Seaward by Susan Cooper Page A

that could see and yet had only shallow sockets for eyes. Then the heavy door slid shut again, as Cally seized his arm and drew him back into the depths of the room.
    â€œWell,” he said, “we aren’t going that way.”
    â€œThey’re so close!” Cally was shaking. “And so many of them, all outside—waiting. . . .” She noticed suddenly that Westerly was carrying her pack, shook her head in apology and took it from him. “After sunset we could go,” she said, pale but intent. “Between sundown and sunup they turn to stone. They really do.”
    Through the door, they could hear a low rumbling: deep formless voices murmuring together.
    â€œDon’t count on it,” Westerly said.
    â€œBut I’ve seen it. I climbed over them, just like over a wall. If we wait just half an hour. . . .”
    â€œBut are they going to wait for that?”
    They stood in the cold empty room, the white mist of light lying like a pool beside them. Westerly fidgetted with the strap of his pack, and went back to the stairway from which they had come. He looked down into the black well of the descending steps, the stair they had not taken. “There’s one other way we could try.”
    â€œDown there?” Cally crossed to look.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œThose stairs go underground—how could we possibly get out that way?”
    â€œDon’t know unless we try.”
    â€œI wish you’d wait.”
    â€œI don’t like waiting,” Westerly said. “Why don’t I just go and look?”
    Cally hesitated. Then she said unhappily, “Well—I’ll come too. If the light goes with us.”
    Westerly set his foot on the first step, and like a stream of quicksilver the light flowed in before him. He turned to grin at Cally, doggedly following him, and they went down the stone stairway with the white stream around their feet. But it did not go far. Within ten steps they came to a flat wall of stone set across the stairway, with only a narrow gap at its base.
    The stream of light paused, and eddied backwards.
    â€œWell,” Westerly said cheerfully, “that’s a challenge if ever I saw one.” He contemplated the stone barrier for a moment, then sat down facing it and began to wriggle his way under it, feet first.
    Cally said, “That wall’s there to keep people out.”
    â€œSo were the doors. No handles, remember?”
    â€œThis isn’t a door.”
    â€œCome on,” Westerly said impatiently.
    â€œYou aren’t hearing me.”
    â€œYes I am. You’re one of those people who don’t walk on lawns if there’s a notice saying Keep Off the Grass.”
    Cally said with spirit, “That’s right.”
    â€œI’m not.”
    â€œYou’re one of those people who tramp your big feet all over the lawn and kill the new grass they’re trying to grow.”
    Westerly laughed. “That’s right.” He slid forward and disappeared under the rock wall. The light flurried like splashing water on the step he had left. Cally sighed, sat down and wriggled reluctantly feet first after him. They could just make out the shape of the steps continuing downward before them. But the light, their obedient white river, had not come through the gap with them.
    Westerly peered back at it and whistled. “Come on, boy.”
    Nothing happened. Cally looked up through the gap and saw the white mist retreating back up the stairs.
    â€œIt’s going away,” she said uneasily.
    â€œYou scared it.”
    â€œWesterly, how can we go down a stone stairway in pitch darkness?” She tried to keep her voice from quavering. “We could fall. There could be anything down there.”
    Westerly said nothing, but his hand reached out and found hers, holding it firmly, and very slowly he drew her on down the steps.
    Cally followed, filled with misgiving, trying to think