Is by Joan Aiken Page A

acos we crosses another big river), when we stops, the kids’ll all pile out and scamper for the exits. And there’ll be folk there waiting to pack them into wagons to take ’em to Joyous Gard. See? So what you best do is drop down t’other side o’ the train, where no one won’t see you. It’ll be dark, time we gets there. And you better go back acrost the bridge – you’ll hafta dodge the guard – and make the best of your way back to Lunnon. I’ll take you a week or ten days I reckon, chancy goin’ – but that’s healthier than where you’re bound for. Where you’re goin’ ain’t no ways wholesome for kids.’
    ‘But’, argued Is, ‘I don’t want to go back to Lunnon. I came here to hunt for somebody – a boy. For two boys.’
    ‘ You came here to look for two boys ? Young ’un,’ he said heavily, ‘you won’t find no boys here. Boys in Playland comes and goes faster than raindrops.’
    An icy chill crept down her spine at the words, and at the way in which he said them.
    But she answered stubbornly, ‘I gotta look for them. I said I would.’
    ‘Then I hope you got as many lives as Ginge here,’ he snapped. ‘And I washes my hands of you.’
    He was turning to go back to the engine when one of the red-coated stewards came through the door from the parlour car and said sharply,
    ‘Who are you talking to? Is one of the brats in here?’
    The driver said, ‘I was talking to Ginge, here. Can’t a man talk to his own cat?’
    Is lay flat as a mat, and held her breath. Apparently the red-coat had not spotted her, for he said, ‘That’s as well. You know it’s against the rules to talk to the cargo. As you’re here you can take the grub through for you and Stritch. And remember the rules, no kids in the baggage car. You know that.’
    He gave another unsatisfied glance round, but missed Is.
    ‘Certingly I knows that. But there’s no rule agin cats that I knows on.’
    The red-coat was still suspicious; he hoisted himself up and peered about over the top of the piled goods. Luckily by this time Is had squeezed down behind a barrel of shrimps, or something that smelt like shrimps. He failed to spot her.
    ‘You know the penalty for talking to passengers!’ he called out menacingly; but Ginge’s owner had already made his way forward towards the engine.
    Is went on holding her breath, and after a while heard the steward go back the way he had come; after a longer time she felt the train slow down, then clank its way over a wide bridge, then reduce speed even more.
    Then she heard voices crying: ‘PLAY – land! PLAY – land! PLAY – land!’

4
    There was an old man, and he lived in Middle Row  . . .
    Now what’ll I do? thought Is. I can’t stop here, for they’ll come to unload the goods truck. Most likely, though, they’ll get all the kids out of the way afore they does that. So I’ve a few minutes.
    From outside, she heard a gale of sound – shrieks, footsteps, yells and laughter – as the train doors opened and the children cascaded out.
    She could also hear the voices of the attendants.
    ‘This way! This way, if you please! Keep in line there. One at a time. This way!’
    I’m right hungry, thought Is. Wonder when they’ll give ’em breakfast. Wonder if they’ll give ’em breakfast?
    She remembered the driver’s words. Boys in Playland comes and goes faster than raindrops . The same chill ran down her back now as when he had said it.
    Very quietly indeed, she crept down from the stack of wrapped bundles and stole into the parlour coach. It was empty, silent, and stank horribly of greasy food, unwashed children, vomit, and worse.
    At that moment, Is heard voices. Two men entered the car at the opposite end, carrying brooms and pails.
    ‘By gar!’ said one. ‘What a hogo. It’s worse than cages in the zoo.’
    ‘Tha’s reet,’ said the other. ‘Filthy little tykes. It gets worse every trip.’
    Is had ducked down behind a bank of seats when they entered, and