Читать книгу Temple Boys - Jamie Buxton - Страница 15

On the other side of the valley, a dense little group was moving down the road from Olive Tree Hill with purpose. People seemed to be clearing the road ahead of it. Above the background noise Flea thought he could hear faint cheers.

‘Something’s happening!’ he called down to Big, who grabbed Snot. Together, they wormed their way through the crowd towards the bridge. Halo scrabbled up into the tree with Flea and Red. Flea helped him on to the branch and held him tight. Halo was inclined to get excited and fall off things.

In the middle of the bridge, the stuck donkey had managed to back the cart hard against the parapet, the camel was attempting to turn sideways and a man carrying a pitcher of water was stuck between them, trying desperately not to let it fall. At the same time, the heaving press of people was stopping any man or beast from going backwards or forwards and more people were trying to squeeze on to the bridge all the time. To cap matters off, Flea saw Big and Snot jump on to the cart and start stamping and yelling in imitation of the driver.

Problem. They were making so much noise they’d attracted the attention of the Imps. The two Temple Boys on the cart showed clearly above the heads of the crowd and made easy targets for the soldiers, who started to shoulder their way towards them, all leather plates and polished buckles.

And now something strange was happening on the far side of the bridge, behind the soldier’s backs.

The little group Flea had seen had arrived and the crowd started moving to either side of the road. Some of the people bowed their heads. Others put their hands across their chests as a mark of respect. Some even knelt, so at last Flea could see them from his vantage point . . . Not a wizard in his flaming chariot with an army of demons, but a dozen or so of the shabbiest travellers that Flea had ever seen.

This was the Chosen One and his followers? This bunch of dusty tramps? But Flea couldn’t be disappointed for too long, because things on the bridge were looking horrible for Big and Snot. They were still jumping up and down on the cart, but with their backs to the approaching Imps. They had no idea of the danger they were in.

Flea saw the Imps look at each other, saw the metal flash as they drew swords. The man with the pitcher dropped it and it shattered. He yelled a warning at the boys on the cart, but could not make himself heard. Then a small man in a dusty grey robe was suddenly standing between the soldiers and the boys, hands outstretched, palms out.

He was one of the travellers and Flea couldn’t work out how he had moved so fast.

The Imps stopped and stared, swords still raised. Flea held his breath. The Imps would smack him with their shields, batter him with their sword hilts, and when they’d finished with him they’d turn on Big and Snot.

But the small man just stood there and smiled. And smiled. And smiled.