Free Attica by Garry Kilworth Page B

of the attic stretched out behind them: the mountain stood square and daunting before them. There was no sign of Jordy. They could see his tracks in the dust: clear footprints leading into the foothills.
    ‘He said he’d be back quickly,’ Chloe stated to her brother. ‘Where is he?’
    ‘Got held up, I suppose.’
    ‘By what?’
    Neither of them wanted to guess.
    In the middle of the night, Chloe was wakened by a sound. She leapt to her feet and shone the torch. There, trapped in its beam was a bat, hanging from a nearby rafter. There was a pile of rags near it which Chloe did not recall having seen before. However, to her astonishment the bat seemed to speak to her in clear English.
    ‘There’s a map, you know.’
    ‘What?’ whispered Chloe, anxious notto wake Alex and scare him half to death with talking bats. ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘There’s a map of this place. It’ll have whatever it is you’re looking for. If you give me your treasure map I’ll tell you where it is.’
    Chloe was puzzled.
    ‘I haven’t got a treasure map.’
    ‘Yes you have, in your pocket. I seen you take it out. You’re always looking at it.’
    Chloe put her hand into her jeans pocket and found her list of favourite books. The sleepiness left her and her head began to clear. She realised that with a map there was a chance of discovering a place of watches. It was the best chance they had of finding Mr Grantham’s watch. And here was a creature who knew where there was a map of Attica.
    ‘Oh – oh, this map?’
    ‘We could swop. I’m always – I mean, my master is always – trading things for things. It’s how we get what we want. You want to find something. I can tell. And I want … well, never mind what I want. You haven’t got any, I can see. But you might know where other things are which can be swopped for the things that I – no, that my master – wants.’
    ‘I’m sure we could trade,’ said Chloe, who had been taught by an elderly aunt how to drive a bargain. ‘You tell me where the map is, and I’ll give you my map.’
    The bat hummed to itself for a while, then spoke again.
    ‘I tell you what, lady. You give me your map and if it’s treasure, then I’ll tell you where my chart is.’
    ‘Chart?’
    ‘Chart, map, it doesn’t matter what you call it. You need charts to cross the seas. You need maps to cross the deserts. Chart-cum-map is what you want.’
    ‘Seas and deserts? Is theattic really that big?’ Chloe’s heart sank for a moment.
    ‘Really, really. Big and dreary!’
    However, once she had absorbed the information – considered it was probably correct, for why would the bat lie? – Chloe remained firm. ‘My list – my map – only when you tell me where to find yours.’
    The bat hummed louder now, in an annoyed fashion, but Chloe was not afraid. When adversity calls, people either crumple or they find courage within themselves to rise above it. Chloe was definitely of the latter kind. Hope surged within her soul and filled her every vein and muscle. She told herself that to fall on the floor and cry was nothing short of pathetic. To stand up and look adversity in the eye, show it you were not made of clay, was the only way to survive.
    ‘Listen, bat, or whatever you are, you have the choice. Tell me where to find the chart–map or get lost. And don’t think of lying to me. I’ll know whether you’re telling the truth or not. My grandmother was a witch. She passed on some of her skills to me.’
    ‘A witch?’ chirped the bat in a higher tone. ‘A proper witch?’
    ‘As proper as you’ll ever meet,’ fibbed Chloe.
    There followed a short period in which the bat seemed to have a conversation with itself in low inaudible tones. Alex flopped on to his back and started snoring. Chloe carefully turned him on to his side again so the air stopped whistling out of his nose and mouth. Finally the bat called to her again and told her it was a deal.
    ‘The map,’ it said, ‘is to