The Thief and the Beanstalk (Further Tales Adventures) Read Online Free Page A

We’ll be your family. You can stay warm by our fire. And we’ll feed you right—meat, biscuits, soup, you name it. How would a nice hot bowl of venison stew go down right now, Nick?”
    At the suggestion of food, real meat, Nick’s mouth suddenly flooded with saliva. He swallowed it before it could spill out over his lips.
    “There’s something you have to understand first, though, Nick. You see, we’re a band of thieves. That’s the plain truth. If you come with me, you’ll be a thief too.Pretty soon I’ll have a little job for you to do. Nothing you can’t handle. But you have to do it, and you have to do it my way. And in our band, my way is the only way. You understand? Have we a bargain, little thief?”
    Finch stuck out his hand. With his eyes narrowed into slits, he stared down, and waited to see if Nick would shake it.

Chapter 4
    “Men , meet Nick. Our littlest thief,” said Finch. Nick stood wide-eyed in the forest clearing as Finch’s band gathered around and looked him over. This was the grimmest, fiercest collection of people he’d ever seen.
    Some came out of their tents. One got up from a whetstone where he sharpened a deadly looking blade. A few just seemed to materialize from behind the trees. The big one with almost no teeth, giggling like a crazy man, seemed barely human; he looked like the embodiment of the evil that Nick only sensed under Finch’s handsome veneer. He was considering whether he could possibly escape by sprinting into the forest when the smell hit him.
    It was the smell of hot food. A thick man with a black beard was standing by the fire, stirring something inside a kettle. As the cook stared back at Nick, he brought the long-handled spoon to his nose and gave it a deep, wet snort. The spoon overflowed with steaming, meatybrown stew, dotted with yellow chunks of carrot. A few drips went off the spoon into his beard, joining the other debris that clung to the black whiskers.
    Nick winced as hunger pains knifed through his mid-section. His legs shook. He felt dizzy, as if he might faint.
    “Smells good, Pewt,” said Finch to the cook. “Make a bowl for our guest, won’t you?” The man named Pewt managed to nod and scowl at the same time. Nick watched, transfixed, as the big spoon went into the kettle three, four, five times, filling a wooden bowl to the rim with the thick stew. Pewt put the bowl on a crooked wooden table, where a fallen log served as a bench, then stepped back and folded his arms. Nick took one step toward the table, but Finch’s strong hand had him by the collar.
    “Hold on there, lad, that stew’s so hot you’ll burn your tongue.”
    “I don’t mind,” said Nick. He strained against Finch’s grip, never taking his eyes off the bowl.
    “I won’t hear of it! Tell you what, Nick. Do a little favor for me, then you can eat all you want. Show us if you can climb this tree over here” Finch pointed to one of the tallest trees in the forest, the ancient oak that marked the thieves’ lair. Surely magnificent in its prime, the tree was now a knotty, rotten behemoth. Parasitic vines swarmed over its dying limbs, and black ants spat sawdust from the holes in its trunk.
    Nick knew what the cruel man meant: If he didn’tclimb the tree, there would be no meal. Finch released him and stood up, putting his hands on his hips. He dared Nick with his eyes to decline the challenge.
    There were some chuckles from the gang, and Finch arched one eyebrow in amusement. Nick scowled and bunched his hands into fists. He wanted to pound Finch’s smirking face, but he had a good idea of what would happen if he tried. So he turned his rage to the tree. With a scream, he ran right at it, leaped, and grabbed a low branch.
    The branch was dead. It snapped off as Nick pulled himself up, and hit the top of his head with a thunk. Then his momentum carried him into the trunk of the tree. To save his nose, Nick turned his face to one side. He scraped his cheek badly on the