‘You what? Who are you to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, puke boy? I can do what I sodding well like, you little sickie-puke-boy.’

‘You’ll poison me.’

‘Don’t make me laugh. You’re already poisoned, you moron. Didn’t your mother tell you?’

‘I’m not poisoned. I’m just not feeling very well.’

‘I’m not poisoned. I’m just not feeling very well … Listen to you. What a whiner. You know nothing, pus-for-brains. Look at you, drifting around up here like a wet fart. Why aren’t you down there, sorting them out? The little bastards. You promised me you were going to do something about them.’

‘I can’t. Not yet. I don’t feel strong enough.’

‘Feeble excuse from a feeble specimen.’

‘There’s too many of them. More came. Didn’t you know? I don’t know where they’re from. There’s too many of them now. And they can fight. They’re strong. I’ve seen them. I watched them, down in the lower level, killing sickos. What can I do?’

‘Do what you always do, feeble-fairy-sicko-puking-chunks-and-chunder,’ shrieked the horrible, broken bird thing. ‘Nothing! You do NOTHING. You just watch and wait and watch and wait. Why don’t you go and look and see what they’re up to? Huh? Move your fat arse. Do it, do it, do it …’

Paul made his way out on to the roof and scuttled across it to the front of the museum, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun.

Even before he got to the edge he could hear them, children talking, laughing, shouting, their feet scraping on the ground. And as he reached the low wall that ran round the building he shook with silent laughter.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘Look! They’re going! The new ones are leaving.’

Twenty-four children were trooping out through the gates and turning right on to Cromwell Road, heading west.

‘What did I tell you?’ said Boney-M. ‘Now’s your chance.’

Chapter 21

21

The expedition moved slowly. They were wheeling two large trolleys that had once been used for shifting things around the museum. Their small, sturdy wheels were perfect for indoor use and for carrying heavy objects, but they rattled and bumped and had a tendency to get stuck on any uneven surfaces.

Ollie could see that the trolleys were going to be trouble. He was already nervous and the trolleys just made him more so. For the hundredth time he counted the heavy steel pellets he used as slingshot, transferring them from one leather pouch on his belt to another. Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five … That should do it.