Sargasso Skies by Allan Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

Within a few moments, she had sorted them into separate gangs, and it was not long before they had completed their task.
    All around the auditorium, other animals were watching, and the moment the beam was slotted into place, a great cheer went up.

    Esmeralda dusted her paws together and headed for the next bunch of workers.
    Again, it was only a few minutes before order emerged from chaos, and another task was completed to general cheering and applause.
    â€œUs next!” called other gangs. “Do us next!”
    â€œShe’s astounding,” breathed Jack.
    â€œIsn’t she, though?” said Trundle.
    â€œIt looks like the count thinks so, too,” Jack added, pointing to the stage.
    Count Leopold was staring at her, his monocle screwed tight into his eye. “Who is that woman?” he called.
    Trundle was quick to scramble up onto the stage. “She’s my friend Esmeralda,” he told the count. “Scary, isn’t she?”
    â€œTotally on the contraryness!” declared the count. “She is wonderful! I appoint her my works manager as.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Make so carry on, Ermintruda!”
    â€œIt’s Esmeralda, mate!” she shouted back. “And don’t you worry—I’ve got everything under control.”
    â€œGlorious! Truly magnificent!” said the count. He peered down at Trundle. “And what can you for me do, my little spiky friend?” he asked.
    â€œOh, I’m not really sure,” Trundle stammered, feeling rather queasy under those strange red eyes. “I know all about lamplighting and . . . er . . . I’m a dab hand at cabbage soufflé . . . and . . . um . . . I do enjoy a good book . . . but . . .”
    â€œAhh! A literary gentleman!” boomed the count. “Exactly you are the person who my papers a little organize can.”
    â€œPapers?” gasped Trundle. “Umm . . . what papers?”
    â€œWith me come!” With a sweep of his great cloak, the count led Trundle off the stage, poor Trundle needing to trot to keep up with the lion’s long strides.
    Off into the wings they went, and through a door and up a staircase, and through another door and along a corridor and this time up a spiral staircase. Through small windows dotted along the winding stair, Trundle could see that they were rising high above the swampy ground. He guessed they were in one of the towers.
    The count came to a doorway at the top of the stairs. He flung it open and led Trundle inside.
    Trundle found himself in a smallish circular room with curved windows and a pointed wooden ceiling. Filling the middle of the room and groaning under the weight of a vast disorderly mass of ink-stained papers was a solitary desk.
    â€œThis is my composing chamber,” said the count. “Here are the words of my opera written—many words!” He put a great paw on Trundle’s shoulder and guided him to a chair. “Sit!” he said. Trundle sat. “All that you to do I wish is the words of my opera put into the correct order,” said the Count. “Such things to me are not of interest, but the people who to watch and to listen come, like a story in the right order told.”
    Trundle stared aghast at the towering piles of scribbled-on paper. There were even several dozen sheets strewn across the floor.
    â€œI will have to you later on some food brought,” said the count. “Until the task completed is, can you here sleep.” He pointed to a straw mattress that lay against the wall. “It is most comfortable. You will sleep fast like a stone, yes?”
    Before Trundle could say a word, the count swept to the door again. “A call you me give when you finished are!” he said. “I will you in lock so not disturbed will be.”
    The door slammed at the count’s back. A key turned with a sharp click . There