Read Online CHERUB: The Recruit by Robert Muchamore - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Muchamore
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knew he couldn’t take a broken arm.
‘I give up,’ he shouted. ‘I withdraw.’
Bruce stepped back and held his hand out for James to shake it. ‘Good fight, James,’ he said, smiling.
James limply shook Bruce’s hand. ‘I think you broke my thumb,’ he said.
‘It’s only dislocated. Show me.’
James held out his hand.
‘This is going to hurt,’ Bruce said.
He pressed James’ thumb at the joint. The pain made James buckle at the knees as the bone crunched back into place.
Bruce laughed. ‘You think that’s painful, one time someone broke my leg in nine places.’
James sank to the floor. The pain in his nose felt like his head was splitting in two between his eyes. It was only pride that stopped him crying.
‘So,’ Mac said. ‘Ready for the next test?’
*
James realised now why Bruce had asked which hand he wrote with. His right hand was painful beyond use. James sat in a hall surrounded by wooden desks. He was the only one taking the test. He had bits of bloody tissue stuffed up each nostril and his clothes were a mess.
‘Simple intelligence test, James,’ Mac explained. ‘Mixture of verbal and mathematical skills. You have forty-five minutes, starting now.’
The questions got harder as the paper went on. Normally it wouldn’t have been bad but James hurt in about five different places, his nose was still bleeding and every time he shut his eyes he felt like he was drifting backwards. He still had three pages left when time ran out.
*
James’ nose had finally stopped bleeding and he could move his right hand again, but he still wasn’t happy. He didn’t think he’d done well on the first two tests.
The crowded canteen was weird. Everybody stopped talking when James got near them. He got Can’t talk to orange three times before somebody pointed out cutlery. James took a block of lasagne with garlic bread and a fancy looking orange mousse with chocolate shreds on top. When he got to the table he realised he hadn’t eaten since the previous night and was starving. It was loads better than the frozen stuff at Nebraska House.
*
‘Do you like eating chicken?’ Mac asked.
‘Sure,’ James said.
They were sitting in a tiny office with a desk between them. The only thing on the desk was a metal cage with a live chicken in it.
‘Would you like to eat this chicken?’
‘It’s alive.’
‘I can see that, James. Would you like to kill it?’
‘No way.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s cruel.’
‘James, are you saying you want to become a vegetarian?’
‘No.’
‘If you think it’s cruel to a kill the chicken, why are you happy to eat it?’
‘I don’t know,’ James said. ‘I’m twelve years old, I eat what gets stuck in front of me.’
‘James, I want you to kill the chicken.’
‘This is a dumb test. What does this prove?’ James asked.
‘I’m not discussing what the tests are for until they’re all over. Kill the chicken. If you don’t, somebody else has to. Why should they do it instead of you?’
‘They get paid,’ James said.
Mac took his wallet out of his jacket and put a five-pound note on top of the cage.
‘Now you’re getting paid, James. Kill the chicken.’
‘I.. .’
James couldn’t think of any more arguments and felt that at least if he killed the chicken he would have passed one test.
‘OK. How do I kill it?’
Mac handed James a biro.
‘Stab the chicken with the tip of the pen just below the head. A good stab should sever the main artery down the neck and cut through the windpipe to stop the bird breathing. It should be dead in about thirty seconds.’
‘This is sick,’ James said.
‘Point the chicken’s bum away from yourself. The shock makes it empty its bowels quite violently.’
James picked up the pen and reached into the cage.
*
James stopped worrying about the warm chicken blood and crap on his clothes as soon as he saw the wooden obstacle. It started with a long climb up a rope ladder.
‘I give up,’ he shouted. ‘I withdraw.’
Bruce stepped back and held his hand out for James to shake it. ‘Good fight, James,’ he said, smiling.
James limply shook Bruce’s hand. ‘I think you broke my thumb,’ he said.
‘It’s only dislocated. Show me.’
James held out his hand.
‘This is going to hurt,’ Bruce said.
He pressed James’ thumb at the joint. The pain made James buckle at the knees as the bone crunched back into place.
Bruce laughed. ‘You think that’s painful, one time someone broke my leg in nine places.’
James sank to the floor. The pain in his nose felt like his head was splitting in two between his eyes. It was only pride that stopped him crying.
‘So,’ Mac said. ‘Ready for the next test?’
*
James realised now why Bruce had asked which hand he wrote with. His right hand was painful beyond use. James sat in a hall surrounded by wooden desks. He was the only one taking the test. He had bits of bloody tissue stuffed up each nostril and his clothes were a mess.
‘Simple intelligence test, James,’ Mac explained. ‘Mixture of verbal and mathematical skills. You have forty-five minutes, starting now.’
The questions got harder as the paper went on. Normally it wouldn’t have been bad but James hurt in about five different places, his nose was still bleeding and every time he shut his eyes he felt like he was drifting backwards. He still had three pages left when time ran out.
*
James’ nose had finally stopped bleeding and he could move his right hand again, but he still wasn’t happy. He didn’t think he’d done well on the first two tests.
The crowded canteen was weird. Everybody stopped talking when James got near them. He got Can’t talk to orange three times before somebody pointed out cutlery. James took a block of lasagne with garlic bread and a fancy looking orange mousse with chocolate shreds on top. When he got to the table he realised he hadn’t eaten since the previous night and was starving. It was loads better than the frozen stuff at Nebraska House.
*
‘Do you like eating chicken?’ Mac asked.
‘Sure,’ James said.
They were sitting in a tiny office with a desk between them. The only thing on the desk was a metal cage with a live chicken in it.
‘Would you like to eat this chicken?’
‘It’s alive.’
‘I can see that, James. Would you like to kill it?’
‘No way.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s cruel.’
‘James, are you saying you want to become a vegetarian?’
‘No.’
‘If you think it’s cruel to a kill the chicken, why are you happy to eat it?’
‘I don’t know,’ James said. ‘I’m twelve years old, I eat what gets stuck in front of me.’
‘James, I want you to kill the chicken.’
‘This is a dumb test. What does this prove?’ James asked.
‘I’m not discussing what the tests are for until they’re all over. Kill the chicken. If you don’t, somebody else has to. Why should they do it instead of you?’
‘They get paid,’ James said.
Mac took his wallet out of his jacket and put a five-pound note on top of the cage.
‘Now you’re getting paid, James. Kill the chicken.’
‘I.. .’
James couldn’t think of any more arguments and felt that at least if he killed the chicken he would have passed one test.
‘OK. How do I kill it?’
Mac handed James a biro.
‘Stab the chicken with the tip of the pen just below the head. A good stab should sever the main artery down the neck and cut through the windpipe to stop the bird breathing. It should be dead in about thirty seconds.’
‘This is sick,’ James said.
‘Point the chicken’s bum away from yourself. The shock makes it empty its bowels quite violently.’
James picked up the pen and reached into the cage.
*
James stopped worrying about the warm chicken blood and crap on his clothes as soon as he saw the wooden obstacle. It started with a long climb up a rope ladder.
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