Birth of a Killer Read Online Free PDF Page B

his head.
    “You’re hurt,” the girl said.
    Larten didn’t know what she was talking about. When she pointed at his head, he rubbed it again, looked at his fingers, and saw that he was bleeding. Now that he was aware of his wound, pain kicked in and he grimaced.
    “My mommy can fix you,” the girl said. “She fixes me when I get hurt.”
    “That’s all right,” Larten croaked. “I’ll be fine.”
    “She gives me a cup of tea with sugar,” the girl said. “
Sugar
,” she repeated boastfully. “Have you ever had sugar?”
    “No,” Larten said.
    “It’s lovely,” she whispered.
    Larten stared around. The worst of the panic had passed. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t feel so afraid anymore. He was still a long way from normal, yet he began thinking of what he should do and where he could go. He had to get away quickly, but he’d only be able do that if he held his nerve.
    “Thank you,” he said to the girl, and headed back up the alley.
    “For what?” the girl asked.
    “Calming me down.”
    She giggled. “You’re silly. Come back and play.”
    But Larten had no time to waste on play. There was only one game of any interest to him now—
beat the hangman
.
    From the alley he took a right turn and soon had left behind the neighborhood where he’d spent all his life. Though he wasn’t sure of the surrounding area, he had a vague idea of the shape of the city and moved in an eastern direction. That was his quickest route to the outskirts. He didn’t run but walkedbriskly, head down, not making eye contact with anyone.
    Nobody paid attention to the thin, dirty, bloodied, trembling boy. The city was full of lost, wounded strays just like him.
    At the factory, someone finally asked what had become of Traz’s killer. When people realized the boy had escaped without even a halfhearted challenge, they were outraged—nobody had liked Traz, but a rebellious brat like Larten Crepsley couldn’t be allowed to stab a hardworking foreman to death and waltz away freely. A gang took to the streets and was soon joined by dozens of others as word of the murder spread. Life was monotonous in those parts, and a chase was a major attraction. Men, women, and teenagers joined the workers from the factory, brandishing knives, hooks, and any other sharp implements they could find. More than one also took the time to root out a good length of rope. Mobs were never shy of volunteers when it came to the office of hangman.
    By the time the mob was fully formed and storming through the streets, Larten was out of danger’s immediate range. Their cries didn’t reach him or alert any of the people he was passing. With no sign of a chase party, he was able to keep calm and carry on at a steady pace.
    It never crossed his mind to go home. He knew that was the first place the mob would look for him, but that wasn’t the reason he avoided it. If he thought his parents would try to protect him, he might have returned. If he believed people would grant him a fair hearing, maybe he wouldn’t have fled. If there was any justice in the world, perhaps he’d have thrown himself at the feet of his accusers and begged for mercy.
    But nobody would care about Vur Horston. Children in factories were killed all the time. As long as the owners made money, they didn’t mind. But the killing of a foreman was a scandal. An example would have to be made, to stop other workers from following Larten’s lead.
    Larten’s father was a thoughtful, caring man, and his gruff mother loved him in her own way, but life was hard, and poor people had to be practical. They couldn’t save him from the mob, and Larten didn’t think they’d even try. He figured they would hand him over and curse him for being a fool and losing his temper.
    Larten had never heard the phrase “burning your bridges.” But he would have understood it. There was no home for him in this city anymore. He was all alone in the world and marked for death.

    It was evening by