“When the school building watcher saw she wasn’t here this morning,” said Hot Sauce, “he left.”
“Okay.”
“He came back twenty minutes ago. It’s an organised watch.”
“By who?”
“I don’t know. But she’s being protected. Her vehicle had a grille,” said Hot Sauce.
Nona had to admit that she did not understand the significance of the vehicle having a grille. Hot Sauce explained it was so that you could drive it through rocks or people.
“So what do we do?” Nona wanted to know. “I guess someone’s looking after the Angel already.” It was beginning to dawn on her that this level of care was strange when directed at someone whose contribution to the world was Noodle and the Hour of Science, which was truly wonderful but only really important to the refuge school. She added doubtfully, “Why is the Angel so special?”
The main teacher materialised behind them. “Nona, aren’t you going home for lunch?”
It was then that Nona realised that nobody had come to pick her up.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Can I stay here until Cam comes?”
The nice lady teacher looked troubled, then tried to hide it. Because she really wasn’t that much older than Camilla, Nona didn’t think the hiding worked. She was really just a baby herself, Nona thought suddenly.
“Of course you can. Why don’t you take one of the lunches and get yourself a mat? There’s plenty to go around. It seems like everybody’s eating at home today.”
Hot Sauce said, “They’re raising a broadcast, is why.”
“What?” This startled the teacher. “Do you mean from the government building? This is the first I’ve heard of it.” But when Hot Sauce stood there stolidly not elaborating, the teacher said, “And here’s us without a working radio. Hi, Aim! Do you know anything about this?”
The Angel came over. She had another coffee clutched in her hands and was stirring sugar into it vigorously, despite the fact that it was deep into the heat of the day. She said, “Heard what?”
“The children—I mean, Hot Sauce and Nona—say there’s going to be a public broadcast. I thought they ran out of money for that a year ago. I’ve certainly heard nothing but pirate radio for months. Is it going to be about the port? Do you think they’ll start arrests?”
The Angel took a blistering sip of coffee even though she must have known it was much too hot; she was holding it gingerly, through her shirtsleeves. She sipped anyway in order to draw the moment out. Nona was interested that the Angel didn’t even seem surprised, that she only looked extra sodden and tired.
“I have heard something about that, yes,” she said. “Who knows?”
“It’s strange. They would always put out a paper notice, before.”
“That was in the old days. I guess they must’ve been in a hurry.”
“Does that mean—are we finally going to hear about—”
“Joli, little pitchers,” said the Angel.
“Come talk to me in the kitchen.”
When they had gone, Nona said to Hot Sauce, “Should we go listen to a radio too? There’s one down at the dairy.”
“Don’t need one,” said Hot Sauce. “I know what they’ll say. Who’s here?”
The teacher had been right and mostly everyone’s parents had come to take them home, or the children had drifted off at a prearranged signal. Younger Brother Father had come to retrieve Born in the Morning, and Beautiful Ruby had gone home too. There was nobody to come and get Honesty, but he had taken his packed lunch and slunk off to sell his pills—Nona disapproved; it was too hot for drugs. This left Nona, Hot Sauce, and Kevin. Kevin had arranged six mats in a pile and curled up knees to nose in the debris of a hastily eaten lunch: all the good bits out of the cold noodles, the centres out of all the sandwiches.
Nona reported this.
Hot Sauce said— “You’ll stay, Nona.”
“Yes,” said Nona, who would sooner have died on the spot than refuse, and amended after a thought: “Unless Cam comes to get me, that is. I don’t want Camilla to worry about me today.”
“Sure,” said Hot Sauce.
Nona didn’t want the packed lunch, but anyone who might care about what she ate was off in the kitchen, so she got to do exactly as she pleased. She sucked on ice cube after ice cube and then, in a gluttonous excess, chewed half a pencil to splinters. She loved the cool sandy core of grey stuff and the painted, painful crunch of the wood, which came away to bits in her teeth. Hot Sauce watched, mild and unafraid, and drank a tiny sweating bottle of strawberry yoghurt drink.