The Devil and His Boy by Anthony Horowitz Page A

it. His eyes, when they were revealed, were alight with pleasure.
    “You’re a fast mover, Tom-Tom,” he panted.
    “Leave me alone, Ratsey…” Tom took two paces back. Two paces closer to the end of the jetty and the River Thames.
    Ratsey lifted the knife and took another step. The jetty creaked underneath him.
    “Tom, Tom, the piper’s son…” Ratsey had begun to sing. “Cannot hide and he cannot run.”
    Tom had reached the end of the jetty. A wooden ladder led down to the Thames but there were no boats. Ratsey was getting closer. And then, in an instant, Tom knew what he had to do. Without taking his eyes off Ratsey he grabbed hold of the ladder and lowered himself down.
    Not into water. Onto ice.
    Ratsey stared for a moment, then darted forward. But he was already too late. Tom had backed away, wobbling uncertainly, but still standing upright on the ice.
    “Come back!” Ratsey squealed. His eyes flared and, slipping the knife between his teeth, he turned and launched himself down the ladder. But his feet had barely touched the ice before there was a sharp crack and with a shuddering scream he disappeared into a gaping hole that had suddenly appeared beneath him. If he hadn’t been holding on to the ladder he would have been sucked into the black, freezing water. As it was, he barely had the strength to pull himself out and by the time he was back on top of the jetty, his teeth were rattling with cold.
    “T-T-T-Tom!” he tried to call out. Tom was standing only a few metres away but now they could have been a world apart. “C-c-come back!” Ratsey grabbed hold of himself as if trying to squeeze out the icy water. He no longer had the knife. He must have dropped it when he plunged into the river. “The ice! It won’t hold your weight!”
    “No thanks!” Tom slid backwards, not daring to lift his feet off the ice. He could feel it straining under his weight. Nobody else had tried to cross the Thames yet. It had been cold, but not cold enough. The ice was thin. In places it was almost transparent with the water oozing blackly through. But Tom was certain about one thing. He would sooner disappear through the ice and drown than go back to the jetty and face Ratsey again.
    He kept walking. He didn’t need to look back at Ratsey. He was a boy, small and underweight, and the ice was only just supporting him. Ratsey, as he had already proved, had no chance. Tom turned round and cried out as the ice gave away beneath him. One of his feet shot through into the water which closed around his ankle, instantly sucking out all feeling. Tom twisted sideways. Fortunately the ice was stronger here. With his foot dripping, he fought for balance and found it. For a moment he stood in the middle of the river, wondering which way to go, wondering if he could even find the courage to move.
    Hunching his shoulders against the wind whipping up the river from Westminster, Tom continued across. It was much colder than he had thought. Out in the open, with nothing to protect him, his whole body was quickly growing numb. It was also much further than he would have liked. After ten minutes on the ice he wasn’t even half way to the other side. A fist of loose snow punched into his face, forcing him to close his eyes. When he looked back, he could no longer see Ratsey. The highwayman must have given him up for lost.
    He pressed on. The ice groaned and creaked but gradually the buildings on the other side of the river loomed up ahead of him, almost invisible in the darkness. Another wooden jetty reached out, water lapping at its legs. He took another step. The ice cracked. He yelled out and toppled forward, his arms flying out. Somehow his hands caught hold of wood. One leg disappeared into the water, soaking and freezing him all the way up to the thigh. But then he was out, pulling himself up on to the jetty. Behind him, shards of ice closed over the hole he had just made. More snow fell.
    But he’d made it. He was safe.
    It was