The Bone Magician by F E Higgins Page B

until he came to the marketplace. The stallholders were packing up for the day, but there were still plenty of people milling around looking for cheap scraps, so Beag took out from his
     bag a piece of wood, cleverly hinged to create a small podium, upon which he stood.
    ‘Good evening, my fair ladies and gentlemen,’ he began. This generous assessment of the gathered company elicited more than
     a laugh or two but also drew their attention. ‘Allow me to present myself to you. My name is Beag Hickory and I should like to entertain you with a song.’
    He began to sing in a mournful, though undoubtedly tuneful, tone, but he had hardly reached the first chorus (one of many) when he heard
     a strange whistling sound. His eyes being closed he had not anticipated the missile, and received a rotten cabbage on the side of his head.
    He opened his eyes to see a second vegetable wingingits way towards him, and this time he ducked.
     The poor fellow behind him took it full in the face. Through all of this Beag continued to sing bravely, or foolishly. Perhaps both.
    ‘Give it a rest,’ shouted someone and then he was hit again.
    ‘But,’ spluttered Beag with righteous indignation through a mouthful of tomato, ‘I have only just begun.’
    ‘No, you ain’t,’ called out a small boy at the back. ‘You’re finished,’ and he and his friends threw
     a hail of rotten apples.
    Beag was infuriated. Never in his life had he experienced such a hostile reception to his endeavours. ‘You little imp,’ he
     shouted at the small boy. He jumped down from the podium, picked up the first thing that came to hand, a large putrid potato, and he threw it with such force and accuracy that when it hit the boy it knocked him clean off his feet.
    ‘Oi! That’s my son. Wotcher think yer doing?’
    Beag stood rooted to the spot at the sight of the largest man he had ever seen. This great ape towered over the crowd and was bearing
     down on Beag, who was actually shaking in his boots.
    Bythe holy! thought Beag, instantly regaining movement in his legs. He spun on his heel and took off like a streak of
     lightning. The man and a small baying crowd were still following when he reached the Bridge. He ran on to its cobbled thoroughfare, looking around desperately for somewhere to hide.
    ‘Down here,’ hissed a voice. ‘Quick!’
    Beag turned sharply and saw a long finger beckoning to him from the corner of an alley, and without a second thought he ran towards
     it.
    ‘This way,’ said the tall man whose finger it was, and he pushed open a door in the wall and dragged Beag in just as the
     crowd reached the entrance to the alley. Beag followed his rescuer up a short flight of stairs and down again into a crowded, low-ceilinged room filled with smoke and laughter.
    ‘Where are we?’ asked Beag of his nameless companion.
    ‘The Nimble Finger Inn,’ said the man. ‘I don’t know about you, but I fancy a jug of ale.’
    Only minutes later, safely ensconced in a dark corner, Beag and his new-found friend were supping ale from a large jug that had been
     brought over by the servingmaid. Beag was just about to speak when a commotion near the door made his heart pound again. It was the ape man.
    ‘I’m looking for a dwarf,’ he said and the whole tavern fell silent. A fierce-looking woman – the redoubtable
     Betty Peggotty – glared at him with her hands on her hips. She wore upon her head an exotic hat that had seen far better days.
    ‘There’s no dwarf here, Samuel,’ she said firmly. ‘So either have a jug or be off with you.’
    ‘Bah,’ exclaimed the ape but faced with such a choice opted without question for the ale, and soon he was as merry as the
     rest of them.
    Beag relaxed and turned to his companion. ‘Might I ask who you are?’
    ‘My name is Aluph Buncombe.’
    ‘Well, Mr Buncombe, I owe you my life,’ said Beag and he shook his hand gratefully.
    ‘Think nothing of it,’ said Aluph with a broad smile. ‘Always