As Dartbristle helped Suzy out and she and Arthur stood at the rim of the trapdoor, all this activity ceased. The children stopped their games and activities and turned to look at the new arrivals.
‘Wotcher!’ said Suzy, and went to tip her hat. She got halfway to her head before she remembered it wasn’t there, and so had to be satisfied with a wave.
The grease monkeys didn’t wave back. They stood there, staring, until the one who was apparently asleep on the table rubbed her eyes and sat up. She looked like a typical Piper’s child, with her ragged, self-cut hair, dirty face and oil-stained coveralls. But from the way the other grease monkeys’ eyes shifted toward her, Arthur could tell she was the boss.
‘Mornin’,’ she said. ‘Dartie here says you’ve been demobbed and sent back, with a washing between the ears behind you.’
‘That’s right,’ said Arthur. ‘Uh, I think.’
‘I’m Alyse Shifter First Class,’ said the girl. ‘I’m gang boss of this bunch, the Twenty-seventh Chain and Motivation Maintenance Brigade of the Upper House. What’re your names and classifications? Don’t tell me your House precedence – we don’t bother with that here.’
‘Uh . . . I can’t quite . . . remember,’ said Arthur. ‘I think my name’s Ray.’
‘Got your paperwork?’ asked Alyse, holding out her hand.
‘Lost it,’ muttered Arthur.
‘Somewhere,’ added Suzy vaguely. ‘Think my name’s Suze, though.’
‘Suze and Ray,’ said Alyse. ‘Well, what’s your classification?’
‘Uh . . .’ Arthur let his voice trail off as he looked around in what he hoped was a gormless manner, till he spotted a long line of coats and other items hanging from coat hooks down the far wall. Each hook held a duckling-yellow peaked rain-cap, a rubberised yellow rain-mantle and a broad leather belt loaded with pouches, tools and a holster that held a long, shining silver shifting wrench.
‘I think I used to do up nuts,’ he said. ‘For bolts?’
Alyse looked at him.
‘You got long enough arms for it,’ she said. ‘Nut-turner, I guess. Maybe First Class. What about you?’
‘Dunno,’ said Suzy. ‘Forget. Reckon I could turn my hand to anything, though.’
Alyse looked her up and down and shrugged.
‘Nice under-belt,’ she said. ‘Blue-sky wisher, are you? You must be a Wire-flyer?’
‘Maybe,’ agreed Suzy guardedly.
‘What’s a Wire-flyer?’ Arthur asked.
‘You did get scrubbed good and proper,’ said Alyse. ‘Try and remember! I’m talking installation, not maintenance. A Wire-flyer flies the guide wires up, so as the Rail-risers can put up the rails for the Chain-runners and the Hook-’em-ups can slot in the desk unit and the Nut-holders and Bolt-turners make it fast and the Shifter gives the word. Only if we’re not building up, the Wire-fliers do odd jobs, help out the Chain-oilers, stuff like that. Coming back to you now?’
‘A . . . a bit,’ said Arthur. He didn’t need to act confused by her explanation.
‘Have to see it, I reckon,’ said Suzy. ‘Picture paints a thousand words. Is that tea over there?’
‘It’ll come back to you,’ declared Alyse, ignoring Suzy’s question. She held out her palm, spat in it, and offered her hand to Arthur. ‘Welcome to the Twenty-seventh Chain and Motivation Maintenance Brigade, or as we like to call it—’
‘Alyse’s Apes!’ roared the assembled grease monkeys.
Arthur shook hands, and Alyse spat again. Suzy spat on her own hand and Arthur thought he should have spat on his too, and hoped his recently washed-between-the-ears state would let him be forgiven for this lapse in Piper’s child etiquette.
‘Tea’s in the pot,’ said Alyse, pointing to the huge teapot that was simmering on a trivet above a glass spirit burner in the corner. She then pointed to a large and decrepit-looking cuckoo clock that had half-fallen off the wall and was slumped just above the floor at an odd angle. Its hands still moved and Arthur could hear the quiet thock-thock-thock of its inner workings. It said the time was seventeen minutes to twelve.
‘Help yourself. Shift starts at twelve, so get a cup down you while you can. Don’t forget to check your gear before noon.’
Alyse yawned and began to lie back down on the tabletop, but one of the other grease monkeys called out, ‘Alyse! Which pegs do they get?’
Alyse scowled and sat back up again.
‘Never a moment’s rest,’ she sighed, though Arthur was sure she had been sound asleep when he arrived. She opened one of the pockets on her coverall and drew out a thick and well-thumbed notebook. ‘Let’s see. Yonik was the last one to fall, so his peg’s free – that’s number thirty-three. Before that was Dotty—’