Free The Devil and His Boy by Anthony Horowitz

hair, a beard and tired eyes. The other was shorter and plumper, more expensively dressed with a silk handkerchief draped over his hand. Both of them looked bored.
    The actor had only recited about three lines when the bearded man stood up. “That’s enough, thank you,” he called out. “Next!”
    “But I’ve only just begun!” the actor whined.
    “Don’t send a messenger to us. We’ll send a messenger to you,” the man replied.
    The actor left the stage. There was a long line of men snaking round the edge of the theatre. As soon as he had gone, one of them took his place and the line moved forward. Tom walked towards the stage, thrilled and terrified by it at the same time. Could he stand here and perform – perhaps to a hundred or two hundred people?
    “Look out!”
    With his eyes fixed on the stage, Tom had collided with a young man who had been carrying a sheaf of papers. Now the papers fell out of his hands and cascaded to the floor, some of them carried by the breeze into the very muddiest of puddles. Every page was covered with writing and Tom was horrified to see the words blur and then disappear in a black haze as they came into contact with the water.
    “I’m sorry! I’m really sorry…”
    Tom did his best to scoop the pages out of the puddle and hand them back to the man.
    “Why couldn’t you look where you were going?”
    “I was looking at the stage. I’m sorry.” Tom straightened up, feeling wretched. Here he was in his brand new clothes and already he had made a complete idiot of himself.
    The man glanced at him and softened. “It’s all right,” he said. “I wasn’t looking either. I was thinking about my new play.”
    Tom looked at the man more carefully. He was in his late twenties, dressed in a black velvet tunic with a high white collar. The man had an unusually intelligent face. His deep brown eyes seemed to look right into you; through you and at you at the same time. His hair, also brown, hung almost down to his neck at the back and sides, but he was already going bald on top.
    “A new play?” Tom realized what the man had just said. “Are you a writer?”
    “Yes. I suppose I am. As a matter of fact, it’s my play they’re about to perform here.” Tom had picked up the last of the pages and the man wiped it clean using his sleeve and added it to the pile. “My name is Shakespeare,” he said. “Bill Shakespeare. Or Will Shakespeare if you like. Or Bill…”
    Tom was confused. “Is that with a B or not a B?” he asked.
    “B or not a B. B or not a B!” Shakespeare’s eyes brightened and he suddenly produced a quill and scribbled something down on one of the pages. “That’s rather good,” he said. “I might use that.”
    “What’s your play about?” Tom asked, changing the subject. Behind them, the second actor had just been dismissed as brutally as the first. A third actor was taking his place.
    “Oh. It’s about a Roman general called Titus Andronicus,” Shakespeare said. “Actually, it’s rather violent. But that’s what they want…” He pointed at the two men on the stage. “That’s Philip Henslowe. He owns the theatre. The other man is Lord Strange … and what’s really strange is that we work for him at all because between you and me he’s a complete idiot. All he ever wants is clowns and acrobats.” He sighed, then glanced at Tom. “Are you here to audition?” he asked, suddenly.
    “Yes.”
    “Oh, I see.” Shakespeare grimaced. “Actually, I’m awfully sorry, but I don’t think they’re looking for girls.”
    “I’m not a girl!” Tom said indignantly.
    “No, no, no!” Shakespeare laughed.“That’s not what I meant. Didn’t you know? We don’t have girls in the theatre. All the girls’ parts are played by boys.”
    This was something Tom had never known. “Why?” he asked.
    “They just are.” Shakespeare searched through the pages. “But like I say, there are only two girls in the play and they’ve both been