Blackbriar by William Sleator Page B

the chanting on the tumuli to Philippa. Now she was probably going to say something about it, and Philippa would be furious that he hadn’t told her, as well as even more convinced that they shouldn’t stay. Every time Lark opened her mouth Danny was sure her next words would give it away. Silently he begged her not to mention it, while he desperately tried to think of some way to keep her quiet without making Philippa suspicious.
    But in a moment Philippa finished her drink and stood up. “I’m going to the loo,” she said. “And then we’ve really got to get back. There’s the firewood to find, the oven to light, the lamps to fill, the dinner to cook, poor Islington’s been cooped up in that car practically all day . . .” And she moved off into the smoke.
    Danny breathed deeply. “I kept thinking you were going to tell her about all those people at the tumuli!”
    “Oh, didn’t you tell her? But you shouldn’t have worried. I got the drift of what was going on. She seemed to be on the verge of wanting to leave, so it would have been stupid of me to remind her of something like that, even if she already knew. I suppose it was wise of you not to tell her.”
    “It certainly seems that way now. But listen, there’s this thing I forgot to tell you the other day.” And he described the doll, told about Philippa’s reaction to it and how he had secretly hidden it in his room.
    “I’m dying to go up there now,” Lark said. “I can’t wait to see all these things you’ve been telling me about. I wonder if it would be possible . . .”
    “I can ask her,” Danny said, and then added quickly, “and anyway, it’s my house too. She has no right to refuse—”
    Lark motioned to him to be quiet, for Philippa was approaching the table. They both looked up guiltily, but she seemed too preoccupied to notice. Quickly Danny said, “Philippa, could Lark come back to the house with us now?”
    Philippa looked at Lark doubtfully. “Well, you’d have to spend the night. I’m not driving back down again, you know. If you think your father would approve . . .”
    “I’m sure he would.”
    “Well, in that case, I suppose it’s all right.”
    “Oh, thank you so much! That’s super . I’ve just got to go and tell my father. I mean ask.”
    “And you must be sure to tell him precisely where it is we live,” Philippa said, as the three of them started for the door, “in case he has any objections to your spending the night in that house.”
    “Oh, I’m sure he won’t worry about it.”
    Danny pulled open the heavy, iron-studded door, and they stepped out into the starry night. The air was icy, as clear and brittle as glass. “We just live a few yards from here,” Lark said. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She dashed off into the darkness.
    “Whew! It does feel good to be able to breathe again, after being in that smoky hole for so long.”
    “It’s a nice pub,” Philippa said, climbing into the car. “You didn’t have to come in, you know. And you might as well stop sulking and whining. It’s not going to do any good. And besides, I was just thinking aloud. I still don’t understand why you’ve suddenly decided to like being here—although perhaps I do now,” she added slowly, looking back for a moment in the direction Lark had gone. She paused, then went on quickly. “But be that as it may, I haven’t decided to leave—yet.”
    Danny was eager to turn the conversation away from Lark. “It would be nice if there was a heater in this thing,” he said, as she started the car and turned on the lights.
    “Oh, do shut up, will you? It’s going to be hard enough to get up there in the pitch darkness as it is, without your nasty little comments. Not that I expect you to behave so childishly in front of your friend. Which reminds me, I think you’d better get in the back so that there’ll be room for her. And you can keep a grip on the lamps and things so that they won’t get broken on the