Johnny and the Dead

Chapter 4

It was later that morning.

There was a new library in the Civic Centre. It was so new it didn't even have librarians. It had Assistant Information Officers. And it had computers. Wobbler was banned from the computers because of an incident involving a library terminal, the telephone connection to the main computer, another telephone line to the computer at East Slate Air Base ten miles away, another telephone line to a much bigger computer under a mountain somewhere in America, and almost World War Three.

At least, that's what Wobbler said. The As- sistant Information Officers said it was because he got chocolate in the keyboard.

But he was allowed to use the microfiche readers. They couldn't think of a good reason to stop him.

'What're we looking for, anyway,' said Bigmac.

'Nearly everyone that died here used to get buried in that cemetery,' said Johnny. 'So if we can find someone famous who lived here, and then we can find them in the cemetery, then it's a famous place. There's a cemetery in London with Karl Marx in it. It's famous for him being dead in it.'

'Karl Marx?' said Bigmac. 'What was he famous for?'

'You're ignorant, you are,' said Wobbler. 'He was the one who played the harp.'

'No, Karl was the one who usedta talka lika dis,' said Yo-less.

'Actually, he was the one with the cigar,' said Wobbler.

'That's a very old joke,' said Johnny severely. 'The Marx Brothers. Hah, hah. Look, I've got the old newspaper files. The Blackbury Guardian. They go back nearly a hundred years. All we've got to do is look at the front pages. That's where famous people'd be.'

'And the back pages,' said Bigmac.

'Why the back pages?'

'Sports. Famous footballers and that.'

'Yeah, right. Hadn't thought of that. All right, then. Let's get started

'Yeah, but ...' said Bigmac.

'What?' said Johnny.

'So this Karl Marx, then,' said Bigmac. 'What films was he in?'

Johnny sighed. 'Listen, he wasn't in any films. He was ... he led the Russian Revolution.'

'No he didn't,' said Wobbler. 'He just wrote a book called, oh, something like It's About Time There Was a Revolution, and the Russians just fol- lowed the instructions. The actual leaders were a lot of people with names ending in ski.'

'Like Stalin,' said Yo-less.

'Right.'

'Stalin means Man Of Steel,' said Yo-less. 'I read where he didn't like his real name, so he changed it. It's Man of Steel in English.'

'What was his real name?'

'His secret identity, you mean,' said Yo-less.

'What are you talking about now?' said Bigmac.

'No, I get it. Man of Steel? Yo-less means he could leap Kremlins in a single bound,' said Johnny.

'Don't see why not,' said Wobbler. 'I always thought it was unfair, the way the Americans got Superman. They've got all the superheroes. I don't see why we couldn't have had Superman round here.'

They thought about it. Wobbler then spoke for them all.

'Mind you,' he said, 'round here he would have had trouble even being Clark Kent.'

They disappeared under the hoods again.

'What did you say the Alderman was called?' said Wobbler, after a while.

'Alderman Thomas Bowler,' said Johnny. 'Why?'

'It says he got the Council to build a memorial horse trough in the square in nineteen hundred and five,' said Wobbler. 'It came in useful very quickly too, it says here.'

'Why?'

'Well ... it says here, the next day the first motor car ever to arrive in Blackbury crashed into it and caught fire. They used the water to put the fire out. Says here, the Council praised Alderman Bowler for his forward thinking.'

They looked at the microfilm viewer.

'What's a horse trough?' said Bigmac.

'It's that big stone trough thing that's outside Loggitt and Burnett's Building Society,' said Johnny. 'The one that's been filled with soil for a tasteful display of dead flowers and lager cans. They used to put water in those things for coach horses to drink out of.'

'But if cars were just coming in,' said Bigmac slowly, 'then building things for horses to drink out of was a bit—'

'Yes,' said Johnny. 'I know. Come on. Let's keep going.'

... WHEEEsssh ... we built this city on ... ssshshhh ... on the phone right now ... wheeesshhh ... that was at Number Two ... ssshwupwup ... told a meeting in Kiev ... wsswssshsss ... Prime Minister ... shsss . .

. today ... shhssss ... scaramouche, can you ... shssssss , . .

The tuning knob of the little radio behind Mr Vicenti's grave turned back and forth very slowly, as if it was being moved with great effort. Occasionally it would stop on a programme, and then move again.

... ssshhhwwwss ... and the next caller ... shhwwsss ... Babylon . . .

And around it, for quite some distance, the air was cold.

In the library, the boys read on. Silence surrounded them. The Assistant Information Officers grew worried, and one of them went to find the

cleaning fluid and the bent paperclip for get- ting chocolate out of keyboards.

'Let's face it,' said Wobbler, eventually, 'this is a town where famous people don't come from. It's famous for it.'

'It says here,' said Yo-less, from his viewer, 'that Addison Vincent Fletcher of Alma Terrace in- vented a form of telephone in nineteen twenty- two.'

'Oh, great,' said Wobbler. 'Telephones had been invented years before that.'

'It says he said this one was better.' 'Oh, yes,' said Wobbler. He dialled an imaginary number. 'Hello, is that— Who invented the real telephone, anyone?'

'Thomas Eddison,' said Yo-less. 'Sir Humphrey Telephone,' said Bigmac. 'Alexander Graham Bell,' said Johnny. 'Sir Humphrey Telephone?

'Hello, Mr Bell,' said Wobbler, speaking into an imaginary mouthpiece, 'You know that telephone you invented years ago? Well, mine's better. And I'm just off to discover America. Yes, I know Christopher Columbus discovered it first, but I'm discovering it better.'

'It makes sense,' said Bigmac. 'If you're going to discover somewhere, you might as well wait until there's proper hotels and stuff.'

'When did Columbus discover America, any- way?' said Wobbler.

'Fourteen ninety-two,' said Johnny. 'There's a rhyme: In fourteen hundred and ninety-two,

Columbus sailed the ocean blue.'

Wobbler and Bigmac looked at him.

'Actually, he could have got there in fourteen ninety-one,' said Yo-less, without looking up, 'but he had to sail around a bit because no-one could think up a rhyme for "one".'

'It could have been Sir Humphrey Telephone,' said Bigmac. 'Stuff gets named after inventors.'

'They didn't name the telephone after Bell,' said Wobbler.

'They named the bell after Bell, though,' said Bigmac. 'Telephone bells. Proves my point.'

'Telephones haven't had bells on for years,' said Wobbler.

'That,' said Yo-less, 'is due to the famous inven- tion by Fred Buzzer.'

'I think it's impossible for anyone famous to come from here,' said Wobbler, 'because everyone around here is mental.'

'Got one,' said Bigmac, turning the microfiche knob.

'Who? Which one?'

'The footballer. Stanley "Wrong Way" Round- way. He played for Blackbury Wanderers. There's his obituary here. Amost half a page.'

'Any good?'

'Says he scored a record number of goals.'

'Sounds good,' said Wobbler.

'Own goals.'

'What?'

'Greatest number of own goals in the history of any sport, it says. It says he kept getting

over-excited and losing his sense of direction.'

'Oh.'

'But he was a good footballer, it says. Apart from that. Not exactly a Hall of Fame, though—'

'Here, look at this,' said Yo-less.

They clustered around his viewer. He'd found an ancient group photograph of about thirty sol- diers, all beaming at the camera.

'Well?' said Wobbler.

'This is from nineteen sixteen,' said Yo-less. 'They're all going off to war.'

'Which one?' said Wobbler.

'The first one, you nerd. World War One.'

'I always wondered why they numbered it,' said Bigmac. 'Like they expected to have a few more. You know. Like Buy Two, Get One Free.'

'Says here,' Yo-less squinted, 'it's the Blackbury Old Pals Battalion. They're just going off to fight. They all joined up at the same time

Johnny stared. He could hear people's voices, and the background noises of the library. But the picture looked as if it was at the bottom of a dark, square tunnel. And he was falling down it.

Things outside the picture were inky and slow. The picture was the centre of the world.

Johnny looked at the grinning faces, the terrible haircuts, the jug-handle ears, the thumbs all up.

Even today nearly everyone in the Blackbury Guardian had their photo taken with their thumb up, unless they'd won Super Bingo, in which case they were shown doing what the photographer thought was a high kick. The newspaper's one

photographer was known as Jeremy the Thumb.

The people in the picture didn't look muct older than Bigmac. Well, a couple of them die There was a sergeant with a moustache like scrubbing brush, and an officer in jodhpurs, bu| the rest of them looked like a school photo.

And now he was coming back from wherever! he'd been. The picture dropped away again, came just an oblong on a page on a screen. Hei blinked.

There was a feeling, like—

—like on an aeroplane when it's about to land, and his ears went 'pop'. But it was happening with his brain, instead.

'Anyone know what the Somme is?' said Yo- less.

'No.'

'That's where they went, anyway. Some place in France.'

'Any of them win any medals?' said Johnny, struggling back into the real world. 'That'd be famous. If there's someone in the cemetery with a lot of medals.'

Yo-less spun the wheels of the viewer.

Til look ahead a few issues,' he said. 'There's bound to be something if— Hey ... look at this

They all tried to get under the hood at once. Silence came back as they realized what he'd found.

I knew it was important, Johnny thought. What's happening to me?

'Wow,' said Wobbler. 'I mean - all those names

. everyone killed in this big battle ...'

Without saying anything, Johnny ducked into the other reader and wound it backward until he found the cheery photograph.

'Are they listed in alphabetical order?' he said.

'Yes,' said Yo-less.

Til read out the names under the photo, then. Um ... Armitage, K... . Atkins, T... . '

'Yes ... no ...' said Yo-less.

'Sergeant Atterbury, F... . '

'Yes.'

'Hey, there's three from Canal Street,' said Wobbler. 'That's where my gran lives!'

'Blazer ... Constantine ... Fraser ... Frobisher ...'

'Yes ... yes ... yes ... yes ...'

They carried on to the end of the caption.

'They all died,' said Johnny, eventually. 'Four weeks after the picture was taken. All of them.'

'Except for Atkins, T.,' said Yo-less. 'It says here what a Pals' Battalion was. It says, people all from one town or even one street could all join the Army together if they wanted, and all get sent to ... the same place.'

'I wonder if they all got there?' said Yo-less. 'Eventually,' he added.

'That's dreadful,' said Bigmac.

'It probably sounded like a good idea at the time. Sort of...jolly.'

'Yes, but ... four weeks ...' said Bigmac. 'I mean ...'

'You're always saying you can't wait to join the

Army,' said Wobbler. 'You said you were sorry the Gulf War was over. And all the legs of your bed are off the ground because of all them copies of Guns and Ammo underneath it.'

'Well ... yeah ... war, yeah,' said Bigmac. 'Proper fighting, with Mi6s and stuff Not just all going off grinning and getting shot.'

'They all marched off together because they were friends, and got killed,' said Yo-less.

They stared at the little square of light with the names on it, and the long, long line of cheery thumbs.

'Except for Atkins, T.,' said Johnny. 'I wonder what happened to him?'

'It was nineteen sixteen,' said Yo-less. 'If he's still alive, he'll be dead.'

'Any of them on your list?' said Wobbler.

Johnny checked.

'No-oo,' he said, eventually. 'There's one or two people with the same name but the wrong initial. Everyone round here used to get buried up there.'

'Perhaps he came back from the war and moved away somewhere else,' said Yo-less.

'It'd be a bit lonely around here, after all,' said Bigmac.

They looked at him.

'Sorry,' he said.

'I'm fed up with this,' said Wobbler, pushing his chair back. 'It's not real. There's no-one special in there. It's just people. And it's creepy. Come on, let's go down to the mall.'

'I've found out what happens to dead bodies

when old graveyards are built on,' said Yo-less, as they stepped out into the Tupperware daylight. 'My mum knows. They get taken to some kind of storage place called a necropolis. That's Latin for City of the Dead.'

'Yuk,' said Wobbler.

' Sounds like where Superman lives,' said Bigmac.

'Necropolis!' said Wobbler, zooming his hands through the air. 'By day, mild-mannered corpse - by night ... duh duh duhduh DAH ... ZombieMan!'

Johnny remembered the grinning young faces, not much older than Wobbler.

'Wobbler,' he said, 'If you make another joke like that—'

'What?'

' ... well ... just don't. Right? I mean it.'

... ssshhhh ... mean, yo, youknowhatl'msayin'? . . , sipsipsip ... told the government that ... sswwwsss ... fact the whales enjoy being hunted, Bob, and ... wwwhhhhh ...

Click!

'So that's wireless telegraphy, is it? Hah! So much for Countess Alice Radioni!'

' I was an Ovalteenie when I was a little boy. That was during the war. The one against the Germans. Did I ever tell you? We used to sing along with the people on the wireless: "We are the Ov—" WHAT? Who was Countess Alice Radioni?'

'Which war against the Germans?'

'What? How many have we had?'

'Two so far.'

'Now, come ON! Radioni? It was Marconi who invented the radio!'

'Hah! And do you know who he stole the idea from?'

'Who cares who invented the wretched thing? Will you listen to what the living are doing?'

'Plotting to steal our cemetery, that is what they are doing!'

'Yes, but... I didn't know that all this was going on, did you? All this music and ... the things they were talking about! Who is Shakespeare's Sister and why is she singing on the wireless? What is a Batman? And they said the last Prime Minister was a woman! That can't be possible. Women can't even vote.'

'Yes, they can.'

'Hurrah!'

'Well, they couldn't in MY time!'

'There's so much we don't know!'

'So why don't we find out?'

The dead fell silent - or rather, more silent than usual.

'How?'

'The man on the wireless said you can ring the wireless station on the telephone to Discuss Problems That Affect Us All Today. A Phone-Ing Program, he said.'

'Well?'

'There's a phone box out in the street.'

'Yes, but ... that's ... outside

'Not far outside.'

'Yes, but ...'

'The little boy stood in front of us and talked to us. And he was so frightened. And we can't walk six feet?'

The speaker was Mr Vicenti. He looked through the crumbling railings to the street outside, with the eye of a man who'd spent much of his life escaping.

'But this is our PLACE! This is where we BE- LONG!'

'It's only a few steps ...'

It wasn't really much of a mall. But it was all there was to hang out in.

Johnny had seen films of American shopping malls. They must have different sorts of people in America, he'd thought. They all looked cool, all the girls were beautiful, and the place wasn't crowded with little kamikaze grandmothers. Or mothers with seven children. Or Blackbury United football fans walking ten abreast singing the famous football song,'UFlRRurrrURRR-UH!' (dapdapclap). You couldn't hang out properly in a place like that. All you could do was hang on.

The four of them hung on in the burger bar. Yo-less carefully read the pamphlet about how no rainforests were chopped down to make beef- burgers. Bigmac had his favourite Megajumbo Fries with fifteen packets of relish.

'Wonder if I could get a job here?' said Wobbler.

'No chance,' said Bigmac. 'The manager'd take one look at you and see where the profits would go.'

'You saying I'm fat?' said Wobbler.

'Gravitationally challenged,' said Yo-less, with- out looking up.

'Enhanced,' said Bigmac.

Wobbler's lips moved as he tried these out.

'I'd rather be fat,' he said. 'Can I finish up your onion rings?'

'Anyway, there's loads of people want jobs here,' said Bigmac. 'You have to have three A-levels.'

'What, just to make burgers?'

'No other jobs around,' said Bigmac. 'They're shutting all the factories

around here. Nothing to do. No-one's making anything any more.'

'Someone's making something,' said Wobbler. 'What about all the stuff in the shops?'

'That's all made in Taiwanaland or somewhere. Hah! What sort of future are we going to have, eh? That's right, eh? Johnny?'

'What?'

'You've just been staring at nothing the whole time, you know that?'

'Yeah, what's happened?' said Wobbler. 'Some dead people come in for a takeaway?'

'No,' said Johnny.

'What're you thinking about, then?'

'Thumbs,' said Johnny, still staring at the wall.

'What?'

'What?' said Johnny, waking up.

'What about thumbs?'

'Oh ... nothing.'

'My mother said last night that there's a lot of people angry about the cemetery being sold,' said

Yo-less. 'Everyone's moaning about it. And Pastor William says anyone who builds on there will be cursed unto the seventh generation.'

'Yes, but he always says that kind of thing,' said Wobbler. 'Anyway, United Amalagamated Consolidated Holdings probably don't worry about that sort of thing. They've probably got a Vice- President in Charge of Being Cursed.'

'And he probably gets his secretary to deal with it,' said Bigmac.

'It won't stop anything, anyway,' said Yo-less. 'There's bulldozers just the other side of the fence.'

'Anyone know what United Amalagamated Consolidated Holdings doT said Wobbler.

'It said in the paper that they're a multinational information-retrieval and enhancement facility,' said Yo-less. 'It said on the news it'll provide three hundred jobs.'

'For all the people who used to work at the old rubber boot factory?' said Bigmac.

Yo-less shrugged. 'That's how it goes,' he said. 'You all right, Johnny?'

'What?'

'You OK? You're staring at the wall.'

'What? Oh. Yeah. I'm OK.'

'He's upset about the dead soldiers,' said Wobbler.

Yo-less leaned across the table.

'Look ... that's all in the past, right? It's just gone. It's a shame they died but... well... they'd be dead anyway, wouldn't they? It's just history. It's nothing to do with ... well, with now.'

Mrs Ivy Witherslade was talking to her sister in the phone box on Cemetery Road when someone knocked impatiently on the glass, and that was odd, because there was no-one there. But she felt very cold and suddenly uneasy, as though she was walking on someone's grave. She stopped telling her sister about her legs and what the doctor said about them, and went home quickly.

If Johnny had been there, he would have heard what happened next. But he wasn't, so everyone else would have just heard the wind, and perhaps, just perhaps, the faintest of arguments:

'You should know, Mr Fletcher. YOU invented it.'

'Actually, that was Alexander Graham Bell, Mrs Liberty. I just improved upon it.'

'Well ... make it work. Let me speak to the man on the wireless machine.'

'Was it really Alexander Graham Bell?'

'Yes, Alderman.'

'I thought it was Sir Humphrey Telephone.'

The telephone stayed on its hook, but there were a few electric crackles and pops from somewhere in the machinery.

7 think I have mastered the intricacies, Mrs Liberty—'

'Let ME do the talking. The people's voice must be heard!'

Frost was forming on the inside of the telephone box.

'Certainly not. You are a bolshevik!'

'What did Sir Humphrey Telephone invent, then?'

'Mr Fletcher! Be so good as to expedite the electric communication!'

When there wasn't the burger bar to hang out in, and when they weren't allowed in J&J Software because of whatever Wobbler's latest crime was, there was only the fountain area with the sad, dying trees in it or Groovy Sounds record store, which was pretty much like any record store would be if it was called Groovy Sounds.

Anyway, Yo-less wanted to buy a tape for his collection.

'Famous British Brass Bands,' said Wobbler, look- ing over his shoulder.

'Yes, but this is a good one,' said Yo-less. 'It's got the old Blackbury Rubber Boot Factory Band playing The Floral Dance. Very famous piece.'

'You're just basically not black, are you,' said Wobbler. 'I'm going to report, you to the Rastafarians.'

'You like reggae and blues,' said Yo-less.

'That's different.'

Johnny listlessly shuffled through the tapes.

And froze.

There was a voice he recognized. It was crackly with static, but it sounded a lot like Mrs Sylvia Liberty, and it was coming over the radio.

The radio was on the counter, turned to Won- derful Radio Blackbury's Mike Mikes Radio Show, which was as excellent and totally bodacious as two hours of phone-ins and traffic reports from the Blackbury bypass could be.

This time it was different. The phone-in had been about the Council's proposal to knock down the old Fish Market, which was going to happen no matter what anyone said, but it was a good subject for people to moan about.

'Well, what I say is hello? Hello? This is Mrs Sylvia Liberty speaking on the electric telephone! Hello? not to be allowed, er, in my opinion, er, it is totally hello? (click ... fizz ... crackle) / demand to be heard this INSTANT! The Fish Market is of NO importance whatsoever! er ... er ... and ...'

In his little studio on top of the Blackbury and Slate Insurance Society, Mike Mikes stared at his engineer, who stared at his switchboard. There was no way of cutting off the intrusive voice. It was coming in on all telephone lines at once.

'Er, hi,' he said. 'The caller on ... er ... all the lines

'Here, someone's You listen to me, young man! And don't cut me off to start playing any more of your phonograph cylinders! crossed line here, Mike, I Do you realize that innocent citizens are being EVICTED (click ... garble ... whirr ... fizz) many years of VALUED service to the community (wheeeowwwwwh ... crackle) merely because of an ACCIDENT of birth (fizzle ... whipwhipwhip ... crackle) you listen to young Johnn (snap ... fizz ... ) The People's Shroud is Deepest Black (wheeeyooowwww ... pop) We're Coming BACK ... stop that this minute, William, you are nothing but a bolshevik agit...'

But no-one heard the rest of the sentence be- cause the engineer had pulled all the plugs and hit the switchboard with a hammer.

Johnny and his friends had gathered around the radio.

'You get some real loonies on these phone-ins,' said Wobbler. 'You ever listen to Mad Jim's Late Night Explosion?'

'He's not mad,' said Yo-less. 'He just says he is. And all he does is play old records and go "yeah!" and "yowsahyowsah!" a lot. That's not mad. That's just pathetic.'

'Yes,' said Wobbler.

'Yes,' said Bigmac.

'Yes,' said Yo-less.

They all looked at Johnny. They all looked like people with something on their minds.

'Ahem,' said Wobbler.

'Er,' said Bigmac.

'That was them, was it?' said Yo-less.

'Yes,' said Johnny. 'It was them.'

'It didn't sound like normal radio. How can they use the phone?'

'I don't know. I suppose some of them knew how to use the phone when they were alive. And maybe being dead's a bit like ... electricity or something.'

'They nearly said your name,' said Wobbler.

'Yes.'

'Who was that one singing?'

'I think it was William Stickers. He's a bit of a communist.'

'I didn't think there were any communists left these days,' said Yo-less.

'There aren't. And he's one of them.'

'You know, any minute now Rod Serling is going to come walking in here with a big book,' saidBigmac. 'You know. Like in The Twilight Zone.'

'How come they know what's on the radio?' said Yo-less.

'I lent them Grandad's transistor.'

'You know what I think?' said Yo-less. 'I think you've started something.'

'That's what I think, too.'

'Nah!' said Wobbler. 'Come on\ Voices on the radio? I mean! That's just mucking about. Could be anything. Kids ringing up and messing about. Oh, come on! Ghosts don't phone up radio stations!'

'I saw this film once where they came out of the telephone,' said Bigmac, winner of the All- Blackbury Mr Tactful Championship.

'Just you shut up! I don't believe you!'

It was very, very chilly inside the phone box. 'I must say, electricity is very easy to master when

you're dead.'

'What are you doing, Mr Fletcher?'

'Very easy indeed. Who shall we talk to next?'

'We must speak to the Town Hall!'

'But it is a Saturday, Mrs Liberty. There will be

no-one there.'

'Then try to find young Johnny. I don't know

what he means about trying to find famous people

buried in the cemetery. WE'RE here, after all.'

'I'll keep trying. It's amazingly easy to understand.'

' Where's Mr Stickers gone?'

'He's trying to listen to Radio Moscow, what- ever that is. On the wireless telegraphy apparatus.'

'I say, this is rather invigorating, you know. I've never been out of the cemetery before.'

'Yes. It's a new lease of life.'

'You can escape from almost anything,' said Mr Vicenti.

There was a faint cough. They looked around.

Mr Grimm was watching them through the railings.

The dead seemed to sober up. They always be- came more serious in front of Mr Grimm.

They shuffled their spectral feet.

'You're outside,' said Mr Grimm. 'You know that's wrong.'

'Only a little way, Eric,' said the Alderman. 'That can't do any harm. It's for the good of the—'

'It's WRONG.'

'We don't have to listen to him,' said Mr Vicenti.

'You'll get into terrible trouble,' said Mr Grimm.

'No we won't,' said Mr Vicenti.

'It's dabbling with the Known,' said Mr Grimm. 'You'll get into dreadful trouble and it won't be my fault. You are bad people.'

He turned, and walked back to his grave.

'Dial the number,' said Mr Vicenti. The others seemed to wake up.

'You know,' said Mrs Liberty, 'he may have a point—'

'Forget about Mr Grimm,' said Mr Vicenti. He opened his hands. A white dove shot out of his sleeve and perched on the phone box, blinking. 'Dial the number, Mr Fletcher.'

'Hello, directory enquiries, what name please?'

'He's called Johnny Maxwell and he lives in Blackbury.'

'I'm afraid that is not sufficient information—'

'That's all we—' (Listen, I can see how it works, there's a connection—)(How many of us are there in here?)(Can I try, please?)(This is a lot better than those seances) ...

The operator rubbed her headset. For some reason, her ear had gone cold.

'Ow!'

She ripped it off

The operator on her right leaned over.

'What's up, Dawn?'

'It went - it felt—'

They looked at the switchboard. Lights were coming on everywhere, and it was beginning to be covered in frost.

The point is—

—that all through history there have been people who couldn't invent things because the rest of the world wasn't ready. Leonardo da Vinci hadn't got the motors or materials to make his helicopter. Sir George Cayley invented the internal combustion

engine before anyone else had invented petrol.1

And in his life Addison Vincent Fletcher had spent long hours with motors and relays and glow- ing valves and bits of wire, pursuing a dream the world didn't even have a name for yet.

In his phone box, dead Mr Fletcher laughed. It had a name now. He knew exactly what a computer was when he saw one.

lSo he ran it on pellets of gunpowder. Really. It was nearly the external combustion engine.