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

Tom wouldn’t have believed it was possible to build anything as big as this. The main tower seemed almost to touch the sky – and surely would have if only it hadn’t managed to lose its steeple.
    He went inside.
    It was almost noon and St Paul’s was beginning to empty. Tom walked slowly up the central aisle, its great stone pillars standing like some enchanted forest all around him. A door slammed shut and the sound echoed through the chamber. There were a few men lounging against the pillars. Some were talking in low voices. In the shadows, one man was counting coins into the outstretched palm of another. Everyone in the church seemed to be watching someone else and it occurred to Tom that nobody was actually praying.
    He reached a tall, wooden door, covered from top to bottom with slips of paper. A handful of men had been examining these as Tom approached but now they dispersed and he found himself alone. The pieces of paper were covered with words. Tom recognized a few of the letters but, of course, he couldn’t read.
    “What are you looking for, my dear boy?”
    The speaker was a small, fat man, almost as round as he was tall. He reminded Tom of a snowman. His eyes were as black as coal. His nose was long and pointed. And his head seemed to balance on his shoulders without the benefit of a neck. He was wearing black trousers and a white shirt, frayed at the elbows. The fur on his collar looked suspiciously like rat.
    “What?” Tom wasn’t even sure that the man was talking to him.
    “You’re new in town.” The man smiled. His lips were wet and rubbery. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
    “I only got here today.” Tom was afraid to give any information away. He had taken an immediate dislike to the man without quite knowing why.
    But the man seemed unaware of it. “You’ve come to the right place,” he said. “My name is Grimly. James Grimly at your service!” He tried to bow but his stomach was too round and didn’t have anywhere to bend. “So you are looking for work?”
    “I might be…”
    “How nice.” The man ran his eyes over Tom rather as if he were inspecting a horse or a piece of meat. “If you were – that is – looking for work,” he went on, “I might be able to help.”
    “How?”
    “I have a large number of people in my employment. Young lads like yourself. James Grimly’s boys are well-known on the streets of London.”
    “What sort of work do they do?” Tom asked, feeling more uneasy by the minute.
    “It’s charity work,” Grimly explained. He giggled. “Yes. There are people, you see, who need to give to charity. And so it follows that there must be people who
are
charity. That’s what I supply. That’s my boys.”
    Tom didn’t quite understand this, nor did he like it. “Thank you, Mr Grimly,” he said. “But I don’t think I’m interested.”
    “Your choice, my dear fellow. Of course it is! Maybe soon you’ll change your mind. But for now I leave you to dine with Duke Humphrey!”
    Tom frowned, not knowing what he meant.
    Grimly pointed at a large, stone tomb. “Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester!” he explained. “No money? No food? Then you’re on your own with him!” The little man laughed and walked away, his boots clattering on the stone floor.
    Relieved to see him go, Tom turned and was about to go back the way he had come when he stopped and froze.
    The main door must have opened and closed while he was talking to Grimly. A man had come in and was talking to another cluster of men, asking them questions. Even from a distance, Tom recognized his long black hair, his slim, languid body, his penetrating blue eyes. Gamaliel Ratsey had followed him to London. Somehow he had overtaken him on the road. If he so much as raised his head, he would see him. Tom knew he had to hide.
    He looked the other way. James Grimly had almost reached the far door and before he knew quite what he was doing, Tom had caught up with him. Grimly’s snowball head