Read Online The Devil and His Boy by Anthony Horowitz - Free Book Online Page B

present themselves at the theatre where auditions would be taking place.
    And now it was the day of the auditions. Tom had barely slept a wink the night before. It was a strange thing. He had never once in his entire life thought about becoming an actor. But now he had made the decision, there was nothing he wanted more. It was as if it had been in his blood all along but had only now bubbled to the surface.
    Moll was holding a package, wrapped in paper. “This is for you.”
    Tom threw the blanket off and sat up. “What is it?” he asked.
    Moll was suddenly uncomfortable. “Don’t you even know what it is in four days’ time?” she snapped. “It’s Christmas Day. So this is your present.”
    “You went and bought me a present?” Tom was amazed. Nobody had ever bought him anything. Then a nasty thought crossed his mind. “Did you really
buy
it?” he asked.
    “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you mean. I used my own money.”
    “But you stole the money…”
    “Well … yes.”
    Tom unwrapped the package. Inside was a white shirt, a pair of woollen trousers, a waistcoat and, most wonderful of all, a pair of leather boots. Tom held them, marvelling. He had been barefoot for as long as he could remember. This leather, soft and warm in his hands, was something he had only ever dreamed about. He gazed at her, unbelieving.
    “It’s probably a complete waste of money,” Moll said, “but you can’t turn up at the audition looking like a vagabond. Get dressed. We ought to be on our way.”
    They left a few minutes later, Tom wearing his new clothes. Taking off his old clothes had been like shedding his own skin. He had worn the same shirt and trousers for about three years, and they had stayed on him day and night. To walk without feeling the mud or being cut by jagged stones was a completely new experience for him, and he had tripped three times before he had even left the house. As he walked down the street, he wondered how he must look to other people. The clothes Moll had bought weren’t new, but they were clean. He felt almost like a genteleman.
    The Rose Theatre was a large, round building, part wood, part plaster and part brick. It stood in what had once been a garden – that was how it got its name. It was still early in the morning, but already a lot of actors had come to audition: men in feathered caps and flowing cloaks, preening themselves like pigeons.
    Moll stopped opposite the main door. “Well. Good luck,” she said.
    “Aren’t you coming in?” Tom asked.
    “No.” She shook her head. “There’s always a chance I might get recognized. I did this place last month.” She took Tom’s hand. “You know where to find me if you need me. But I’m sure you’ll get a job. You look like an actor. You’ve got an actor’s eyes.”
    “Thanks, Moll.”
    “If they do hire you, come back and see me on Christmas Day. I’m going out to dinner. A bit of a reunion. You might enjoy it.”
    “I’m sure I’ll be back tonight,” Tom said.
    “I hope not,” Moll retorted. “My room’s only big enough for one. And your feet smell.”
    Moll turned and walked away. Tom watched her until she’d gone. Then, taking a deep breath, he crossed the road and went into the Rose.
    Tom found himself in a circular space with seats rising in three tiers and surrounding him on all sides. In front of him was a raised stage with two pillars holding up a slanting, tiled roof. There were two doors at the back, presumably where the actors made their entrances. The theatre had no roof. If it rained (or snowed – the weather was getting colder and colder) the actors and the audience in front of the stage would get soaked. Only the people in the seats would have any chance of staying dry.
    There was a man standing in the middle of the stage, reciting what sounded like a poem in a whiny and monotonous voice. Two other men were watching him, sitting on stools to one side. One of these was tall, with dark, curling