All the windows of the Harrower were open but to very little effect. The fan Slink had made, and which was powered by potatoes, hadn't helped either. The place was an oven. That's why all the children had decided to go to the beach to rest.

It had been a hard day for all of them. Despite the oppressive heat that had invaded Spring Heights, chores and jobs still had to be done. The cabin was cleaned, food was bought, fish were fished, the vegetable garden was weeded and a chimney across the city was swept. Matthew and Slink had tried searching for Mrs Grey but stopped after spying only seven addresses due to the heat. They spent the rest of the day rebuilding Cratey at the garage.

'Has anyone heard from Aldo and Jeff?' Jennifer asked. She was sitting on a beach chair, fanning herself with a newspaper.

Splashing his feet in the water, Ramon answered, 'I have. They're doing much better.'

The money Aldo and Jeff owed the Mongraw Gang was a substantial amount. With Miss Thorn's cash, however, it was easily taken care of.

'I'm glad to hear.'

Slink suddenly burst out, jumping up from his seat in the sand, 'Oh, I completely forgot. It's auction night tonight.'

Everyone, except for Matthew, all mumbled they had forgotten too. Again, Matthew had no idea what was going on.

'We should go,' Slink continued. There were a lot of groans. 'Oh, come on. I know you're all tired and it's hot but we have to.'

'We can get crates anywhere,' yawned John. He was lying down, his eyes closed.

'Yes, but Trevor always has the best ones in the Free Territory and they're usually always in good condition, meaning I don't have to repair them that much,' Slink replied.

'I'll come with you,' said Matthew. 'But first, you have to tell me what you're talking about.'

Slink replied in a grateful tone. 'Auction night is held once a week at the rail yard and it's run by a boy named Trevor . . . he's the auctioneer. First, there's an auction. Trevor auctions off his and other children's things. Then, after he's finished, the place turns into a market, where children trade with one another.'

Looking at Matthew, Chloe said, raising her eyebrows, 'It can get pretty rowdy. Thankfully, the Mongraw Gang or the Westies don't know about it.'

'What kind of things are auctioned, traded?' Matthew asked.

'Crates for one, which we need, so we can start building racing carts,' answered Slink, 'but anything really . . . food, clothes, shelter.'

'Shelter more than anything else,' said John. 'Living on the streets of a city, shelter is essential. Take a quality tarp for example. If you brought one to market, you could trade for anything you wanted.'

'I may have to bring our tarp,' said Slink, 'if we want crates.'

'Hey,' said Ramon, 'you two better hurry up if you want make the start of it.'

'We have plenty of time,' said Slink. 'We have an hour.'

'No, it starts in half an hour,' replied Ramon.

Slink hit his head. 'That's right. I forgot Trevor said it would start half an hour earlier this week. I think the heat's getting to me. I don't usually forget things like this.'

Slink and Matthew rowed over to the Harrower and gathered up items they were willing to trade. Along with a green tarp, they collected two pairs of shoes too small for anyone to wear, four wheels, a push toy in the shape of a horse that had washed up on the shore ('Someone could use it for something'), a small coffee table with only two legs, and fish bones.

Fifteen minutes later and arms straining, Matthew and Slink straggled out from the storm drain and into Whatever-grows Park.

'Where's the rail yard?' asked Matthew.

Slink answered, 'It's near the docks in the south . . . far from the Westies and the Mongraw Gang territories.'

'How long will that take?'

'About ten minutes.'

Matthew screwed up his face. 'How's that possible? It takes longer to get to Maple Hill Park and that's closer than the docks.'

Slink winked at him.

'Are we going to take the car?'

'Nope.'

'A taxi?'

'Nope.'

'Train?'

'Close enough.'

Slink stopped by a bench and walked into the bushes. He soon came back out and was pushing a grocery cart, a modified grocery cart. There was a seat at the back with bicycle pedals underneath and four large metal wheels with grooves.

'This, Matthew, is our transportation,' Slink said as he loaded their items into the grocery carts' basket.

Matthew was confused. 'Really? How does this have anything to do with trains?' The thing just looked like it had been turned into a quadricycle.

Slink began to push the grocery cart toward the entrance to Whatever-grows Park and said, 'Just you wait.'

The second he saw the railway track, Matthew understood. They went over, first making sure no trains were coming, then lifted the cart onto the track. It fit like a glove, the grooves on the wheels lining up perfectly.

'Hop in,' said Slink, himself hopping onto the seat at the back.

Matthew made some space. And when he climbed in, Slink started to pedal.

In no time at all they were zooming towards the rail yard in the south, the screeching of the wheels on the tracks reverberating all around. It was an enjoyable ride for Matthew, to say the least, except when he saw the lights of a train heading straight for them. There was no need for him to panic, though, for Slink just stopped the cart and they lifted it off the tracks, putting it back on when the train had passed.

After switching tracks numerous times, they made it to the rail yard. It was a silent and eerie place. For now.

Stopping the grocery cart behind a parked train, Slink jumped off the seat. 'We're here,' he said, and helped Matthew out.

'Where to now?'

'The turntable.'

'The what?'

'It's a place where trains can turn around.'

With all the items once again in hand, Matthew followed Slink. They walked by a very long freight train, across five tracks, down an even longer freight train, and then beside a passenger train.

The sound of cooing suddenly filled the air and Slink came to a halt. He then cooed back.

Matthew knew Slink hadn't just conversed with a pigeon and was sure it was some sort of signal. His theory was proven, for a young girl wearing camouflage climbed down from one of the passenger cars up ahead.

'Ah, Slink,' said the girl. 'I was wondering when you were going to show up.'

'Good evening, Laura,' replied Slink, as he and Matthew walked over. 'I forgot it was earlier this week. Has Trevor started yet?'

'Not yet. You have a few minutes.' Laura looked to Matthew. 'Who's this?'

'This is Matthew . . . a friend of mine. He's new in town.'

'New in town, hey?' Laura said suspiciously.

Slink said abruptly, 'He's not a member of the Mongraw Gang or the Westies . . . trust me. What would I be doing with any of them?'

'Very true,' said Laura. 'Well, any friend of Slink's is a friend of mine.'

Laura took Matthew and Slink over to the passenger car she had sprung from and helped them on board. She then wished them all the best, hoping they get what they came for, and left them to carry on down the aisle by themselves.

A looming and intimidating girl, her arms folded in front, stood at the very end. The image of a bouncer at a club came to Matthew's mind. The girl didn't say a word but gave them an inquisitive eye. After a quick nod, she opened the door to the left of her.

A tidal wave of talking instantly met Matthew's ears. And when he had followed Slink over to the door, first giving the girl a wide birth, he said, 'Wow.'

Beyond the door and inside a large circle surrounded by an impenetrable wall of metal, the fronts and rears of twenty trains, stood countless children. A raised platform of cinder blocks and plywood stood on one side, a lectern in its center. Matthew had no idea so many children lived on the streets of Spring Heights. When the others talked about them, he pictured far less.

Matthew and Slink climbed down from the train and entered into the mass, heading straight over to the platform.

Trying to see as many things as possible that children had brought, Matthew's head was all over the place. He saw the skeleton of a beach umbrella, a potato sack full of live cockroaches, and a washing machine (the owner had added wheels and was advertising as a mobile home.) He also saw a real live tiny monkey.

Once Matthew and Slink had found a spot, a boy with a raccoon hat on his head quickly jumped onto the platform. He looked very confident.

The noise of the crowd died down dramatically.

'That's Trevor,' Slink whispered to Matthew, 'the Auctioneer.'

Matthew nodded in reply, glancing over at a pile of items near the platform behind a sign that read, 'For Auction.'

Trevor stepped behind the lectern and burst out, getting him many laughs, 'Girls and boys – and if there are any – ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to another of my famous auctions.' Children applauded. 'Now, before we get things under way . . . the rules. I know most of you probably know them off by heart, but for the ones who have forgotten or who are new, listen carefully. First rule . . . I am in charge here. Second rule . . . after, and only after I've finished the auction, then all of you can trade amongst yourselves.' He took out a pen and notepad from his pocket and put them on the lectern. 'Now, let's get started. First item, please.'

A small boy carrying a long green crate climbed onto the platform.

'Oooooh,' said Slink, 'that's a really nice one. Not much repair work there. I want it.' His eyes were transfixed on the crate as if under a spell.

'Jacob is holding up a very fine specimen of a crate I found,' said Trevor. 'As you can see, it's from the SHSC factory.' The letters were on the side of the crate.

Slink told Matthew the letters stood for Spring Heights Soup Company. 'They make canned soup at a factory nearby.'

Continuing, Trevor said, 'This crate is made for weight. So not only is it safe to carry as much as you can fit in it, it is safe for a child to ride down a hill. This is the best of the best, you lot, and frankly, I think it is the best crate I have ever come across. So . . . who's going to start off the bidding.'

'An orange,' yelled someone.

There were roars of laughter.

Matthew could tell Trevor wanted to laugh too, but he didn't. 'Jay, never in my life would I trade this crate for an orange.'

A girl in the front row, who had a string of dead birds around her neck, shouted, 'Ten fat pigeons.'

Trevor pointed at the girl and nodded. He then scribbled something in his notepad.

'A tent,' shouted a girl right beside Matthew.

'Gemma, I saw your tent before coming up here,' said Trevor. 'Too many holes.'

Gemma sighed.

'A bag of cockroaches!!!'

'I haven't finished the bag I took from you last week,' yelled Trevor. 'By the way, Tie, they are the best tasting cockroaches I've ever had . . . lovely fried. To everyone, I seriously recommend Tie's cockroaches.'

Matthew was waiting for Slink to offer the tarp in exchange for Trevor's crate, but Slink remained silent.

'A ten foot rope!!!'

'Thirty fat pigeons!!!'

The next fifty bids went by extremely fast, it sounding more and more like a proper auction with every bid. It also got rowdy, as Matthew had been told, with a pair of children almost coming to blows. Matthew hadn't heard what the argument was about.

'Hey, Slink,' said Matthew. 'Why are children willing to trade food for a crate? I mean, food is more important than a crate.'

'It's just a gamble they're willing to take,' Slink replied. 'A good crate doesn't guarantee winning a race but it sure does increase your chances. You see that boy who just bid all those stale loaves of bread, he could find ten times that amount plus other things if he won access to Long Street.'

'Are you going to bid on the crate?'

'I am. I was just waiting to see if I didn't have to bid using the tarp, but I think I have to now.'

'Any other bids?' said Trevor, looking all around as the bidding had come to a halt, the last bid being five bags of charcoal. 'Come on, girls and boys, this is once-in-a-lifetime crate. You don't want to regret letting it go.' Trevor looked around at the crowd again. 'Five bags of charcoal is a bargain for this crate. Someone can surely do better.'

'ALL OF YOUR CRATES!' Slink suddenly shouted.

Everyone turned toward Slink in a snap, including Trevor.

'What was that, Slink?' said Trevor.

'All of your crates,' repeated Slink, 'the one on the platform and the other four I see you have . . . for a tarp.'

For an entire minute Trevor, in deep thought, stroked his face as if he had a beard. He then shouted, 'I'm accepting Slink's bid.'

There were a lot of boos and yelling.

'Any other offers for all of my crates?' shouted Trevor. 'NO! RIGHT, THEN. GOING ONCE . . . GOING TWICE . . . SOLD.'

Upset that Slink was to get all of Trevor's crates, a few children decided to throw things in his direction. Matthew was sure he saw a few cockroaches whizz by.

Once the auction was over (Slink didn't bid for anything else), it was trading time. Slink tried to get the ten-foot rope from the girl who had bid on the long green crate, but she didn't want to trade it for their four wheels. They did get a nice set of flowery bowls for them, though.

'Slink, you caused quite the commotion with that stunt of yours,' said Trevor, as Slink and Matthew walked over to him after they had finished looking around. Trevor was standing in front of the pile of items that had been up for auction and which needed to be collected. 'The next time you want to bid for all of my crates in one big go, come to me before the beginning of the auction and we can talk about it.'

'I'll keep that in mind.' Slink unfolded the tarp and gave it to Trevor.

Trevor inspected the tarp, moving his hand over the fabric and also rubbing it in between his fingers. 'Looks good,' he finally said. He gestured to the crates in the pile behind him.

Matthew was about to follow Slink when Trevor put his arm up, stopping him. 'Where do you think your going? Nobody's allowed near the items without permission.'

'It's all right,' said Slink, 'he's with me.'

Trevor nodded and dropped his arm. 'I don't think I've seen you here before.'

'I'm new to Spring Heights,' replied Matthew. He introduced himself. 'This is my first time at one of your auctions.'

Trevor Smiled. 'Well, welcome . . . both to Spring Heights and my auction.'

'Thanks.'

'Did you enjoy yourself tonight?'

'I did. You have quite an operation going on here.'

'Thank you. I started all this a few years ago at my home. It was quite small back then.'

'Now it's an institution,' Slink declared, as he began looking at the crates, 'an institution that has helped many children who-knows how many times. Children of the Free Territory needed a safe place to trade and you gave it to us.'

'Ooohh, that sounds good,' said a radiant Trevor. 'Do you mind if I use that?

'Not at all,' said Slink.

Now with permission, Matthew walked over to Slink. 'How are the crates?'

'Nails haven't started to rust yet,' said Slink, 'nor has the wood begun to crack. They are near-perfect. Let's take them back to the garage.'

The deal for the crates was finalized with a handshake and the signing of names in Trevor's notepad. Then, Matthew and Slink left, carrying everything back through the train from which they came. They didn't take a railway track to the garage, for there weren't any tracks that came close, but just pushed the grocery cart there.

'Do you want to take it for a spin?' Slink asked Matthew once all the crates had been lifted up into the garage.

Matthew was staring at CrateyII and all its simple glory. CrateyII had the same look as Cratey, except for one addition. Slink had secured a ledge to the back which he could stand on and directly give tips to the child practicing. Matthew had thought that quite ingenious.

'Right now?' Of course Matthew wanted to.

'Yeah, right now,' replied Slink.

Matthew smiled at the thought of taking CrateyII for a spin. 'Definitely.'

'Just don't tell anyone, okay? The others -- especially John -- will get jealous.'