Read Online Printer's Devil (9780316167826) by Paul Bajoria - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul Bajoria
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firework exploding, and then the name “W. Jiggs” in another, childish hand, like the crude scrawls some of the children in
the orphanage used to make when practicing writing their names. Was this the piece of paper Coben and Jiggs had received from
the customs man, while I’d been spying on them? The document might be perfectly genuine: it certainly
looked
official enough, with an ornate seal, and a signature for His Majesty’s Customs: a spidery scrawl which seemed to say “L.
W. Ferryfather” or possibly “L. N. Follyfeather,” or some such name.
I yawned, and made a mental note to show the papers to Cramplock, who with his knowledge of paper and printing might be able
to tell me more aboutthem: where the paper had been made, for example, and what the watermarks meant. For the moment, I decided, for safekeeping,
I’d put them in my treasure box. I gathered them up and closed the lid, and was about to stand up and put the tin back up
on the cupboard shelf when I heard a sudden muffled clatter.
I started, and Lash sat straight up in his basket with his ears cocked, and gave a short but anxious
woof
. It sounded as though it had come from inside the cupboard. Perhaps something had slipped off a shelf inside. I opened the
door and peered inside, but everything seemed to be in its place.
Was there someone downstairs? Had I locked the door behind me? I couldn’t remember. I stood still, listening, but could hear
no footsteps or voices from below.
But now there it was again! A bump, like something being knocked over; and now, with the cupboard door open, it sounded even
more as though it came from the other side of the wall. And yet, it couldn’t have — because behind this wall there was only
the big empty burnt-out house next door, where nobody had lived for years.
Lash was whimpering now, and looking up at me quizzically; he definitely thought something was amiss. I was going to have
to go down and investigate. I grasped Lash’s collar and, holding up the lantern, Ipulled the door open and let the light fall down the steep short stairwell.
There was no sound. I took a deep breath.
“Who’s there?” I called out, as sternly as I could manage. My words disappeared into the dark space below.
I ventured down, holding the lantern out beneath me to light up the printing shop. There was nobody to be seen. I had a walk
around downstairs, even a rummage through the cupboards where Cramplock kept his paper and other supplies, but it was quite
clear that Lash and I were alone after all.
The noises had stopped too. I climbed the stairs again to prepare for bed, half believing I’d imagined them, and that my exhaustion,
and the pain in my head, and the strange adventures I’d been having, were making me hear things which weren’t really there.
In spite of my tiredness I couldn’t rest before I’d spilled some of my turbulent thoughts out onto paper. Written down in
black and white, they might make more sense, might be tamed, be less frightening. It was what I always did when things were
crowding in on me like this. Lash came and curled up on my feet at the bottom of the bed. I pulled the scratchy old blanket
up to my armpits, dug my feet under Lash’s grudging weight to keep them warm, and reached for the treasure box. Taking a pencil,
and opening Mog’s Book atthe first blank page, I thought for a few seconds and began to write.
Strange things have begun to happen
, I wrote.
I stuck the pencil in my mouth and fondled Lash’s ears while I contemplated whether this was quite adequate. On second thought,
I decided to add a word at the beginning. There was just room, between the edge of the page and the first word, to squeeze
it in.
VERT Strange things have begun to happen
, it now read.
It is Tuesday
, I continued.
This weather is the hottest in my whole life, and things have become a little unreal. A ship, the
Sun of Calcutta,
has brought great excitement to the
the orphanage used to make when practicing writing their names. Was this the piece of paper Coben and Jiggs had received from
the customs man, while I’d been spying on them? The document might be perfectly genuine: it certainly
looked
official enough, with an ornate seal, and a signature for His Majesty’s Customs: a spidery scrawl which seemed to say “L.
W. Ferryfather” or possibly “L. N. Follyfeather,” or some such name.
I yawned, and made a mental note to show the papers to Cramplock, who with his knowledge of paper and printing might be able
to tell me more aboutthem: where the paper had been made, for example, and what the watermarks meant. For the moment, I decided, for safekeeping,
I’d put them in my treasure box. I gathered them up and closed the lid, and was about to stand up and put the tin back up
on the cupboard shelf when I heard a sudden muffled clatter.
I started, and Lash sat straight up in his basket with his ears cocked, and gave a short but anxious
woof
. It sounded as though it had come from inside the cupboard. Perhaps something had slipped off a shelf inside. I opened the
door and peered inside, but everything seemed to be in its place.
Was there someone downstairs? Had I locked the door behind me? I couldn’t remember. I stood still, listening, but could hear
no footsteps or voices from below.
But now there it was again! A bump, like something being knocked over; and now, with the cupboard door open, it sounded even
more as though it came from the other side of the wall. And yet, it couldn’t have — because behind this wall there was only
the big empty burnt-out house next door, where nobody had lived for years.
Lash was whimpering now, and looking up at me quizzically; he definitely thought something was amiss. I was going to have
to go down and investigate. I grasped Lash’s collar and, holding up the lantern, Ipulled the door open and let the light fall down the steep short stairwell.
There was no sound. I took a deep breath.
“Who’s there?” I called out, as sternly as I could manage. My words disappeared into the dark space below.
I ventured down, holding the lantern out beneath me to light up the printing shop. There was nobody to be seen. I had a walk
around downstairs, even a rummage through the cupboards where Cramplock kept his paper and other supplies, but it was quite
clear that Lash and I were alone after all.
The noises had stopped too. I climbed the stairs again to prepare for bed, half believing I’d imagined them, and that my exhaustion,
and the pain in my head, and the strange adventures I’d been having, were making me hear things which weren’t really there.
In spite of my tiredness I couldn’t rest before I’d spilled some of my turbulent thoughts out onto paper. Written down in
black and white, they might make more sense, might be tamed, be less frightening. It was what I always did when things were
crowding in on me like this. Lash came and curled up on my feet at the bottom of the bed. I pulled the scratchy old blanket
up to my armpits, dug my feet under Lash’s grudging weight to keep them warm, and reached for the treasure box. Taking a pencil,
and opening Mog’s Book atthe first blank page, I thought for a few seconds and began to write.
Strange things have begun to happen
, I wrote.
I stuck the pencil in my mouth and fondled Lash’s ears while I contemplated whether this was quite adequate. On second thought,
I decided to add a word at the beginning. There was just room, between the edge of the page and the first word, to squeeze
it in.
VERT Strange things have begun to happen
, it now read.
It is Tuesday
, I continued.
This weather is the hottest in my whole life, and things have become a little unreal. A ship, the
Sun of Calcutta,
has brought great excitement to the
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