The Changes Trilogy by Peter Dickinson

Author:Peter Dickinson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504001380
Publisher: Open Road Media Teen & Tween

Chapter 7

ENGINES

Jonathan thought for almost a minute, biting the back of his knuckle while his breath steamed in the early moonlight. Then he picked up his side of the big bucket and helped her edge it through the paddock gate and tilt the water into the trough.

“I’ll ride down tomorrow night,” he said, “and warn them to get ready. Then we can both go down two nights after that and start the towing in the dark. We’ll be halfway to Sharpness before they even miss us, and they’ll never guess which way we’ve gone.”

“We must say good-bye to Aunt Anne somehow,” said Margaret.

“I’ll write her a letter. I’ll do it tomorrow so that I don’t have to do it at the last minute, and I’ll hide it in my room. Cheer up, Marge, she’ll feel better when we’ve gone because she’ll stop worrying about us. That’s why she’s been so ill, knowing what’d happen to us if we’re found.”

“But she doesn’t know what we’re doing,” said Margaret.

“She knows we’re doing something, though.”

Margaret remembered the haggard face, and the bony hands that had banged her to and fro in bed.

“Yes,” she said.

He was in his room all next afternoon, toiling away (Margaret knew) at his half-taught, baby-big handwriting. He would tell Aunt Anne everything, too, because she had a right to know the truth, a right to know the real reasons why he had to go. Margaret went to bed feeling guilty in the awareness that he was keeping himself awake so that when the house was still he could climb out and ride the tiring journey down to their companions; but she was quickly asleep. Perhaps she stirred and frowned when the board outside on the landing creaked as someone trod on it in the darkness, or perhaps the stirring and frowning were caused by the first waves of terror as she began on the old, horrible dream about the bull.

But this time the dream never finished. Instead she was wide awake, staring at darkness, heart slamming, because something out of the real world had woken her—a shouting and stamping on the stairs, three hammering paces on the landing, and the door of her room opening like a thunderclap. Uncle Peter towered there, a lantern in one hand and in the other several sheets of paper, all different sizes.

“What’s this? What’s this?” he bellowed, and shoved the papers under her nose. She put out a hand to take them, though she knew quite well what they were, but he snatched them away. His face was so tense with rage that she could have counted the different muscles of his cheeks. Rosie hovered in the doorway behind him.

“What’s what?” quavered Margaret—no matter how scared she sounded, because she would have been scared even if she’d known nothing.

“A letter!” he shouted. “A letter to your aunt! Jo wrote it. Says he rescued that witch and he’s going to get him away from Gloucester Docks in a filthy wicked boat! What d’you know about it, my girl?”

“Where did you find it?” asked Margaret in a wobbly voice.

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