Attica

chapter 8

Scissor-birds that Blood Your Head

They descended from the mountain to the plains below.

There were broad open spaces, bare wooden boards which stretched lengthways in the direction in which they were heading. They camped for a short while at a spot under one of those mighty timbers that supported the roof. It had some rusty nails protruding from it and Alex hung his backpack and other equipment on it. As he did so he became interested in the pillar itself, which soared upwards, thick as a mature oak, to split and spread itself high above, in order to support the roof.

He slapped the pillar with his hand, feeling strength in its solidity.

‘You know, sis,’ he said, looking round at other such pillars which stood four-square every hundred metres in each direction, ‘without these fellows, the roof would collapse on us.’

Chloe lay back, her head on a rolled-up coat, and stared into the dimness above.

‘I’ve been studying stresses and pressures on the arches of bridges and I’m sure these do a similar job. You don’t seem to realise how important they are. If I was to chop this one down there would be too much pressure on the next one, and the one behind, and those to the sides. They’d give way too and that would mean more and more pillars cracking and splitting and collapsing – you know, the domino effect – and finally the whole roof would fall down on the heads of everyone in here. It would be an end to this place for good.’ He paused. ‘Just one of these pillars down, that’s all it would take, to crush this world.’

‘Cheerful Charlie, aren’t you?’

‘I’m just saying how fragile this place is. It looks sturdy enough, it’s true, but it ain’t.’

‘A delicate balance?’

‘Well, I don’t know about delicate, but a balance, sure. You interfere with that balance, and WHAM, the whole lot comes crashing down. Everything underneath would be flattened, squashed to pulp. A few cockroaches might live, but not much else.’

Chloe was happy when they moved on and he stopped talking. She preferred her thoughts to dwell on lighter things than the end of the world.

Mostly the apex of the roof was high, out of sight, but they reached an area where the roof was lower and a tangle of rafters above their heads formed a canopy similar to that in a rainforest or jungle. The children sensed movement occasionally in the rafters and believed there were bats up there. Neither Chloe nor Alex were scared of bats, or really any kind of wildlife. Chloe couldn’t stand girls who squealed at anything unusual. Alex didn’t like creepy-crawlies but he was all right with bigger creatures.

They were always seeing movements out of the corner of their eyes, though. The attic was that kind of place. It was a patchwork of shadows and half-light and dazzling sunshine. One drifted from dimly lit corners where the dust was centimetres thick, into brilliant spaces where the sunlight was blinding. Twilight to bright light in a moment. It was no wonder, they told each other, that the light played tricks with their eyes. Shadowy creatures danced with quick movements here, there and everywhere, but you could never catch them in full sight. Maddeningly, they were always fleeting.

However, looking up into the woven network of rafters at one point, Alex was given a start. This was real! No figment of the mind. There, looking down at him, was a doll’s painted face. The blue eyes of the doll, set in pale-pink china, stared at him unblinkingly. She had red cupid’s-bow lips and bulging cheeks of rosy hue. The doll was clinging to one rafter with chubby little ceramic hands, her tiny feet in black strapover shiny shoes on the rafter below. She was wearing a filthy white dress, torn in places. Suddenly, inexplicably, she smiled with a row of neat even teeth. Then she climbed up, as fast as a monkey, into the upper canopy and out of sight.

Alex was so frightened he could hardly breathe.

‘There’s something up there,’ he croaked.

‘I know: bats,’ replied his sister. ‘Come on.’

Alex said no more. There wasn’t any point in worrying Chloe. In any case, they were emerging from the canopy into a more spacious area. There were man-sized figures standing like scarecrows as far as the eye could see. All had definite faces: some hideous, others not so. Alex shuddered, but his sister had been prepared for this.

‘A Land of Masks,’ she murmured.

‘Shouldn’t we arm ourselves?’ asked Alex, taking out his penknife. ‘Any golf clubs around?’

‘If you walk about with weapons, you only antagonise people.’

‘People?’

‘Well, whatever.’

‘We could pretend we were playing golf.’

Chloe said, ‘It’s best we approach pure of heart.’

‘Is it?’ Alex was unconvinced.

The ‘figures’ had been fashioned from odds and ends and hardly resembled people at all. Most of them had no arms or legs, being merely cones made of old clothes, washing line poles, waste bins, that sort of junk. But they were topped by the most beautiful – and ugly – masks. Some were traditional carnival masks which Chloe recognised as being from the Venice carnival. Others were more exotic, from Africa, Polynesia, China and Borneo. Some of the African masks were quite scary: they were meant to be, having once been used in tribal rituals to drive out demons. Others from the same continent were obviously meant to represent animals – lion masks, elephant masks, hippo masks – and were not frightening at all. There were grinning devil masks from China and mournful demi-god masks from the islands of the Pacific Ocean. Very unnerving. Most with hollow eyes. There were huge giant masks at the back, on the edges of the attic, and smaller ones near to the path which the children were using.

‘Don’t look at them,’ said Chloe, walking among the forest of figures. ‘Try not to answer them.’

‘What?’ cried a nervous Alex.

‘Over heres,’ said a mask with a mouth formed in a perfect wooden O. ‘Sir, sir, over heres. Thine eyes must perceive my terrible plight.’

‘Don’t look at him,’ warned Chloe, gripping her brother’s sleeve. ‘Don’t listen to him.’

‘Oh, please master, mistress, helping me. I am a real and bona fide person in thrall to these creatures,’ cried another mask, one of straw and raffia with wild hair and whiskers. ‘If you could just assist me to get out, my liberty would be your just afters.’

‘Maybe there is someone in there,’ Alex said. ‘What if there’s another kid like us?’

‘He has long gone, our Gatherer. Gone, gone away.’

‘When have you heard a kid talk like that? Don’t listen to it. You mustn’t take any notice. They want you to take them out of here and they’ll hypnotise you to do it. The bat told me that once they get hold of you, they won’t let you go.’

‘What – what will they do?’

‘Just keep walking.’

‘Lord of walking things, borrow me.’

‘Happy child, taking please an unhappy face?’

At certain points they had to move quite close to the masked figures, but Chloe kept her eyes determinedly on the far side of the Land of Masks. She gripped her younger brother’s hand almost fiercely, pulling him along with her. Alex wasn’t always the strongest person in such a situation. He was impressionable and easily persuaded, like the time he gave all his pocket money to a beggar on the London Underground. The important thing was to ignore the pleas of the masks. Oh indeed, it was difficult to ignore the imploring voices around them. Chloe was surprised how hard it was not to turn and look, but she knew how dangerous it was to fall for Attica’s tricks. She was learning fast that if they were to meet Jordy again, find the map and get out of this nightmare, they had to keep their wits about them.

‘We’re out!’ she said in a relieved voice, still holding on to Alex. ‘We made it.’

‘Free,’ said Alex in a peculiar voice. ‘Brothers and sisters, goodbye.’

Chloe turned, alarmed.

Alex was wearing a mask.

‘Oh, Alex,’ she said in despair.

The mask he had on was made of raffia and clay. It had a tall conical top to it, like a witch’s hat, painted black with white sticks attached to it. The face was painted black with white spots. There were holes for the eyes and a slit for the mouth. Here and there, on the forehead and running up the strange hat, were white zig-zag lines. The final touch was the beard of thick brown raffia. The mouth and eyes were lined with white paint.

‘How did that happen?’ cried Chloe. ‘You must have grabbed it with your other hand.’

Trust Alex to get himself in trouble, even after warnings. Now Chloe felt she had to be firm with him.

‘Take it off!’ ordered Chloe, gripping the mask. ‘Throw it back in there.’

‘Leave me be, woman,’ it said. ‘Desist. I am Makishi. You cannot throw me away like a piece of trash.’

Alex sided with the mask. ‘Leave it alone, Clo. I like it.’

‘You can’t like it – it’s hideous,’ said Chloe. She was afraid the mask had somehow bewitched Alex into putting it on his face. It might eventually do her young brother harm.

‘It lets me see things,’ replied Alex mysteriously.

‘What things?’

Alex was cagey. ‘I’m not telling you. You’ll want a go with it. I might let you later, when I’m fed up with it.’

‘I wouldn’t put that thing on if you paid me. It smells for a start. They must have glued it together with buffalo dung.’

‘You’re not going to get the chance. It’s my mask. I found it and I get to keep it.’

‘And I get to keep Alex.’

‘See?’ said Chloe. ‘That’s the kind of remark that worries me. Now, what do you want?’

‘I don’t want anything,’ replied a peeved Alex. ‘I just want to keep the mask on.’

‘I’m talking to the mask. Mask, now you’ve escaped, why do you need my brother?’

‘To walk, to move, to be carrying me.’

Of course, the mask was nothing without a wearer. It had no powers at all if it were not worn by someone. Chloe had to believe that Alex was still all right behind the mask. She asked him how he was.

‘I’m fine,’ he replied. ‘I like the mask.’

Chloe said, ‘Well, you can keep it on for now. We’ll think about getting it off you later.’

For the moment Chloe decided they just had to keep going. The day was fading from the skylights and she wanted to be well away from the other masks before she camped for the night. Still holding Alex’s hand – she was afraid the mask might run away with her brother if she let go – she continued on her way. A while later she stopped and stood still for a moment.

‘Why do we do a pause?’ asked the mask.

‘We have to rest. We’re only children. We can’t walk for ever.’

‘Do not be tricking me.’

‘I’m not. Look, if I let go my brother’s hand, will you stay? I don’t want you running away with him.’

‘Where would I go? I go where you go.’

The answer sounded genuine. Good. She hoped she was right in thinking that the mask had only limited knowledge. Chloe was weary and couldn’t hold on to Alex’s hand for ever. Although she was strong in spirit she was tired physically. There would come a time, she was sure, when all this would be over, but for now she had to tough it out. She let go of Alex’s hand. He did not run. Good. Now she had to question the mask. Knowledge was the key to many things. If she found out where it came from, who made it, she might be able to discover weaknesses in its power over her brother.

‘Where are you from?’ she asked, sitting Alex down and removing his backpack. ‘You’re not from around here.’

‘I am from a hot place.’

‘Borneo? South America? Madagascar?’

‘Many flies. Many rivers.’

Many rivers?

‘What sort of animals do you have? Any elephants?’

‘Yes, elephants.’

‘Big ears?’

‘Of course big ears.’

‘Well Asian elephants have smaller ears. Do you have any lions?’

‘Lions, yes.’

‘Ah, Africa – somewhere. How did you get from Africa to here?’ she asked casually. ‘Were you brought here?’

‘I come in brown paper twined-about with strings.’

It seemed that was all she was going to get.

‘What did you say your name was?’

‘Makishi. I am the One Who Circumcises Boys.’

A startled Alex interrupted with, ‘Does what?’

‘Never mind,’ said Chloe, ‘but you might want to get rid of that mask as soon as possible.’

She left the mask alone now and took some food from her bag. Their supply was getting very low. They would need to find another source soon. She wondered how she was going to feed Alex. Through the hole in the mask? She tried it, handing some to her brother, who said, ‘Thanks, sis,’ in that faraway voice and popped it through the opening. ‘Not as good as pigeon.’

What was he talking about? Chloe had far more to worry about than pigeons. Africa. What did she know about Africa? Her heart sank. Not very much.

‘Mask, what kind of grass are you made from?’

‘Strong grass. Elephant grass.’

‘So you’re very durable. You’ll last a long time?’

‘For ever.’


Nelson was having the best of times in the attic. It was one vast hunting ground, better than any garden he had ever owned. The place was teeming with mice, there were birds to be had in the dark corners of the eaves, and there were rats too. He’d already had a run in with a rat and of course had come off best, despite being handicapped. He didn’t consider himself at a disadvantage, having only three legs. It actually gave him an edge, since his adversaries took his invalidity for granted. They reckoned ill who did so, for he taught them a great lesson about three-cornered cats.

Now he was going through a strange place full of strange wooden faces, following two of his human family. Suddenly a creature popped out of the mouth of one of the masks and stood before him. The creature was human shaped, but about the size of a large rat. It showed its teeth to Nelson, who had never liked this gesture, even in his own family of humans.

‘Gaaaah!’ cried the creature before him. ‘Eeech!’

Nelson had no comprehension of these sounds and actually was now quite irritated by this strange thing which smelled of candles.

‘Urchhg. Aaaaach.’

It did a little dance before him, then took out some sharp needles and pricked Nelson’s nose with one of them. The sound that came from the small figure’s mouth sounded like triumph to Nelson. Nelson hated birds that crowed over him: and any other creature for that matter.

Another little dance and a stab with the needles.

Nelson had taken enough. He bit its head off.

The body ran away.

The head tasted just like candle. Nelson chewed it into a shapeless wad then spat it out in disgust. He loped on in as dignified a fashion as his missing leg would allow, thoroughly disgusted at the delay.


Jordy had not climbed Jagged Mountain, but had taken the long way round, skirting the foothills, never going higher than necessary. It was a long and tedious journey but once he had reached the other side he felt briefly invigorated and elated. Here he was, on his own, trekking where no man had been before. Or if they had, there was no sign of him in the dust, for Jordy’s were the only footprints. When he looked back there was a long line of them, stretching as far as he could see.

The only drawback was that he felt very, very lonely. Jordy liked company. He liked encouragement when things were going bad and he liked praise when things were going good. He did not like having to fall on his own resources the whole time, with no one to share in the glory or the defeat. The problem was Jordy was more lost than ever and had no hope of returning to the other two as he had promised.

‘Well,’ he said, divesting himself of the pack he now carried, ‘here I am on the other side of Attica.’

He sat down, took out some dried vegetables and crunched on them, studying what lay around him. Jordy too had been visited by a talkative bat in the middle of the night and told of a golden bureau if he would just keep his eyes skinned for soapstone carvings. But there were no hostile ink imps to be seen, nor any other kind of super-natural creature. An area covered with scattered tea chests lay ahead. Jordy stared hard at the nearest chest. He got up and went to inspect it. Tapping the plywood case he found it was hollow. The box was not only empty, it was upside-down. Looking around him he could see that all the tea chests were the wrong way up. Not only that, they were not placed at random. There was a roughly equal gap between each of them, as if they had been placed for a purpose.

Jordy looked up at the tangle of rafters overhead. No clues up there. Nothing but cobwebs and darkness.

Why would anyone place wooden boxes in a definite pattern?

Maybe, he thought, this is the work of an artist?

He wished Chloe were there so that she could argue with him.

Jordy sighed. It was no fun being brilliant on your own.

‘Time to get on,’ he told himself. ‘See if I can find that watch by myself.’

If Jordy had not believed in ‘ink imps’ before, he did now. Unlike the other two, he had extremely sharp eyes and had already caught full glimpses of ephemeral beings. Since they did him no harm he took little notice of them. These little figures formed out of the dust, travelled swiftly for a short distance, then disintegrated into a dust cloud again. Like small whirlwinds, or dust devils, but with definite human shape. Spirits of the attic, he decided, which should be ignored since they were unnatural beings. Jordy wanted no truck with things he couldn’t control or fully understand. He let them get on with their short lives and he would get on with his.

He hefted on the backpack and continued out on to the plain of tea chests. Under the chests the yellow boards stretched far away, becoming old gold in the distance. He could see something happening out there. Birds, surely? Like a flock of rooks rising and falling gently on a field of corn stubble. Were they birds? They looked just like rooks.

A short time later he stopped again, puzzled. There was a strange sound in the air. A sort of snicking noise. It seemed sinister and Jordy was worried by it, especially when it multiplied and rose in volume.

‘What’s going on?’ he mused.

He stared about. He could see nothing ahead or behind, nor even to the sides. Then he realised the noise was indeed coming from the front, but high up, in the apex of the roof. What was that? Glinting things. Little flashes of light: the sun’s rays caught on glass? No, not glass, he decided, metal. Metal objects flying through the air. What the hell were they? Snick, snick, snick, snick, snick. Hundreds of them. These were his rooks, clacking, clicking, snicking, snacking. There were some very large dark ones, some a little smaller but red and green like parrots, the smallest of them pure silver with the sun flashing from their wings. Incredible. Just like birds …

‘Bloody hell!’ he cried, throwing off his pack as a giant swarm of scissors, garden shears, secateurs and clippers descended from the rafters. They swooped down towards him, snicking furiously at the air a dozen times a second. Their intent was obvious: to snip pieces from the intruder. Their blades flashed back and forth, forming the double purpose of wings for flying and beaks for biting. The finger-holes of the scissors were like baleful eyes, leading the rest of the raptors in their descent on the foe.

Jordy went for the nearest hiding place, under a tea chest. Several sets of nail scissors, those fastest in flight, managed to snip locks of precious hair from his head and bits out of his clothes before he was safely under. Then the rest of the flock attacked the tea chest, going at it in a most alarming manner, like a thousand woodpeckers. The noise inside the chest was loud and terrifying. Jordy was curled up inside, his feet on the rim to keep the box from tipping over, wondering how he was going to get out of this terrible situation without injury.

When the metal birds had ceased their hammering on the box, Jordy quickly leapt out from underneath and ran back to the area where he’d stood before venturing out into tea chest country.

Of course, he thought, once he’d reached it and was looking back at the tattered remains of his rucksack, that’s what the tea chests were for. Whoever had placed them out there had done so in order that people – Atticans probably – could use them to cross the wasteland. They were to protect travellers from the savage scissor-birds.

‘If I’m going to get across,’ he told himself, ‘I’ll have to nip from one to the other – or maybe just use them when I hear the flocks coming in?’

He needed a weapon though, in case he got caught out in the middle. Something to whack them with. Jordy back-tracked a little to where there were piles of attic junk and found himself a job lot of cricket gear lying in a heap. The bat was old and the willow was dented in places, but it would do. He made a few practice swipes with it, through the air.

‘A six or a four, or even a single, I don’t mind,’ he muttered at the rafters. ‘You’re the balls, not me.’

He also discovered a batsman’s helmet which he put on to protect his head from the scissor-beaks. On his arms and legs he put batsman’s pads. Several jumpers were worn to protect his chest and a good thick pair of wicketkeeper’s gloves went on his hands. There were still vulnerable spots, still chinks in his armour, but for the most part he was covered. He took a cricket bag to replace the rucksack the scissor-birds had ruined.

Thus armed and attired he set out again, thinking: The deeper we go into Attica, the more hostile it becomes.

He dashed from box to box at first, but this became tire-some and eventually he strolled along, though ever watchful.

Indeed, he did get caught between boxes once. They came in as a swarm and Jordy stood ready at the crease as the first pair of scissors swooped on him. He swiped at the pair and caught them full on the blade. The scissors flew off the bat and hit a beam, one of its points sticking into the wood. They struggled, snicking and snacking back and forth, trying to release themselves, eventually breaking off the point and gaining freedom.

In the meantime, Jordy was fighting for his life, slashing other metal birds as they swooped on him. They went flying everywhere. Jordy did not escape completely. They attacked his armpads like demented hawks, ripping and tearing, until the stuffing came out. There was a hammering on his helmet and they tried to peck into his wicketkeeper’s gloves to get at flesh. But all the while he fought valiantly, making steady progress to the next tea chest, until he was safely underneath again and protected.

‘Bugger off!’ he yelled at them, as they rat-a-tat-tatted with fierceness on the outside of the chest. ‘Go and find a needlework box!’

Thus Jordy made slow progress across that part of Attica terrorised by scissors, secateurs, shears and clippers. They continued to harass him the whole way across, but Jordy had their measure now. He was not going to get caught out between boxes again. His progress between each tea chest was swift and calculated. The distances could not have been covered better had he been playing for England against the Aussies: one of his long-term dreams, after playing Premier League football and rugby against the Springboks.

Finally he reached a valley draped with the flags of nations and saw that they were intact. If those same flags had been in scissor country they would have been shredded, so he knew he was out of danger. He divested himself of his cricket gear, keeping only the bag. There was a forest ahead and he walked towards it.

*

They got by Katerfelto. It was the boy who did it.

‘Yes,’ replies the bat, ‘but with matches.’

A dangerous way to do it, I agree. But he hasn’t yet learned to use a mirror like us.

The board-comber always carries a woman’s powder compact on his person. Alex had used matches to provide the light to drive away Katerfelto, but board-combers and other attic-dwellers used mirrors. They redirected the sunlight, reflecting it on to Katerfelto’s form, thus obliterating him. Katerfelto, after all, was but a bundle of shadows. And shadows are easily made to vanish in the blinding light of mirror-directed sunbeams.

I still think it was very clever of him.

‘You won’t think it so clever of him when he burns down the attic.’

We’re coming up to the Land of Masks. Is she still around? The mask collector?

‘No, you know she’s not. That board-comber has gone.’

Where do board-combers go when they go?

‘Oh my,’ murmured the bat, folding and unfolding its wings, ‘here we go. A long philosophical debate that goes absolutely nowhere …’