Riddle Gully Runaway Read Online Free Page B

spotted?’ said Will. ‘Bats? It’s about time they came out of their winter hideaways.’ Squinting, he scanned the gloomy twilight sky.
    â€˜I can’t see any,’ said Pollo. ‘Can you?’ Pollo peered in the direction suggested by Shorn Connery’s snout.
    Suddenly, against the backdrop of the forest, Pollo discerned a dark thin shape, like a tree-trunk — but one that could walk — moving toward them. She dug an elbow into Will’s ribs and whispered. ‘Look! It’s him — Benson Bragg! He’s been hiding his stash in the forest!’
    The youth was picking his way through the meadow toward the graveyard. As he walked, his neck jerked, chook-like, and with each step, his left foot gave a quick waggle before it planted on the ground.
    They stared at him swinging his arms, bobbing his head, waggling his foot. Will leaned closer to Pollo. ‘Is he … dancing?’
    â€˜I do believe he is,’ said Pollo, ‘in his own special thief-like way.’
    *
    As Benson drew near, Will and Pollo could see that he barely had his eyes open — just enough to jig his way around the gravestones. And whatever song was playing through his earphones, he was half-singing, half-mouthing the words with passion like he was the band’s front man himself.
    Shorn Connery remained rooted to his spot among the long grass, a stalk of lupin dangling either side of his snout. Suddenly Benson, no more than three metresin front of him, did a twirl on one sneaker. His hands flew over an invisible drum kit ending in a cymbal clash delivered through his front teeth.
Tss-tsssss!
    Baa-aa-aah!
    Benson leapt vertically and yanked out his earphones. Shorn Connery stared at him, unblinking. ‘What the …?’ cried Benson. He spotted Will and Pollo sitting on Mrs Turner’s tombstone. ‘You two! What are
you
doing here?’
    â€˜Admiring your moves,’ said Pollo, getting to her feet. Will did the same, giggling nervously.
    â€˜Punks!’ said Benson.
    â€˜Unco!’ said Pollo.
    â€˜Dweebs!’ said Benson, a smile creeping onto his face.
    â€˜Doofus!’ smirked Pollo.
    Benson pointed to Pollo’s unruly head of springy hair. ‘Fuzzball!’ he said, grinning and jigging from the knees up.
    Will was beginning to feel left out. ‘Thief!’ he blurted.
    Both Pollo and Benson jerked their heads toward Will.
No!
thought Pollo. She hadn’t gathered her facts yet! It was way too early for a direct assault! And herethey were alone in a graveyard with night closing in, with a kid much bigger than them — were they
whiskers
on Benson’s top lip? — who knew she had evidence against him in the camera bulging in her hip pocket. Her hand drifted down to cover it.
    Benson tugged his cap tight down onto his skull and glared at Will. ‘What’d you call me, Punk?’
    â€˜Seef!’ Pollo scrambled. ‘He called you a seef! He lisps, the poor thing. You’ve got to feel for him sometimes.’
    â€˜Yeth!’ said Will desperately. ‘I didn’t mean to inthult you … Honethtly!’
    â€˜Sounded like thief to me,’ Benson grumbled. ‘There’s not even any such word as “seef”.’
    â€˜Yeah, but how old are you?’ said Pollo.
    â€˜Sixteen. What’s it to you, Fuzzball?’
    â€˜Ah, well,’ said Pollo, ‘that explains it. See, we’re only thirteen —’
    â€˜Nearly fourteen!’ interrupted Will, flinching as Pollo’s elbow found his ribs.
    â€˜â€” thirteen, and in our language a seef is someone who wears their cap sideways … like you!’
    Benson cocked his head to one side. ‘Seef,’ he repeated. He tugged the bill of his cap lower over his left ear. ‘Succinct. Kind of dignified. I don’t mind it.’ Asmile curled onto his face. ‘See, if he’d called me a
thief
I would’ve smashed in