Brightling Read Free Page B

the krackodyle’s broad back.
    Scaramouch had already leaped nimbly onto the next krackodyle and was waiting, watching her movements carefully, tail low and thrashing backwards and forwards.
    â€˜I can’t be as light as you!’ she whispered to Scaramouch. ‘I’m trying.’
    She trod tentatively along the ribbed and leathery skin, staring fixedly at the animal’s head, alert to any shift in it, to any hint that those jaws might open.
    Nothing happened. It was safe. She could do it. She crossed to the neighbouring krackodyle, walked along it, and then the third, the fourth and – just one more krackodyle between her and the path where Scaramouch was. If she could touch Scaramouch, she told herself, feel his fur, then she would be safe.
    The orange and yellow rays of the sun were beginning to inch over the treetops and a bird had started singing far away.
    The final krackodyle was so submerged only the rounds of its eyes and nostrils broke the surface of the water, and it was hard to see exactly where its body began and ended. She lost her footing, slipped and landed on its head with a thud and a splash.
    â€˜Help!’
    Immediately the krackodyle woke, its red eyes flicked open and its jaws snapped at the air, first to this side then to that. She stumbled away, clambering onto the bank, never taking her eyes from the krackodyle as it bit at the air, its teeth clashing hard, jaws juddering as they banged against each other with an empty, hungry
clonk
.
    She flew the remaining few feet and dropped on the path beside Scaramouch with a wallop.
    The krackodyle snapped blindly behind her. It missed her completely. Bit at nothing. The sun had risen and was in its eyes and it couldn’t see. It was completely blind!
    â€˜Thank you!’ Sparrow cried, giving Scaramouch a quick, light stroke.
    She spun round just as the unseeing krackodyle launched itself towards her – sensing her smell? Hearing her voice? – she didn’t stop to wonder but grabbed a stone and hurled it at the beast.
    The rock hit the krackodyle square between the eyes and sent it toppling backwards, setting the others flapping and splashing, but they only railed for a few minutes before they settled again with their eyes closed, and all went quiet.
    â€˜Oh, Scaramouch!’ she whispered. ‘We did it, we –’
    But Scaramouch was already off, bounding lightly down the path.
    â€˜Oh blimey, Scaramouch! Here we go!’ She hurried after him.
    They ran along the path, passing many other sleeping krackodyles, but none stirred – they slept on, immobile as dead things, hiding from the light of the brilliant, morning sun.

4
Nanny Porrit
    Miss Knip sat down at her vast desk and put on her spectacles, which she thought made her look clever and stern. Who could be coming to see her on the weekly bread wagon? She pushed a few bits of paper around and checked her pale face in her desk mirror in case she’d got ink on it or a strand of hair was out of place. Whoever was here couldn’t be important, not arriving like this.
    â€˜Here we are, Miss Porrit,’ Annie could be heard saying in the corridor. ‘Mind your step, dear. In you go. Careful.’
    The old woman whom Annie showed into the room was as small as a child and as bent and crooked as a hairpin. Her face was all nose and pointed chin beneath a black bonnet and wispy white hair.
    â€˜Who are you and what do you want?’ Miss Knip snapped at her, without moving from her desk.
    It took a few moments for the old lady to get the strength to speak. ‘Nanny Porrit at your service, miss,’ the old woman piped. Her neck was so bent that she spoke all twisted, addressing the floor. ‘I’m old, so old,’ she added.
    â€˜No need to state the obvious,’ Miss Knip said. ‘Well, Nanny Porrit, whoever you are, why have you come here bothering me?’
    â€˜May I sit down? May I sit?’ she trilled in her