Chime by Franny Billingsley Read Free Book Online

Miss Briony an’ Mister Eldric will be so kind as to take the Reeve an’ me, us’ll examine where them witches was.”
    Not I! Hadn’t I sworn yesterday I’d never leave Rose alone, not even twenty feet’s worth of alone?
    “I’d be glad of a walk,” said Mr. Dreary, stretching his puffy little legs. He was from America and had a most peculiar way of speaking.
    “A walk!” Eldric jumped to his feet, the very picture of a wild boy, pouncing and bouncing with his long, curling lion’s smile. “A walk is so . . . so healthy!” He was ready for another swampy adventure filled with danger and naked backsides.
    “I want Briony to read to me.”
    “But Rose,” I said, although I knew it would do no good, “don’t you remember the library fire?”
    Rose did.
    “What happened to our books?”
    “Your stories, do you mean?” said Rose, ever precise.
    “Yes, my stories.” Rose was right. Ever since the flood last year, the library held only the stories I’d written. I hardly remember that time, though. That’s when I’d fallen so ill, when I was winding down.
    “I like the stories where I’m a hero,” said Rose.
    “What happened to my stories?” I said.
    “They burnt,” said Rose.
    “Am I then able to read them to you?”
    “Stories?” said Eldric.
    “No,” said Rose. “I liked the stories where I’m a hero.” She gave her little pre-cough sound.
    “Hand to your mouth, Rose,” I said.
    “What stories?” said Eldric.
    “Foolish stories about me and Rose.” And the Old Ones. I’d always been writing the stories of the Old Ones. “I’m too old for them now. I’m glad they burnt.”
    I was, too. Sometimes I wonder if I called up the library fire simply in order to destroy them.
    “I wish my book had burnt in the fire,” said Rose, which is what she’d taken to saying whenever the subject of the library fire arose.
    “A book you wrote?” said Eldric.
    Rose shook her head.
    “Who did, then?”
    “It’s a secret.” Rose was full of secrets.
    Mr. Clayborne’s voice rose, and so did Mr. Dreary’s peculiar accent. Mr. Dreary didn’t want to carry a Bible Ball into the swamp. He didn’t believe in the Old Ones.
    “I must insist,” said Mr. Clayborne. “How can it hurt? It’s no more than a bit of paper scribbled with a Bible verse.”
    “I’d feel foolish,” said Mr. Dreary.
    “It don’t matter if you feels a fool or if you doesn’t,” said the Reeve. “Them Old Ones, they be real as real, an’ don’t it be better to feel foolish than to feel dead?”
    “The Old Ones are dangerous,” said Eldric, his eyes sparkling whiter than white. “There’s the Dead Hand, who will rip your hand off. There are the Wykes, who will lure you into the bogs. There’s the Dark Muse, who will suck away your spirit.”
    “I’m glad to see,” said Mr. Clayborne, “that my son is capable of acquiring and retaining at least some information.”
    “If there’s enough blood and wickedness,” said Eldric. “I stopped in at the Alehouse this afternoon, which is better than any library. I am absolutely stuffed with information. Do you know there exists a person who’s only half of an Old One? Something like that, anyway.”
    “The Chime Child was born at the Mirk and Midnight Hour,” said Rose, who was dotty about birthdays.
    “The Mirk and Midnight Hour,” said Eldric. “Lovely. I wish I’d been born then.”
    “I prefer that you not be born then,” said Rose.
    “I shall accede to your wishes,” said Eldric.
    “Mightn’t it be better if you postponed your trip into the swamp?” said Father. “It will be dark soon.” Father would think of that, wouldn’t he? Didn’t he ever get sick of living with himself, of being so—so prudent?
    “But I don’t want to miss the Boggy Mun,” said Eldric. “Not the king of the swamp! See how much I know, Father. Isn’t that every bit as good as memorizing the kings and queens of England?”
    “I hears you, Mr. Reverend, sir,”