Free Freaks by Kieran Larwood Page B

thigh-deep slop, finding solid footings that could take him out farther than any of the others. Every now and then he’d strike something under the surface that he could scoop out, too. He’d found such treasures as a crate of pickled eggs, a silver plate, and four human skulls. By mudlark standards, he was a millionaire.
    Low tide had come early today, and Barney was pleased he wouldn’t have to waste time waiting for it. Instead, he waded straight in, trying not to shiver as his bare toes slid into the chilled jelly of the mud.
    Dip, dip, dip went his pole, as if he was some peculiar wading bird. Every now and then he stopped, fished something out, and tucked it in his sack. It wasn’t long before he had a pipe, half a pair of spectacles, and a leather boot sole.
    The fog folded around him. Step, prod, step, prod. His mind was just beginning to wander into a daydream about being King of England when his pole struck something solid.
    He snapped back to reality, and with a hunter’s zeal, thumped his pole down again. It struck a second time, with a metallic clang. There was definitely something down there, and it was big.
    In a move he very soon came to regret, he began shifting his pole forward, bringing it down hard again and again.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
The thing was directly underneath him, and seemed to be around ten feet long. He wormed one of his feet farther into the mud to get a feel, and soon met a smooth surface, studded here and there with spikes or bolts. His little toes followed the contours, wondering what on earth it could be. There seemed to be several hard layers, or plates, on top of one another, which meant it probably wasn’t a chest or crate. Almost at the end, he felt a length of pipe or tubing, and then . . .
it moved
. . .
    Barney froze as the movement came again. The thing had juddered beneath his foot. He quickly looked around to see if any other mudlarks were nearby in case he needed help. That was when he noticed the bright red tentacles, poking up from the mud all around him.
    At first he thought they might be a bizarre family of eels, but then he noticed a puff of steam escape from the end of one, then another. Soon all of them were gushing hot smoke, just as the thing beneath him began to grind its way upward more violently.
    One of the things that had kept Barney alive so long on the river was that he was
fast
. Several times he had felt the mud try to suck him under, and he had managed to pull his feet free and scrabble his way out of danger. Now, his reflexes kicked in again, and he flung himself off the back of whatever-it-was and began pelting his way back to shore.
    Anyone who has ever tried to run through deep mud will tell you it is virtually impossible. The quicker Barney tried to pull his feet out, the harder the riverbed sucked them back in. He soon fell on all fours, and began a frantic scrambling that was part crawling, part swimming.
    As he wriggled his way to the bank, panting and choking, with fat gobbets of stinking mud flying into his face and mouth, he heard a great roar from behind him. Something had exploded out of the mud, and was thrashing about on the surface. Barney could hear the clank and grind of metal, the hiss and chuff of a steam engine. When he chanced a quick look over his shoulder, he saw a huge, crablike beast with a glowing yellow eye. Its tentacles poured smoke out into the foggy air, and two jagged claws waved about, snipping and snapping as they tried to grab his feet. In the glare from its huge eyeball, Barney spotted a movement: a shadow of something inside the beast itself. A bearded face, painted all over with black lines and swirls, floating in the center of the eye like a diseased iris.
    With a scream of terror, Barney doubled his efforts, slithering through the mud like a demented eel. Luckily for him, some of the other mudlarks saw him thrashing around, and dashed to grab his hands. Just as the monster’s claws clanged