Is by Joan Aiken Read Free Book Online

don’t want us at home. And you can’t go back to the workshop, now you’ve run off, Mrs Poss ’ud beat you till you couldn’t stand up.’
    In all this chatter and hubbub, Is, unused to crowds, felt very much alone.
    ‘I like you better than all of them,’ she told the ginger cat, still looking about for its owner. ‘Which one of them do you belong to?’
    ‘Hey – you – young ’un!’ shouted a harsh voice behind her. ‘That’s my Ginge you got there!’
    Turning, she saw one of the men jump down from the engine cab. He was the tall carroty-headed driver. He came towards her, scowling.
    ‘This kitty – yours?’ said Is distrustfully, still cradling the little cat protectively inside her crossed arms. But there was no mistaking the way in which, as soon as it saw the red-haired man, the kitten greeted him joyfully, leaping across on to his shoulder, then burrowing down into what was plainly its regular place, an inner pocket of his black jacket.
    ‘If he’s yours, you oughta take better care of him, mister!’ snapped Is. ‘That trolley nearly flattened him.’
    ‘One o’ the kids knocked him off me shoulder, time they all come scampering in,’ said the man defensively. ‘I was on the look-out for ’im. Anyway, you best get on board. We’ll be starting in a brace of shakes.’
    He added after a moment, in a lower voice, ‘Thanks, anyway, kid. I’d not want to lose him, he brings me luck. And he sure wouldn’t ha’ took to everyone the way he done to you – ’ glancing past her warily as if to make sure they were not overheard.
    ‘I got one too, called Figgin,’ said Is. And then, as she clambered on to the step of the last car before the freight wagon, she turned and asked, ‘Hey, mister – you go back and forth on this train? Any chance of sending summat back – a message – about my cat?’
    He shook his head quickly, violently, then leaned closer to her and murmured – while his eyes still continued to dart about the crowd – ‘Can’t be done, young ’un. There’s spies everywhere. The only cove I heard on what took back a message, he fell off the footboard while the train was goin’ acrost the Wash bridge – that was the end of him. I dassn’t do it, see, kid?’
    And he quickly walked away from Is, back to the engine and his one-eyed mate.
    Very thoughtful indeed, Is pulled herself up the steps and entered the train.
    Inside, she saw, the passenger car was gaily decorated in the same style as the station hall – in gaudy reds, blues, yellows and greens, with pictures of palm trees waving, dishes of greasy-looking tropical fruits, golden crowns and butterflies.
    YOU ARE ON YOUR WAY TO PLAYLAND said a sign. There were brass fittings and pink-shaded lamps, and the seats, set in alternately facing rows with an aisle down the middle, were covered in red canvas. On the floor was a red Turkey carpet, very much worn and spotted with grease.
    Is, who had never seen a train before, let alone travelled on one, found everything remarkable.
    ‘Why ain’t there any windows?’ she asked one of the red-coated men as he passed by, making sure that everybody was fitted into a seat somewhere.
    ‘Why,’ he replied, looking somewhat startled, as if no one had ever asked such a question before, ‘it’s because – that is to say – this train only travels by night – in the dark – so there’d be no point in having windows.’ And he went quickly on his way.
    ‘How long does the trip take?’ she called after him, but got no answer.
    Is found an empty seat beside a shabbily-dressed, dirty-faced, yellow-haired girl, who looked pretty, knowing, and stupid. She was already giggling and winking at the two boys in the facing seats opposite.
    ‘What’s yer name?’ the girl asked Is.
    ‘Is.’
    ‘Is? That’s a crummy kind o’ monacker! Mine’s Mary-Ann. What did you work at? Where’re you from?’
    ‘Blackheath,’ said Is, not bothering to answer the first