Free The Ragwitch by Garth Nix

bird flew from its roof, a black shape silhouetted against the orange sky, triggering memories of old pictures showing an ark atop a mountain, and an old man sending out a dove.
    But it was still a long way down, and the air was chilling as the sun set, so Paul steeled himself, and carefully began to make his way down the treacherous slate.
    When Paul at last arrived at Tanboule’s peculiar house, the sun had finally given in to the night. But the house was lit up inside, with cheerful yellow light flickering through the porthole-windows, and smoke billowing from at least two chimneys, carrying with it the smell of frying bacon and cabbage.
    But Paul couldn’t find a door. He walked around the whole building twice, and even felt the wooden planks, but there was definitely no doorknob, handle or bell.
    “Hello in there!” shouted Paul, after his third circumnavigation. “Mister Tanboule! It’s me, Paul! Can I come in?”
    “Of course, lad,” came the reply, in Tanboule’s voice—but Paul couldn’t see him till a rattling sound attracted him to the other end of the house. There, a rope ladder was dangling down the side, leading up to what looked like the tiled roof. However, by shielding his eyes from the lantern light, Paul saw that there was a space between the eaves of the roof and the top of the wall—and that was the door.
    Tanboule was waiting at the top as Paul climbed in through the hatch. “Welcome aboard, Paul,” he said, standing aside to let Paul drop down from the roof-door.
    But Paul was staring at the interior of the house through the hatch, and wasn’t moving.
    Immediately below him, Tanboule was standing on a raised platform next to a shining binnacle, complete with a huge bronze compass. Next to that stood a ship’s wheel, with a note tacked to it, which read Rudder temporarily disconnected, T.
    A ladder led down from the first platform to another which extended for most of the length of the house, ending in another ladder going to a forward platform and down through an open hatch. In between the two higher platforms were casks and bags, chests and rugs, all piled haphazardly around some old wooden furniture, andthree cast iron stoves, one of which had a frying pan hissing away on it. On the floor next to the cooking stove, a cat was playing with what looked like a piece of dried haddock.
    “So it is a boat!” exclaimed Paul, jumping down to admire the binnacle. “I suppose you ended up here when the floods went down?”
    Tanboule shook his head sadly. “I built it here. Forty years I studied with the stars, calculating the advent and time of a Great Flood. Then ten years building this craft, high up on the mountain.”
    “To save all the animals?” asked Paul, looking around. It didn’t really look big enough for two of everything, not with all the junk.
    “To save myself!” declared Tanboule. “I never did like animals much. But it was all a mistake. The Flood never came!”
    “Why?” asked Paul. “Were the stars wrong?”
    “They weren’t wrong,” snapped Tanboule. “The stars don’t lie—but they can be mischievous. There’s nothing they like better than a joke, particularly if it’s a long one, played on someone who deserves it.”
    “Why did you deserve it?” asked Paul, as they descended to the long platform, which Paul already thought of as the “main deck.”
    “I deserved it because I was wise and selfish,” sighed Tanboule, flicking a tear from a white-browed eye. “Now, I am wiser (I hope), and less selfish. Which reminds me—why are you here?”
    “Well…” began Paul, but Tanboule interrupted him, crying out: “Cabbage! The cabbage is burning! Come on, lad—save the cabbage. You can tell me your story over dinner!”
    Over a dinner of slightly burnt cabbage, bacon, tea, and thick, crusty bread, Paul explained his troubles to Tanboule. At first, the old man hadn’t seemed terribly interested, but he soon became more serious, and asked Paul many