Free Grimsdon by Deborah Abela Page B

the old man stammered.
    â€˜Do you think it’s working?’
    â€˜Not yet.’ His face creased. ‘Soon maybe.’
    Xavier swerved his head around the fish and jumped to his feet. The man stumbled back, holding the fish out like a sword. ‘Don’t come near ... intruders ... trespassers. What do you want?’ He squinted. ‘Are you real?’ He leapt forward and pinched Xavier’s arm.
    â€˜Ouch!’ Xavier rubbed at his sleeve. ‘A little bruised but, yes, we’re real.’
    â€˜I’m Isabella and this is Xavier. We didn’t know anyone was here. We needed to hide from the men who were after us.’
    The man calmed a little. ‘Men?’ He sniffed. ‘Haven’t seen any for a while, eh, Snowy?’ He turned to the bear again. ‘Not lately. Thought they gave up. Thought everyone did. Alone. All alone...’
    He again fell into incoherent mumbling.
    Isabella stepped closer. ‘Who are you?’
    â€˜I ask the questions!’ The old man thrust the fish in her direction, but it slipped from his hands. Isabella ducked just in time. It slammed against the wall and slid to the floor.
    â€˜Ooops. Sorry. Slippery ... tasty, but slippery. Apologies.’ He wrung his hands.
    â€˜Go on then,’ Xavier said. ‘Ask your questions.’
    He opened his mouth, then closed it. ‘Got none.’ He flopped into a red, freying armchair and laughed quietly – until he sprang upright.
    â€˜Fish. I’ll cook fish.’ He raced over, picked up the flung fish and brushed it off. ‘Tasty. You watch. Mmm mmm. Best ever.’
    He tore clumps of pages out of the ripped book and twisted them into long strips. Isabella went to stop him but Xavier held her back. He wedged the strips between pieces of wood, and the fire was soon filling the stove.
    Laying the fish between two pieces of steel mesh, he tied the corners with wire and placed it on the flames. He sat in his lounge chair, a proud grin across his grizzled face. ‘Tasty. You’ll see.’ He tore some more pages and twisted them into strips.
    Isabella snatched her arm away from Xavier. ‘You can’t burn books.’
    â€˜Can,’ the man replied. ‘Just did.’
    â€˜But it’s not right. They’re ... books.’
    â€˜They burn well. No other use for ’em.’
    â€˜You could read them. Learn from them.’
    The man burst into a throaty laugh that shook his body. ‘Too late for that. Wrote lots of ’em. No good. Might as well burn ’em.’ He shook his head.’
    â€˜You’re an author?’ Xavier asked.
    â€˜No, I’m...’ He grabbed the handle of the wire mesh and held the fish in the air. ‘Can’t remember...’ He shrugged, flipped the fish and put it back on the fire. ‘I warned ’em. About the water. No-one listened.’
    â€˜You wrote about the floods?’ Isabella asked.
    â€˜Yes, yes, yes. Books, articles. Lots of us did. All scientists.’ His bushy eyebrows sailed up his forehead. ‘That was me. A scientist. Ha! Ask Snowy. He’ll tell ye. Told them what they needed to do. Didn’t listen. Said it couldn’t happen. Ha!’
    His body slumped; his eyebrows and voice lowered. ‘A few listened, not enough.’ He picked up a book. ‘If no-one listens, no point talking.’
    â€˜You knew the floods would happen?’ Isabella asked.
    He nodded. ‘We had proof.’
    â€˜And the government knew?’
    â€˜They asked me to...’ He clicked his fingers, searching for the word. ‘Write! To write a report. Told ’em there’s more water today than at any other time in human history. Told ’em the city wasn’t prepared, needed to rebuild the barriers. They seemed convinced, then said no! Just like that.’ He frowned. ‘One year later, floods hit. My plan needed ten months. Sad waste.’
    He leapt from