The Incredible Journey of Pete McGee by Adam Wallace Page B

this guy only came up to his waist. He was a funny looking little man as well. His plaited hair went all the way down to the back of his knees and his nose was bent, as if it was made out of play dough. He had massive forearms, muscles rippling with every movement, and hands that looked as though they had been made out of leather. There was also a painful-looking scar across his forehead. Pete couldn’t help but stare.
    â€˜What?’ the little man asked sharply. ‘Haven’t you ever seen a short person before?’
    â€˜Well, no actually,’ Pete replied, ‘I haven’t.’
    â€˜I suppose you think it’s pretty funny then, hey? Go on, make all your little jokes about my height.’
    Pete just stared. He hadn’t even thought to joke about the guy’s height.
    â€˜Oh, oh, do you need some help then? Come on, I’ll get you started. Do you want to know how I got this scar? I’ll tell you. I got it by walking into the second rung on a ladder. Do you know that when I go in a chariot, the driver puts up a ‘Baby on Board’ sign? I worked for two years in a freak show as the hairiest baby alive. The bearded lady played my mother. I’m knee high to knee high to a grasshopper. I pose for trophies in my spare time. Knock knock. Whose there? A man. A man who? A man who can’t reach the doorbell.’
    This guy was a regular stand-up act. Pete started to talk, but before he could get a word out, the little man butted in.
    â€˜Look, I don’t want to hear your jokes but I’ll give you some advice. Both of these roads end up at the same place, but don’t take the path to the left. It looks all fancy and nice, but it’s not, I say, it’s not at all. Go up the hill. It’s steep but it’s safer, believe me.’
    The little man turned to walk away and fell straight into a pot hole, disappearing from view. Pete held out his arm to help him out, suppressing a giggle. The strange man just gave a grunt and got out by himself. He gave a little bow to Pete then stormed off talking at the top of his voice about the state of the roads.
    Pete didn’t know what to do. He had no reason not to believe what the little man had told him about the roads, except for the fact that he was one of the weirdest people he had ever met. And why would he have given Pete advice anyway? Pete didn’t know him from a bar of soap. He looked again at the fork in the road. Off in the distance, along the left path, he swore that he could see a group of men on horses. It could be King Cyril and his men, Pete thought to himself. If he squinted, one of the men looked like Marloynne, although from such a distance it was hard to tell. It was a risk Pete had to take though. Besides, the left road looked so much nicer. So our young hero hitched up his pack and took the low road.
    Pete walked briskly, keeping the group of men in his sight. If it was the King’s party, and he was sure now that it was, he didn’t want to lose them again. But there was so much to distract him. People were singing and dancing across his path, smiling at him, offering him things to buy. Trinkets, food and drink. Pete refused them all. He had to. He had virtually no money after that sweet, sweet burger. Even so, the people continued to close in around him, thrusting things in his face, but they weren’t all smiling now; they were almost snarling, daring him to buy their wares. The food wasn’t looking so good up close either. Most of it was brown and mouldy, and smelt totally rotten. The grass was dying off along the river, the waters of which had turned black. Pete looked through the dancing people for the group of men he was following, but they had disappeared. The dancers bumped into Pete, jostling him left and right, forcing him to strain to stay upright. They no longer thrust things at him, but had begun to sing again. Only now it wasn’t really a song, more a low humming,