The six of them were gathered around the screen playing the sacred tape. A man doing a silly walk around an office.
The tape stopped. It was worn and decaying; it had to be parcelled out, savoured.
Timmon waited until their excited chatter died down.
“They set Ferdie’s killers free.”
Gasps of anger filled the room.
“They was seen!”
“Bang to rights, that’s what the Council said. Bang to rights.”
Timmon nodded as his friends got angrier and angrier. Even at their age they all knew life Downbelow was unfair, but this time they had been told the Lightboys would be punished.
“Someone decided that killing a Greaser shouldn’t be something that ruins the lives of some Domesider brats.” Timmon told them, repeating what he’d half overheard his father tell his mother. Then he came to the real kicker “They say they are letting all of the Lightboys that have done something to Greasers go.”
The others shouted in outrage.
“Something bad is coming. I know it is.” Little Michael was nearly in tears. He’d been caught by Lightboys two years ago and had both his arms broken.
Timmon nodded “Looks like the Crew have decided we ain’t worth protecting. So I say we protect ourselves.”
“What do you mean, Timmon?”
Timmon smiled, this was the time, if they didn’t go for it now, they never would.
“I say we become Knights, we make armour and we show the Lightboys who is boss in Downbelow. We show them they should be afraid of us!”
The others nodded in agreement.
“What should we call ourselves?” Little Michael asked.
“We take the name from our relic.” Timmon pointed to the tape, reverently sealed away. “We become, The Knights Who Say Ni!”
© Robert Spalding 2011