The taxi driver squinted at Mr Smith’s hand. “Do you think we’re stupid?” he said angrily. “I told you I’m the warden of the diamond, you don’t think I would mistake that piece of plastic for the real thing do you?”
In a flash the husband and wife had sprinted away from us once more.
By this time it was nearly 1am and the concert was just finishing. Crowds of people streamed out of the doors and through a side entrance of the arena. It was easy for the couple to disappear into the throng of people. We left the O2 and were outside, nearly at the back on the north-west side of the Peninsula. A large blue building was in front of us and the couple disappeared through a shuttered doorway. “It’s the ice factory” said the taxi driver.
We followed them in and saw the pair of them standing in front of a shelf in the corner. “The perfect hiding place!” we overheard Mr Smith saying to his wife.
I looked around. The factory was full of white sparkling shapes: flowers, hearts, butterflies… all sculpted out of ice. The machinery was running and blocks of ice were being churned out of a chute. I looked again at the corner. The diamond had been hidden in amongst a pile of pieces of ice that were all around the same size as the diamond. It would be very hard to find it amongst them.
Another piece of machinery started up. What I had thought was a shelf was in fact a conveyer belt, and the pieces of ice began to be taken along it to be crushed at the end.
Mrs Smith let out a cry and jumped onto the conveyer belt, grasping and trying to find which piece was the diamond.
All three of us called out. If she continued on the belt then she would be crushed along with the ice.
In a flash the husband and wife had sprinted away from us once more.
By this time it was nearly 1am and the concert was just finishing. Crowds of people streamed out of the doors and through a side entrance of the arena. It was easy for the couple to disappear into the throng of people. We left the O2 and were outside, nearly at the back on the north-west side of the Peninsula. A large blue building was in front of us and the couple disappeared through a shuttered doorway. “It’s the ice factory” said the taxi driver.
We followed them in and saw the pair of them standing in front of a shelf in the corner. “The perfect hiding place!” we overheard Mr Smith saying to his wife.
I looked around. The factory was full of white sparkling shapes: flowers, hearts, butterflies… all sculpted out of ice. The machinery was running and blocks of ice were being churned out of a chute. I looked again at the corner. The diamond had been hidden in amongst a pile of pieces of ice that were all around the same size as the diamond. It would be very hard to find it amongst them.
Another piece of machinery started up. What I had thought was a shelf was in fact a conveyer belt, and the pieces of ice began to be taken along it to be crushed at the end.
Mrs Smith let out a cry and jumped onto the conveyer belt, grasping and trying to find which piece was the diamond.
All three of us called out. If she continued on the belt then she would be crushed along with the ice.
The plastic diamond went through the crusher first with a pop, but the real one stuck in the machinery and the wheels stopped with a grinding noise, just in time to save Mrs Smith. The taxi driver jumped up and grabbed it.
The pair of us ran towards the river, where the old docks used to be.
“Any idea if that magic’s going to start up again?” I asked the taxi driver. He smiled at me and just then I heard the sound of a boat starting up. We leapt aboard and it sped off, leaving Mr and Mrs Smith standing forlornly on dry land.
It was a fisherman’s boat. The man had a tattoo of a spear and an anchor on his arm but had a kindly face. I looked around the boat. It was full of tools and equipment, and looked as if the man slept inside it was well. A stuffed salmon was mounted on one of the wood panelled walls, with a plaque underneath. ‘Caught in 2015’ it said. Some of the tools were wrapped in ancient yellow newspaper. I tore off a piece of one of them. It was from 2011.
The boat stopped by the yacht club and we stepped ashore.
“What year is this?” I asked after we had thanked our driver.
“Well it’s 2060 of course” said the fisherman.
The pair of us ran towards the river, where the old docks used to be.
“Any idea if that magic’s going to start up again?” I asked the taxi driver. He smiled at me and just then I heard the sound of a boat starting up. We leapt aboard and it sped off, leaving Mr and Mrs Smith standing forlornly on dry land.
It was a fisherman’s boat. The man had a tattoo of a spear and an anchor on his arm but had a kindly face. I looked around the boat. It was full of tools and equipment, and looked as if the man slept inside it was well. A stuffed salmon was mounted on one of the wood panelled walls, with a plaque underneath. ‘Caught in 2015’ it said. Some of the tools were wrapped in ancient yellow newspaper. I tore off a piece of one of them. It was from 2011.
The boat stopped by the yacht club and we stepped ashore.
“What year is this?” I asked after we had thanked our driver.
“Well it’s 2060 of course” said the fisherman.
