flashed into my spirit…and with the light such a profound peace and joy came into my heart. In one moment I felt as if wholly revitalized by some infinite power, so that my body would be shattered like an earthen vessel.” He sighed. “That’s John Thomas, a Welshman in the mid-1700s. But it’s a good description, isn’t it?”
“Very good,” Mr. Murry agreed. “But it also shocks me.”
“Why?” the bishop asked.
“Because you know more than I do.”
“No—no—”
“But you don’t know enough, Nase. You’ve opened a time gate that Annie—Anaral, whatever her name is—seems to be able to walk through and which has drawn Polly through it, and I want it closed.”
Close it! How could it be closed!
The door had been opened, and the winds of time were blowing against it, keeping it from closing, almost taking it off the hinges.
“No!” Polly cried, stopping her grandfather in mid-sentence. “You can’t forbid me to go to the starwatching rock!”
Her grandfather sighed heavily. “What a lifetime of working with the nature of the space/time continuum has taught me is that we know very little about space, and even less about time. I don’t know whether you and Nase have actually gone back three thousand years, or whether those young snow-capped mountains are some kind of hallucination. But I do know that you’re in our care, and we are responsible for you.”
The bishop poured more syrup onto his pancakes. “Certainly some of the responsibility is mine.”
Polly looked into his eyes, a faded silver that still held light, but there was nothing of the fanatic, of the madman, in his steady gaze.
Mr. Murry said, “Nase, you’ve got to keep Polly out of this. You don’t know enough. We human creatures can make watches and clocks and sensitive timing devices, but we don’t understand what we’re timing. When something has happened—”
“It doesn’t vanish,” the bishop said. “It makes waves, as sound does. Or a pebble dropped into a pond.”
“Time waves?” Polly suggested. “Energy waves? Something to do with E = mc 2 ?”
Nobody responded. Mr. Murry started clearing the table, moving creakily, as though his joints pained him more than usual. Mrs. Murry sat looking out the window at the distant hills, her face unreadable.
“I don’t know what to do about this.” Mr. Murry turned from the sink to look directly at Polly. “When we told your parents we’d love to have you come stay with us, it never occurred to your grandmother and me that you might get involved with Nase’s discoveries.”
“We didn’t take them seriously enough,” her grandmother said. “We didn’t want to.”
“Under the circumstances,” her grandfather said, “should we send Polly home?”
“Granddad!” Polly protested.
“We can’t keep you prisoner here,” her grandmother said.
“Listen.” Polly was fierce. “I don’t think you can send me away. Really. If I’m into this tesseract thing that Bishop Colubra has opened—because that’s what’s happened, isn’t it?—then if you try to take me out of it, wouldn’t that do something to—maybe rip—the space/ time continuum?”
Her grandfather walked to the windows, looked out across his garden, then turned. “It is a possibility.”
“If time and space are one—” the bishop suggested, then stopped.
“So it might,” Polly continued, “rip me, too?”
“I don’t know,” her grandfather said. “But it’s a risk I’d rather not take.”
“Look”—the bishop clapped his hands together softly—“Thursday is All Hallows’ Eve. Samhain, as Annie and Karralys might call it. The gates of time swing open most easily at this strange and holy time. If Polly will be willing to stay home just until after Thursday night—”
“Zachary’s coming Thursday afternoon,” Polly reminded them. “I can’t very well tell Zachary that I can’t go anywhere with him because Bishop Colubra’s opened a tesseract and
“Very good,” Mr. Murry agreed. “But it also shocks me.”
“Why?” the bishop asked.
“Because you know more than I do.”
“No—no—”
“But you don’t know enough, Nase. You’ve opened a time gate that Annie—Anaral, whatever her name is—seems to be able to walk through and which has drawn Polly through it, and I want it closed.”
Close it! How could it be closed!
The door had been opened, and the winds of time were blowing against it, keeping it from closing, almost taking it off the hinges.
“No!” Polly cried, stopping her grandfather in mid-sentence. “You can’t forbid me to go to the starwatching rock!”
Her grandfather sighed heavily. “What a lifetime of working with the nature of the space/time continuum has taught me is that we know very little about space, and even less about time. I don’t know whether you and Nase have actually gone back three thousand years, or whether those young snow-capped mountains are some kind of hallucination. But I do know that you’re in our care, and we are responsible for you.”
The bishop poured more syrup onto his pancakes. “Certainly some of the responsibility is mine.”
Polly looked into his eyes, a faded silver that still held light, but there was nothing of the fanatic, of the madman, in his steady gaze.
Mr. Murry said, “Nase, you’ve got to keep Polly out of this. You don’t know enough. We human creatures can make watches and clocks and sensitive timing devices, but we don’t understand what we’re timing. When something has happened—”
“It doesn’t vanish,” the bishop said. “It makes waves, as sound does. Or a pebble dropped into a pond.”
“Time waves?” Polly suggested. “Energy waves? Something to do with E = mc 2 ?”
Nobody responded. Mr. Murry started clearing the table, moving creakily, as though his joints pained him more than usual. Mrs. Murry sat looking out the window at the distant hills, her face unreadable.
“I don’t know what to do about this.” Mr. Murry turned from the sink to look directly at Polly. “When we told your parents we’d love to have you come stay with us, it never occurred to your grandmother and me that you might get involved with Nase’s discoveries.”
“We didn’t take them seriously enough,” her grandmother said. “We didn’t want to.”
“Under the circumstances,” her grandfather said, “should we send Polly home?”
“Granddad!” Polly protested.
“We can’t keep you prisoner here,” her grandmother said.
“Listen.” Polly was fierce. “I don’t think you can send me away. Really. If I’m into this tesseract thing that Bishop Colubra has opened—because that’s what’s happened, isn’t it?—then if you try to take me out of it, wouldn’t that do something to—maybe rip—the space/ time continuum?”
Her grandfather walked to the windows, looked out across his garden, then turned. “It is a possibility.”
“If time and space are one—” the bishop suggested, then stopped.
“So it might,” Polly continued, “rip me, too?”
“I don’t know,” her grandfather said. “But it’s a risk I’d rather not take.”
“Look”—the bishop clapped his hands together softly—“Thursday is All Hallows’ Eve. Samhain, as Annie and Karralys might call it. The gates of time swing open most easily at this strange and holy time. If Polly will be willing to stay home just until after Thursday night—”
“Zachary’s coming Thursday afternoon,” Polly reminded them. “I can’t very well tell Zachary that I can’t go anywhere with him because Bishop Colubra’s opened a tesseract and
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