Alchemist's Apprentice Read Online Free PDF Page B

before you waste any more of my good time.’ Her voice was stern, but she was smiling. ‘And don’t tell anyone where you got that or they’ll all be here looking for some.’
    Jack chewed the trotter down to the bone as he walked along beside the river, but didn’t throw it away. It was still good to gnaw on. Above his head, gulls were flying purposefully upriver, heading away from some unseen storm at sea. The people he passed along the way seemed to share their apprehension, hurrying about their business, answering his requests for directions curtly. An occasional cool gust blew in from the estuary, causing Jack to wonder whether he ought not to turn back and wait for another day to make the journey. He might have, had there been anywhere for him to return to.
    He crossed London Bridge with the relic held by its neck in one hand and the pig’s trotter in the other. The day was as hot as the one before, but in a different way. A low bank of cloud had moved in and the air was damp and close. Jack’s clothes were sticky against his skin.
    His path led him away from the river, and in a surprisingly short time the crowded streets gave way to open countryside. For a while, Jack forgot everything, entranced by the scenery. It wasn’t that he had never seen such things; there were trees in the city, and grass, and vegetable gardens. But to see a hundred trees together and whole eyefuls of green and yellow grasses took his breath away. He had seen cows before, and sheep penned up beside the butcher’s, but he had never seen them where they belonged, grazing freely on green commonage, placid and fat. There were no gulls or pigeons, but the hedgerows were alive with small brown birds which fluttered out of his way, then burst into song behind him. The horizon was immeasurably distant; nothing except the sky had ever seemed so far away and it felt as though his eyes had to stretch to look at it. It was all so different that it made him uncomfortable, smaller than ever amongst such largeness. And yet it excited him. He had the impression that he had lived in a box all his life and had just discovered how to open the lid.
    Despite its vastness, the countryside was very far from empty. All along the way, farmers and labourers were working flat out, desperate to save the hay and thatch the ricks before the rain arrived. On two occasions, Jack was called upon to lend a hand. He didn’t like to refuse, but he was reluctant to display his ignorance, and even more reluctant to undertake anything which would require him to let go of his precious pot, even for a short time. So both times he pretended he hadn’t heard and passed on along his way between ripening orchards and cottage gardens, everything bursting with life.
    It was early afternoon when Jack arrived in Dulwich. The village street was long and narrow, and surprisingly empty. The only activity Jack could find was at the forge, where a small crowd of waiting customers had gathered, watching the blacksmith repair the axle of a hay-wagon. Jack approached a boy who was holding a broken pitchfork. It looked as if he would have a long wait but he seemed happy enough, despite the urgency in the surrounding countryside.
    â€˜What you want to go there for?’ he said, when Jack asked him for directions to Master Gregory’s house.
    Jack folded his arms across the relic. The trotter bone was still in his hand. ‘I have a message for him.’
    â€˜From who?’
    Jack made to move away, to ask someone less curious, but the boy reached out and took him by the arm.
    â€˜See the tall sycamore, there? Turn in just beside it, through the iron gates.’
    â€˜How will I know the house?’
    â€˜You can’t miss it. There’s only one house. What you got there, anyway?’
    â€˜Nothing.’
    The boy let go of Jack’s arm and shrugged. ‘I don’t care. Go there if you want. He’s mad, though. Did you