The Devil and His Boy by Anthony Horowitz

pension. No reward. I was abandoned, left to starve, all on my own…”
    “You had parents…”
    “I’d run away from home. They didn’t want to know me. There was no one to look after poor old Ratsey so I had to learn to look after myself. And that’s what I’m doing now, Tom-Tom. I like you. Yes, I do. But, you see, you know too much. And maybe, one day, you’ll whisper a few words … just by accident. Maybe in your sleep! I can’t let that happen. I can’t take the risk.”
    It was no good. Tom glanced left and right. They were standing in an open field, underneath a tree. Thick snow lay all around them and in the branches above. There was nobody in sight. Ratsey had led him away from the inn and Tom knew that even if he did call for help, he would be dead long before anyone arrived. Suddenly he felt very cold. Despite his new boots, the snow was reaching up to his ankles, penetrating his bones. The wind blew and a trickle of snow fell out of the tree and on to his neck.
    The snow…
    “So let’s get this over with,” Ratsey said. “I’m sorry, Tom. I hope you understand – it’s nothing personal.”
    “Wait a minute, Ratsey!” Tom brought his hands together as if to plead for mercy. He was hoping he
had
learned something about acting in the last few days. “You can’t kill me. I’m only a child!”
    “It’s never stopped me before…”
    “But I’m unarmed…” Now Tom turned his palms upwards. “Look! I don’t have a weapon…” Slowly, Tom raised his arms.
    “Most of the people I kill don’t have weapons,” Ratsey said, reasonably. “It makes it a lot easier.” His fingers tightened on the knife. “Now stop all this nonsense, Tom-Tom. Time’s up!”
    Tom’s hands were now over his head. There was a branch directly above him. His hands closed over it and with all his strength he pulled down.
    A great clump of snow fell out of the tree, both on to Tom and on to Ratsey in front of him. Tom had been ready for it. Ratsey hadn’t. Ratsey cursed, momentarily blinded. At the same moment, Tom turned and ran.
    He was only seconds ahead of Ratsey. The highwayman had recovered fast and scooping the snow out of his eyes had launched himself after Tom. It was a strange, soundless pursuit. They were almost running in slow motion as their feet came down in the thick snow and even the sound of Tom’s rasping breath was smothered by the frozen air.
    Tom had no idea where he was going but realized – when it was too late – that he had managed to curve away from the inn where he might have found help. As he stumbled through the snow, almost slipping, scrabbling forward, he caught sight of a group of people, weaving slowly down a lane. Should he make for them? No. It was hopeless. They were probably half-drunk and before he could even begin to explain what was happening, Ratsey would have cut his throat.
    “Tom…!”
    He must have slowed down. Ratsey had almost caught up with him. The knife flashed through the air and Tom cried out as the very tip of it caught him on the shoulders, slicing through his shirt and drawing a line across his skin. The pain and the shock of it propelled him forward. Ratsey stumbled and almost lost his balance. Tom surged ahead.
    He reached a row of houses, found an alleyway and ran through it. But it was then that he made his fatal mistake. Even as he ran, he looked back. His legs carried him the next ten metres before he knew what he had done and by the time he saw where he was it was too late.
    He was near Bankside. He had entered a long, wooden jetty, stretching out into the River Thames. Unfortunately, the jetty only continued for another twenty metres and stopped. It was a passage to nowhere and before Tom could double back and regain dry land, Ratsey had reached the other end, blocking it.
    The man and the boy stopped and stood there, gazing at each other. Ratsey was breathing heavily. His dark hair had flopped across his face and he threw his head back to clear