Read PopCo for Free Online Page B

gay - ish . I don’t know what gay-ish is. We’re just friends, anyway.
    ‘What’s up here?’ I ask him.
    ‘According to my map? An old hill fort.’
    ‘You have a map?’
    ‘Oh yes. And a compass. Just in case.’
    I wish I had my survival kit. ‘Won’t we miss lunch?’
    ‘No. We’ll just see this and then we’ll go back down.’
    At the top of the hill there is indeed a group of stones, some whole, some broken, arranged in a shape that could be a circle but is maybe actually a square. You’d have to go higher than this to see exactly what shape it was originally supposed to be, although there isn’t anywhere higher than this in sight, that being the point, I suppose, of a hill fort.
    ‘You can see everything from up here,’ Dan says, although he doesn’t really have to. Hare Hall now looks like a structure made from PopBrix (our version of Lego, although you’re not really allowed to say that). I can see the large, grey structure that is the main house, and the little annexe that is joined to it. Closer to us is the top of the barn in which I am staying, grey slate on grey brick. There are other large PopBrix structures scattered around: various old barns; and a flat-topped, whiteish structure that must be the Sports Hall Mac mentioned. Being up here is actually useful, in terms of working out the layout of this place and what might be close by. Although in terms of what is close by, there doesn’t really seem to be anything at all. There are no neighbouring structures or other houses that I can see. There is a stream off to the right and a thin, reddish-brown track to the left. As we watch, two taxis come down the track: more people coming to the POW event, presumably. Dan seems to get bored with looking down at Hare Hall, and soon starts to examine one of the stones instead. Then he lays both his palms flat against it and closes his eyes. I notice that he has a slightly pained expression.
    ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘I’m trying to connect,’ he says seriously.
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I say, laughing.
    ‘Shhh. I’m concentrating. Becoming one with the rock. I see … a battle. Many warriors coming up the hill … We must hold them off! Hand me my arrows! Hide yourself!’
    ‘Stop it. Tell me what you know – seriously.’
    Dan breaks out of his trance. ‘Hill forts are characteristic of the middle and later Iron Age,’ he says. ‘500 BC to AD 50, roughly. They are supposed to be the fortified settlements of the Celtic people. At least twelve hill forts survive on Dartmoor. This isn’t one of the twelve most people know about. This hill fort actually belongs to PopCo.’
    ‘You’ve got a book, haven’t you?’
    ‘Oh yes.’
    ‘Can I borrow it?’
    ‘Indeed. But only if you tell me where you’ve been for the last two weeks.’
    ‘Ideation, baby,’ I say. ‘Survival.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I’ll explain later. What time is it, incidentally?’
    ‘Don’t know.’
    ‘Shit. I thought you had a watch.’
    ‘Nope.’
    We scramble into lunch with about thirty seconds to spare. It isn’t even where we thought it would be. When we got to the Great Hall in the main building we were shooed away by a stern-looking woman who crisply informed us that lunch was being held in the ‘cafeteria’. It didn’t seem like a good idea to ask her exactly where that was, so, remembering the Kid Lab noises I heard earlier, and, crucially, the smell of food cooking, I led Dan in the direction Mac had pointed then. After walking past the full-sized Sports Hall, a cottage, and a smallish modern-looking structure, we eventually found this place. Presumably constructed from the remains of a large agricultural building, it is now a vast, modern rectangle, all white inside with exposed chrome pipes and fittings. It should feel like a school canteen – that must have been the idea – but it is way too glossy for that. The tables are laid out in a regular fashion, but are themselves irregular orange