Doubleborn Read Online Free

stepped through the door.
    “Sit down,” said Vengeabil.
    Tim stopped.
    Vengeabil scowled at him.
    “Don’t stand there gurning like a losel. Sit down.”
    Tim took a step back, out of the door, stared, stepped forward again and stared harder.
    “It’s not a dance,” said Vengeabil. “This is the last time I’m telling you. Sit down.”
    “I always felt sorry for Tam, living down here with you,” said Tim.
    “I know. You were supposed to.”
    Tim pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. Tamrin’s books were in front of him and Vengeabil shuffled them away before Tim could look at them properly.
    The kitchen was light, airy, and filled with the scent of freshly baked bread.
    “Where does the bad smell come from?” asked Tim.
    Vengeabil raised his head and sniffed.
    “Smells all right to me,” he said.
    He took a big knife from a drawer in the table, tipped the loaf of bread on its side and sawed off the crust.
    “Do you like crust or inside?” he asked.
    “Either. Sorry. Didn’t mean it was a bad smell now.”
    “I know what you meant.”
    Vengeabil spread a generous layer of butter on to the bread.
    “Jam or lemon curd?”
    “What sort of jam?”
    Vengeabil raised an eyebrow.
    “Lemon curd, please.”
    “I make it myself,” said Vengeabil. “Come and look at this.”
    Tim followed him to a door. Vengeabil let him through and he found himself in a wide, high, stone-flagged glasshouse, with plants he had never seen before, including a row of five lemon trees, full of fruit.
    “Where are we?” he asked. “I’ve never seen this place.”
    “You may never see it again,” said Vengeabil. “But now you know the lemons are fresh.”
    They went back, Tim sat at the table and bit into the thick slice of bread. The crust was crisp. The inside was soft and springy. The butter was yellow, salty and cool. The lemon curd made his mouth water with a sharp, instant bite, then released a wave of sweetness that made him smile.
    “Thought you’d like that,” said Vengeabil.
    “Everyone thinks—” began Tim.
    The man waved his hand.
    “I know what everyone thinks,” he said. “Smelly old Vegetables, the storeman. In his stinky kitchen, with his sad little friend, Tam, the college dunce. Thrown out for being too naughty to learn. I know.”
    “I wasn’t going to say that,” said Tim.
    “Why not? It’s what everyone thinks. You think I don’t know what they call me? You think that smell comes from nowhere? Eh? I don’t want people knowing how I live here. I don’t want scruffy schoolboys pestering me for bread and treats. So I keep them away.”
    Tim finished his bread with a sense of such loss that he wanted to cry.
    “I won’t tell,” he said.
    “I know. That’s why you’re here. Now, what’s happened to Tamrin?”
    As he asked the question a small stream of stars fell from his fingertips and bounced on the floor. Tim looked at him, looked down at the stars. Vengeabil was waiting for Tim’s answer. He hadn’t seen the stars tumble from his hand. Tim was trying to decide whether to tell Vengeabil what had happened when a small, skinny cat, old and slow, only about as big as a mouse, appeared round the table leg and began to lick up the stars.

    More voices followed. Louder, harsh and coming closer fast. Tamrin pulled a face. Her lonely place far from the road was quickly becoming as busy as the market square in Canterstock.
    “Quick. This way.”
    A hand seized Tamrin’s arm and pulled her into a thicket. Thorns dragged across her skin, cutting into her arms, her cheeks, her legs.
    A face stared at her and a hand went to her lips. Tamrin obeyed. Something about the woman who had grabbed her made her pay attention.
    The woman inclined her head to the left and Tamrin nodded. The voices approached.
    “Gone.”
    “Not gone.”
    “Gone.”
    “Can’t have gone.”
    “Where?”
    “Can’t see.”
    “Stop.”
    Four figures. No, five. Six. At least. Red and booted. Leather-clad.