Old Killjoy was miserably sitting on top of the smelly pile of rags that he liked to think of as his throne, picking his nose.
‘It’s finished,’ he grumbled.
‘Yer, him’s finished building it now,’ Stink confirmed.
Old Killjoy threw him a threatening look and he immediately fell silent. A nervous hush fell on the Wreccas, who were huddled together in a gloomy underground chamber. No one knew what to say. They shifted and shuffled uncomfortably.
After an uneasy moment, Sniff ventured an opinion, hoping to make Old Killjoy feel better. ‘Doubt it’ll work.’
‘Yer, doubt it,’ echoed the other Wreccas, desperately trying to please their leader.
Old Killjoy sulked. ‘It will work. Us hasn’t even slowed him down!’
Each Wrecca tried to think of something useful to say, but Wreccas were not very good at thinking.
‘Isn’t there nothing us can do?’ asked Stink.
No one answered.
‘Us can’t give up!’ he added.
‘Can’t give up,’ chorused the others.
The Wreccas were gathered together in the Underneath. Unless it has changed since this story happened, the Underneath is a series of dark, damp, dingy tunnels that smell very musty and are dimly lit by flaming torches. The Wreccas live here. They are nasty, dirty, stupid beings who are smaller than Humans and usually very skinny due to lack of proper food. They have stooping shoulders because they spend most of their time in low tunnels, their hair is matted because none of them understands what a brush is for and their fingernails are grimy because they seldom wash their hands. They have forgotten how to make things better and so they eat rotten food and dress in rags. Their only amusement is to pester and persecute others. If they are not causing trouble they easily become bored. Their leader is Old Killjoy. He is the nastiest of them all.
On this particular day everyone was feeling gloomy, everyone, that is, except Scratch. He was the second-in-command and was called Scratch because he liked scratching people with his long, carefully sharpened nails. He had a little more brain than the rest and could be relied upon to think of the most diabolical plan or the worst punishment. Old Killjoy depended on him because Old Killjoy, like the others, was not very clever. Scratch really should have been the leader but he was too scared to suggest it and knew he had to bide his time. One day, he hoped to get the better of Old Killjoy and take over, but until that day he would keep coming up with the ideas and Old Killjoy would keep passing them off as his own.
Scratch’s gaze lingered on the dejected Wreccas, who were lounging in disorganized heaps on the bare earth floor. He had an idea. He enjoyed announcing good ideas because it demonstrated how clever he was. Standing up, he waited for all eyes to fix on him. When he finally spoke, he tried to sound very important.
‘There is a way to stop it working.’
Everyone stared at him, wanting to hear more.
Scratch enjoyed the attention and paused dramatically before saying, ‘Us can steal the Tick!’