The Groundsman Who Was YU THE GREAT

Part One. A Spade With a Man Attached

The first time we saw Mr Yu was on a Monday, but we already knew his spade.

You might remember that on Friday, when the sky was mended, a long wooden spade had been standing upright in the puddle at the school gate. A thin new channel had run away from it across the mud, and a tall muddy shape had gone off down the lane in the dusk, saying that wherever water goes, it has to go somewhere. Nobody had seen his face.

On Monday, the spade was in a man's hand. He was standing UP TO HIS KNEES in the car park with his trousers rolled up, and his boots were so muddy they looked like they were growing. He had arrived in the night, or maybe the evening, nobody was sure. He was tall and weathered, with hands as rough as bark. His badge said MR YU, GROUNDS (AND DRAINS).

"Morning," he said, looking at the water. "Lot of water."

There was. It had started as drizzle on Friday, but by Monday the drizzle had stopped being polite. It rained and rained, and the school field had turned into a huge brown lake. One goalpost stuck out of the middle of it. A swan was sitting on the other goalpost, looking pleased with itself.

"Where does it all go?" asked Ollie Grant.

"That," said Mr Yu, "is the question I have been asking for thirteen years."

On his shoulder sat a tiny bird, no bigger than a teaspoon, and it glowed a soft gold. We knew that bird. It was Hope, who had come out of Mrs Pandy's box, and who had decided to stay with the school. She seemed to have picked Mr Yu.

Alex and Felix Bailey are twins, so they have a system. Alex notices things and Felix asks about them. Then they swap, and it works every time.

Alex noticed two things. The first was that Mr Yu never stood still. Even when he was talking, one foot was tapping, as if he was hurrying while standing in one place. The second was that the thin channel from Friday was a hand wider than before, and it ended exactly where his spade was.

Felix asked, "Mr Yu, did you dig that?"

"Only a start," said Mr Yu. "Lot of water."

Felix asked, "And why are you in such a rush?"

"I've got a lot to dig," said Mr Yu, "and not a lot of time."

Then he was off, splashing towards the field with the spade over his shoulder. The golden bird held on tight.

The twins said, "We need Maya."

Part Two. The Compost Bin Island

Maya Singh was behind the compost bin, which was now an island.

She was sitting on top of it with her notebook, and Willow sat beside her, dry and dignified, glaring at the whole lake as if it had been put there to annoy her. Kenji Mori and Ollie were on upside-down buckets in the shallows. Dot from Reception was paddling nearby on a pink lilo with a toy spade, which she had not put down since the first puddle. Elfine and Marion, the big kids, were standing on the path in matching wellies.

"This field now holds about forty thousand baths," said Elfine, pushing up her glasses.

"Please don't tell the little ones," said Marion. "It sounds like a lot."

Maya shut her notebook. "Mr Yu," she said, "is YU THE GREAT."

"Is that a nickname?" said Kenji.

"It's a title. In the old stories, Yu lived in China about four thousand years ago. He is one of the most famous heroes there has ever been, because he tamed the Great Flood."

"There was a flood?" said Dot.

"A huge one. For years and years, the rivers burst their banks, and people lived on hilltops and in trees. So the emperor sent a man to fix it. His name was Gun."

"Gun," said Ollie, as if testing it for flavour.

"He was Yu's father," said Maya. "Gun said, 'I know what to do. We'll build walls to hold the water back.' So he built great high walls of earth along the rivers."

"Did it work?" asked Alex.

"For a while. But the water kept coming. It piled up behind the walls, higher and heavier. And then one night, the walls burst, and the flood was worse than ever."

We all went quiet. The swan on the goalpost tucked its head under its wing.

"Some people tell it that Gun was a bad man," said Maya. "I like the tellings where he just tried his best and was wrong. Anyway, his son Yu watched the walls burst, and he thought, Maybe walls are not the answer."

"So what did he do?" asked Felix.

"The opposite. He didn't try to stop the water. He dug channels, so it could flow out to the sea. He gave it somewhere to go. It took him thirteen years. He walked the whole country with a spade. His legs got so tired that he limped, and his hands got blisters, and his skin went brown in the sun."

"Didn't he ever go home?" said Dot.

"That's the saddest part," said Maya. "He walked past his own front door three times. Each time, he could hear his baby crying inside. And each time, he wanted to go in, and he didn't. He knew that if he stopped, the water would keep rising, and other people's babies would be in danger."

Nobody said anything.

"Thirteen years," said Kenji at last. "Mr Yu said thirteen years."

"I know," said Maya. "Evidence."

Part Three. The List

Alex held the pencil. Felix held Maya's notebook, because they always share jobs. This is what went on the list.

1. THE HURRY. He never sits down. Ollie saw him eat his lunch standing up, in under a minute.

2. THE LIMP. Mr Yu has a very small limp, as if his legs have walked too far.

3. THE SPADE. It is the one from the puddle, and the handle is shiny where hands have held it for a very long time.

4. THE DOOR. At the bottom of the lane there is a little cottage with a green door and a lit window. It comes with the groundsman's job. That afternoon, Mr Yu walked down the lane past it, and back up the lane, and down again. Three times. He never once looked at it. Alex counted, and then he put a question mark.

5. THE LOLLIPOP MAN. Mr Gun, our old lollipop-and-fencing man, was standing at the school gate with his big round STOP sign, as he does every day. He is old and stooped, and his face is as creased as a paper bag. When Mr Yu passed him, neither of them said hello. Mr Gun looked at the ground. Mr Yu looked at the sky.

Felix asked, "Maya, is Mr Gun...?"

"I don't know yet," said Maya. "But I'd put the pencil down very gently, if I were you."

From the cottage at the bottom of the lane came a thin, high sound, and it stopped our pencils. It was a baby, crying.

Part Four. No Walls

On Tuesday, Mr Harris called a staff meeting in the hall.

He stood next to a big map of the school. It was covered in red crosses, and the biggest cross was on the hall.

"The water is rising," he said. "It's in the car park, and it's creeping up the path. On Friday we have the Big Sleepover, with sleeping bags all over this floor, and I do not want us to be floating. Mr Zhu has put the flour, the rice and the sweetcorn for the Harvest Festival soup into the cupboard at the back of the hall, because it's the warmest, driest place in the school. I do not want that floating either."

Everyone agreed. Mr Zhu nodded and gave a small, warm puff of breath.

"So," said Mr Harris, "I have a plan. We build a WALL. A great wall of sandbags, all the way round the hall, to keep the water out."

There was a happy murmur. Sandbags were the sort of plan that sounds right.

"No," said a voice in the corner.

It was Mr Yu, leaning on his spade, with the golden bird on his shoulder.

"I beg your pardon?" said Mr Harris.

"The wall won't work. Water that has nowhere to go only gets angrier. It will push, and push, and one night it will burst through."

"Sandbags are the standard method," said Mr Harris, kindly but firmly. "I'm the headteacher. I'm afraid we're doing it."

"I'm only saying what I've learned."

"And I'm grateful. But we'll build the wall."

Alex noticed that Mr Yu's knuckles had gone white on the spade. Felix noticed that Mr Gun had slipped in at the back, holding his STOP sign like a shield.

"He's right, you know," said Mr Gun, very quietly.

Everyone turned round.

"I built a lot of walls once," said the old man. "I was sure they were the answer." He did not say anything else. He just looked at Mr Yu's boots.

"Dad," said Mr Yu, in a low voice, and that was all. He picked up his spade and went out into the rain, and Mr Gun stayed where he was, holding his sign. Mr Harris rubbed his head, and decided to carry on.

Part Five. Four Thousand and Twelve

On Wednesday and Thursday, every grown-up in the school built the wall.

They filled sandbags and passed them down lines. Mr Thorley carried six at a time. Mr Heston built the corners, and Mr Hanu bounced along the top, patting the last layer flat. Mrs Ibbs counted them, in a very small clear voice. There were four thousand and twelve. Alex and Felix filled the very small ones, one holding the bag open while the other poured.

By Thursday evening, a wall of sandbags stood all round the hall, as tall as a bus.

"There," said Mr Harris. "Now we're safe."

Mr Yu looked at the sky and shook his head, slowly.

On Friday night the Big Sleepover began. It was for the whole school, and the big kids had to bring a little one each, so nobody was lonely in the dark. Marion had Dot, and Dot had a note from her mum as long as a scarf. Mrs Tibbs was in charge of the hall, and Ms Athene had a clipboard and a grown-up for every six sleeping bags. Mr Harris was proud of that rule.

We laid our sleeping bags in rows, with torches and teddies, and ate pizza on the floor. Kenji's hot water bottle was shaped like a frog. Dot kept her lilo beside her pillow, just in case. Alex and Felix had sleeping bags side by side, and they had swapped pillows halfway through the pizza, so Alex had the dinosaur and Felix had the spaceship.

Outside, the rain got louder. The wind began to howl, and we could hear the water slapping on the other side of the sandbags.

"Lights out," said Mrs Tibbs.

Willow walked once round Felix's sleeping bag, lay on his feet, and went to sleep.

Part Six. The Creak

Felix woke first, because Willow's whiskers were tickling his nose.

It was the middle of the night, and the hall was dark and warm. Willow was sitting up on his chest with her ears pointing at the wall, and she was not blinking.

Then Felix heard it. It was a very low, groaning creak, like a ship on a rough sea.

CRRRRREAK.

He poked Alex. Alex opened one eye.

"Listen," whispered Felix.

They listened. The groan came again.

"It's coming from the sandbags," whispered Alex.

"They're bending," whispered Felix.

Willow stood up and walked to the edge of the sleeping bags, with her tail straight up like a question mark. The twins followed her, and their torches shook a little.

Part Seven. The Wet Floor

By the hall door, Alex stopped.

He put his hand flat on the floor. It was wet. A thin, cold trickle of water was creeping under the door, over the floorboards, towards his sleeping bag.

"Mrs Tibbs," said Felix, shaking her shoulder. "Mrs Tibbs, the floor's wet."

She woke at once. She walked to the door and shone her torch through the little window, and the twins saw her face change.

The wall was bulging. All round the hall, the sandbags were leaning inwards, with dark water piled up behind them. Little streams were squirting between the bags in dozens of places.

"It'll hold," said Mr Harris, who had come up in his dressing gown. "It'll hold."

Mrs Tibbs did not say whether she agreed. She turned round and spoke in her calm, carrying voice.

"Everyone up. Shoes on. Quickly and quietly, and no running. Big ones, take your little one's hand. We are all going up on the stage."

Part Eight. The Burst

The stage was a metre higher than the floor. Mrs Tibbs stood at the steps and counted us up, one at a time, out loud. Nobody ran. Someone was crying, and a big kid was patting their back. Marion carried Dot, and Dot carried the lilo, and the toy spade was tucked in her pyjamas. Willow went up last, with her nose in the air.

"Twenty-nine," counted Mrs Tibbs. "Thirty. Thirty-one."

Then the creak became a groan, and the groan became a crack. And with a long, tearing roar, the wall burst.

KA-BOOM.

A grey wave smashed through the hall doors and pushed them wide open. It swept down the aisle between the sleeping bags. Torches and teddies bobbed along in it, spinning, and a sleeping bag floated by like a very flat boat. The water went up to the grown-ups' knees, and then it kept on rising, lapping at the stage edge. The cupboard door at the back burst open, and a sack of rice sailed out and wobbled down the hall.

The lights went out.

In the dark, somebody said, very small, "Is it going to come up here?"

Nobody could say it wouldn't.

Part Nine. The Gods Arrive

The gods came splashing in from all over the school.

Mr Thorley arrived first, with his hammer. Mr Hermes swooped over the top with his wings dripping.

They tried everything. Mr Hanu leaned on the doors, and the water pushed him back. Mr Thorley said, "I'll send a storm to push it out!" and thirty-one children screamed "NO!" at once, so he put his hammer down and said sorry.

"We need a clever plan," said Ms Athene, standing on a chair. "And we need it now."

"I can't think," said Mr Prome. "It's far too fast."

"I could turn everybody into ducks," said Mr Locke.

"That," said Mr Harris, "is not helpful, Mr Locke."

"Ducks float," said Mr Locke. "I'm just saying."

Nobody had a plan. Mr Harris sat down on the edge of the stage, very quietly, holding his dripping clipboard.

Part Ten. Willow and the Torch

It got very quiet on the stage.

The only light was the little gold glow of Hope, who had flown in on Mr Yu's shoulder and then flown on alone. Everyone's torches had floated away. Dot was crying a little, the kind of crying that tries not to make a noise. Marion started to hum, very softly, and Elfine said, "Fact: floods only go up as far as they can. This one is nearly there." She wasn't sure, but it helped.

Then Ollie whispered, "My torch."

It was out in the middle of the hall. It was the waterproof one for the bath, and it was still glowing, bobbing up and down like a tiny lighthouse.

Willow looked at it. Willow hates water. She hates puddles, rain, baths, and the sound of taps. She sat very straight on the edge of the stage for a long moment, and then she went down the steps.

"Willow, no," said Mrs Tibbs.

The water came up to her tummy. She walked through it with her whiskers high, shuddering with every step, looking exactly like a cat who is going to remember this for a hundred years. She reached the torch, took it gently in her teeth, turned round, and marched back up the steps. She dropped it in Felix's lap. Then she shook one paw, and then the other, and sat down on Dot's feet.

Dot stopped crying and stroked her. Willow permitted it.

Felix picked up the torch and pointed it across the water, because it was something to do. The beam fell on the floating things: Kenji's frog, a teddy, the sack of rice, a single sock. And Felix saw something.

"Alex," he whispered. "Look. They're all going the same way."

Alex looked. The teddy and the sack and the frog were drifting in a slow line across the hall, away from the stage, towards the far side door, the one that opens onto the old brick path at the back.

"It's not just rushing about," said Felix. "It's looking for a way out. It's going somewhere."

"Where does that door go?" said Alex.

"Down the path," said Felix. "To the gate."

"To Mr Yu's channel," said Alex.

They both looked at the golden light of Hope, who was floating over the door, shining.

Then a deep, steady voice said, from the doorway, "I know what to do."

Part Eleven. Mr Yu Takes Charge

Mr Yu was standing in the side door, soaked to the waist, with his spade in his hand and mud up to his ears. He had been out in the dark since midnight, and he didn't look worried. He looked calm, and a bit sad, like a man who had seen worse.

"We can't stop it," he said. "We never could. But we can guide it."

"How?" said Mr Harris, standing up.

"Dig. Give the water somewhere to go. It wants to flow downhill to the river. Out in the lane, my little channel runs from the gate to the drain. That's the end of the road. What we need is the beginning. A way from the field to the gate."

"I know rivers," said Mr Yu. "I don't know this field. Where does this water want to go?"

Felix put up his hand, which was very silly, because it was the middle of the night and nobody was teaching.

"We know," said Felix.

"The floating things went that way," said Alex, pointing. "To the side door."

"We watched," said Felix. "And Willow went and got the torch."

Mr Yu looked at the torch. Then he looked at Willow, and gave her a small, serious nod, one worker to another.

"I need someone small," he said, "who can notice, and someone small who can ask. I can't crawl into the narrow cut by the gate. I have a bit of a limp." He looked down. "Walking thirteen years does that."

"They are children," said Mrs Tibbs. "Absolutely not. It's far too dangerous."

"I'll tell you exactly what I'd ask," said Mr Yu. "Nobody goes into the water. The children dig from the old brick path, which is high and dry, and Mr Gong is in charge of the water's edge."

Mr Gong waded forward, in his swimming goggles. "Orange armbands for every child who goes out," he said. "Whistle on. Nobody goes deeper than their boots. Not one step. I know about water."

"And Mr Hanu stays at their elbows," said Mr Yu, "and you come too, Mrs Tibbs. Ms Athene stays with everyone on the stage, with Mr Harris, Elfine, Marion and the little ones. That's the plan."

Mrs Tibbs looked at the twins. She looked at the water, and at thirty-one frightened faces. She took a long breath.

"Armbands," she said. "And I hold the hands."

The twins took each other's hands. They were a bit cold, and a bit shaky, and they went anyway.

Part Twelve. The First Dig, and the Second

The brick path ran along the back of the hall, a little higher than the lake. We went in a line: Mr Yu, Mr Hanu, Mrs Tibbs, and the twins in orange armbands, with Hope flying ahead, glowing.

Mr Yu stopped at a bank near the hall wall.

"You choose," he said. "I'll hold the spade steady."

Alex looked at the water. This was the lowest-looking bit, close to the hall, where the bank was thin. "Here," he said.

"Here?" said Felix.

They dug, with Mr Hanu scooping beside them. It was easy. In five minutes there was a gap in the bank. Water poured through it, and a shining brown stream shot out across the path.

And turned left. It ran round the corner of the hall, down the side wall, and straight back to the side door where Mr Harris had been standing.

"Hey!" cried Mr Harris, from the stage. "It's coming back in!"

Mr Hanu sat down in the gap, very quickly, and the water mostly stopped. "I would like to say," said Mr Hanu, "this is not my best idea."

Mr Yu did not say they had been wrong. He said, "Water always tells the truth. You just asked the wrong question."

Felix said, "We asked where it was easiest to dig. We should have asked where it wants to go."

"Try again," said Mr Yu. "Over there, where the field dips, by the hedge."

The second dig was in the right place. The water ran in a good straight line along the hedge for ten steps, and the twins cheered. And then the sides of the channel went soft, and slumped, and the water spread out in a sulky brown puddle and stopped.

Alex stared. "It's wobbling."

"It's falling in," said Felix. "On both sides."

Behind them, from the edge of the stage, a very small voice called, "Is it working?" It was Dot, with her toy spade.

"Nearly," called Felix, as bravely as he could.

Part Thirteen. The Third Dig

They stood in the rain and thought.

Felix found a leaf. He didn't know why, except that it was floating by his boot, and floating things had worked before. He put it on the water by the hedge and watched.

The leaf didn't go straight. It went slowly sideways, drifting towards the corner by the lane. "It wants to go that way," he said. "Not along the hedge. A little bit more round. Towards the corner."

"Why are the sides falling in?" said Alex. He picked up a handful of mud, and it slid between his fingers. Then he looked along the lane, at Mr Yu's thin Friday channel by the gate. "Oh," he said. "We dug ours like a box, with straight sides. His slopes, like a bowl. His hasn't fallen in once."

"A bowl," said Mr Yu, and he was smiling. "Show me."

Felix pointed where the leaf wanted to go, and Alex dug a long, sloping bowl-shaped channel, with soft sides, curving round towards the lane. Mr Hanu scooped. Mr Heston banged the stones loose with his glowing hammer, and Mr Shah, in his blue scarf, danced very slowly down the line, patting the ground flat.

Then the water came. It slid into the new channel, shining, and ran along it in a long, easy stream. The sides held, except for one weak bend near the gate. It sagged, and the water started to creep over.

"Mud," said Mr Hanu. "We need something to hold it."

"I've got something," said a very quiet voice.

Mr Gun had come down the path from the gate. He had a pile of fence boards on his shoulder and his old spade in his hand. His knees were wet and his face was grey with tiredness. "I know fences," he said. "I don't know a lot of things. I know boards." He knelt, very stiffly, at the weak bend, and hammered the boards into the sides, standing up like a gentle guard.

"It's not a wall," said Gun to Mr Yu. "It's a wall that holds a path open."

Mr Yu looked at him for a long time. "Yes," he said. "That's exactly what it is."

And the water went round the bend, and on.

All night, they dug. Ao the turtle came out of the pond, slow and creaky, and carried the heavy mud on his shell to the low place by the hedge. "I am not fast," he said. "But I am exactly the right speed."

Somewhere before dawn, Felix's hands began to shake. Alex didn't say anything. He just held out his hand for the trowel, and Felix sat on a bucket for five minutes. Then they swapped back.

Part Fourteen. The Green Door

The sky was going grey when Mr Yu stopped.

The new channel was nearly done. It ran from the field along the hedge, around the corner, and down to the gate, where it would join the thin channel from Friday. There was only one bit left, one narrow bank at the gate, holding back the lake like a hand on a door.

But Mr Yu wasn't looking at the bank. He was looking down the lane, at a little cottage with a green door, and a light in the window. A small, high sound came out of it. A baby, crying.

"That's mine," said Mr Yu, in a strange voice.

"Your house?" said Alex.

"Mr Harris gave me the key on Monday. The groundsman lives there. It's mine. And my wife is in there. She came with the van, on Monday, with the baby." He said it as though he were reading it out of a book. "I have walked past that door three times this week, and I haven't gone in."

"Why not?" said Felix.

"Because I have a lot to dig, and not a lot of time. And if I stop, I'm afraid I won't start again. I have been on my way home for thirteen years."

Mr Yu's foot was tapping, tapping.

Felix said nothing, because there wasn't anything to say. But Alex put his hand on Mr Yu's big, muddy hand.

"We'll do the last bit," Alex said. "We've got it. You don't have to dig this alone."

Mr Yu stared at him.

"Go and see your baby," said Alex.

Mr Yu looked round. He looked at the children with their armbands, and the gods, and the long, shining channel, and Mr Gun with his boards, nodding. His eyes filled with tears.

"Thank you," he said, very quietly.

He gave Alex the spade, the long wooden one with the shiny handle. He walked down the lane, slowly, with a limp. He stopped at the green door and raised his hand to knock, and could not do it.

A small gold bird fluttered from his shoulder. She landed on the knocker. Tap, tap, tap.

The door opened.

A tired-looking woman stood there with a baby in her arms. It had a round, damp face and a mop of black hair, and it stopped crying when it saw Mr Yu.

"You're home," said Mrs Yu.

"That's the fourth time I've walked up to this door," said Mr Yu. "I'm sorry it took so long."

"I know why," she said.

He took the baby in his big, rough hands. The baby grabbed his finger and gurgled with delight. Mr Yu pressed his forehead against the baby's, and his shoulders shook.

Alex and Felix turned away to give him some space. Behind them, Maya, who had come to the door of the hall, wrote one word in her notebook and underlined it. It said THREE.

Part Fifteen. The Last Cut

Alex stood on the bank at the gate with Mr Yu's spade, and Felix stood next to him.

It was the biggest moment of the night, and it felt like it. On one side of the bank, the whole brown lake pushed gently, like a hand on a door. On the other, the thin channel shone, empty and ready. Mr Gong stood at the top with his whistle, and Mr Hanu was close enough to catch Alex by the collar.

"It has to be the right place," whispered Alex. "I can't see."

"I can," said Felix. He had the leaf from before, still in his pocket. He dropped it into the lake, and the leaf floated across the water and stopped at one spot in the bank, turning round and round, waiting. "There. Where the leaf is. That's where the water's trying to get out."

"Not there," said Mrs Tibbs, because she couldn't help it. "It looks too thick."

"It's the right place," said Felix. "The water told us."

Alex lifted the spade. It felt strangely light. The handle was warm. He took a breath, and he cut.

One slice. Two.

And with a long, deep, rolling WHOOOOSH, the lake poured out. It rushed through the cut, into the new channel, past the fence boards, through the gate and into Mr Yu's thin line, and along the lane, past the green door, down to the drain and the river. Mr Hanu held Alex's collar, and Mr Gong held out his hands as if telling the water to be polite. The field drained like a bath. The water sank and sank, and the hall's water came running out of the side door and joined in, until the grass was showing, green and glittering in the first light.

There was no wall to burst, and no pressure. There was only a smooth, steady river, running where it wanted to go.

The swan on the goalpost looked down, ruffled its feathers, and flew away.

Part Sixteen. Make a Path

By the time the sun came up, the school was dry. The hall was damp but not ruined. Sleeping bags hung on the line, and we sat on the field with hot chocolate. The Festival rice and flour were ruined, though, and Mr Zhu looked at the soggy sacks with great sorrow.

Mr Harris stood in front of us in his wet dressing gown.

"I was wrong," he said. "I built a wall, and it burst, and Mr Yu told me, and I didn't listen." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I've been a headteacher for twenty-three years, and I have never been so glad to be wrong."

"Everyone makes mistakes, Mr Harris," said Mr Yu. "Besides, it was a very good wall."

"Two children," said Mr Harris, "saw where the water wanted to go, and dug until they got it right. One noticed what the water was telling us, and one asked the right question. And a cat who hates water carried a torch through a flood."

Willow, who was on Dot's lap, looked at the horizon and accepted all this as her due.

Everyone clapped.

And Mr Yu sat down. He sat on the grass in the sunshine with the baby asleep on his chest. It was the first time we had ever seen him do it. Even his foot had stopped tapping. We gathered round him.

"When I was young," he said, "I thought you solve a problem by stopping it. Blocking it. Building a wall. I watched my father try it. It broke my heart." Mr Gun, sitting on an upturned bucket, nodded. "But I learned something. A problem is like a river. If you shut it in, it gets bigger. If you give it somewhere to go, it runs clear."

"Like feelings," said Alex.

"Like when you're sad," said Felix, "and you cry, and then it's gone."

"Exactly," said Mr Yu. "You can't wall up a feeling. Give it somewhere to go. Make a path, not a wall."

"Make a path, not a wall," said Dot, who had just worked out how to say it.

And every child said it, and every god, and every grown-up, in the golden morning light. The little gold bird on Mr Yu's shoulder gave a tiny chirp.

Part Seventeen. A Fence With a Gate

Afterwards, we saw them from the field.

Mr Yu and Mr Gun were sitting on the bank of the new channel, looking at the water. They didn't say anything for a long time. Alex and Felix stayed back, because some things are private. Willow sat beside them like a very small guard.

"I'm sorry, son," said Mr Gun at last. "I built walls. I was sure. I didn't listen."

"You came down the path with fence boards in the dark," said Mr Yu. "Nobody asked you to."

"I didn't know a fence could be a bank."

"It can hold a path open. That's all a good wall ever was."

Mr Yu took his father's shaking hand in his own and held it, the way you hold something you thought you'd lost.

"It's all right, Dad," he said. "You're listening now."

Mr Gun gave a creaky, cracked laugh. Then he propped his STOP sign against the cottage fence, and everyone could see it said STOP on the front and nothing on the back. "Good for cars," said Mr Gun. "Not so good for water."

The baby woke, and gurgled, and grabbed two fingers at once.

Part Eighteen. The Ending (With a Feather)

On Saturday morning, the grown-ups began to arrive to take us home, and Mrs Tibbs counted us out through the gate.

Maya stopped at the gate, and so did we.

The channel was still there. It ran along the lane in a long silver line, past the green door, and the water was running clear. In it floated a single green feather, as long as Maya's arm. It shimmered like emerald and gold and blue, and a faint trail of mist rose from it.

She picked it up. It was warm.

"What is it?" said Kenji.

"A quetzal feather," said Maya, very softly. "From a very sacred bird, from a long way across the sea."

Then, from the puddle by the gate, a small, sleepy voice said, in a rustling accent, "Excuse me. Is this the school with the corn?"

We all looked down.

In the puddle, a tiny, bright green snake, with feathers instead of scales, was looking up at us with two shiny black eyes.

"Home time!" called Mrs Tibbs from the playground.

The snake gave a little wriggle, and slid down the drain.

Alex looked at Felix, and Felix looked at Alex. And they said, at exactly the same time, "Monday."

The End.