Free Sky Run by Alex Shearer Page A

ever nearer, until eventually we could make out signs of habitation; there were clusters of ornate buildings and fine houses on one side of it, but on the other there was a kind of shanty town of makeshift, temporary-looking structures and banged-together homes. These were patchwork and multicoloured and crowded in close together. It was a
barrio
, a ghetto, a township – so Peggy said – the kind of place where poor immigrants might live as they waited for opportunity to come their way and to get a handhold on a better life.
    â€˜There’s the harbour!’ Martin called. He was at the prow, holding Peggy’s old telescope up to his eye. ‘And there’s the name sign.’
    And there it was too. Proud and tall, standing up on the hills, visible for a long way.
    IGNORANCE, it read. NO FINER PLACE TO BE.
    â€˜Peggy,’ I said. ‘It is called Ignorance. It looks like the chart was right after all.’
    â€˜Yes,’ she said, with a sour note to her voice. ‘Doesn’t it though?’
    She didn’t sound at all happy about it.
    â€˜Take the sails in, will you, Gemma?’
    I went and lowered them, and we drifted in to land. Some people were gathered on the jetty; they were short and squat, but friendly-looking, dressed in tattered clothes. Some didn’t even have sandals, just a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.
    We threw them a line and they helped us tie up.
    â€˜Thank you!’ I called.
    But as I did, a slim, elegant and finely dressed woman appeared. She was a head or more taller than the labourers on the jetty and was beautifully manicured and had highlighted hair. Her arms and fingers and ankles and throat were laden with bracelets and jewellery.
    â€˜It’s all right. There’s no need to thank them. They’re only Drools. But do step onto our island. You’re very welcome. It’s not often we get visitors.’ And she took us in with her eyes, and weighed us up in her estimation. ‘Of any description,’ she added. ‘Guests are quite a novelty here. So please, do join us.’
    She indicated the jetty. So we followed the sweep of her hand and got down from the boat and joined her.
    â€˜And are you all the people on board?’ she said, as if she expected us to have a few servants along to carry the bags and stir the tea.
    â€˜We are. I’m Peggy,’ Gran said. ‘And these are … well … these are kin. Great-great-grand-niece and nephew. Gemma and Martin. We need to make some repairs to our solar engines. I was taking them to City Island, but we ran into trouble.’
    â€˜Oh, City Island! What fun. I haven’t been there in ten turnings or more. Were you going for the shopping? Or the opera?’
    â€˜We’re going there so they can get an education,’ Peggy told the woman, who clapped her hands together at this news, as if it were all great fun and so frightfully amusing.
    â€˜Education!’ she said. ‘How quaint! Oh, wait until I tell the others. They will be entertained. But anyway, do come along. Come on up to the house and let me introduce you.’
    â€˜Erm, but how about –?’
    â€˜No, don’t worry about your boat. The Drools will look after it. They’ll do all that. You won’t need to do anything. They’ll fix the solar engines for you. They’re ever so clever in their way, at practical things and so on. So good with their hands, you know. Just maybe not so much up top. We leave all the manual work to them.’
    â€˜I can fix it myself,’ Peggy said. ‘I just need the –’
    But the woman wouldn’t have it.
    â€˜Oh, no, no, no,’ she said. ‘I won’t hear of it. No, you can’t possibly get your hands dirty. That’s a Drool’s job. They don’t mind it. They enjoy it, really.’
    â€˜We’re not afraid of getting our hands dirty,’ Martin piped up. ‘We can get them dirty as you