The White Mountains (The Tripods) by John Christopher Read Free Book Online Page B

hearing: I had been as much deceived. And it was I who had insisted on traveling by night, with no moon, while he had wanted to lie up. And now I was dependent on him. Misgivings remained—one does not overcome as longstanding a hostility as ours in a few days, especially when under an obligation—but I did not see how I could carry out my plan of losing him before I reached Rumney. In the end, I told him it all—where I was heading, what I had learned from Ozymandias.
    He said, “It was because of the Capping that I really wanted to get away. I didn’t have any place in mind, of course, but I thought I might be able to hide, for a time at any rate.”
    I remembered Ozymandias asking me if there was anyone else who might be willing to go south, and my reply. I put my fingers down inside the lining of my jacket.
    “This is the map,” I said.

We came into Rumney in the early evening of a day that had been alternately bright and stormy; we were wet and tired, and my ankle was aching. No one paid us any attention. For one thing, of course, it was a town, and people in a town did not expect to be able to identify everyone as local or foreigner, as they would in a village. And this was a port, also—a place of comings and goings, quite unlike the easy familiar round of the country. There was an exciting bustle of activity, the glimpse of sea at the end of a long street, men in blue jerseys sucking on pipes, a few tardy seagulls grabbing out of the air for food. And all the smells: tobacco, tar, spices, the smell of the sea itself.
    Dusk was thickening by the time we reached the harbor. There were dozens of boats of all sizes tied up,and others standing out in the harbor, sails close-reefed on their masts. We wandered along the quay, reading their names. The
Maybelle,
the
Black Swan, Venturer,
the
Gay Gordon
—but no
Orion.
    “She might be at sea,” I said.
    “What do you think we should do?”
    “We’ll have to find somewhere to sleep.”
    Henry said, “I wouldn’t mind finding some food, as well.”
    We had finished our provisions that morning. The windows of the taverns along the front were brightly lit in the twilight, and we could hear singing from some of them. From some, also, issued rich cooking smells that made my belly groan in protest against its emptiness. In a nearby window there was a board, and chalked on it: HOT PIES—SIXPENCE. I still had a little money, which I had brought with me, and which I had not dared spend before. I told Henry to wait for me, and slipped in through the door.
    It was a low-ceilinged, wooden-beamed room, with scrubbed deal tables at which people were eating, swilling the food down with mugs of beer. I did not study them closely, but went to the serving counter, where I handed over my shilling and took the two pies from a dark girl who was talking all the time to a sailor at the nearest table. I made for the door with them, but a hand reached out and took a crushing grip on my arm.
    He looked a very big man, too, until he stood up. I saw then that he was thick-set but, because of the shortness of his legs, only a couple of inches taller than I. He had a yellow beard, and yellow hair receding from hisforehead, where the wires of his Cap showed up. He said, in a harsh, barking voice, “Well, lad, how would you like to be a sailor?”
    I shook my head. “No.”
    He stared at me. “Are you from these parts?”
    “Yes.”
    “Would you say your folks will be seeking you if you don’t come back tonight?”
    I said boldly, “I only live three streets from here. They’ll be looking for me if I’m not back right away.”
    He was silent for a second and then laughed, deeply and unpleasantly.
    “You tell me so, with an accent like that! You’re from the country if ever I heard a country lad.” I gave a quick twist, and tried to break free. “Now then, no trouble. Save your strength for the
Black Swan.
”
    He dragged me to the door. No one paid any attention, and I realized