Free A Dusk of Demons by John Christopher Page B

pushed through the press of people, hand in hand.
    Between the main square and the sea front, stalls had been set up in almost every street and alleyway. Country people had brought in all manner of goods: meat, cheeses, vegetables, fresh-water fish, dried apples and tomatoes, pickled eggs, pies and cakes and biscuits. There were stalls selling shirts, frocks, knitted stockings, pots and plates and cutlery of both wood and iron. What had taken place in the General’s office may have been very important, but my immediate interest was engaged here. One stall was given over to wooden clocks with pendulum weights and painted faces, some with little panels that opened on the hour to release a calling bird. Eleven was striking, and the air was loud with hoots and trills and cuckooings. I was fascinated, but Paddy dragged me away, pointing out that our two shillings would not run to even the smallest of them.
    Instead, for a couple of pennies, at a nearby stall we took the edge off hunger with lardy cake and lemonade,and roamed on. There was so much more to see within a few yards than in the whole of Sheriff’s. I privately vowed I would revisit the market after we were back on Old Isle. Joe would bring us across. I could not resist a thrill of satisfaction in thinking I would have the power to do that, and other things as well.
    Among a heap of junk I discovered an ancient knife which had not merely blades but a little saw, a file, a fish scaler, and a corkscrew—and a tiny pair of folding scissors! Six precious pence went on that, but I could not imagine money better spent. At the same stall, for tuppence, Paddy got a glass pendant showing a white eye against a turquoise background. An amulet against Demons, the store-holder said, but she said she bought it simply because she liked it.
    Time, which recently had often crawled, now galloped apace. The courthouse clock struck twice, and then a first quarter. We had reached a square with entertainments on offer, and watched the end of a Punch-and-Judy show. A tent nearby bore a sign:
    FANTASTIC CREATURES
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    Underneath, straggling writing proclaimed:
    See the Mermaid,
    Queen of the Watery Deep!
    See The Giant Tortoise,
    a Thousand Years Old!
    See the Bear that Walks like a Man!
    See the Monkey . . . Giant Rat . . .
    Talking Bird!
    The notion of being within reach of such wonders and not viewing them was unthinkable, but another sign read “Admission Two Pence,” and my purchase of the knife had emptied my pocket. It was lucky Paddy had enough left to pay for us both.
    The money was taken by an old fat woman sitting beneath the sign, who wheezed like a broken-winded horse as she opened the tent flap to admit us to a scene of dimness and unsettling scents. The only light came from a flickering oil lamp tied to a tent pole. The smells were rank; they sickened me a little but were exciting too.
    Sounds were disturbing also. A hairy browncreature, no bigger than a baby and somewhat similar except for having a flat, wrinkled face, showed yellow teeth as it chattered angrily. And that noise was pierced by screams from the shiny curving beak of a big bird, feathered part green, part red, which hopped from foot to foot on a perch within a wooden hoop. The monkey and the talking bird . . . in the background shadows, a large mound that heaved and snored must be the bear.
    A man, old like the woman but small and wiry, sat in a battered armchair. He had a ragged white beard, specked with black, and one eye closed and sunken. In an outlandish accent, he growled, “Young sir—mam’selle—welcome! Do not fear these remarkable beasts, but neither venture too close. Pol there may draw blood from an impertinent finger. That apart, look freely—feast your eyes. These are marvels such as you will not soon see again.”
    In disappointing fact, there was not all that much to see. The mermaid, a fishlike