The Changes Trilogy by Peter Dickinson Page B

there are quite a lot of robbers in England now,” said Nicky. “Like those ones we fought on the other side of Aldershot—men who’ve got no way of getting food except by robbing the ones who have.”
    This set off another round of argument and discussion in Punjabi. The men seemed to become very excited; voices rose, eyes flashed, an insignificant uncle even beat his chest. Nicky edged back out of the circle to ask Gopal what they were talking about. He was allowed at the council, but he was thought too young to speak (Nicky wouldn’t have been listened to either if she hadn’t been the Sikhs’ canary).
    Gopal laughed scornfully, but he looked as excited as the rest.
    â€œThey are going to make weapons,” he said. “Swords and spears and steel-tipped arrows. A Sikh should carry a real sword when times are dangerous. But I’ll tell you a joke—we Sikhs won most of our battles with guns; we used to run forward, fire a volley and then run back until we had time to reload. It doesn’t sound very brave, but all India feared us then. What’s the matter, Nicky? Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. But they won’t make guns now; instead they’ll turn this farmyard into a fort which we can defend against the robbers.”
    After that the council became less serious, dwindling into boastings and warlike imaginings. Gopal translated the louder bits.
    â€œMy Uncle Gurchuran says we must capture horses and turn ourselves into cavalry, and then we can protect the whole countryside for a fee. A protection racket. We often lived like that in the old days.… Mr. Parnad Singh says his father was Risaldar at an archery club in Simla, and he will teach us all to shoot. A risaldar is a sort of sergeant.… My Uncle Chacha is teasing him and Mr. Parnad Singh is angry.… My Uncle Jagindar is trying to smooth him down; he says it will be useful to have a good shot with a bow for hunting, and that Uncle Chacha must be careful what he says, because he is so fat that he’ll make an easy target. That’s unfair because Uncle Chacha is the quickest of them all, and the best fighter. You saw how he fought against those robbers. Now he’s pretending to be angry with Uncle Jagindar, but that doesn’t matter because it’s inside the family.… My grandmother is speaking. She says we must all be careful how we talk to one another, because we are in a dangerous world and we can’t afford to have feuds with one another. My goodness, she says, we Sikhs are a quick-tempered people. She’s beginning to tell a story. She tells pretty good stories, for children and adults too.”
    The council had fallen silent at the creak of the old woman’s voice. There had been a brief guffaw of laughter at her second sentence, but that was all. One of the men turned to glare at Gopal because his translation was spoiling the silence. He too stopped talking.
    The story was not long, but the old woman told it with careful and elaborate gestures of the hands, as though she were the storyteller at some great court and had been sent for after supper to entertain the princes. Nicky could hear, even in the unknown language, that it was the story of a fierce quarrel between two proud men. She looked along the outer circle of children and saw Ajeet sitting entranced, mouth slightly parted and head craning forward as she listened and stared at the elaborate ceremony of the fluttering hands. Ajeet’s lips were moving with the words, and her hands made faint unconscious efforts to flutter themselves.
    All the Sikhs laughed when the story ended, then broke into smaller chattering groups. Nicky crossed to where Ajeet still sat staring at the orange firelight.
    â€œWhat was the story about, Ajeet?” she said.
    â€œOh, I don’t know,” said Ajeet in her usual near whisper, shy and confused.
    â€œPlease tell me. I like to know anything your grandmother says. She is