The Necromancer's Nephew Read Free Page B

soft bulk underneath the paper .
    Garrett dared a glance down to secure to load and noticed the tear. Through it, he caught a glimpse of curly hair, so white that it seemed to sparkle in the dim light .
    His skin crawled to think what might be inside the package. Rare were the days when Uncle did not ask Garrett to transport some manner of dead thing either here or there, but the contents of those grisly parcels were seldom a secret .
    The third chime rang out. He would never make it home in time.
    Garrett's feet ached, and the strap of his satchel rubbed his shoulder raw even through the heavy wool of his robe. His pulse pounded in his ears and his breath came in ragged gasps .
    The fourth bell rang.
    Garrett looked around frantically. A thin fog crept from black alleyways into the empty streets. The sound of a bolt being thrown shut echoed through the silent lane, and the witchfire street lamps hissed and sputtered then flickered out. The starless shadow of night engulfed him.
    Garrett stumbled to a halt at an intersection of three streets. One of them led home, but doubts filled the darkness. It had to be that way. Garrett ran again, almost immediately catching the toe of his boot on an uneven cobble. He fell hard, landing on the package. Soft and thick, the mysterious parcel broke his fall, but the canister inside his bag bounced free and skittered across the pavement. Garrett scrambled on hands and knees to retrieve it, grateful for the canister's firefly glow.
    His fingers closed around the cool metal, stopping its roll. Cold tendrils of fog passed over his hand, and Garrett felt a sensation like ants crawling up the back of his neck, dark magic.
    The last bell rang.
    Garrett froze. His eyes strained against the darkness, seeing nothing beyond the ghostly circle of green light cast by the essence flask. Nothing happened. He laughed, barely... almost a squeak. Perhaps the Night Watch was only a story after all.
    A low grating sound, metal on stone, echoed through the hollow streets. Garrett dared not move. Then came a sound made of nightmares, a hoarse, wordless moan that did not echo at all. The very air seemed to fall silent and dead at the sound, and Garrett's lungs heaved to draw breath that would not come.
    Garrett got to his feet, gathering up the canister and Uncle's package. The package had torn open in the fall and he quickly bundled it back into place. The parcel contained a heavy fleece of shimmering white wool. It radiated strange warmth, and when he touched it, a measure of his fear withered in its unnatural heat.
    The evil cry sounded again, but this time Garrett did not shrink from it. He tucked the bundle under his arm and hurried down the street that would lead him home, careful this time of his steps. The cry sounded once more, closer this time. Then a sound like dead tree branches dragged across stones, repeating rhythmically. Garrett stopped .
    The sound came from ahead.
    The boy took a cautious step backwards, afraid to make a noise. The scraping sound grew louder. Garrett's eyes focused on the dim gap between the dark silhouettes of rooftops ahead. Then something moved into the gap, a black shadow against the gray night sky. Taller than any man, misshapen and skeletal, the Watcher turned to face him. Two faint embers of blue flame throbbed in the shadow of its horned head. It saw him. The Watcher screamed.
    Garrett's blood went cold, and he ran. He raced back down the street toward the intersection with no other plan than to get away. Another hoarse cry answered from nearby, and then another. Garrett whimpered and gasped, stumbling into the center of the crossroads once again .
    A second monstrous figure lurched against the skyline of the Market District, and another approached from the west. Garrett spun, uncertain which way to run, and the essence flask slipped from his grasp.
    The green glowing canister bounced and rolled across the flagstones, coming to rest for a moment in the gutter. It tipped