Barkbelly Read online

  “No, he didn't feel a thing. I asked him.”

  “He must have felt it! You can't have a ruddy great urchin spike shoved into you without feeling something.”

  “You can if you're dead at the time.”

  Fish took a bite out of his sausage roll and chewed thoughtfully. “There's one thing that puzzles me. You say the urchins did it to thank you, right? So why did they just run off?”

  “They didn't want to be caught. I can understand that!”

  “Yes, but that Bramble knew you really well, didn't she? You'd think she'd have come up to you. Nuzzled you or something.”

  “She couldn't risk it. And she'd done enough. She'd saved my life.”

  “It was a close thing, though, wasn't it?” said Fish. “She left it late.”

  Barkbelly sighed. “Truth is a snail.”

  “A what?”

  “A snail,” said Barkbelly. He smiled and looked up at the stars. “I'll tell you sometime.”

  Chapter 63

  arkbelly slipped away from the party before midnight and walked through the woods to Mound Meadow. A low moon hung in the sky, bathing the graveyard with a soft blue luminance. Little Pan Evans's grave was still open. Piles of earth lay where they had fallen. The ground was patterned with urchin prints.

  Barkbelly looked down into the grave. It was a pool of shadow. He couldn't see what he wanted.

  He jumped in and started feeling around with his fingers. A bit of cloth, stones… then something smooth. He picked it up and clambered out.

  The golden spike shimmered in the moonlight, singing a silent song. And suddenly Barkbelly felt that old familiar tingle. The pattern on his hand was glowing—golden as a treasure map and twice as beguiling. Dazzling visions danced before his eyes. Forest and fern. Sunlight and shadows. Wild- woods. Black beaches. Ancient landscapes. Ancestral power.

  And suddenly Barkbelly felt he was leaving his body. He was soaring into the air. Swimming through the stars. Skimming like a swallow. And down below he saw the meadow.

  And in the meadow was an open grave. And beside the grave was a wooden boy. And in his hand was a golden spike.

  Barkbelly curled like smoke and spiraled down to earth. Caught his breath and slipped back in his body. The spike was still between his fingers. He gazed at it again, memorizing it, as if he knew it couldn't last. Then he kissed it. And the spike turned to dust and blew away on the wind. Up, up, up it went. Over the blue hills. Into the midnight sky. And on, on, on.

  Jewel's Story: Truth and the Dragon

  “ewel,” said Barkbelly, “what happens in the story about truth and the dragon?”

  They were sitting in Jewel's wagon. The wind was howling outside, rattling the door and the little tin chimney. But neither noticed. Barkbelly was holding a skein of wool round his hands while Jewel rolled it into balls, ready for knitting.

  “Have you been talking to Carmenero?” she said. Barkbelly nodded. “I thought so! ‘Truth and the Dragon' is his favorite story. I first told it to him when he stood no higher than my knee, and he's loved it ever since. Even now, fine grown man that he is, he sneaks into this wagon late some nights and says, ‘Jewel, I can't sleep. Will you tell me “Truth and the Dragon”?' And I do, and it always makes him happier. Sometimes he'll just lie back afterward and fall asleep like a puppy dog. Let me change over this wool now, and I'll tell it to you.”

  She pulled another skein from the bag beside her and looped it over Barkbelly's fingers.

  “Well now,” she said, going all misty-eyed, as she did whenever she was about to tell a good tale. “Like all the best stories, it begins ‘Once upon a time.'

  “Once upon a time there was a king, and one day that king went hunting. Well, he hadn't gone far when there was a great trembling in the ground and out of a hole came the most enor- mous dragon you have ever seen. It was huge, with long scaly wings and a thumping great tail. And it looked down upon the king, opened its mouth and roared. Well, the blast of it nearly knocked that little king right off his feet. Then the dragon threw back his head and snorted, and two hot rivers of fire poured from his nose, and when he'd finished there was so much smoke you could barely see him anymore.

  “Well, the king just stood there looking at the dragon and then he pulled out his sword. And it was just a short one, mind, but he held it high in the air and he marched right into the smoke and disappeared.

  “Now, there was a hill right there where all this was hap- pening, and sitting on it were three friends. They were Thought, Belief and Truth, and they saw everything. And when the king disappeared into the smoke and didn't come out again, Thought flew into the air and wailed, ‘Oh! I think the king is dead! I think the king is dead!' and she started flit- ting all around, because, you see, Thought was a butterfly. ‘I have to tell the people!' she cried. ‘I'm going to fly to the palace right now!' And she fluttered away.

  “‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,' said Belief. ‘I believe she's right.' Now, Belief was a beetle, and he stood there in his great hard shell, waving his little feelers in the air. ‘I'll have to follow her,' he said. ‘She'll be causing no end of trouble, as usual.' And he waddled off, with his armor shining in the sun- light.

  “And when Belief reached the palace, he found everyone was in a right old panic. Thought had been flying around all over the place, crying, ‘The king is dead! He's been eaten by a dragon!' And when the people saw Belief coming, they all gathered around and said, ‘We think the king might be dead! Eaten by a dragon! Do you know? What can you tell us?'

  “And Belief the beetle stood up straight and proud. And he said, ‘I can tell you this. I saw the dragon. I saw the king. The king drew his sword. He marched into the smoke and disap- peared. I never saw him again.'

  “‘But is he dead?' wailed the people. “‘I believe he is,' said the beetle. “Well, when the people heard this, they fell to their knees and cried.

  “Now, you will remember that there were three friends on the hill that day. And when Thought and Belief went off to the palace, they left Truth sitting there alone. And as she sat wondering what to do, the smoke down below started to clear. Then she heard a grumbling sound. It was the dragon talking. And suddenly she could see him, and there he was, shaking the king's hand up and down! He was grinning! And Truth heard him say, ‘Thank you, Your Majesty! That piece of bone had been causing me such pain, I can't tell you.'

  “And it turned out that the dragon had been eating a goat the day before and a bit of bone had got stuck in his gum. Right between his teeth. And the king had seen it when the dragon roared at him. So he had gone into the smoke, the dragon had opened his mouth and the king had pried out the bone with his sword. And now the two of them were firm friends.

  “Well, as soon as she knew all this, Truth wanted to go to the palace. So she did. But Truth was a snail. She took ever such a long time to get there, though she did in the end. And she found the people crying. They believed the king was dead and gone. But Truth told them the full story and they listened. Some of them didn't believe her, but Truth said, ‘The king will be here himself soon. Perhaps you will believe me then.'

  “And just as she said that, there was a great flapping sound and there was the dragon flying by with the king on his back! Sitting there like a boy on a donkey! Happy as a king can be. And the dragon was happy because he had a friend for the first time in his life.

  “And the king thanked Truth for telling his people the full story. He scolded the ones who hadn't believed her. Told them they were fools. And he told his people to remember that they had to wait for Truth—she was a snail.

  “And then the king threw a party for everyone. And it went on for twelve days and twelve nights—and I know, be- cause I was there. And when it was over, the king and his peo- ple and Truth and the dragon all lived happily ever after.”

  “Why does Carmenero like that story so much?” said Barkbelly.

  Jewel finished rolling the wool. “That's for me to know and you to guess.” S
he smiled. “Think about it.”

  Acknowledgments

  Help, encouragement and support for Barkbelly have come from a host of fine individuals, including (among others) a Missus Maddox, an Apron Browning, a Carmenero, countless Taffeta Tythings, half a dozen Wick Ransoms, several Jewels and a Figgis. And so, love and thanks to:

  Rachel Murrell, for whom Barkbelly was born.

  Ruth Hay at the Hay Festival, who gave Barkbelly his first public performance. Thanks also to Peter Florence for his stellar support.

  Joan Slattery and everyone at Knopf in New York for their wonder- ful energy and creativity.

  Rob Soldat, who inspired sixty thousand words with one timely comment.

  Erica Wagner, for her constant belief and encouragement, and for her immeasurable help in promoting the art of oral storytelling.

  Storytellers Daniel Morden, Ben Haggarty and Hugh Lupton, for their endless inspiration and advice.

  The magnificent Pat White at Rogers, Coleridge and White Liter- ary Agency, London.

  Yvonne Hooker, the best editor a girl could wish for, and the entire Puffin crew in London, especially Lindsey Heaven.

  And finally, thanks to Ray, for going out.

  Cat Weatherill is a performance storyteller, appearing in- ternationally at storytelling and literature festivals, on British television and radio, and at schools throughout the United Kingdom. She grew up in Liverpool and now lives in Wales, a land of mist and magic. Her next book, Snowbone, will be a companion novel to Barkbelly.

  Peter Brown is a new talent in the field of children's books. His debut picture book, Flight of the Dodo, was published in 2005. He lives in Brooklyn, New York.

  THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's

  imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events,

  or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2005 by Cat Weatherill

  Illustrations copyright © 2006 by Peter Brown

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint

  of Random House Children's Books, a division of Random

  House, Inc., New York. Distributed by Random House, Inc., New York. Originally published in 2005 in Great Britain by Puffin Books, a member

  of Penguin Group Ltd, London.

  KNOPF, BORZOI BOOKS, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  www.randomhouse.com/kids

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at

  www.randomhouse.com/teachers

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Weatherill, Cat.

  Barkbelly / by Cat Weatherill; illustrated by Peter Brown. —1st American ed.

  p. cm.

  SUMMARY: A wooden boy who is being raised by loving human parents flees after

  accidentally killing a playmate and begins a quest for his real home and family.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-48199-3

  [1. Fantasy.] I. Brown, Peter, ill. II. Title.

  PZ7.W35395Bar 2006

  [Fic]—dc22 2005011065

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