Blackbriar

by William Sleator

  “Of course I did!” She was beaming, red-cheeked, vibrantly alert. “Feel that air! Feel it! It’s new today. You should be outside, not lounging around in this stuffy room.” She planted her feet wide apart and took a deep breath, standing inches taller.

  “That’s all very nice, I’m sure,” Danny said. “But I think I’ll stay in bed a bit longer. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” He drew his head under the blankets.

  But Philippa was in one of her whimsical moods and wasn’t going to give up easily. She raced to the bed and with one brisk motion ripped all the bedclothes right off. With the sheets and blankets dangling around her, she cried, “Spring is coming!”

  “Super,” Danny sighed, “just super.”

  But it was impossible to lie there uncovered. Mumbling, he got to his feet, turned to face the powerful blast, and looked out the window.

  And it was true, something was different. Nothing obvious like buds on the trees, new grass, or even a cloudless blue sky. But there was a new freshness in the air, a faint suggestion of warmth in the sunlight that was coming down with unusual vigor, and a new clarity in the view down the tree-studded slope. Suddenly he felt like going outside.

  “Maybe I’ll go get some firewood,” he said.

  “Well,” Philippa said, “at last. And you don’t need to pump first, for a change,” she added from the stairs. “I’ve got enough water for the time being.”

  He looked into Lark’s room as soon as he was dressed. She still seemed to be asleep, and he decided that she was probably tired enough to be left in bed for a while longer. He sped down the stairs and, without a word to Philippa in the kitchen, out of the door.

  And he was running, and the air was splashing around him, not warm, but stinging less than usual. The sky seemed distant, endless, as though the heavy, solid ceiling that had always been there had blown away. Everything was sparkling, shimmering, in some unknown way, even the mist that drifted among the trees. He leapt into the woods, reaching at branches, and for a time forgot that there was such a thing as firewood at all.

  Later, out of breath, picking up sticks and branches, he tried to decide what was so different about the world today. It was hardly warmer, and there had been sunny days before. What was it? Only that the air, and the brown earth, and the barren trees, somehow seemed alive. And it was odd that such a subtle difference, something he could barely see or explain, could fill him with such boundless exuberance, an exuberance that was strangely close to tears.

  Lark was wandering in the yard when he got back. “Thanks for waking me up,” she said. “Thanks for telling me what it was like today. I’ve almost missed the best part!”

  He dropped his bundle and spread his arms, and the emotion inside him burst out in thick, irrepressible laughter. And then, Lark was laughing too.

  “Oh, I can’t bear to go home today,” she finally managed to say. “It’s too lovely up here.”

  “Don’t go home. We can do all sorts of things.”

  “But I have to go to school.”

  “Tomorrow you can say you were sick.”

  “But my father . . .”

  “He’ll think you went straight to school! If you stayed, we could go to the tumuli.”

  “Well, I hope Philippa won’t object.”

  “She might not. This weather’s made her mad.”

  Philippa was bustling about the morning chores with more than her usual gusto. She was practically twittering as she dashed around in the kitchen, darting outside every other minute to take a deep breath of air. “I’m never smoking another cigarette as long as I live!” she would cry, then rush back into the house to see if the toast was burning.

  “Well,” she said to them breathlessly in the yard, “do you think we should attempt it?”

  “Attempt what?”

  “Why, having breakfast outside, of course.”

  “Today?”

  “Can you bear the thought of eating in that dreary hole of a dining room? I can’t.”

  “But, Philippa,” Danny explained, “I mean, I know it’s a beautiful day and everything, but we’d freeze. We’d have to eat with our gloves on. The only way to keep warm out here is to keep moving. You’ve been running in and out of the house, you don’t really know how cold it is.”

  “Yes,” Lark said, “we wouldn’t be at all comfortable today. Let’s save it for when we can really enjoy it.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Philippa muttered, “but— crikey!—the two of you can be so maddeningly sensible.” She stalked into the house, feigning disgust, but turned around in the doorway to say, “Danny, I think I do need some water now. And Lark, I suppose you’d better set the table in that ghastly dining room.”

  But on this day even the dining room seemed bright, and breakfast was one of the most cheerful meals they had had in the house. Needless to say, Philippa understood that this was a special day, and to Danny’s surprise actually encouraged Lark to miss school, just this once. “After all,” she said, “I wouldn’t want to be the cause of your wasting a single minute of this glorious weather in some dull old classroom.”

  After they had cleaned up, however, and Danny said, “Lark and I are going to walk over to the tumuli,” Philippa’s bright expression faded. “But, darling,” she said, “I was thinking, since this weather has made us all feel so energetic, wouldn’t it be a good time to whitewash the dining room? We’ve got to do it sometime, and since Lark is here today it will go all the faster. . . .”

  There was nothing they could do. Philippa was determined to whitewash today, no matter what. “Even if I have to do it all myself,” she said; and they certainly couldn’t let her do that. Quickly they moved all the furniture out of the room. The polished oval table and ornately carved chairs were scattered haphazardly among the bushes and trees in the yard, looking stuffy and ill at ease, like overdressed people at the wrong party. Philippa took the canvas tarpaulin from Lil’s engine (where she tucked it carefully every night to keep the car warm), and spread it over the dining room floor. The three of them began to paint. Though Lark and Danny painted furiously, in order to get it over with, they were obviously bored by the whole business. But Philippa seemed to love every minute of it. It’s interesting, Danny thought (feeling very frustrated), how a day like this makes Lark and me long to be outside, but it makes her want to fix up the house.

  The job took most of the day, for Philippa was a perfectionist about such things. They ate lunch outside, holding their sandwiches in raw, shaking hands, walking around the yard as they ate, to keep warm; occasionally sitting down for a moment on the fancy chairs. The chairs faced away from each other, and the three of them sat staring blankly off in different directions, chewing like cows on the thick sandwiches.

  Then quickly back into the dining room, seeming all the darker now that they had been outside again. But whitewashing could be almost pleasant, Danny thought, particularly if there were a lot on your mind to mull over while your hand moved up and down. Naturally Danny concentrated on the tunnel.

  Eventually, however, he began to notice a strange, tight feeling in his head. He had been so preoccupied, for so long, with the same dark imaginings. He longed to forget about it all, to let loose in openness and freedom and light. And he kept glancing toward the window, to the day that was moving inexorably into afternoon, and back to the gradually diminishing patch of unpainted wall.

  At last they were finished, and there was still some daylight left. The cleaning up was maddening. They sped about, picking up the tarp, cleaning the brushes, putting things away, moving all the furniture back into the room.

  Lark and Danny could hardly stop to admire their work as Philippa so blissfully was doing. Almost dancing in their eagerness, they began to edge toward the door, waiting for their chance to get away.

  Suddenly Philippa turned toward them from where she was examining the wall. “You two certainly are in a hurry to get out of here,” she said. “Are you up to something?’’


  “No,” Danny said. “We just want to get to the tumuli before dark. We’ve been planning on it all day.”

  “It’s interesting, Danny, the way you’re always so energetic now, always up and about,” she mused slowly. “You always used to be so comfortably lethargic, always sitting down whenever you had the chance. . . .”

  “Was I?” he said impatiently, trying to be polite. “But I thought you didn’t like it that I was lethargic, I thought you always wished I—”

  “Oh, forget it. Yes, go on now. But please try to get back before dark.” Nevertheless, Danny grabbed the large flashlight as they raced out the door.

  They hardly spoke as they walked quickly down the track. The new feeling in the air was still as exciting as it had been that morning, especially after all the hours spent inside. The tightness in Danny’s head began to melt away; the sunlight seemed to penetrate through his hair, smoothing out the tension and brushing away all the twisted, tangled thoughts.

  Were they really walking faster and faster as they went on? Never had the different landmarks fallen behind so quickly. Before they knew it they were at the edge of the plateau, and there were the clouds speeding overhead, the hills and valleys falling all around them; and the three sloping mounds, tantalizingly ominous even on a day like this.

  Why was the wind so different here, why did the clouds move so magically? They strolled across the brown grass, gazing off at the endless countryside that was clearer, closer today than ever before.

  Danny grabbed Lark’s hand as they ran up the nearest mound. Panting, they reached the top together.

  “My God! What’s that?” Danny cried.

  Planted in the center of the flat space enclosed by the three mounds was a large pole, rising at least thirty feet into the air. It was a plain wooden pole, growing slightly thinner at the top; nothing but a tall tree stripped of bark and branches and sanded smooth.

  Danny dropped Lark’s hand and hurried down the mound to the base of the pole. It was perfectly smooth to his touch, and, in fact, was very beautiful, the dark pattern of the grain making intricate designs over the entire surface. He pushed it, but it was so deeply embedded in the ground that it would not move at all.

  Lark joined him. “Well,” she said, “I suppose it’s obvious why this is here. They’re going to have another one of those fire things up here.”

  “Yes.” Danny was staring fixedly off into space. He sighed. “If only I could have heard them better!”

  “Heard who?”

  “Lord Harleigh and the librarian. But I do distinctly remember one of them saying something like ‘getting closer and closer’ . . . and it suddenly occurred to me just now, maybe they’re mixed up in what you saw up here.” He turned to face her. “Is there anyone else at all around here who is so strange and secretive?”

  “Well, no . . .”

  “And it might help to explain why they are so concerned about us being at Blackbriar. You know, I really do think I must be right.”

  “There’s no proof.”

  “It seems so logical though. But of course there’s nothing we can do about it anyway, whether I’m right or not. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Aimlessly they wandered about the pole. “So it’s really going to happen again,” Danny kept saying, almost to himself. Lark said nothing. This grim reminder seemed to sap away all the exuberance and joy they had felt only moments before. The tumuli were dismal now, and the wind was cold. Soon they started back.

  “Isssslington!” they could hear Philippa calling as they neared the cottage, “Isssslington!” When they stepped out of the thicket of pines they could see her standing in the center of the yard, looking very distraught in the gathering dusk.

  “Oh, there you are!” she said, running toward them. “You haven’t seen Islington, have you? He’s been gone all day. I was so preoccupied with painting that room that I forgot all about him. I haven’t seen him since early this morning.”

  “I don’t remember seeing him at all,” Danny said.

  “Neither do I,” said Lark.

  “He’s never been gone this long before,” Philippa moaned. “Oh, how could I have forgotten about him like that? The poor thing. Anything could have happened to him. He could be lost, or trapped somewhere, or . . .” and her voice almost broke, “something could have . . . got him. I know there are foxes around here, and perhaps even wolves.” She turned away from them quickly. “Isslington!” she called again, hoarsely, “Isssssslington, darling, where are you?”

  Lark and Danny glanced at each other. “I guess we should go look for him,” Danny said. “He’s probably just chasing something. Are you sure he’s not in the house?”

  “Yes, I’ve checked everywhere. I know something awful has happened, I just know it.” She sounded hopeless.

  “I wish I could help,” Lark said hesitantly, “but I’ve really got to get back. My father must be worried by now. I’ll walk down.”

  “No,” Philippa said, “I’ll drive you. Islington may have wandered down the road. Someone in the pub might have seen him. But you stay here, Danny, just in case he comes back.”

  Lark would rather have walked than ride with Philippa, who even in her best mood was never very friendly to her, but neither she nor Danny wanted to cross Philippa now. Soon the two of them were rumbling away down the track.

  Danny stood in the doorway as the car noises grew fainter and finally disappeared. He called Islington’s name a few times but soon stopped. His voice sounded ominous and lonely against the wind.

  It was only a few minutes later that, still standing in the doorway, Danny noticed two glittering orange disks watching him from the darkness under the trees. “Islington?” he said. Cautiously he began to walk toward them.

  The disks dissolved and Islington loped out of the woods. “Islington!” Danny cried, relief flooding through him like hot tea in his stomach. But at the sound of his name the cat froze, then took a step or two backwards. Danny stopped walking and watched, silently. After a moment Islington began to walk toward him again, but strangely. Something was different about the way he moved, but it was too subtle for Danny to tell what it was. When the cat came very close, Danny reached out to pet him. Islington growled and spat, his hair standing on end, and bit Danny’s finger, drawing blood.

  “Ouch! Damn you!” Danny cried, and began to suck on his finger. Islington hurried into the house.

  At first Danny couldn’t see the cat anywhere inside. He wasn’t in his usual places by the fire or the stove.

  But he found him at last in his own room. He was clawing violently at Danny’s chest of drawers, shivering and making pitiful moaning noises.

  “Now what are you doing that for, you nasty beast?” Danny said. And then he remembered what was hidden inside the dresser.

  17

  Philippa brooded silently over one cigarette after another as Danny bolted down his two eggs and three pieces of toast. He swallowed the last crust and hurriedly began clearing the table, balancing cups and plates on his arms to get it over with as soon as possible. He dropped them into the sink, then headed for the door.

  “Danny,” she said.

  “What?” He paused restlessly in the dining room doorway.

  “Sit down. We’ve got to talk.”

  He slumped into a chair, drumming on the table with his fingertips.

  “I just can’t stop thinking about Islington. You must tell me everything that happened. I can’t bear to see him like this.”

  “But I told you everything, about ten times.” He sighed again, then began to speak with exaggerated patience. “He came out of the woods. He was walking strangely. He bit my hand when I tried to pet him. He went inside. You know all the rest, you came back right after that.”

  “Yes, but don’t you have any idea what might have happened? Why, he doesn’t eat, he won’t even let me touch him, he doesn’t hunt mice, he just moons around all the time. You must have some idea.”

  “But why shoul
d I know any more about it than you?” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “And I’ve got to go get some firewood.”

  “Well, if you don’t know anything,” she said, suddenly angry, “why do you keep trying to avoid my questions?” She stabbed out her cigarette and began fumbling for a new one.

  “I’m not avoiding your questions. We just need some more firewood, that’s all.”

  “Oh, don’t give me that. I know you. I can tell when you’re hiding something. And it’s cruel, cruel of you to keep anything about Islington from me! You’ve changed as much as he has.”

  He stood up quickly, scraping back his chair. “I’m going outside, I can’t take this anymore!” he shouted, and stormed out of the house.

  Islington was standing in the yard, quivering and shaking helplessly. As Danny ran past, the cat howled and dashed away. He remembered how proud and brave Islington used to be; and even though he had always considered the cat obnoxious, now a sudden feeling of pity for the animal swept over him. He stopped and turned around to try and find Islington and comfort him, but then he remembered his anger at Philippa and continued on his way.

  He walked quickly down the track. Instead of his coat, he wore a jacket and heavy sweater, for it was less cold today than ever. He could still see his breath, but his face did not sting, and as he walked quickly he began to feel warm.

  And, of course, he did have ideas about what had happened to Islington. That part of the conversation in the library had been difficult to hear, but he had noticed how special they seemed to think Islington was, and with what glee they had discussed doing something to him. And whatever it was, Danny speculated, they must have done it.

  He turned right, following a path into the woods on the side of the hill. But what could they have done to produce such an eerie change in Islington’s behavior? There were no signs that he had been physically hurt in any way. And why should anyone want to do anything to a helpless cat? It just didn’t make sense.

  And, of course, he couldn’t tell Philippa. Without knowing definitely that something had happened to him, she might eventually be able to convince herself that Islington was just going through some sort of phase, and stop worrying. But if she knew that someone had actually mistreated him deliberately she would be beside herself; she might even go to them and do something about it; she might even want to leave. It was better to prevent these possibilities. And this time, he reflected, he wasn’t at all worried that she would succeed in prying it out of him.