Wild Boy Read Online Free PDF

fair.

“B oy! Where are you, boy? I’ll wring your ugly neck!”
    Wild Boy lay flat on one of the caravan roofs. His heart pounded so hard he was sure it would give him away. He didn’t move, didn’t even breathe.
    Below, Augustus Finch stalked along the back of the vans. The web of scars flushed across the showman’s face, and a glob of spit hung like a spider from his chin. He limped painfully from the cut on his foot. The glass shard that had inflicted the wound was gripped in his hand, ready to use in revenge.
    “You’ll be back!” he screamed. “You hear me, you ugly mutt? You’ll be back, cos where else has a freak like you got to go? But you won’t need to worry about your hair no more. Cos I’m gonna skin you alive!”
    Wild Boy’s face burned with anger. He wanted to leap from the van and smash the showman to the ground. But this time he fought back the rage. He’d been lucky against Finch in the van, and knew that only a fool would challenge him twice in one night.
    So he lay still, as rainwater from the roof seeped through his coat and soaked the hair on his chest. He lay still until the showman was gone and his cries were drowned by the roar of the fair.
    Even then Wild Boy didn’t move. He was trying not to cry. He’d spent his whole life not crying, no matter how badly he’d been treated or teased. But he was so scared right then. He’d never seen Finch that angry. If he went back, the showman would beat him to within an inch of his life, and he wouldn’t care that the star of his show couldn’t perform for a week.
    He pulled his coat tighter as an icy wind swept over the rooftops. He knew that he had to go back — what else could he do? Certainly nothing normal; a freak show was the only life someone like him was good for. One or two freaks had gotten away to run their own shows, but first they’d saved up money to rent a van and horse. Wild Boy hadn’t earned a single penny during his time with Finch.
    Unless . . .
    Unless he could
steal
some money. How hard could it be? He just had to find the right target, someone who wouldn’t miss a few pennies from their pocket.
    He slid to the edge of the roof, his sharp eyes raking the crowds. From here he could see all the way to the circus tent at the end of the path, a swirl of color against the soot-black sky. There were hundreds of people down there. He saw a beggar with a sign saying SHIPWRECKED SAILOR (whom he could tell had never been to sea). He saw four women playing cards (three of whom he knew were cheating). He saw a woman faking a fit outside a gin tent, a man with a hook for a hand, a girl stealing gingerbread . . .
    His eyes landed on a wealthy-looking couple buying chestnuts for their daughter. Was there something to steal there? No, they only
looked
wealthy. The mother’s ears were pierced but she wasn’t wearing earrings, even though the family was all dressed up. The girl’s expensive dress was patched in three places, and two of the father’s mother-of-pearl shirt buttons were missing — pawned, Wild Boy guessed, to provide for his family.
    No — he couldn’t steal from them.
    Suddenly he sat up. Across the path, a dark figure moved between the vans. Someone was shadowing the family — stopping when they stopped, moving when they moved, darting from behind one van to the next.
    Another thief,
Wild Boy realized.
    He wasn’t surprised. The family was an obvious target. They didn’t just look rich, they looked scared too. Wild Boy watched as they made their way cautiously along the side of the path, as far as possible from the threatening crowds. Soon they would brush past a banner for the circus. That, he guessed, was where the thief would strike. And he had a good idea who that thief was too. . . .
    He turned away, trying to forget what he’d seen. “Ain’t none of my business,” he muttered.
    Only . . . That family wasn’t rich, but they were going to get robbed unless he did something about it. He imagined how