilight zone, Punch turned to his two companions and said, ‘That boy is turning.’

‘You noticed then?’ replied the policeman. ‘I did too.’

‘I hope he doesn’t,’ sighed Judy, ‘for his sister’s sake. She’ll miss him, she surely will. You can see she’s fond of him.’

‘Well,’ finished Punch, ‘maybe something will happen to stop him. You never know. Miracles do occur, occasionally. Now, my dear, what shall we do with the rest of the afternoon? There’s still a lot of light left in those high windows. Let’s have a game of cards. I miss my cards. Who’s got that pack of Happy Families we found the other day?’