“We have to talk to him,” Mike said. “It’s urgent.”

“So’s that,” the warden said, jamming a thumb skyward. “Hear those planes?”

It was impossible not to. They were nearly overhead, and the fire watch would already be heading up to the roofs, preparing for them.

“In a minute those planes’ll be here,” the warden said, “and the watch’ll have more than they can deal with. They won’t have time for any chats.” He extended his hand toward Polly. “Now, come on, you three. There’s a shelter near here. I’ll take you there.”

“You don’t understand,” Eileen said. “All we need to do is to get a message to him.”

“It’ll only take a minute,” Mike added, backing down the steps and off to the side so the warden had to turn to face him.

He’s doing that to distract him, Polly thought, and took a silent backward step up the broad stone stairs, and then another, grateful for the growing roar of the planes, which hid the sound of her footsteps. “I know right where to find him!” Mike shouted to the warden over the noise. “I can be in and out in no time.”

Polly took another step backward up the stairs.

An anti-aircraft gun behind her started up, and the warden turned at the sound and saw her. “You there, where do you think you’re going?” He scrambled up the steps toward her. “What are the three of you up to?”

There was a strange, swooping swish above them. Polly looked up and had time to think, If that’s a bomb, I shouldn’t have done that, and there was a clatter, like an entire kitchenful of pots and pans falling on the floor.

Something landed on the stair between her and the warden and burst into a furious, fizzing fountain of sparks. Polly backed away from it, putting up her hand to shield her eyes from the blinding blue-white light. The warden had jumped away from it, too, as it sputtered and spun, throwing off molten stars.

It’ll catch the Christmas tree on fire, Polly thought, and had turned to run into the cathedral for a stirrup pump when she realized this was her chance. She darted up the stairs and across the porch to the door. She grabbed the handle.

“Hey! You there!” the warden shouted. “Come back here!”

Polly yanked on the heavy door. It didn’t budge. She yanked again, and this time it opened a narrow crack.

She glanced back down at Mike and Eileen, but the incendiary was jerking and spitting too violently and erratically for them to risk running past it, and the warden was already nearly upon her.

“Go!” Mike shouted, waving her on. “We’ll catch up with you!”

Polly turned and fled into the blackness of the cathedral.

Tonight, the bomber planes of the German Reich hit London where it hurts the most—in the heart … St. Paul’s Cathedral is burning to the ground as I talk to you now.