fuss about the bag getting stolen, Iâll tell the police where to find you.â
âYou wouldnât do that,â Tom said, trying to pull his arm free. âNot to me.â
âOh no?â Robert raised his eyebrows. âWeâre past all that, Tosh. You changed the rules when you threatened to dig up the cavern.â
âBut I didnât actually meanââ
Robertâs face didnât change. Tom had never seen that calm, determined expression before. He didnât fancy his chances if he tried to run off.
âYou really want to find this girl,â he said. âDonât you?â
âI have to find her,â Robert said. âBefore itâs too late. Itâs very, very importantâand Iâll do whatever it takes.â
âOK,â Tom said slowly. âWeâll go back and look. As long as I donât have to talk to him.â
âThatâll do.â Robert began walking across the garden, pulling Tom along with him. âAll you need to do is show me the right person.â
âHeâs probably gone by now.â
âThen weâll go back next Saturday,â Robert said steadily. âAnd the one after that and the one after that, until we find him.â
Tom tugged at his arm again. âYou donât have to keep hold of me. I said Iâd come.â
Robert gave him a sharp look and then let go. âOK,â he said. âBut itâs the same deal.â
Tom marched along without saying anything else. He just wanted to get it over with. All they had to do was go to the square and take a quick look around. He was pretty sure the boy would have cleared off by now.
But he hadnât.
He was standing over on the other side of the square, with his back to them, talking to a big man with a gray, heavy face. And he was making excuses. Tom could tell he was, even without hearing his voice. He kept shifting from foot to foot, leaning forward to speak in hesitant bursts and then stopping short.
The man wasnât saying anything. He was standing very still, and his face was without any kind of expression apart from a terrible close attention. Whatever the boy said, the man didnât make any kind of reply. He just let the boy go on and on with his jerky excuses. It was like watching a worm writhing on the end of a hook.
Tom shivered and stepped back slightly.
Robert was watching him. âYou can see him, canât you?â he said quickly. âWhere is he?â
Tom looked at the manâs cold face and his narrow, closed mouth. âDonât try and talk to him now, Robbo. His dadâs there. â
âSo?â Robert made a small impatient movement. His eyes traveled slowly around the square until they reached the right place. Then he glanced around. âThatâs him. Isnât it?â
âHe wonât tell you anything,â Tom said. âNot while that manâs there. Heâs afraid of him.â
The man was talking now, but only his lips were moving, like wet, red worms. His face was heavy and unhealthy, like something bodged out of dirty white clay.
Robert watched him for a moment. âYou donât know,â he said. âNot just from looking. He might be fine when you talk to him.â
âBut suppose heâs not fine.? Suppose he just takes the bag and walks off? What are you going to do then?â Tom shook his head and edged backward. He had no intention of going anywhere near that man.
âHang on a minute.â Robert caught hold of Tomâs sleeve. âMaybe heâll go off somewhere. Then we can get the boy on his own.â
But it didnât happen like that. Almost as he said it, the man did turn around and walk off. He went briskly out of the square and down the road toward the parking lot. But the boy went with him, almost jogging as he tried to keep up.
Robert tugged at Tomâs sleeve and pulled him across the square. But as they