A Tale of Time City. Diana Wynne Jones

place where the ghosts start.”

      Vivian paced slowly towards the door to the Chronologue at the other end. A few yards before she reached it, Jonathan called out, “Stop! Can you see anything?”

      Vivian looked at the stone floor, the arched stone ceiling, and the bare stone walls. They were all plain, except for a place in the left-hand wall where an old archway had been stopped up with smaller stones than the rest. “There’s a—” she began, pointing. But she found herself speaking through the thump of sprinting feet and Jonathan arrived before she could say another word.

      “Let’s see! Let’s see!” he said, shaking and wild with excitement. He put both hands to the smaller stones of the blocked arch and shoved. He pushed this way, and he pushed that. Nothing happened. “I know it must open!” Jonathan cried out, and he kicked the stones the way he kicked the church-organ in his room. “Ow!” he said, hopping on one foot, holding the other in both hands. “I forgot I was wearing sand—!”

      The wall of stones swung round, pivoting in the middle of the archway, to leave a narrow black opening on both sides. A dry, dusty smell came out. Jonathan let go of his foot and stared, so white with excitement that his face seemed all flicker from his sight function.

      “We found it!” he whispered.

      “How do we know it’s a time-lock?” Vivian said. Her plan had worked so easily that it scared her. And she felt very nervous of those yawning black slits.

      “We go and look,” Jonathan said. He pressed a stud on his belt and it suddenly gave him a halo of light, as if he were yet another ghost. “This only lasts about five minutes,” he said, sounding quite as nervous as Vivian felt. “We’ll have to be quick.” He started to edge his way into the nearest opening. The light from his belt showed that the back of the swivelled wall was made of something old and grey that was not stone. The stones were just a disguise.

      He was halfway through when the door from the Palace creaked. Sam’s voice boomed down the passage. “What are you doing?”

      I might have known! Vivian thought. There had to be a reason why those ghosts were in different clothes! “Hush!” she called. “It’s a secret time-lock.”

      Sam came down the passage at a rolling, pounding run and got to the archway just as Vivian was edging through after Jonathan. “Just at the right moment!” he said gleefully, in what was meant to be a whisper. “I have all the luck!”

      “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Vivian whispered hopelessly as Sam squeezed through the slit on the opposite side of the wall.

      “Of course not!” said Sam. “Hey! There are stairs going down!”

      Jonathan was halfway round the turn of a spiral stair that was the only thing in the square stone space beyond the archway. Vivian and Sam followed the unearthly greenish glow from his belt, round and down, and round and down again. The stone steps were steep enough to give Sam trouble and, as they went lower, the steps got steeper still. Each one was a massive block of old stone. By the end, Sam was sitting down, sliding from block to block. Vivian was holding on to the huge wedge-shaped stairs in the ceiling overhead and lowering herself gently, and even Jonathan was having to go carefully. The place felt awfully old. Oldness pressed quietly in on them from all round. It was a cold, non-human feeling.

      Vivian thought of the giant stone shape of Faber John, sleeping under the City. Could he have made the bottom stairs long ago? she wondered. And ordinary-sized people built the top ones later?

      “I’m down,” Jonathan said softly.

      They slid down the last step to join him in a small room built of the same enormous stones. Facing them was a plain sheet of slate, let into the wall like a door. It was glimmering faintly, with little flickers chasing across it. Beside it, one of the stones of the wall stuck out a short way. There was a hollow in the top of it and a thing like a grey goose-egg lay in the hollow. There was nothing else in the room at all.