Читать книгу Temple Boys - Jamie Buxton - Страница 20

It was the worst night of Flea’s life. Worse than the night he left the glue maker (even though it had been snowing then), worse than the night he escaped from Mosh the Dosh’s house (he had picked a hole in the roof and scraped his back on a nail), worse than the night after the rats in the tomb had bitten his mouth and his lips had swollen up and he’d had feverish nightmares of giant rats, wearing grave-shrouds and dancing.

Why was it worse? Because everything was his fault. He had suggested they go and see and the magician. He had argued against them taking their chances in Temple Square. And he had refused to join the others when Yeshua had invited him to.

Twilight turned to night and the dark was cold. He walked up and down the street outside the alleyway, flapping his arms, then headed for the water fountain: sometimes a street seller would set up a charcoal brazier that you could huddle around. But the weather was too foul and no one was out. Once he thought he saw the skinny girl disappear around a corner in front of him and he ran to try and find her, but there was no one there. He was chasing shadows.

Wherever he went the cold wind found him. He settled down in the street close to the gang’s shelter, his back against the wall, hugging his knees.