The Black Room by Gillian Cross Page A

dark....

11
    â€œOPEN THE BAG!” ROBERT SAID, CALLING TO TOM AS HE ran back across the parking lot. “There might be an address inside.”
    Tom pulled the zipper open, but he wasn’t quick enough for Robert. Before he had a chance to look in the bag, it was wrenched away from him. Robert knelt down and dumped it on the ground, rummaging through it with both hands.
    There wasn’t much to look at. But on the bottom—under a neatly folded raincoat and three glossy computer magazines—was an empty wallet, with a name and address card in the plastic pocket inside.
    Robert pulled it out and sat back on his heels. “Warren Armstrong,” he said. Experimentally.
    Tom looked over his shoulder. “Is that the right surname? For Lorn?”
    â€œHow would I know?” Robert shrugged. “People have different names in the cavern.”
    He said it as though it should have been obvious. Tom was irritated. “Why do they have different names?”
    â€œBecause they are different,” Robert said impatiently. “Because it’s not allowed to remember what happened before. Because—oh, what does it matter?” He frowned down at the card he was holding. “Where’s Charrington Close?”
    Tom shrugged. “Search me.”
    â€œI’d better find a street map.” Robert scrambled up and slung the bag over his shoulder.
    â€œYou’re not going there?” Tom said. “What about that man?
    â€œHe’s only a man. I’m not going to be afraid of him, am I? Not after facing a hedge-tiger.”
    What’s a hedge-tiger? Tom thought. But he didn’t bother to ask. He’d only get another annoying non-answer.
    â€œMen can be dangerous, too,” Tom said. “That man is—” But he couldn’t explain the feeling he had about him. He wasn’t dangerous like a wild animal, all teeth and claws. It was a different kind of danger. Weird and disturbing.
    Robert wasn’t listening, anyway. He’d already set off back to the square. By the time Tom caught up, he was in the bookshop, poring over a street map of the city.
    Tom peered down at the page, trying to read the names upside down. “Have you found it?”
    â€œIt’s somewhere in this part of the map.” Robert pointed without looking up. “One of the little streets in this development up here.”
    Tom found it first. It was right at the top of the page, on the edge of the city. Directly under the double blue line that showed where the highway ran. He reached over and put his finger on it. “Must be noisy up there.”
    â€œGood for buses, though. There’s bound to be one that goes up there. It’s a really big development.” Robert put the book back on the shelf and headed for the door. He was almost through it before he looked back for Tom. “You coming, Tosh?”
    No, Tom wanted to say. Not there. But he didn’t. He nodded and followed Robert down the hill to the bus station.
    The bus took the main road going north out of the city. It plunged downhill and then up again, and on the right, the development ran all the way up to the highway embankment. Tom could see the cheap little houses laid out on the slope ahead. It was just starting to get dark, and the streetlamps came on as he watched, marking out a maze of twisting, interconnected roads.
    Just before the highway, the bus swung across the road, turning right into the development. Robert put his face against the window, counting the left turns as they passed them. When they reached the third one, he stood up and rang the bell, grabbing Tom’s arm with one hand and the sports bag with the other.
    â€œThat’s it. Come on.”
    They jumped off the bus as soon as it reached the next stop and headed back to the little dead-end street. It was very short, with half a dozen houses on each side and an odd one squeezed in at the end. The extra house had an