Temple Boys Read Online Free Page A

had arrived. But a strange thing was happening. The crowd on the road started moving to either side. Some of the people bowed their heads. Others put their hands across their chests as a mark of respect. Some even knelt, so at last Flea could see them from his vantage point … Not a wizard in his flaming chariot with an army of demons, but a dozen or so of the shabbiest travelers that Flea had ever seen.
    This was the Chosen One and his followers? This bunch of dusty tramps? But Flea couldn’t be disappointed for too long, because things on the bridge were looking horrible for Big and Snot. They were still jumping up and down on the cart, but with their backs to the approaching Imps. They had no idea of the danger they were in.
    Flea saw the Imps look at each other, saw the metal flash as they drew swords. The man with the pitcher dropped it and it shattered. He yelled a warning at the boys on the cart but could not make himself heard. Then a small man in a dusty gray robe was suddenly standing between the soldiers and the boys, hands outstretched, palms out.
    He was one of the travelers, and Flea couldn’t figure out how he had moved so fast. The Imps stopped and stared, swords still raised. Flea held his breath. The Imps would smack him with their shields, batter him with their sword hilts, and when they’d finished with him, they’d turn on Big and Snot.
    But the small man just stood there and smiled. And smiled. And smiled.

 
    8
    The soldiers looked at each other. Sunlight glinted on their swords.
    â€œWhat do you want?” one of them asked the small man in his harsh, foreign accent. His voice carried over the hushed crowd.
    â€œI’m sorry, friends,” the small man said. “I just thought I might be able to help with this traffic jam.”
    He had narrow shoulders and a dramatic head, with long hair swept back from a widow’s peak and dark, dark eyes set between a heavy brow and a boxer’s cheekbones. His tunic might have been brown once and was now fading to gray, or perhaps it had been gray and was so stained it seemed brown.
    At this moment the donkey gave a short, despairing honk and sat down. The cart tipped over, throwing Snot and Big down, so they sprawled in the dust between the small man and the Imps.
    The crowd had fallen silent and the mood had changed. All eyes were on the Imps. People were watchful, but ready. Flea saw the Imps’ eyes darting to the right and the left as they were forced to reconsider. No help anywhere near. Massively outnumbered. They slid their swords back into scabbards. “Get on with it, then.”
    The small man helped Big to his feet, then Snot, who sniffed noisily and spat.
    â€œNice,” the small man said. Then, “Tell you what, why don’t you unhitch that unfortunate beast and walk it over here to me? Think you could do that?” His showman’s smile lit up every part of his face.
    Big pointed to himself, then at the donkey. “Me?” he asked.
    â€œOnly if you’re not too busy,” the small man said.
    Another of the travelers—skinny with cropped, rust-colored hair and dressed in a striped robe—joined them. He showed Big how to free the donkey from the harness and Snot how to calm it. Then Big and Snot led the donkey out of the chaos and over to the far side of the bridge. The small man climbed onto its back and, suddenly, the world went mad.
    People began cheering, shouting, surging forward, surging back. On the other side of the road a man shinned up a dusty date palm. He started pulling the leaves and branches from it and throwing them down. People caught them. Some waved them; others threw them under the hooves of the donkey. The small man’s fellow travelers pushed ahead of him, somehow forcing a clear way down the middle of the bridge.
    â€œDid you see that? Did you see what the magician did?” Red shouted.
    â€œIs that him? Are you sure? He just looks like a