There Ain't Gonna Be No World War Three, Chapter 5

5. The Walls Are Made Of Poo

"This is the police dog coming through now. He's a good lad, so I'm told. One of their best."

The dog was an Alsatian, large, shaggy and enthusiastic. Once his handler gave him the rag to sniff and let him go, he padded round in a circle hoovering up dust with his nose. Finally, he moved off in a not quite entirely straight course across the waste ground, still sniffing the ground urgently.

"He's picked up the scent", said the younger man happily. He was a black man, short and slight, wearing combat fatigues and a black T shirt. He was also wearing a heavy pistol in a shoulder holster. Unlike most pistols, this one had two rows of circular perforations down both sides of its barrel. "He's doing well." He looked down at a stopwatch in his hand. "Only five seconds so far."

The dog spotted the first obstacle - the wall. He followed the scent, with delicate precision, up to the wall's edge, then backed up, took a run at the wall and struggled over it, getting his front legs over and then pushing his back ones after.

"I couldn't jump a wall that high", said the young man, shaking his head admiringly.

"Some of us couldn't even climb a wall that high", scowled the older man. "Be thankful for small mercies, Corporal."

The next obstacle was a raised pipe, ten metres above the ground. The dog ran along it diligently, still sniffing with his nose. The trail led on through a length of the same gauge pipe, built through a brick wall too high to jump. The dog squirmed through the pipe, then finally, victoriously charged at a leather dummy at the far end. The dummy held a replica service revolver in one hand. The dog went for the gun hand, bearing the dummy down to the ground and knocking it off its armature. A siren sounded; the dog's handler, who had been watching from the sidelines, ran in and made a fuss of it. The dog bounced around happily.

"Amazing what they can do, these police dogs", said the younger man.

"Bring our man on", said the older man.

The younger man waved his hand. A second handler appeared; the siren sounded again. The dog was, again, an Alsatian, equally shaggy, though less playful and boisterous than the first. No affection was evident between the dog and its handler. This dog seemed to be looking at everything around it with cold, dispassionate alertness. It also, unmistakeably, dipped its head down occasionally to crop the grass.

"We've not been able to stop them doing the grass thing", said the younger man apologetically.

The dog was released, and ran round in a circle weaving its head, less like a dog than a shark. Very quickly, it picked up the scent and moved off on the same course as the first dog.

"Six seconds", said the younger man. "Not as quick with the old nose as a real dog, even with the new fuzzy logic module."

The dog ran up to the wall, and without breaking stride, sailed over it without touching the capstones. The impact it made on the other side sounded like a truck hitting a kerb at speed. It left four small craters in the earth.

"Let's handicap it a little", said the older man. "Hand me your sidearm."

"Sir?"

"Let's test it to destruction. Your gun, Corporal."

Reluctantly, the younger man handed over his weapon. Clearly, the older man was not expecting the great weight of the gun; his hand dropped as he accepted it.

"Loaded?" he said.

"Always", said the Corporal.

"I've never been able to get the hang of these new rocket models." The older man sighted up on the dog as it trotted out along the first pipe. He looked back at the corporal. "You're absolutely sure this is our dog."

The corporal nodded. "Number six, sir. Larry."

The older man turned back to the dog and squeezed the trigger. Every single one of the circular perforations burned with flame; the gun barely kicked in his hand. A blinding, instantaneous flash hissed from the gun muzzle, and the dog was knocked sideways by it, almost losing its balance on the pipe. It did not, however curl up and die, limp, or even whimper. Instead, it looked over its shoulder at the older man, almost contemptuously, and continued to trot onward, nose to the ground, occasionally stopping to nibble on a thistle.

"Why did it look back at me?" said the older man.

"Fixing your position as a possible future target, sir", said the corporal. "Don't worry, he'll continue to ignore you. He hasn't any instructions to defend himself at this aggression level."

"The new urban camouflage is convincing."

"Thank you, sir. We couldn't very well have had sheep running around down a German high street, could we, sir."

"Indubitably not, Corporal. Aha, he's coming up to the crawl. Is he still behind the police dog?"

"He's actually two seconds ahead now, sir."

"Excellent. Let's slow him down a little further." The older man sighted up again on the dog and fired twice more, causing Larry to deviate slightly from his path each time, returning back to the same course almost instantly. Larry bounced up to the unjumpable wall containing the pipe, appraised it for only a fraction of a second, then butted through it like a battering ram. Bricks buckled under the impact; what came out of the other side of the wall was no Alsatian. Bits of fake fur and skin hung off it in tatters, and what was left underneath glinted like bones and flesh should not. Bones and flesh, after all, seldom had manufacturers' serial numbers.

"That was a trifle unorthodox, Corporal."

"Sorry, sir. They're still thinking Sheep. The heavy head shielding, you see."

"But they have been modified to attack like dogs?"

"Oh yes, sir. You'll see the new jaw in action in just a second."

Larry galloped out of the ruins of the wall towards the leather dummy, which had been propped up again and given its replica firearm back. The dummy had a big friendly face which someone had drawn on with a magic marker. Larry leapt on the dummy and tore it to ribbons. Leather, gun, and the steel skeleton the dummy had been built on flew free right and left as Larry's jaws locked around the dummy's throat and shook, again, like a shark. Within seconds, the dummy was in more pieces than would have been safe for a human being.

"We're very satisfied with the new jaw assembly, sir."

"I can see why. How many seconds?"

"Five seconds on the police dog now, sir."

"How quickly can you get the Mark Four D to Germany?"

"We can have it shipped in to Grafenwöhr in the next two hours, sir. It won't go through customs. Grafenwöhr is a US military base."

"Tomorrow morning is adequate. They won't be there for quite some hours yet. And the mobile controller?"

"Will go with it, sir. We couldn't allow a dangerous piece of hardware like Larry to wander around without technical support."

"Thank you, Corporal. I have to say, I am very excited at the possibilities of this new technology. The Shadow Ministry were obviously appalled at the human cost of what happened the last time a Mark Four was deployed, but also very impressed by its capabilities."

"What happened in Bedfordshire was an accident, sir."

"I wish it were, Corporal. Unfortunately, human beings were involved. Enemy human beings. Traitors to the Queen. You have been given a valuable second chance. You and Lance Corporal Jennings. Do not waste that chance. Alpha Four is a very unpleasant place."

The younger man blanched and nodded his head almost firmly enough to stop himself shaking visibly. "Yes. Yes, Mr. Drague. Thank you, sir."

"Carry on, Corporal Wise. I am impressed with what I have seen today."

The Corporal saluted, turned on his heel and left.

***

The outside world had turned invisible. The windows of the coach had fogged up, and had to be wiped to see out. The coach seemed to have left the road, and was rumbling along what sounded like a gravel surface. Making a hole in the steam with his hand, Ant could see, in the headlights, a sign saying:

EVANGELISCHES FREIZEITHEIM MARTIN LUTHER
KEINE LAUTE MUSIK
KEINE UNTERHALTUNG NACH 2200 UHR
KEIN ALKOHOL

"That's nice", said one of the girls. "They named it after that black guy who got shot."

"I thought Martin Luther was Superman's arch enemy", said one of the boys.

"That's Martin Luther King", said Tamora. "I'm black so I know actually. He challenged the power of the Pope and reformed the church in Germany and allowed black people to travel on buses with white people before he got shot."

"What does 'EVANGELISCHES FREIZEITHEIM' mean?"

"Protestant youth hostel", translated Cleo.

"What does 'KEINE LAUTE MUSIK' mean?"

"No loud music."

"What does 'KEINE UNTERHALTUNG NACH 2200 UHR' mean?"

"No talking after 10 p.m."

"What does 'KEIN ALKOHOL' mean - hang on, actually, I think I can work that one out."

Cleo looked up at the forbidding concrete structure. "The basic theme of the place seems to be 'KEIN'."

The Evangelisches Freizeitheim was surrounded by what was probably, under a carpet of snow, extensive lawns. All of them were brilliantly floodlit. The windows, even on the first floor, were barred. The grounds were bordered by a wire fence, on which icicles sparkled.

The coach came to a shuddering halt in the frozen gravel outside the front of the building. Lights began flicking on inside it. Immediately, Nigel Devonport clapped his hands loudly, rose to his feet and strode commandingly up the coach.

"To me, Team Three! Let's get ourselves de-coached and into the dormitory with a minimum of fuss!"

Ant groaned.

"How did he get to be a Team Leader?" whispered one of the Year Sevens.

"He volunteered", said another.

From the front of the coach, Ant heard Fräulein Meinck's whistle.

"WIR SIND JETZT IN DEUTSCHLAND UND DESHALB SPRECHEN WIR VON NUN AN NUR DEUTSCH MITEINANDER", shrilled Fräulein Meinck's voice.

Ant looked at Cleo questioningly.

"From now on we will only be speaking German", translated Cleo. "Don't make a face, Ant. It's only a language. It can't hurt you."

"It's spiky. It's full of Z's and K's and V's and W's. I would hate to collide with it at speed."

"We are on a mission, Ant. Please try to concentrate."

Ant dragged his rucksack out of the luggage rack with a heavy heart.

***

"Now, what's this we have here?" said Nigel, looking sternly down at a miniscule gift bottle full of whisky he had found in one of the Year Sevens' suitcases.

"...it's a bottle of whisky, Nigel."

"And whisky's against school rules, isn't it, Ryan?"

"...yes Nigel."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to confiscate this and give it to Fräulein Meinck."

"Meinck'll drink it", said a voice from the top bunk. There was guilty smaning.

Nigel strode sternly up the dormitory. The dormitories were tiny exercises in how to squeeze in as many bunks as possible into as small a space as possible. The bunk beds were stacked two high, and there were individual fitted cupboards in the walls. The cupboards did not have locks. Ant had already decided that none of his own personal possessions would be occupying his own personal cupboard.

"Who said that?"

"I did."

Nigel's eyes travelled up the bunks.

"We haven't allocated the bunks yet. Get down from there."

"I call top bunk. Make me."

Nigel's eyes narrowed, though they had been small and mean and rather too close together to begin with.

"You're Armand Jeffries, aren't you?"

Armand Jeffries was a coloured boy, tall for his age though wiry, with hardly a scrap of fat on him. He wore an Arsenal shirt and a baseball cap, and horrible polyester Kappa trousers. He was lying on the bunk directly above Ant's, looking through a magazine which had a picture of a lady in a very tight swimsuit, standing in the door of a caravan, on the cover. He had the magazine open at the centre pages, and had turned it through ninety degrees, apparently to look at it better.

"Jeffries", said Nigel sternly, "that is very much against school rules."

"Cor", said Armand Jeffries to himself and to the general audience, "look at the shock absorbers on that."

Nigel reached out and snatched the magazine. He closed it and looked at the cover. The title of the magazine was WHAT CARAVAN MONTHLY.

"Crikey, Nigel", said Armand Jeffries. "If you wanted to borrow it, you only had to arsk. I never knew you were the caravannin type."

Nigel leafed through the magazine furiously, finding nothing but pictures of caravans parked on wild, desolate hillsides.

"There's a really good two-man job on page fourteen", said Jeffries helpfully.

The dormitory exploded with snickering disrespect. Nigel, his ears cerise, turned and walked out with his head held high and his shoulders back. He collided with one of the bunks on the way out but said nothing, stoically absorbing the pain.

Armand Jeffries cackled and farted extravagantly, causing further riotous laughter among those members of the dormitory who didn't want to be his next target.

"Hey, Stevens!" said Jeffries. "Your mum's private eyes en't turned up yet."

Ant had been laughing along with the others; his expression now soured into a frown. He looked up at the bunk above him, reached into his rucksack, turned a dial to FEAR and waited.

"Hey, Stevens! Just because Jake Moss en't here dun't mean you're gettin it easy. Your girlfriend Cleopatra paid me to block up the toilets onna bus."

"I know", said Ant.

"I fink she's fit", said Jeffries.

"I imagine so", said Ant.

"I fink she paid me cause she finks O'm fit", said Jeffries. "She needs some lovin from the J Man."

"That's nice", said Ant, lying back on the bed, his hand still in the rucksack.

"Are you jealous, Stevens? Would you like some lovin from the J Man?"

Ant grimaced silently and moved his finger onto a trigger.

"Hey, Stevens -"

Ant squeezed the trigger. The inside of the rucksack briefly flared a brilliant green and purple. There was a brief moment of silence, broken only by the soft sound of hands clutching feverishly at bedlinen.

On top of the top bunk, a scream rose like a siren.

"...aaaAAA MUMMY DON'T LEAVE ME! I EN'T GOT NO PANTS ON!"

A Kappa-coloured flash dropped past Ant onto the dormitory floor and tore out of the room down the top floor corridor. Ant heard a distant shriek of "MUMMY! ARMAND NEED PANTS!"

"What got into him?" said one of the Year Sevens.

"Obviously a deep-seated childhood trauma", said Ant, and turned over to sleep, his arms clasped around the rucksack.

***

"NOW LISTEN TO ME CAREFULLY, PRINCESSES. I am just like your wicked stepmother in a fairytale, in that I am NOT YOUR MUM. Your mum will pull your head out of the toilet just BEFORE the point of drowning. I will hold it in there and flush the chain again. I am not a teacher. I am not a policeman. I am under eighteen years old and if I kill you I will be tried as a minor. DO NOT MESS WITH ME. There will be no noise after lights out. There will be no snacking, no smoking, no drinking, no boys in the girls' dorms, no girls in the boys', no nicking other people's stuff and most of all, NO SPENDING HALF AN HOUR IN THE TOILET. Apart from those simple rules, we will be the very best of friends and you will remember me in coming years with fond appreciation as your Auntie Harjit and be inspired to send me cards at Christmas for the rest of your natural lives. IS THAT CLEAR. Say YES, HARJIT."

The dormitory responded sullenly: "YES, HARJIT."

"Good. Heart-to-heart over. I call top bunk."

Harjit Kaur was dumpy, squat and uninspiring to look at, and shorter, in fact, than Cleo, but had a voice fit to crack concrete. Two of the girls in Cleo's dormitory, Narinder and Sukhbir, were her sisters. Cleo had an uncomfortable feeling that she had temporarily become part of Harjit's extended family.

Harjit flopped onto the top bunk and began fluffing out the pillows.

"Hey, Shakespeare", she said, without looking down.

"Yes?" said Cleo.

"You thinking of taking any more road trips while we're out here?"

"That was a one-off", said Cleo. "I was sorting out a bathroom for my mum. I won't be needing to do that again."

"Yes. Well. Don't." Harjit cracked her knuckles, unfolded a lurid set of pink pyjamas and carefully positioned a pair of teddy bears at the foot of her bed.

"Which are they?" said Narinder.

"Angad and Gobind", said Harjit. "Nanak came to Aviemore with us. He's already been on holiday this year."

Narinder turned round and looked critically at the angle between the bunk and the dormitory's one tiny window, which was half closed by snow. "I don't think Gobind can see out of the window."

"Move him, then."

Narinder corrected the positioning of one of the teddy bears with exquisite care. Two of the Year Sevens, who were watching, looked at one another above mouths that were quivering into mocking smiles. Harjit looked up briefly with a glare like lava glow from the mouth of a volcano. The smiles vanished instantly and did not return.

Harjit began setting an alarm clock. "Narinder, how does this work? Meri smajhich nahi aanda. "

Narinder frowned. "Kaahli agge toye."

"Don't be cheeky. Wait a minute, I think I've got it -"

At that point, the corridor outside was filled with human howling.

"MUMMY! ARMAND GOT NO PANTS ON HIM BOTTOM!"

Teachers' voices, and the voices of the Freizeitheim staff, could be heard shouting in both English and German. Doors could be heard opening. Feet could be heard on the stairs.

"Fear setting", said Cleo with total lack of surprise. "Ant, you really need to get yourself some self control."

Without saying anything more, she opened her personal cupboard on the wall, slid her suitcase into it, and began unpacking. One of the other girls looked into the case.

"Cleo, are you sure you really need all that climbing equipment?"

***

"Where's breakfast?" said a Year Seven at Cleo's left elbow.

"Downstairs, I think", said another from her right. "In a room called the Ebzymer."

"Eßzimmer", corrected Cleo, and was answered with imitating cries of "EEUUWwwww! Essimer!" from the Year Sevens, who were trying to overtake her down a spiral staircase.

"That would be more impressive", said Cleo, "if you weren't still mispronouncing it. The 's' is followed by a 'z', which is pronounced like the 'ts' in 'flats', actually."

"EEUUWwww! Like the 'TS' in 'FLATS', actually!"

"Are you going to repeat everything I say in a sing-song voice, or do you actually have minds of your own?"

"EEUUWWwww -"

Cleo and her Year Sevens came out into a massive, clinically clean, tiled space mostly filled with benches and dining tables. The remainder was filled with what should have been a canteen counter, and instead was a long, low table covered in bread rolls, cheese, cold meat, a selection of marmalades, and breakfast muesli.

"Oh my god", said one of the Year Sevens. "Where is the egg? Where is the bacon?"

"Where is the milky chocolatey goodness of Dr. Vom's Honey Minty Fudge Nuggets?" said the other.

"EEUUWWw", said Cleo. "Where is the egg? Where is the bacon?" She began ladling muesli into a bowl. "This is muesli. It almost certainly means 'small cow' in German. It is good for you." She passed the bowl of muesli to a Year Seven, who looked at it as if it were a dead rat.

"Did they wrangle Jeffries back into his cage last night?" asked Cleo, settling onto a bench.

"Apparently he got all the way out the front door and almost all the way to the wire before one of the security staff brought him down", said the second Year Seven. "I'm Natalie, by the way."

"Brought him down?" said Cleo, pouring milk onto her muesli.

"Oh yes. They took him to the nurse's station and strapped him down for an hour before he calmed down. They're going through all the boys' bags looking for drugs. They think he must have taken something."

"Really?" said Cleo, accepting a gun-shaped object passed to her surreptitiously over her shoulder and slipping it into her bag. "Morning Ant. Sleep well?"

"Morning Cleo. Very well, thanks."

"I am glad you slept well. We did not sleep well. We were bothered by some inconsiderate person who caused a great deal of screaming, running back and forth. I wish people like that would think before they act, don't you?"

"I certainly do. Do any of you know where breakfast is?"

Cleo looked meaningfully down at her muesli. Ant stared in horror.

"No." The sheer low-calorie terror of the situation froze Ant in place, staring fixedly at the breakfast counter.

"But yes", replied Cleo. "Even the milk is semi-skimmed. You are going to be so healthy, Ant."

"Your belt doesn't go with your jacket", said Ant, sitting down grumpily.

Cleo was wearing a turquoise scrunchie, a pink tracksuit, and a magenta belt. "Your pants don't go with your T shirt", she said, without looking up.

"You can't see my pants."

"You are wearing the same pair of blue pants you always do, because you only own one pair of pants, which are blue." Cleo pulled out the day's itinerary from her bag and spread it out on the table.

Ant hung his head, chastened.

"URRRRR!" said Natalie. "You never wash your pants!"

"I do so wash my pants", said Ant defensively. "When they're in the wash I wear no pants at all."

"URRRRRR!"

"What are we doing today?" said Ant, looking out of the cafeteria windows. Outside, snow still glared in as if the whole world were one huge white-tiled bathroom suite "Whatever it is, I hope it's indoors."

"We are taking in the delights of the German sausage market", said Cleo with a shudder. "'The Lumpenburger Würstenmarkt has sold Blutwurst, Bratwurst and Leberkäse here on the banks of the Ober-Infarkt for generations'," she quoted from the itinerary. She held up the itinerary and showed Ant a picture of a smiling German man in national costume selling a sausage to another smiling German man, also in national costume.

"What's a Lumpenburger?" said Ant. "I'm not sure I want one."

"Someone from Lumpenburg", said Cleo. "Sesame seed buns are not involved. Put dill pickles from your mind."

"What's Blutwurst?" said Natalie.

"Blood sausage", said Cleo darkly.

"What's Leberkäse?" said Natalie's friend.

"It should be Liver Cheese", said Cleo, pulling an enormous German dictionary from her bag and leafing through an it. Natalie and Natalie's friend made faces at each other.

"Do they have a German salad market at all?"

"Regrettably not", said Cleo. "Aha! Here it is! Meat loaf!"

"Why do they call it liver cheese, then?" said Ant.

"Because they're foreign and don't know any better.” Cleo lowered her voice and leaned closer to Ant. “Ant - today's fun-packed schedule is not going to work for us. We are going to have to bust out and do our own thang."

"That's going to be difficult", said Ant. "Lumpenburg is forty kilometres from Spitzenburg."

Cleo looked at Ant oddly. "How do you know that?"

"I looked it up in one of my dad's road maps. Forty kilometres is twenty-five miles."

"Ant. You read an actual book?"

"It was a road map", said Ant uncomfortably. "It doesn't count as a book."

Cleo patted Ant's hand. "Ant, there's no shame in reading."

"There is in our house. I used to deliberately get caught reading books by my dad so he'd get all worried, buy me a new football and take me out to watch horror movies. He didn't want me to grow into some book-reading nancy boy. I've read the first chapters of Tom Sawyer, A Brief History of Time, Lord of the Rings, and Isaac Newton's Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica."

"Didn't you ever wonder what happened at the end of Lord of the Rings?"

Ant shrugged. "All stories are pretty much the same. I'd imagine they think they've killed Sauron the Dark Lord, but then they look out the window and his body's gone because he's not really dead and will return in Lord of the Rings 2."

Cleo shook her head. "No, that's The Silmarillion and The Hobbit. In any case, how are we going to get away from Fräulein Meinck and Herr Riemann? I'm afraid my team leader is very on the ball."

"So is mine", said Ant dejectedly.

"I can get rid of your team leader", said Cleo. "I'll just pay Armand Jeffries to do something bizarre."

"I can get him to do something bizarre for free", said Ant.

"I noticed", said Cleo. "I'll be holding on to your toy from now on. You are not responsible enough to use it wisely."

"CLEO -"

"Now, what I need is someone who looks exactly like me to walk round with my Team Leader for the afternoon while you and I get on a bus to Spitzenburg. A papier mâché dummy of me, if you will."

"MORNING LOSERS", said Tamora breezily, sitting down in between Ant and Cleo and squirming them aside with her buttocks. "Are we ready for the day's sausage fest?"

Cleo turned and looked at Tamora with the intensity of a serpent sliding towards prey. Tamora was wearing a magenta scrunchie, a pink tracksuit, and a turquoise belt.

"Little sister", said Cleo, "have I ever told you how much I love you?"

***
Lumpenburg was beautiful.

In Britain, a single half-timbered house constituted a tourist attraction, appeared widely in brochures, and was visited and photographed by disappointed-looking German tourists. The reason for the Germans' disappointment was now clear. Lumpenburg, Spitzenburg and half the German towns they'd driven past so far were filled with half-timbered buildings. The Lumpenburg town square was a mass of ancient, smoke-blackened upper storeys projecting out like the prows of ships above crowds of German shoppers going about their business below, apparently oblivious to the fact that the town they lived in was breathtaking. Mediaeval crests and coats of arms were nailed above every window, and the rooftops above the windows were groaning under a heavy load of snow, which had drooped down into icicles from the overhanging timbers. A massive bronze statue of a man with many muscles and far too few clothes stood leaning on a spear taller than he was in the centre of the square, surrounded by fountains. People's breaths were puffing out into the frigid air like kettle steam.

"VE ARE NOW STÄNDINK IN ZE HISTORIC TOWN SQVÄRE", said Fräulein Meinck, whose voice was by now beginning to grate on Ant's soul. "IT ISS ALL FACHWERK, VHICH IN ENGLISH IS KNOWN ÄSS HALF-TIMBER OR VATTLE ÄND DAUB. ZESE VALLS ARE MADE OF INTERVÖVEN STICKS -"

A hand shot up.

"YES, ARMAND?"

Armand Jeffries had suffered a severe loss of credibility after running around the youth hostel screaming that he had no pants. He was now making up for lost time. "WHAT WAS THAT LARST WORD, MISS?"

"INTERVÖVEN. VÖVEN TOGEZZER. ZE INTERVÖVEN STICKS ARE ZEN COVERED VIZ A PÄSTE MÄDE OFF CLAY AND CÄTTLE EXCREMENT -"

"URRR! MISS! THE WALLS ARE MADE OF POO?"

Fräulein Meinck nodded long-sufferingly. "YES, ARMAND. ZE VALLS ARE MÄDE OFF POO. ZE TOWN SQVÄRE OFF LUMPENBURG DÄTES BÄCK TO ZE FIFTEENTH CENTURY, ALZOUGH ZE SMALL CHURCH IN ZE CENTRE ISS ROMAN ÄND VAS BUILT TO COMMEMÖRÄTE ZE GREAT TSCHERMAN-ROMAN VICTORY AT HUNNENFELD IN 450 A.D. -"

Ant felt a chill travel down his spine.

He raised a hand.

"Er - Miss?"

"YES, ÄNTHONY?"

"What was the name of that place again?"

"HUNNENFELD, ÄNTHONY. ZE 'FIELD OF ZE HUNS'."

At the mention of the word 'Huns', the merest whisper of a giggle rippled through all four teams as they stood shivering on the cold cobbles. Fräulein Meinck's eyes narrowed.

"VE HÄFF BEEN SROUGH ZISS BEFORE, PEOPLE. ZE HUNS VERE A NOMÄDIC HORSE-RIDINK PEOPLE FROM CENTRAL ÄSIA, AND VERE VHAT ELSE?"

When no-one replied immediately, Fräulein Meinck reached for her whistle.

"NOTHING TO DO WITH GERMANS", parroted the teams sullenly before the whistle could be blown. Fräulein Meinck smiled in satisfaction.

"IN ACTUAL FÄCT, ZE HUNS ÄND ZE TSCHERMANS VERE DEADLY ENEMIES. AT HUNNENFELD, ZE ROMANS ÄND ZE TSCHERMANS, ALSO DEADLY ENEMIES, NEVERZELESS GÄZZERED TOGEZZER -"

"CAN YOU REPEAT THAT LAST BIT, MISS?"

"- NEVERZELESS GÄZZERED TOGEZZER AS ÄLLIES TO DEFEAT AN ARMY LED BY DENGIZICH, ZE SECOND SON OFF ATTILA ZE HUN, VHICH VAS SO LARGE ZÄT ZE GROUNT SHOOK AS IT MARCHED AND ZE RIVER RÄN YELLOW VHEN IT VENT TO ZE TOILET."

"Andwhere is Hunnenfeld, Miss?" said Ant. "Just curious."

"OUTSIDE SPITZENBURG, FORTY KILOMETRES FROM HERE. NOW, YOU ALL HÄFF DETAILED THIRTEEN-PÄGE VÖRKBOOKS CONTAININK QVESTIONS IN TSCHERMAN ZE ANSWERS TO VHICH YOU MUST OBTAIN BY INTERROGÄTINK ZE ORDINARY TSCHERMANS HERE IN ZE TOWN SQVÄRE. YOU MUST RECORD ZE ANSWERS." Fräulein Meinck raised a warning finger. "I MUST CAUTION YOU - SOME OF ZE TSCHERMANS IN ZE SQVÄRE ARE NOT AS ZEY MAY SEEM. ZEY ARE MEMBERS OFF ZE FREIZEITHEIM STAFF ÄND HÄFF BEEN INSTRUCTED TO PROVIDE VERY PARTICULAR ANSWERS. I VILL BE TSCHECKING ZOSE ANSWERS VERY THOROUGHLY. ANYVONE ATTEMPTING TO LEAF ZE SQVÄRE VILL BE LOCÄTED AND PUNISHED. ALSO LOS!"

Fräulein Meinck blew her whistle. Grumpily, the teams moved off into the crowds. Nigel turned to Team Three and clapped his hands loudly.

"NOW, PAY ATTENTION, TEAM - Jeffries, what are you doing?"

Armand Jeffries had separated from his team already and located an old lady inspecting mysterious German vegetables at a market stall, and was reading loudly at her from his list of questions. The old lady had a brown headscarf, a brown handbag, and a brown coat with matching brown accessories.

"ENTSCHULDIGUNG - TRÄGT GNÄDIGE FRAU UNTERWÄSCHE?"

The old lady looked up at Armand Jeffries and swung at him viciously with her handbag. Jeffries yelped and defended himself with his thirteen-page workbook. The man behind the stall was also yelling at him loudly in Bavarian. In order to improve the situation, Nigel strode boldly forwards and began yelling at Armand in English.

Ant looked across the square at Cleo, who made an OK signal with her thumb and forefinger. While all four teams were watching Armand Jeffries being beaten and yelled at in two languages, Cleo took two steps sideways into Team Four, and Tamora took two steps sideways into Team Two. Money changed hands as Cleo and Tamora passed each other. Scrunchies were also exchanged, so that in a matter of seconds, Cleo was wearing Tamora's scrunchie, and Tamora was now wearing Cleo's.

"All right, all right", said Serafina, the head of Team Four, waving her hand vaguely. "Do the asky-questiony thing, guys. I'll be over there with those rather hunky-looking Bavarian skateboarders." In Team Two, Harjit was already pointing out the specific Germans she wanted her own team to talk to.

"What if we want to talk to different Germans, Harjit?"

"Do it on your own time, individuality girl. If you spent as long doing it as you did complaining about it, it'd be done by now. Go forth and do. Are you feeling like a flight risk today, Shakespeare?"

"No", said Tamora, without having to lie in any way.

"Good", said Harjit. "I am so glad we are one big happy family."

Ant met Cleo at one of the exits from the square. The cobbles were slimy with ice, and he had to mind his footing. He could still hear Nigel, the stallkeeper, the old lady, and Fräulein Meinck yelling at Armand Jeffries.

"What did you tell him to say?" said Ant.

"I told him to ask her if she was wearing underwear", said Cleo. "Don't worry. He's being paid well enough for it."

"You do know he's only doing it because he thinks you fancy him", said Ant.

"Armand Jeffries thinks a girl fancies him if she makes eye contact with him for more than half a second", said Cleo dismissively. "He's got a severe case of testosterone poisoning."

"So - where do we go now?" said Ant.

Cleo pointed. "The station is that way. Once we're in Spitzenburg we can walk back to the Freizeitheim. But we'll have to get at least one bus. There is no direct connection. We will also have to interrogate Germans on the way to fill up our workbooks."

"I was afraid you were going to say that", said Ant. "Can't we just not bother -"

"HAAAAALT!"

One of the townspeople in the square had suddenly cried out and pointed in their direction. He had been bimbling quietly around the Town Hall, setting up a set of easels as a pavement artist, but now Ant could see clearly that his massive artist's beard was false and had the face of one of the Freizeitheim canteen staff behind it.

"ENTFLIEHER! ENTFLIEHER!" yelled the Freizeitheim man. "ALAAARM!!!"

"Oh my god", said Ant. "I thought she was bluffing."

Cleo looked up briefly and, with a monumental lack of concern, pointed her handbag at the pavement artist. The inside of the handbag flared green and purple. The pavement artist threw his hands in the air and ran away in terror.

"MUTTI! MUTTI! ICH HAB'KEINE UNTERWÄSCHE! MUTTI!"

Ant looked at Cleo sternly. "That's using the Orgonizer responsibly, is it?"

Cleo sniffed haughtily. "We were in dire need. Now let's get out of here. I don't think anyone noticed. We have a whole load of trains and buses to catch. And a black Mercedes", she said, looking across the street warily, "to lose."