Gorilla City

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Gorilla City Page 6

by Charlie Small


  I decided not to take any chances until I’d investigated the whole place. So I scrambled down from the hilltop and crept quietly along the fringe of trees on the beach. Then I spotted a solid timber wall, almost invisible, hidden amongst the vegetation.

  The wall was made of massive logs lashed together and was over three metres high. Creeping along it, I discovered a pair of thick wooden gates. I pushed gently against them, but they were shut fast. Then I spotted a crack between the logs and, peering through, saw a sandy compound, but no sign of life. It was deserted.

  Still with the uneasy feeling that I wasn’t alone, I took the long scarf out of my rucksack and knotted one end, which I threw over the top of the wall. The knot caught between two of the sharpened logs. Pulling on the other end of my scarf to make sure it was secure, I scrambled up over the wall and jumped down into the compound.

  On the far side was a lean-to building and I hurried up and tried the door. It was also locked, but looking through the dirtiest of its windows, I could see a table laden with amazing food! There were cured meats, salamis and loaves of bread, pickles and pies and pastries. I groaned. Food! Real food!

  I suddenly realized how hungry I was. I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday and I had only eaten leaves, shoots and fruit throughout my time with the gorillas. My tummy growled in anticipation and I decided that even if it was stealing, I had to have a thick ham doorstop sandwich.

  I got out the strong hunting knife that I had found on the bony explorer and slipped it through the gap in the window frame. Sliding the blade up, I managed to lift the clasp on the window and it swung open. Without a moment’s hesitation and not bothering to check if I was being observed, I scrambled through the window and dropped into the room on the other side.

  A Feast Fit For a King

  I ran straight to the table and, pulling back a chair, sat down to a wonderful spread. I grabbed the loaf, not bothering to wonder at how fresh it was, ripped off a chunk and topped it with two thick slices of ham. These I smeared with pickle, adding sliced tomato, salami and cheese, and took a huge bite.

  It was absolutely delicious, but not enough! I spied a cold turkey leg and devoured that. I ate a whole pheasant pie and a plate of what might have been blubbery whale meat. I drank a tankard of foaming brown ale, which I poured from a barrel in the corner, and finished it all off with a large slice of soggy bread pudding.

  Pushing my plate away, I gave a satisfied belch and yawned. I’d eaten rather more than I had planned and I was starting to feel very tired. I hoped the owners wouldn’t mind me helping myself, but it was too late to worry now, so I decided to look around and try and find out who lived here.

  They were certainly an untidy lot. Plates were unwashed, knives left speared in the table and the floor littered with scraps of rotting food. The bedroom was no better. Hung with a rows of hammocks, it was piled with filthy clothes that smelled like a skunk with a tummy upset. On a windowsill lay a row of large whale teeth, all intricately engraved with pictures of sailing ships and sea monsters. I decided the inhabitants were probably whalers or fishermen.

  Then I discovered a heavy padlocked door.

  The owners were obviously determined that no one would go beyond it, because the padlocks secured a row of bolts that ran all the way around the entrance. There didn’t seem to be any other way through, but there was a small barred opening near the top of the door.

  I couldn’t help wondering what had to be kept so securely locked up. Something valuable, perhaps? Something dangerous? Maybe a desperate prisoner! With another mighty yawn I clambered onto a stool and peered through the bars. It was very dark inside, and at first I couldn’t see a thing. But as my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, I started to make out some vague shapes. There was a stack of old crates or boxes piled against the far wall; some rolls of cloth, dusty and cobwebbed; and piles of metal that glowed dully in the gloom. By the door a stack of shelves carried volumes of atlases and charts, and very near the grating through which I was peering was another, smaller roll of cloth.

  I threaded my arm through the bars and stretched. My fingers could just touch the roll, and by scratching and scrabbling I managed to ease it forward until it fell into my hand. As I pulled the cloth back through the bars, I happened to glance down, and there, just below me, on the other side of the door, stood another of the crates. But this crate had split open, and from the inside a cascade of gold coins, goblets, diamonds and rubies had spilt across the floor.

  I’d found a treasure trove! A stash of filched contraband! My heart started to pound as I rushed over to the dinner table and unrolled the piece of cloth in my hand, already knowing what I would find.

  The Jolly Roger!

  My legs started to wobble and I collapsed into a chair. I had to get out of this place—and quickly! But even as I sat there, I was overcome with fatigue. I don’t know whether it was the huge meal I had just eaten or the excitement of my flight from the jungle valley, but all of a sudden I just couldn’t keep my eyes open, and despite the great danger I was in, I fell into a deep, deep sleep.

  A Rude Awakening

  I don’t know how long I slept, but all of a sudden the door to the building burst open. I awoke with a start, blinking at the bright light that flooded in from outside.

  A group of burly figures were silhouetted in the doorway, and as they edged towards me, I saw cutlasses flash in their hands.

  I swallowed hard. I was in really serious trouble this time. I was faced with a gang of the most gruesome and grisly cutthroats imaginable. Their arms were ringed with jewelled bangles and their necks laden with golden chains. And from their tricorn hats to their grubby boots, they were loaded with weapons: swords, pistols, cudgels and daggers.

  There was no doubt about it. I was caught in a den of terrible bloodthirsty renegade pirates. And worst of all: they were all women!

  Publisher’s note:

  This is where the first notebook ends.

  I think this must be Thrak’s signature!! my journal one morning and he must have done it then!.

  Published by David Fickling Books

  an imprint of Random House Children’s Books

  a division of Random House, Inc.

  New York

  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.

  Copyright © 2008 by Charlie Small

  All rights reserved.

  Originally published in Great Britain by David Fickling Books, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, in 2007.

  DAVID FICKLING BOOKS and colophon are trademarks of David Fickling.

  Visit us on the Web! 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

  Gorilla city / Charlie Small.—1st American ed.

  p. cm.—(The amazing adventures of Charlie Small)

  Summary: Purports to be the journal of an eight-year-old boy explorer who has, miraculously, lived for over four hundred years, travelling the earth, fighting giant crocodiles, learning to speak with gorillas, and trying to find a way to return home.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-49440-5

  [1. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. 2. Gorilla—Fiction. 3. Diaries—Fiction.]

  PZ7.G6683 2008

  [Fic]—dc22

  2007025553

  v3.0

 

 

 
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