The Sword of Aradel by Alexander Key Page B

suddenly surprised stare with one of her elfin smiles.
    The man grinned. “All dolled up for a party, eh? Some outfits!” Then his eyes widened at the sight of Tancred. “A pet bird! What is he? Some kind of a thrush?”
    Brian nodded, mainly to avoid having to speak. He had already decided that the language here was a peculiar form of English. The brown jackets had been almost impossible to understand, but the guard—which he surely must be—was far easier to make out. He wished, though, that the man would go on and not ask questions. Questions could be dangerous.
    â€œA pet thrush!” the guard exclaimed. “Does he sing?”
    When she nodded, he asked, “And where would the two of you be going with a pet thrush?”
    â€œTo—to the mouseion , good sir,” she replied, in her English of another age.
    â€œEh? What did you say?”
    â€œMouseion . Canst thou direct us whither it lieth?”
    â€œHuh? You must be Quakers. And this mu-mu—Oh, you must mean museum! Sure, the Tate Museum is down that way, just across the park.” He jerked his thumb toward the intersection across the street. “Better be careful in the park. Stay on the main walk. It’s patrolled.”
    Merra thanked him with a nod and a smile, then gave Brian’s sleeve a quick tug and whispered, “Let us go! The light is green.”
    He had no idea what she meant and immediately balked when she started across the broad street directly in front of the things on wheels. “It is safe to walk on green,” she explained hurriedly. “Haven’t you been watching the lights at the corners?”
    He muttered that there were too many lights, and that thousands of them were constantly changing color. But he had to admire her for her quick thinking, and for noticing what he had missed.
    â€œThat place he called a museum,” he said, after they had safely reached the far corner and could see trees in the distance. “It couldn’t possibly be Cerid’s mouseion , could it?”
    â€œI don’t know. We’ll just have to find it and see. Everything is so strange here. And time has turned the English we know into something that hardly makes sense. Anyway, I’m just as certain as I can be that Cerid came in this direction.”
    â€œWhat makes you so sure?”
    â€œOh, fiddle, you ought to know by now that none of the Dryads would have stayed an instant longer than necessary on that horrid street behind us. If she arrived here in daylight, she would have been able to see the park first thing—and that’s where she would go. To be among trees.”
    â€œOf course! That makes sense. Do you think she might have hidden the sword in the park?”
    â€œI—I cannot tell yet, Sir Brian. But of this I am sure: Cerid would never, never leave the true sword of Aradel in a place where harm could come to it. It was much too precious to her. Wherever she hid it, it would be in a safe spot.”
    At the end of their narrow street they waited uneasily for the green light to show, then raced across a busy avenue to the edge of the park. Here a wide graveled path stretched away under the trees. Since it was the only one in sight, and well lighted with the curious globes that seemed to glow as magically as the interior of Nysa’s oak, they followed it.
    They were not alone, for groups of young people were continually passing them, hurrying toward some unknown attraction ahead. The attraction soon came into view as their path merged with other paths, and suddenly opened upon a brightly lighted area of low buildings beside a small lake. A blare of raucous music drew their attention to an odd, shell-shaped structure at the edge of the trees far to the left. It was filled with musicians. The young people were converging on it, and hundreds more were sprawled on the grass near it.
    Brian paused beside the first low building, listening to the weird,