Leave, she willed the still-motionless figure. Move. And after a moment he did.
Oh, no, he was coming this way. Polly backed farther into the dark alley, looking for a doorway or a passage like the drop’s to hide in. She could just make out a large metal dustbin in the darkness, and on the far side of it, a wooden crate. Polly sat down on the crate, tucking her feet back out of view, and waited, listening for footsteps.
After several minutes she heard some, but they were from the wrong direction and walking swiftly. Contemps going to a shelter. Another reason to stay here. She didn’t want to run into Miss Laburnum again and be dragged off to St. George’s. She pulled her sleeve back and checked her watch again. Five past. She jammed her icy hands in her pockets and sat there, listening for planes.
It was an eternity before she heard them. A gun far to the east started up, and a brief interval later, she heard an HE hit, so distant it made only a faint poomphing sound. Polly stood up and felt her way along the side of the dustbin to the mouth of the alley to see if the warden was still there. She looked cautiously out.
Into blackness. It was as dark on the street as it had been in the alley. Darker. Between the fog and the blackout, there was no light at all. She’d never be able to find her way back to Lampden Road in this, let alone across that unstable, hazard-and shaft-strewn mound of rubble to the drop.
I’ll have to go fetch a pocket torch, she thought, but if she couldn’t find her way back to the drop, she couldn’t find her way to Mrs. Rickett’s.
But I can’t afford to wait another night to go back to Oxford, she thought and flinched as there was another whoosh and crump, much nearer than the first, and then another. The gun in Tavistock Square started up, and a moment later a flare lit the street in a blue-white glow.
It flickered out, leaving behind a faint reddish glow and then fading, but almost immediately another one flashed to the west of it, arcing in a shower of shimmering white stars, and to the east, a reddish wavering glow lit the lower clouds. A fire, and now the searchlights were coming on, crisscrossing the sky, like giant pocket torches. Wonderful, there was more than enough light to get back to the drop by, and more than enough to see and avoid any rescue shafts.
And to see that the warden had gone. She ran quickly back to the drop, keeping a sharp eye out, but there was no one on the side streets or the part of Lampden Road she could see ahead. By the time she reached the incident, it was bright enough to be able to read the Danger—Keep Out notice. She took one last quick look round for the warden, then clambered up and over the rubble on all fours till she got behind the higher part of the mound and partially out of sight of the street, and then straightened up and moved more slowly.
The closer she got to the drop, the less stable the mound became. Whole sections went slithering down with every step. Polly backtracked a few yards to a tangle of broken-off joists and—holding on to them and then a large beam—worked her way to the wall, and then along it to the passage. When she jumped down into the mouth of the passage, she heaved a sigh of relief.
She’d been worried the blast had somehow penetrated to the drop, but the broken glass only extended a few feet in. There was a thin coat of plaster dust on the floor and the tops of the barrels, but nothing else.
Polly edged past the barrels and went down the steps into the narrow well. The stacked barrels and the ledge above blocked the light from the fires—but there was still more than enough light to see by. The passage and the barrels had protected the well completely. There wasn’t even any dust on the steps, and the spiderweb on the hinge hadn’t been disturbed. She tried the rusty doorknob in case the blast had jarred it loose, but it was still frozen, the door still locked.
The light show outside was growing more spectacular by the minute. The shimmer wouldn’t be noticeable at all amongst the fires and glittering flares and