In a big city near the sea, there was a small boy of ten called Waveney. He was his parents’ only child.
Six days a week Waveney went to college. On his day off he played at home or went on excursions with his parents. Waveney’s mother helped him with his reading and numbers homework. His father brought home new books and toys from the children’s market. His two friends at college liked the same things he did. It was a good life.
On one of his days off, Waveney was playing in the garden at the back of his house when he heard a scrabbling noise near the garden wall. At first he thought it was a cat, but then he heard grunting and realised it was a person.
He stared at the wall. He thought about yelling, ‘Intruder! Intruder!’ as he had seen the Officers do, but something stopped him. He just crouched there on the ground, his heart thudding, listening to the scrabbling noise on the other side of the wall.
Suddenly two thickly gloved hands appeared at the top of the wall. Soon after came a head of curly brown hair. Following that was a boy of about thirteen. He looked like a Provincial, with his laced shirt and the leather-bound amulet strung around his neck. Waveney was instantly wary. He had to be careful around Provincials. He never spoke to them because they were different. They stayed on the Northern side of the city and he stayed on the South. It had always been that way.
This Provincial did not look dangerous but there was a distinct air of confidence about him. He moved as if he owned the wall.
The boy’s gaze narrowed in on Waveney, who did not know what to do. He was angry that this young Provincial was climbing his wall; but he was also afraid that the boy might do something to him. Provincials were known to be rough and unpredictable.
‘What are you doing down there?’ said the boy.
Waveney gripped his figurines tighter and scowled. ‘Playing a game. What are you doing?’
‘Climbing this old wall. What did you think I was doing?’ There was a smirk on the boy’s face as he slung his legs over the wall.
‘You’re not allowed to climb there. It’s my wall,’ said Waveney.
‘It’s not your wall. This is the Northern side. I can climb it all I like.’
The boy and Waveney glared at each other. Waveney was sure that the wall was nowhere near the North Quarter. He thought the boy had another excuse for climbing up there, something sly. No one had climbed their wall before.
‘Are you spying on me?’ said Waveney loudly.
‘Spy on you? I have better things to do. I saw you had a fruit tree and I wanted to get some fruit.’ At that, the boy began shuffling over to the fruit tree.
‘That’s my fruit tree!’ Waveney had not cared much for the fruit tree before, but now he felt that he should protect it. He had a strong urge to defend it from this brash Provincial boy.
‘Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn’t,’ said the boy, plucking fruit off the tree.
Waveney felt hot and angry. He sprang up from the ground and was about to run inside and shout for help when the boy called out to him.
‘You can’t do that. Half the tree’s hanging over the Northern side. So am I. They can’t do anything.’ The boy smiled coolly as he picked more fruit off the branches.
‘The tree does not hang over your side!’ said Waveney.
‘Yes it does. If you came over my side you’d see that it does. There’s fruit all over the ground. Problem is, it’s all rotten – that’s why I have to get up here.’ The boy even had a sack to carry the fruit in. It was bulging with fruit.
‘But I can’t get over your side. I’m not allowed to,’ Waveney said, dropping his figurines. ‘And you’re probably lying.’
‘If you stop sulking and think hard enough you’ll find a way. How do you think I got up here? Did you see me flap out of the sky?’ The boy laughed and flung the sack over his shoulder.
‘You’re just a thief,’ said Waveney, scowling.
The boy grinned. ‘You’re just a baby. Thanks for the fruit!’ He nodded to Waveney and there was a dull thump as he dropped to the ground on the other side.
Waveney pouted and kicked one of his figurines, sending it tumbling across pebbles.
The boy thought he was a baby. He’d never been called that before. Waveney felt his face heat up. He hadn’t been able to defend his territory. The boy had stolen half the fruit from their tree.
Something bright and sharp sparked in Waveney’s chest. He peered up at the garden wall, at the spot where the boy had been, and for the first time wondered how to climb the wall.
The Wordy Way 