The Kingdom by the Sea by Robert Westall Read Free Book Online Page A

hash, you murderous bastard,” he yelled at Don. He made for the tractor at great speed, and picked something up from where he had picked the gauntlets. Something long and shiny.
    A double-barrelled shotgun. Harry knew it was, because Mr Gilbey had carried one on his tractor, at harvest time, for potting the rabbits that came out of the last of the corn. Harry leapt to his feet in terror; the farmer was going to shoot Don. He flung himself at the farmer.
    “Please, mister, no, no.”
    The farmer gave him one push that knocked him flat. As Harry got up, the farmer broke open the gun, and put two fat red shells into it, and turned towards Don.
    “Mister,” screamed Harry, running at him again, trying to get between the gun and Don.
    The farmer roughly pushed him away again, against the tractor seat. Harry put out his hand to save himself, and his hand closed round a long piece of wood, a fence-post or something, that was lying on the floor of the tractor.
    Harry saw the farmer raise his gun and point it at Don, who was standing looking totally baffled.
    Harry’s arms just moved of their own accord. He grabbed the fence-post with both hands, raised it high above his head, and hit the farmer. He meant to hit him on the head, on his bulgy cap; but he missed and hit him in the small of the back.
    The farmer gave a terrible yell, and fell down. The gun went off along the ground, raising an enormous cloud of dust and grass, cutting a long swathe through the stubble of the field. But Don was no longer anywhere near. Don was off and running, his ears down.
    There was a silence. Then the farmer slowly turned his head.
    “Christ, kid… I think you’ve broken me back.” He didn’t look insane now; he looked very pale and ill and feeble. The freckles stood out on his nose like spots of blood. He tried to raise himself on his hands, managed about six inches, and fell back. “Kid, help me,” he said. Hehad little sandy eyelashes on thick white eyelids. Harry hated him. He was a disgusting object. He’d tried to kill Don, and now he was pleading like a baby. But he’d try to kill Don again, given half a chance…
    “Get lost!” shouted Harry. He turned away and grabbed his blankets and attachè case, and ran off down the road. Don, thinking it was a game, came racing past him.
    “Kid,” shouted the farmer desperately. “Kid.” He shouted many times, but Harry just kept on running.
    Quarter of a mile further on, at the bend in the road, he looked back.
    The farmer had managed to haul himself to his feet against the tractor, but was just standing there.
    At least his back
wasn’t
broken.
    Harry ran on, reached a crossroad, and took the turning for Newbigin-by-the-Sea. His dad had told him about Newbigin; it was a fishing port. It didn’t seem a place that a farmer would go. Soon after he crossed the River Wansbeck, he left the road and headed down to the sea.
    He found what he was looking for; an old upturned boat on the beach, bleached grey with age and splitting at the seams. Making sure nobody was watching he got the dog under it, and tied him firmly to a thwart, by his lead. They lay there for the rest of the day, while Harry watched through the cracks for farmers and policemen. There wasn’t a sign of either. Only oneold man, beachcombing for sea-coal, who went home with a full dripping sack, when the sun had begun to set.
    It was the smell of real fish and chips, wafted on the northeast breeze from Newbigin that finally lured Harry out after dark. He left the dog tied up, and followed his nose till he found the chip shop. The shop was nearly empty, and the old lady behind the counter was so busy chatting to her crony that she served him without a glance. He got another bottle of Tizer too.
    The fish was smashing; but then Newbigin was a fishing village where the boats still went out every day, for rock salmon and rock turbot. The dog enjoyed his fish as well.
    On the edge of sleep, Harry thought how right it felt, to