Is by Joan Aiken Page B

was about to beat a retreat to the freight car. But now she heard more voices, coming from behind her. It seemed that any minute she must be spotted.
    Suddenly there was a commotion outside.
    Whistles were blown, long and loud. Sirens sounded. There were shouts, apparently of warning.
    ‘One’s missing. One’s missing! They’re one short from the wagons. Where’s number two hundred and three? Search the train!’
    Is, meanwhile, had crawled under a seat. It was all she could do. But, at the far end of the car, the two cleaners had begun pulling the seats from their sockets in the floor and rolling up the filthy carpet as they moved along.
    ‘Dag it, if it ain’t one thing it’s another,’ said one, at the sound of the whistles. ‘How could there be a kid missing? Sure there’s noon in here.’
    ‘In among baggage, mebbe. Joost as well they counts ’em in and oot so careful.’
    They went on with their work, pulling out seats and rolling up carpet. Two minutes more, thought Is, and they are bound to find me.
    But just then there came another outburst of shouts outside, and a man’s frantic scream.
    ‘Ah, ye black-hearted devils, don’t do that! I never! I never! I said naught to no one!’
    ‘Bowen says he heard ye talking to a passenger.’
    ‘I never! I was talking to my cat!’
    The scream came again, and the furious yell of a cat. Under her seat, Is clenched her hands. The two cleaners walked back to the far entrance and looked out.
    As soon as they did so, Is, with inspiration born of sheer terror, rolled out from under the seat and dived headfirst into the roll of Turkey carpet which lay halfway along the compartment.
    She had just time to draw her legs out of sight before the two men came back to their job. One was saying doubtfully, ‘Well, I dunno. It’s a bit hard, I think. Poor devil. After all, they don’t knaw naught for sure . . .’
    ‘There’s a kid missing, ain’t there?’ said the other. ‘And they gotta make examples.’
    They hoisted out two more seats and roiled up another section of carpet, with Is inside. It was dreadful in the roll; pitch-dark and fetid. She lay and shivered, thinking of the red-headed man. That had certainly been his voice outside. What had they been doing to him? And his cat?
    When the cleaners had worked their way right along the compartment, uprooting all the seats and rolling up the whole length of dirty carpet, they carried it out of the train.
    ‘By gar, it’s heavy,’ said one.
    ‘All the moock that’s on it,’ said the other. ‘They’ll have a rare job washing it, this time.’
    Is imagined them dropping the roll into a tank of soapy water with herself still inside. She gulped. However, this did not happen straight away. The carpet was dumped on a hard stone surface and left, presumably while they went back to give the same treatment to the other cars on the train.
    Is dared not move, for she could hear people walking and talking close by. Miserably, she thought about the red-headed driver – and his cat – and wondered how long she could stand this imprisonment in the filthy roll of carpet. Each time the men had rolled it over, the layers around her had grown bulkier and heavier, more and more stifling.
    ‘How many, then?’ shouted a voice close at hand.
    ‘Three – and this one. T’others’ll pass.’
    ‘Fetch oop t’bogey, Dan.’
    While Is was still wondering what a bogey might be, she felt the roll lifted with her inside it and dropped on to a different surface. There were thuds as more rolls, several more, were dumped alongside hers, and one on top.
    ‘Tie a cord over t’lot,’ somebody ordered. ‘Reet, that doos it. G’ddap, then.’
    A horse’s hoofs clattered, iron wheels grated on stone. The motion that followed next was particularly sickening, as the bogey swayed and jolted violently over what felt like large cobbles. Fortunately the journey did not last very long. After about ten minutes – quite long enough –