Eight Days of Luke by Diana Wynne Jones Page B

him were some big black birds watching the spade for worms.
    â€œYou think you’ve got me, don’t you?” David said to the distant Mr. Chew. “Well, you’re wrong. You’ve not got me, and you’ve not got Luke either. I’ll get out this morning. You’ll see.”
    A vow like this is easy to make but not so easy to fulfill. For what seemed ages, David hung about after breakfast, waiting for Mr. Chew’s attention to be fixed elsewhere, but, at the same time, he did not dare let Aunt Dot see him, because he was in his jeans, now very grubby and comfortable indeed. Aunt Dot was anxious to see him. David heard her say several times: “Where is David? I want him to bring his friend here.”
    â€œI did remind him, Dot,” Astrid said.
    â€œIt is not merely reminding David needs,” Aunt Dot replied. “If he is to remember a thing, it must be dinned in his ears.”
    David had several narrow escapes while Aunt Dot irritably searched for him. But at last what he had been hoping for happened. Cousin Ronald marched masterfully up the garden to tell Mr. Chew how to spray roses. Mr. Chew pushed his dirty hat back, scratched his wiry hair, and gave Cousin Ronald his attention. David pelted for the front door.
    â€œDavid!” said Aunt Dot from the rear.
    This is the kind of summons you ignore. David slammed the front door, shot down the drive and was out of the gate before the echoes from the door had died away. Down the road he went, a hurried jog-trot, with the matches rattling on his hip, wondering where it would be safe to strike one and fetch Luke. Courteous old Mr. Fry had caught someone else that morning. He was waving his rose-spray earnestly while he talked to a man in a dark suit, who was leaning with one hand on Mr. Fry’s gate, nodding and smiling pleasantly at Mr. Fry.
    Something about the shape of that dark suit caused David’s steps to slow, then to halt altogether. It could have been the man who was talking to Mr. Chew. Not quite sure, David stood still, about a wicket-length away.
    Mr. Fry saw him and waved the rose-spray. “Good morning, my young friend!”
    The man leaning on the gate turned, casually and pleasantly, to see who Mr. Fry was calling to. His face was perfectly pleasant. But David’s stomach pitched about, because the way he turned was the same as the way he had turned when Mr. Chew pointed to David’s window.
    â€œMorning,” David called to Mr. Fry. Then, with his hands in his pockets, he turned and sauntered back the way he had come. He tried to look casual and carefree, but he was seething with frustration and rather frightened too. The road was a dead end. The only way out was past Mr. Fry’s house, and the stranger was posted there. No wonder Mr. Chew could afford to give Cousin Ronald his attention.
    Miserably, David went back into the house and pulled the door shut. Miserably, he trudged up to his room and sat on his bed, wondering how he was to get out of the house and warn Luke there were now two people after him. He simply could not see how to do it.
    As he sat there, he heard voices downstairs. He could tell that Aunt Dot was still looking for him to make him fetch Luke. Fetch Luke! It was just like Aunt Dot to make things really difficult. The best thing was to stay quiet and hope she gave up.
    But a minute later, hurried feet pounded on the stairs. Someone gave a hasty bang at his door and burst in. It was Astrid.
    â€œOh, there you are!” she said. “Thank goodness! Quick, get into those good clothes, or Dot’ll eat us both, and then make haste to the drawing room. You’re wanted.”
    â€œAll right.” Sighing, David stood up.
    â€œHurry!” said Astrid. “She’ll come herself in a minute!”
    David hurried, feeling that this was all he needed to make this the worst day of the holiday. Three minutes later, he was ready and Astrid was rapidly brushing his