The Changes Trilogy by Peter Dickinson Page A

night laired. It was a street of foxes.
    Then, too soon, they were out into the broad evening sun and turning left up the grassy track to the common. Swayne’s farm, deserted now, stood silent on the corner—mainly a long wall of windowless brick, with gates opening into yards where cattle had once mooched and scuffled. Gopal, driven by some impulse to assert himself against the brooding stillness, drew the gray curved blade from his belt and lunged at imaginary foes; with each lunge he gave a grunting cry. The echo bounced off the brick wall on the far side of the farmyard, and died into stillness.
    â€œPlease stop it,” said Ajeet. Gopal sheathed his sword, grinning.
    The echo continued. It said “Help!”
    Nicky climbed the gate into the farmyard. The dry litter rustled under her feet.
    â€œWhere are you?” she called.
    â€œHere,” said the faint voice. “Help! I’m stuck!”
    They found him in the loft over a hay barn. A ladder lay on the floor of the barn, and in the square black hole in the ceiling a wan face floated. Nicky and Gopal lifted the fallen ladder back into place.
    â€œI can’t climb down,” said the face. “I’ve hurt my foot.” It began to sob.
    â€œI’ll come up and help you,” said Gopal. “Don’t worry. It’s all right.”
    â€œNot you!” wailed the face. “I’ve got a brick. I’ll hit you!”
    Gopal took his hand off the rung and shrugged.
    Nicky climbed slowly up the ladder. The face shifted in the square, and in the dimness behind she saw an arm move upward. She stopped climbing.
    â€œIt’s quite all right,” she said. “I won’t hurt you. My name’s Nicky Gore. What’s yours?”
    â€œShan’t tell you.”
    The arm with the brick wavered uncertainly. Nicky flinched.
    â€œLook,” she said, “if I’d got magic, your brick wouldn’t hurt me, but if I haven’t got magic, then you’d be hurting somebody just like yourself, somebody who’s trying to help you.”
    â€œWhat about him?” said the boy, still panting with sobs.
    â€œHe wants to help you too. His name’s Gopal. He’s my friend. And the other one’s Ajeet—she tells wonderful stories.”
    â€œTell ’em to go away.”
    Nicky looked over her shoulder. Ajeet was already floating out like a shadow. Gopal shrugged again, tested the bottom of the ladder, and went to the door.
    â€œBe careful,” he said. “I think it’s steady, but not if you start fighting on it.”
    Nicky managed a sort of laugh as she climbed into the darkness.
    â€œHow long have you been here?” she said.
    â€œI been here all day. I was looking for treasure. There’s a heap of treasure buried up on the common, folk say, but when I come to the farm I thought the farm folk might have found some, so I started looking here, and then I knocked the ladder down, and then I trod on a bit o’ glass and it come clean through my foot.…”
    He was about eight, very dirty, the dirt on his face all streaked with blubbering.
    â€œWriggle it around over the hole,” said Nicky, “and I’ll have a look.”
    He did so, with slow care; his groans sounded like acting, but the foot really did look horrid; the worn sneaker was covered with dried blood and the foot seemed to bulge unnaturally inside the canvas. The laces were taut and too knotted to undo, so Nicky drew her hunting knife (which Uncle Chacha had honed for her to a desperate sharpness) and sliced them delicately through. The boy cried aloud as the pressure altered, then sat sobbing. Nicky realized that she’d probably done the wrong thing. They must get him to an adult as soon as possible.
    â€œLook,” she said, “if I go down the ladder the wrong way around, then you can get yourself further over the hole, and I’ll come back up until you’re sitting