The Sword Bearer Read Online Free PDF Page B

all was Nicholas Slapfoot "Young John, young John Wilson! I said I'd come for you, an' I'm comin'. I'm comin' right now!"
    John turned the corner and ran so that his feet seemed not to touch the ground. Peter's! Peter Shufflebotham's! He had to get to Peter's house for the four pounds. Peter would understand. He dodged down a side street and peeped back round the corner. No one had so far reached the corner of Pimblett's Place and Ellor Street He still had a chance if he ran fast enough.
    In and out, down entries and among the winding streets he ran. At last he was hammering at Peter's door. "Mrs. Shuffle-botham! Mrs. Shufflebotham! Is Peter there?"
    The door opened and a fat lady looked at him in amazement "John Wilson! Whatever's the matter, lad? There's no need to carry on like that!"
    But at that moment John heard the voice of Nicholas Slapfoot "There 'e is! 'Urry up, Reverend. 'E's right 'ere, the mean little brat!"
    John turned, astounded to see how fast the cripple could move. How had he known where to look for him? John was sure he had shaken all his pursuers off. In the distance he could hear the high-pitched squeak of the minister, "Wait oh, do wait! I can go no farther!"
    John certainly did not wait but ran with all his might running faster than he had ever run in races for his school or his city, dodging down side lanes, entries, climbing over walls as the cries died down slowly behind him. He was breathless but thinking clearly. He was now near the Cross Lane end of Ellor Street where his favorite secondhand bookstore was located. If only he could get inside it unobserved and hide among the bookshelves, he could recover his breath and have time to think. He would not be far from the bus stop for Victoria Station.
    When he reached the bookstore the door was open, and he slipped inside unobserved by his friend Mr. Bloomenthal, the owner. Quietly he made his way to the shelves at the back of the store, pulled a book off the shelf and did all he could to quiet his breathing.
    In the bookstore there was silence. John's heart began to beat more slowly. The pain in his shoulder had died away. He stared unseeingly at his book, listening intently. Minutes, seeming like hours, crawled by punctuated only by the occasional shuffling steps of Mr. Bloomenthal (who was still unaware of John's presence) and the sounds of books being pulled and pushed on bookshelves. John's legs ached from standing so still.
    When the door opened again, the bell rang loudly, and an agonizing jolt of pain shot through John's shoulder, causing him to drop the book he was holding. Old Nick's voice sounded, "We're lookin' for young John Wilson. 'Is granny died last night an' 'e run away. We know 'e sometimes comes 'ere an' we wondered if. . ."
    "Eee, I'm right sorry to 'ear it. Nice young lad. Often comes 'ere but 'e's not 'ere now. Leastways I've not seen 'im. Shop's empty as far as I know . .."
    But at that moment John sneezed, and both men moved toward the shelves at the back of the shop. In panic John turned to see a stairway leading down to a cellar, and with his heart beating wildly he followed the steps into a dimly lit room filled with piles of unsorted books. He could hear the two men approaching the top of the stairs. The pain in his shoulder was excruciating. A door at the back of the cellar seemed his only hope of escape and he seized the handle. It vibrated startlingly in his hand, but he turned it and advanced in desperation, suddenly finding himself surrounded by strange blue light He closed the door behind him.
    Everything changed. His pain was gone. It was as though he had been dreaming and that now he had suddenly woken up. Or as though he had been awake but had walked into a dream.
    His panic melted and in its place came the kind of feeling you get when you are inside a very large cathedral (if you've ever been in one). Although he could still faintly hear the voices of Slapfoot and the shopkeeper they sounded as though they were so