فصل 12

A Night in Terror Tower - Chapter 12

“You there! You there!”

The man’s shoulder dipped in the big, gray overcoat he wore as he charged at us, limping with each step.

Eddie and I huddled close together, staring back at him as he hurried across the empty parking lot. His white hair tumbled out from under a small gray cap. The overcoat hung down nearly to his ankles and bulged over his skinny frame.

He stepped up in front of us and waited to catch his breath. His tiny eyes caught the moonlight as he narrowed them at us, studying Eddie, then me.

“Are you the two kids that bus driver was looking for?” he asked in a shrill, high voice. He had a different accent from Mr. Starkes’. I think it was Scottish.

Eddie and I nodded.

“Well, I’m the night guard here,” the man told us. “There’s no one here but me after closing.” “Uh… where is our bus?” Eddie asked quietly.

“It left,” the man replied sharply. “He searched all over for you. But he couldn’t wait any longer. What happened? Did you get lost in there?” He motioned back toward the Tower.

“A man chased us,” Eddie replied breathlessly. “He said we had to come with him. He was really scary, and—” “Man? What man?” The night guard eyed us suspiciously.

“The man in the black cape!” I replied. “And the black hat. He chased us. In the Tower.”

“There’s no man in the tower,” the guard replied, shaking his head. “I told you. I’m the only one here after closing.” “But he’s in there!” I cried. “He chased us! He was going to hurt us! He chased us through the sewer and the rats—” “Sewer? What were you two doing in the sewer?” the guard demanded. “We have rules here about where tourists are allowed. If you break the rules, we can’t be responsible.” He sighed. “Now you come out here with a wild story about a man in a black cape. And running through the sewers. Wild stories. Wild stories.” Eddie and I exchanged glances. We could both see that this man wasn’t going to believe us.

“How do we get back to our hotel?” Eddie asked. “Our parents will be really worried.”

I glanced at the street. There were no cars or buses in sight.

“Do you have any money?” the guard asked, replacing his cap. “There’s a phone box on the corner. I can call for a taxi.” I reached into my jeans pocket and felt the heavy coins my parents had given me before Eddie and I set out on the tour. Then I breathed a long sigh of relief.

“We have money,” I told the guard.

“It’ll cost you at least fifteen or twenty pounds from way out here,” he warned.

“That’s okay,” I replied. “Our parents gave us British money. If we don’t have enough, my parents will pay the driver.” He nodded. Then he turned to Eddie. “You look all done in, lad. Did you get frightened up in that tower?” Eddie swallowed hard. “I just want to get back to our hotel,” he murmured.

The guard nodded. Then, tucking his hands into the pockets of the big overcoat, he led the way to the phone booth.

The black taxi pulled up about ten minutes later. The driver was a young man with long, wavy blond hair. “What hotel?” he asked, leaning out the passenger window.

“The Barclay,” I told him.

Eddie and I climbed into the back. It was warm in the taxi. It felt so great to sit down!

As we pulled away from the Terror Tower, I didn’t glance back. I never wanted to see that old castle again.

The car rolled smoothly through the dark streets. The taxi meter clicked pleasantly. The driver hummed to himself.

I shut my eyes and leaned my head back against the leather seat. I tried not to think about the frightening man who had chased us in the Tower. But I couldn’t force him from my mind.

Soon we were back in the center of London. Cars and taxis jammed the streets. We passed brightly lit theaters and restaurants.

The taxi pulled up to the front of the Barclay Hotel and eased to a stop. The driver slid open the window behind his seat and turned to me. “That’ll be fifteen pounds, sixty pence.” Eddie sat up drowsily. He blinked several times, surprised to see that we had reached our destination.

I pulled the big, heavy coins from my pocket. I held them up to the driver. “I don’t really know what is what,” I confessed. “Can you take the right amount from these?” The driver glanced at the coins in my hands, sniffed, then raised his eyes to me. “What are those?” he asked coldly.

“Coins,” I replied. I didn’t know what else to say. “Do I have enough to pay you?”

He stared back at me. “Do you have any real money? Or are you going to pay me with play money?”

“I—I don’t understand,” I stammered. My hand started to tremble, and I nearly dropped the coins.

“I don’t either,” the driver replied sharply. “But I do know that those aren’t real coins. We use British pounds here, miss.” His expression turned angry. He glared at me through the little window in the glass partition. “Now, are you going to pay me in British pounds, or are we going to have some major trouble? I want my money—now!”