Read Online Soul Splinter by Abi Elphinstone - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Abi Elphinstone
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houses.
‘They’ve got rolling pins and kitchen knives!’ Siddy cried, snatching a glance behind him.
Moll kept her head down. ‘Ignore it! Just keep running! If we follow the harbour round, they’ll chase us on to the pier so we’ll need to turn up a side road and lose them in the backstreets!’
Siddy nodded, swerving left up a narrow lane behind Moll. They took a right down an alleyway, twisted left up a flight of steps, taking them two at a time, then darted down another street lined with shops. A grocer was laying out vegetables under his shop awning and beside him a baker was arranging loaves. They looked up, startled, then, when they heard the commotion hurrying closer, they stepped forward with fists raised. Moll grabbed Siddy by the arm and they dashed into a side street which climbed steeply uphill. Muscles burning, they burst out on to another road lined with houses. The shrieks of angry villagers rang louder and they dashed down the street. Moll slowed.
‘It’s a dead end, isn’t it?’ Siddy panted.
Moll nodded.
There was a shout behind them. ‘Oi!’
Moll and Siddy spun round.
Standing in the middle of the street was a boy – small, scrawny and covered in dirt, like something forgotten about wrapped in rags. And yet his face was sharp: two eyes set wide apart flitting from Moll to Siddy.
Moll glanced around for a stone to lodge into her catapult, but, on seeing none, she raised her fists. Siddy drew out his knife.
The boy took a step towards them and from somewhere nearby, the shouts of the villagers loomed closer. But the boy didn’t raise his fists, as Moll had expected.
‘You got money?’ he said. His voice was thin and watery.
Moll squinted. She could have sworn she recognised that voice. But from where?
The boy worked up a gob of phlegm, then spat it out on to the street. ‘I said, have you got money? Cos if you have,’ he muttered, ‘I can get you out of this mess.’
Moll looked to Siddy and nodded. He fumbled for the leather pouch Mooshie had given him, then he held out a couple of coins.
The boy came closer, inspected his payment and made to snatch it.
Siddy yanked his hand back and closed his fist. ‘A way out first.’
The boy sniffed, allowed the din to come closer still, then said, ‘Where d’you wanna go?’
‘The Crumpled Way,’ Moll said firmly.
The boy raised one eyebrow, then shrugged. ‘Come on then.’
He darted back along the street and slipped down a shadowy alleyway Moll and Siddy had missed before. At the end was a padlocked gate, but the boy launched himself at it, clambered up, then flipped his body over the other side.
Siddy turned to Moll. ‘Scrawny little kid, but he’s handy on his feet.’
Moll grunted. ‘He’s got eyes on the side of his head; looks like his grandmother knitted him wrong.’
They followed the boy over the gate and found themselves in a yard full of junk: ripped tyres, scraps of rusted metal and rolls of tangled wire. But the shouts of the villagers were almost muted in here – and, as they bounded over piles of discarded junk, the boy turned to them and grinned.
‘Smog Sprockett,’ he said. ‘Street urchin most of the time – but I’m the eyes and the ears of this place. There isn’t anything I don’t see.’
Moll couldn’t quite find it in her to smile back. Making friends with a street urchin called Smog Sprockett hadn’t been part of the brief from Oak. She kept her head down, as did Siddy, and ran on.
At the far end of the yard was a stone wall. Smog was up it in a flash, chasing off the seagull perched on top. Moll and Siddy followed. They jumped down into another alleyway, dark and closed off, despite the morning light. But they were careering downhill again, which meant they were heading back towards the harbour. Towards The Crumpled Way.
Smog looked back at them as he ran and Moll could tell what he was thinking. His eyes scanned their traveller clothes – Siddy’s spotted neckerchief, her
‘They’ve got rolling pins and kitchen knives!’ Siddy cried, snatching a glance behind him.
Moll kept her head down. ‘Ignore it! Just keep running! If we follow the harbour round, they’ll chase us on to the pier so we’ll need to turn up a side road and lose them in the backstreets!’
Siddy nodded, swerving left up a narrow lane behind Moll. They took a right down an alleyway, twisted left up a flight of steps, taking them two at a time, then darted down another street lined with shops. A grocer was laying out vegetables under his shop awning and beside him a baker was arranging loaves. They looked up, startled, then, when they heard the commotion hurrying closer, they stepped forward with fists raised. Moll grabbed Siddy by the arm and they dashed into a side street which climbed steeply uphill. Muscles burning, they burst out on to another road lined with houses. The shrieks of angry villagers rang louder and they dashed down the street. Moll slowed.
‘It’s a dead end, isn’t it?’ Siddy panted.
Moll nodded.
There was a shout behind them. ‘Oi!’
Moll and Siddy spun round.
Standing in the middle of the street was a boy – small, scrawny and covered in dirt, like something forgotten about wrapped in rags. And yet his face was sharp: two eyes set wide apart flitting from Moll to Siddy.
Moll glanced around for a stone to lodge into her catapult, but, on seeing none, she raised her fists. Siddy drew out his knife.
The boy took a step towards them and from somewhere nearby, the shouts of the villagers loomed closer. But the boy didn’t raise his fists, as Moll had expected.
‘You got money?’ he said. His voice was thin and watery.
Moll squinted. She could have sworn she recognised that voice. But from where?
The boy worked up a gob of phlegm, then spat it out on to the street. ‘I said, have you got money? Cos if you have,’ he muttered, ‘I can get you out of this mess.’
Moll looked to Siddy and nodded. He fumbled for the leather pouch Mooshie had given him, then he held out a couple of coins.
The boy came closer, inspected his payment and made to snatch it.
Siddy yanked his hand back and closed his fist. ‘A way out first.’
The boy sniffed, allowed the din to come closer still, then said, ‘Where d’you wanna go?’
‘The Crumpled Way,’ Moll said firmly.
The boy raised one eyebrow, then shrugged. ‘Come on then.’
He darted back along the street and slipped down a shadowy alleyway Moll and Siddy had missed before. At the end was a padlocked gate, but the boy launched himself at it, clambered up, then flipped his body over the other side.
Siddy turned to Moll. ‘Scrawny little kid, but he’s handy on his feet.’
Moll grunted. ‘He’s got eyes on the side of his head; looks like his grandmother knitted him wrong.’
They followed the boy over the gate and found themselves in a yard full of junk: ripped tyres, scraps of rusted metal and rolls of tangled wire. But the shouts of the villagers were almost muted in here – and, as they bounded over piles of discarded junk, the boy turned to them and grinned.
‘Smog Sprockett,’ he said. ‘Street urchin most of the time – but I’m the eyes and the ears of this place. There isn’t anything I don’t see.’
Moll couldn’t quite find it in her to smile back. Making friends with a street urchin called Smog Sprockett hadn’t been part of the brief from Oak. She kept her head down, as did Siddy, and ran on.
At the far end of the yard was a stone wall. Smog was up it in a flash, chasing off the seagull perched on top. Moll and Siddy followed. They jumped down into another alleyway, dark and closed off, despite the morning light. But they were careering downhill again, which meant they were heading back towards the harbour. Towards The Crumpled Way.
Smog looked back at them as he ran and Moll could tell what he was thinking. His eyes scanned their traveller clothes – Siddy’s spotted neckerchief, her
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