Fire and Hemlock

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by Diana Wynne Jones


  Then the horse came. It stood above them like a tower of golden flesh and bone, beating the current with its iron hooves and screaming, screaming. Polly saw a big eye tangled in pale horse-hair, and huge, square teeth.

  “I never want to see you again!” she screamed at Tom through its screams. The grey lump of Mr Leroy slid past her into nothingness. Polly turned away as the horse hit them.

  CODA

  scherzando

  CODA

  They shaped him in her arms at last

  A mother-naked man

  TAM LIN

  There was an interval of jarring pain, scourging cold and numbing heat. Ages long. After that, the world hardened in jolting stages to pale whiteness. And with it came sadness, such sadness. Polly found herself, shivering and for some reason dripping wet, sitting on the edge of the concrete trough. The grass round it was greyed with the first frost of winter, and greyed further by the rising sun. The grey was as bitter as Polly felt. Water pattered from her clothes and hair. More pattering came from Tom’s clothes. Polly could see him in the growing white light, sitting on the opposite edge of the trough, folded up and shivering under the clinging wreck of his suit, trying uselessly to dry his glasses with his soaking jacket.

  “You meant that, didn’t you?” he said.

  “Yes,” said Polly. And, thanks to Laurel, had to go on meaning it, or it would all be to do again. To love someone enough to let them go, you had to let them go forever or you did not love them that much. The jet of misery rose in Polly, far higher and stronger than it had ever been at Middleton Fair, but she made herself say, “It was true.”

  “All right. I did use you. I admit,” Tom said, speaking in bursts, between shivers. “All I can say is that I did my best… not to hurt you… though there was probably no way not to. Are you quite determined… never to see me again?”

  Polly, shaking all over with cold, held to being stony, and held down the jet of misery behind. “I told you.”

  “All right. But I want to keep seeing you. I always wanted to keep seeing you.” Tom put his blurred glasses on, and took them off with an exclamation of disgust. “It may not work out – between us. But I want to try. At least I can ask now. Won’t you change your mind?”

  Polly stood up. She saw Tom’s head tip to follow her face, trying to make out her reaction. Hunsdon House stood above the uncut lavender bushes, dead and shuttered against the grey-white sky. There were people coming among the bushes, which was probably just as well, or she and Tom would be dying of exposure. And what was her reaction? She looked down at Tom. She thought of Ivy once standing implacably blocking the hallway. She thought of all the things Tom might have said – which Seb would have said – just now to change her mind. It was the things not said that showed they might have a great deal in common. And Tom had spent so many years defying Laurel. One of the things he had to be saying, by not saying, was that there had to be some way to get round Laurel’s chilly logic. Perhaps there always was a way.

  The jet of misery died away and became a warm welling of hope. “This is quite impossible,” Polly said carefully. “For you, the only way to behave well was to behave badly. For me, the only way to win was to lose. You weren’t to know me, and I wasn’t to remember you.” She saw Tom’s head tip again as he began to get her gist. “If two people can’t get together anywhere—”

  “You think?” Tom said with a shivery laugh. “Nowhere?”

  “Yes, and if it’s not true nowhere, it has to be somewhere.” Polly laughed and held out her hands. “We’ve got her, either way.”

  Tom groped, gripped her hand awkwardly, and stood up. “Who’s coming? I can’t see a thing.”

  “I think it’s the rest of the quartet,” Polly said. Sam burst out of the bushes as she said it, and turned to shout that he had found them. We’d better all go to Granny’s, Polly thought, gripping Tom’s icy hand. Ed followed Sam, carrying Tom’s cello, and Ann came behind with Leslie. Even in that early light Polly could tell Leslie had been crying his eyes out. But he had recovered enough to pretend to be normal.

  “Hey!” he called out. “That car of yours is sat on top of the roses back there. Squashed them flat!”

  Tom leaned his head against Polly’s to laugh. “Now, that is impossible!” he said.

  Other Works

  Other titles by Diana Wynne Jones

  Chrestomanci Series

  Charmed Life*

  The Magicians of Caprona*

  Witch Week*

  The Lives of Christopher Chant*

  Mixed Magics*

  The Pinhoe Egg*

  Black Maria

  A Tale of Time City

  Howl’s Moving Castle*

  Castle in the Air*

  House of Many Ways*

  The Homeward Bounders

  Archer’s Goon*

  Eight Days of Luke

  Dogsbody

  Power of Three

  Wilkins’ Tooth

  Stopping for a Spell

  The Ogre Downstairs

  For older readers

  Hexwood

  The Time of the Ghost

  The Merlin Conspiracy*

  The Game

  For younger readers

  Wild Robert

  *Also available on tape

  Copyright

  For more information about the author and her work, visit her website address at:

  www.dianawynnejones.com

  First published by Methuen Children’s Books Ltd 1985

  First published in paperback by CollinsVoyager 2000

  CollinsVoyager is an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  77–85 Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith,

  London, W6 8JB

  The HarperCollinsChildren’sBooks website address is:

  www.harpercollinschildrensbooks.co.uk

  SEVENTH EDITION

  Text copyright © Diana Wynne Jones 1985

  Illustrations copyright © David Wyatt 2000

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  EPub Edition © JULY 2012 ISBN 9780007387458

  The author and illustrator assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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