The Book of Dave Read Online Free Page A

up it was like a mummy humming to her sprog.
    â€“ Allö, mö-ö, cum 2 feed us, cum 2 eel us, the mummies called.
    And the daddies responded:
    â€“ Tara, öl mayt, gissa cuddul B4 U dì.
    Summoning himself as if from a dream, Fred wiped the sweat from his reddened brow and fixed the company with his flinty gaze.
The mums and dads left off singing, downed tools and looked over towards the Driver's gaff, but, seeing the smoky ribbon that
coiled from his chimney, they began singing again – if anything a little louder. Fred shrugged and joined in with them.
    By the time the moto's hide had been scraped, its carcass skinned, and its blubber flensed and set out in a number of pots
for trying out, the slaughter site was crawling with flies, and blood had crusted on the sward. Fred and Ozzi had expertly
disjointed the moto's limbs and hacked off its hams, shins, feet and hands. Runti's head had been severed and borne off by
the mummies to make the headcheese for the Hack's cake. His tank had been cut away from his guts and hung up to dry; it would
be used to store his own oil. Fukka Funch had set up a second trestle table and was skilfully fashioning smaller cuts from
the chunks of carcass and trimming off the side meat to be smoked. He then reserved the spare ribs and the tank meat – for
these would be curried and barrelled. He cut out the heart, liver and kidneys from their viscous basketry and slithered them
across the bloody boards into the hands of the waiting mummies. A smoky, meaty smell began to hang in a pall over the manor
as the blubber started to simmer.
    The other kids had returned from the woodland, and, as it was daddytime, the opares fed them with odd scraps of flesh, quickly
fried up with handfuls of herbs. Then they were packed off with a tot of moto gubbins to ward away the pedalo fever. Fred
retrieved the moto's slack bladder from Fukka's table, washed it in a pail, found its opening, inflated it with a few breaths
and tied it off with a length of sinew. He tossed the whitish sphere towards the little kids, and Ad Brudi – who although
only seven was a head taller than the others – grabbed it and ran off down to the shore. The whole pack followed after him,
hooting and yelling as they batted it between them. They ran around the bay, and, as they passed the Driver's semi, he loomed
in the doorway, a tall and threatening figure. The other kids wormed their way through the blisterweed, but he managed to
catch hold of Ad and took the bladder from him. Shaking it, the Driver held it up to the screen, then returned it to Ad and
sent him back towards the dads.
    At the slaughter site Ad handed the bladder to Fred.
    â€“ Ve Driver sez í aint rì fer ve kids 2 B larkin abaht.
    â€“ So B ì, the Guvnor said grimly, and he tied the bladder to the side of the gibbet, where it wobbled in the breeze.
    Carl had no idea how Antonë Böm had arrived in the manor without being noticed, but he looked up from currying the meats to
find that the teacher was standing right by his shoulder.
    â€“ Ware2, guv, Böm said.
    â€“ 2 Nú Lundun, Carl replied.
    A smirk played upon Antonë's fat wet lips. He compressed them and emitted the buzzing noise that signified his abstraction
from the workaday toil of the Hamsters. His spectacles flashed the foglamp in Carl's eyes, his prematurely white beard lay
lank on his bulbous chin. His cheeks were heavily scarred with the pox, his jeans were full – but his tank fuller. His soft,
plump hands, with their tiny, recessed nails, dwelt on his swelling hips. Carl blanked him and concentrated on rubbing coarse
seacurry into the moto meat.
    â€“ So, Böm asked after a while, az Runti bin chekked?
    â€“ Sluffoffs ovah vare. Carl jerked a thumb at the skin that lay at Fukka's feet, buzzing with flies. Böm ambled over and began
to sort through the greasy folds. At once Fred was by his side.
    â€“ Ware2, guv, he snapped.
    â€“ 2 Nú