A band of ragged children ran past them, and Polly grabbed the last one and asked him, “Have the sirens gone?”
“Not yet,” he said, wriggling free of her, and tore off after the other children.
“Hurry,” Polly said, pushing her way through the mob pouring in. Mrs. Owens must not have been the only one who’d “had a feeling” about there being a raid tonight.
Polly led Mike and Eileen quickly toward the entrance, fearful that at any moment the siren would sound and that, even if they did make it out, it would be too dark to see anything. The tangle of narrow, dead-ending lanes around St. Paul’s was bad enough in daylight, let alone after dark and in the blackout.
But when they came up the stairs and emerged onto the street, St. Paul’s dome was clearly outlined against the searchlit sky. They started up the hill toward it.
We’re actually going to make it, Polly thought. Which meant it was true. Mr. Dunworthy and Mr. Bartholomew —and Colin—had kept what had happened secret all these years, had been willing to sacrifice them to keep the secret.
Like Ultra, she thought. That secret had been kept by hundreds and hundreds of people for years and years— because it was absolutely essential to winning the war.
What if their getting trapped, their coming back, had had to be kept secret for some reason equally vital to time travel? Or to history? And that was why they couldn’t be told, why they’d had to be sacrificed …
“What time is it?” Mike asked.
Polly squinted at her watch. “Six.”
“Good, we’ve still got plenty of time—” Mike said, and a siren cut sharply across his words.
I knew it, Polly thought, and took off at a trot, Mike and Eileen following.
“It’s only the siren,” Mike said, panting. “That still gives us twenty minutes till the planes, doesn’t it?”
I don’t know, Polly thought, sprinting up the hill. Please let there be twenty minutes. That’s all we need.
And it looked like they’d be granted it. They were nearly to the top of Ludgate Hill before the searchlights switched on, and the anti-aircraft guns still hadn’t started firing by the time they came to the iron fence surrounding the cathedral. And why couldn’t it, of all the fences in London, have been taken down and donated to the scrap- metal drive so they could go in the north transept door? They’d have to go around to the west front.
She started along the fence. “Damn it,” Mike said behind her.
“What is it?” she asked, and heard what he had, the drone of a plane. “There’s still time. Come along,” and rounded the corner to the west front and started up the broad steps to where a Christmas tree stood in front of the Great West Door.
“You, there!” a man’s voice called from behind them. “Where do you think you’re going?” A shuttered pocket torch fixed its narrow beam on Polly and then on Mike and Eileen. A man in an ARP helmet emerged from the darkness at the foot of the steps. “What are you lot doing outside? You should be in a shelter. Didn’t you hear the sirens?”
“Yes,” Mike said. “We were—”
“I’ll take you to the shelter.” He started up the steps toward Polly. “Come along.”
Not again, Polly thought. Not when we’re so near.
She glanced up the steps, wondering if she could make it the rest of the way up to the porch and over to the door before he caught her. She didn’t think so. “We weren’t looking for a shelter, sir,” she said. “We’re looking for a friend of ours. He’s on the St. Paul’s fire watch.”
“We have to talk to him,” Mike said. “It’s urgent.”
“So’s that,” the warden said, jamming a thumb skyward. “Hear those planes?”
It was impossible not to. They were nearly overhead, and the fire watch would already be heading up to the roofs, preparing for them.
“In a minute those planes’ll be here,” the warden said, “and the watch’ll have more than they can deal with. They won’t have time for any chats.” He extended his hand toward Polly. “Now, come on, you three. There’s a shelter near here. I’ll take you there.”
“You don’t understand,” Eileen said. “All we need to do is to get a message to him.”
“It’ll only take a minute,” Mike added, backing down the steps and off to the side so the warden had to turn to face him.
He’s doing that to distract him, Polly thought, and took a silent backward step up the broad stone stairs, and then another, grateful for the growing roar of the planes, which hid the sound of her footsteps. “I know right where to find him!” Mike shouted to the warden over the noise. “I can be in and out in no time.”
Polly took another step backward up the stairs.
An anti-aircraft gun behind her started up, and the warden turned at the sound and saw her. “You there, where do you think you’re going?” He scrambled up the steps toward her. “What are the three of you up to?”
There was a strange, swooping swish above them. Polly looked up and had time to think, If that’s a bomb. I shouldn’t have done that, and there was a clatter, like an entire kitchenful of pots and pans falling on the floor.
Something landed on the stair between her and the warden and burst into a furious, fizzing fountain of sparks. Polly backed away from it, putting up her hand to shield her eyes from the blinding blue-white light. The warden had jumped away from it, too, as it sputtered and spun, throwing off molten stars.
It’ll catch the Christmas tree on fire, Polly thought, and had turned to run into the cathedral for a stirrup pump when she realized this was her chance. She darted up It’ll catch the Christmas tree on fire, Polly thought, and had turned to run into the cathedral for a stirrup pump when she realized this was her chance. She darted up the stairs and across the porch to the door. She grabbed the handle.
