Will Sparrow's Road (7 page)

"I cannot reveal my secrets, boy,” Samuel said with a wink and a swallow from a brimming mug of ale, "but I will tell you that pigs have excellent hearing, and I do not have an ague.”

Will nodded in understanding. "And how did she find the boy with the coin?”

"Ere we began, I rubbed the coin with mint, and the Duchess smelled it. Pigs is remarkable creatures, and the Duchess is the most remarkable.” Samuel Knobby took another swallow. He saluted Will, called to the Duchess, and left.

Will watched Samuel Knobby walk away, a little unsteadily, followed by the pig. They were in sooth a comical sight, attracting a group of boys who trailed behind them, oinking and snorting and pulling the pig's tail. The Duchess squealed in fright. "Go away! Avaunt, you fiends! Leave off assaulting my pig!” Samuel Knobby roared, lunging at them. He picked up stones and, swearing, threw them at the boys, who dodged and scattered, oinking even louder.

Will stayed where he was, wary of putting himself in the way of being assaulted too. In sooth he cared for no one but himself and nothing but his belly, did he not? And perhaps boots. And currant cake. Still he was relieved when the boys left off abusing the pig and found a group of young women in ruffs and satins to annoy.

The whole spectacle moved on, and Will started back toward the oddities booth. He had one penny and a great deal of curiosity, and he planned to spend them on discovering just who or what that monster was.

The little man, his doublet ripped and cheek bruised, was again in front of the booth, cajoling fairgoers. "Come and see wonders of nature,” he called. "Dragons and sea serpents and monstrous vegetables. Come and see. A theater of marvels. Only a penny. One single penny.” The man did not, Will noted, mention the monster. Why not?

The man saw Will and said, "How now, puny stripling? So you are come back. Do you wish to behold the somewhat tawdry wonders within? Only a penny.”

"Ha'penny if I vow to look with but one eye?” asked Will with a grin.

The little man frowned. "A penny, I said, and a penny it be. Now deliver a penny or be on your way.”

Will flung the penny—his last—at the little man, who caught it and sneered, showing little brown teeth. "Go you in, then, if you bethink yourself braver than you were last time.”

Will entered the booth. The sun was so bright overhead that it vanquished some of the nastiness and gloom within. While other folk were oohing and aahing over the oddities, Will looked at nothing but the platform where the monster sat.

As he crept close, a shaft of sunshine illuminated its face. Out upon it! It was not the face of a monster he beheld, but that of a cat, a ginger-haired and sad-faced cat.

The creature was entirely hairy on its face, except for its eyes and lips. It wore a dress, patched and faded, so Will guessed it was a she creature. She was nearly as tall as he, but he could not tell how young or old. A lettered sign on the platform announced she was the fearful Greymalkin, half wild cat and half human.

Visitors giggled or shrieked or turned away in horror, but the creature merely sat there, eyes on her lap, while the three-legged chicken pecked at her shoes. One young fellow crept close enough to pull on her sleeve. "Boo!” she snapped at him, and folks laughed as he hurried away in fright.

She turned her head toward Will. "You here again?” she asked him in a voice surprisingly sweet-sounding and soft. "Have you come to throw another mug? I still have the bump from our first meeting.”

"You speak!” the astonished Will said.

"Aye. I speak, and I shriek, and I eat little boys for my supper. I am a fierce and wild creature with sharp teeth and claws, so go, shoo, run away in fear,” she replied, but she said it with such sadness and self-mockery that Will did not think to be frightened.

He went closer. The hair on her face was reddish, fine, and silky, and her eyes were green as grass. She was mayhap a little younger than he. Ten years, belike, to his twelve or more. "The sign says you are half wild cat,” he said to her. "Be that the truth?”

"Faugh! I am no part cat. 'Tis but Master Tidball's invention.” She smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. "Now that you have seen me and been horrified by my ugliness, you may leave. There lies your way,” she said, gesturing with her chin. "Go! Avaunt! Aroint!” She turned her face away. Will walked from one side of the booth to the other, gazing at the creature and watching onlookers respond with amusement or wonder or disgust.

When he and the creature were alone in the booth, he said to her, "I believe it is a trick of some sort. You have hair pasted on your face.”

The girl narrowed her green eyes. "Aye, in sooth 'tis a trick, God's trick, and I am the butt of the jest.” She stuck out her tongue.

A monster would not do that,
Will thought,
nor a cat.
He paced the booth again, looking and thinking, and then said, "A shape shifter. Belike you are a shape shifter, from human to cat and back again. Aye, a shape shifter.”

"And you are a foolish boy,” she said.

"Can you purr?” Will asked.

"Go away,” she said, and she lifted the chicken to her lap.

Will went.

IN WHICH WILL IS DISPLACED
,
RESTORED, AND ON THE ROAD AGAIN

N
OONTIME NEXT
, the conjurer was not at the yew tree. Where was he? Will asked the cheesemonger and the pastry seller, the fire eater, a tumbler, and a purveyor of gloves, pins, combs, and laces. No one had an answer.

Will sat down and leaned against the tree, wondering what to do. His purse was empty again. The fair had ended. Folks were taking down stalls and packing up goods. Everywhere were horses and donkeys, wagons and carts and wheelbarrows, noise and dust. Where was the conjurer? Certes he had not gone away. The man had called Will partner. He would not leave a partner behind, would he?

"Be you Will Sparrow?” a voice asked. Will looked up. "Froggenhall told me I would likely find you here.” The speaker was tall, bald of head, and broad of shoulder, with bulging eyes of clearest blue in a friendly, moon-round face. He had greasy bits stuck in his beard, and he leaned on a stout walking stick.

"Master Tobias?” Will asked. "Where is he?”

"Gone to London for Bartlemas Fair,” the stranger said. "Ere he went, he left you to me.”

Left me?
Will jumped to his feet. Was this the carter sent by the innkeeper? Or perhaps a merchant who trafficked in slaves for privateers? Just who the man was or what he wanted Will did not know, and he did not tarry to find out. Before another word was said, he was racing through the fair, on the run once again from those who would buy or sell or give him like a cabbage or a loaf of bread.

Will dashed between stalls and behind trees to the far end of the fair, where, having outrun the stranger, he stopped to catch his breath. His heart hammered, his shoulders slumped, and his belly heaved. Will thought himself many years too old for tears, but still his eyes prickled. He frowned and kicked at the dusty ground. Gone? Master Tobias gone? Will had grown accustomed to the work and the pennies and being a partner. Now he was alone again. What was he to do?

"You there!” someone shouted. "You, boy, in my second-best jerkin.”

Will turned to look at the tall, red-haired youth. Jerkin? No doubt he was one of the young racers from the inn, the Devil take him!

"Bailiff!” the young man cried, grabbing Will by the sleeve. "Bailiff! I have caught me a thief!”

Will twisted out of the young man's grasp and ran off. He now had two pursuers to avoid. Where to go? And how to get there? He stripped off the telltale jerkin, tucked it under his arm, and ducked behind an ale stall to rest and to think. He sat for long minutes, catching his breath, although the odor of spoiled ale and stale wine made his belly tumble.

"A mug, if you please, Rob,” a friendly voice said. "I am about thirsty work.” Will peeked from his hiding place. It was the bald-headed man with the walking stick.

The man emptied the mug and reached it out to be filled again. "Know you of a likely fellow for hire? I seek someone to drive my wagon and assist me in sundry duties. Since my accident, I am useless and helpless.” Will now observed wrappings around the man's right arm and ankle.

He bethought himself a moment. It could be the man was not a villain but merely in need of assistance, just as he said. Will peered at him. He was a respectable-looking man, with a good-humored face and an easy smile. Will had learned well to be wary—but just then the red-haired young man passed by, scanning the crowd and mumbling about bailiffs and jerkins, and Will made a decision.

As soon as the young man was gone from sight, Will stood. "Sir,” he said to the man with the walking stick, "the conjurer could not leave me to you, for I do not belong to him or anyone. But I wish to go from this fair, and if you be traveling on, belike I would go with you and be of service.”

The man emptied his mug and wiped his mouth before he looked at Will. "A wagon accident ended with this fractured arm and twisted ankle. I seek someone to carry, to lift, to drive the wagon. Froggenhall said you were thieving, disrespectful, and cunning but would likely do.”

He did? The conjurer, his partner, said that? It were true, Will knew, but it was downright unmannerly of Master Froggenhall to say so.

"I will give you tuppence a day and dinner,” the man continued.

Dinner. And two pennies. Will nodded. "Done,” he said.

The man examined Will. "But mayhap ... I require ... you may be too small to...”

Will's belly clenched at the thought of losing the pence and the dinner. "I can do it, sir. I am bigger than I look.”

The man snorted in laughter. "Done,” he said.

With memories of the tooth puller and the lost beef ribs haunting him, Will said, "I would, sir, have the first two pennies now, lest—”

"Do not trouble yourself, my boy. You shall ever have a day's wage for a day's work, but here is a penny now, on account.”

Will searched the man's clear blue eyes and friendly face for signs of guile. Finding none, the boy took the penny and nodded. "Go we to London?”

"Nay. We are not ready for Bartlemas, but someday...” His face lit like a lantern. "Someday we will see Bartlemas Fair and it will see us. For now a small fair at Stamford not two days hence.” The man leaned on his walking stick and touched his hat in salute. "I be Thomas Tidball.” Tidball? Where had Will heard that name before? "We leave when the booth and its contents are packed in the wagon. Follow me.”

Will peeked out from behind the ale stall and, not seeing the red-haired youth, followed Thomas Tidball as he hobbled away. Why had the man sought him? Will wondered. There were likely plenty of fellows stronger and more able who would be eager for tuppence a day and dinner. Fellows who were not called thieving and disrespectful. Why had Tidball engaged him?

The man stopped in front of a familiar painted canvas booth. The prodigies and oddities! This Tidball was the monstermonger! Belike that was why he had to settle for the assistance of a puny boy. The man traveled with monsters! Well, not monsters, but a very strange and hairy creature, an evil-tempered little man, a oneeyed pig, and a three-legged chicken. And pots, bottles, and baskets of ghastly things. Will shivered. Did he truly wish to be a part of this? He weighed his reluctance against his appetite and, thinking of the tuppence and dinner each day, followed the man into the booth.

The little man was inside, emptying the shelves of bottles and crocks and packing them into barrels and baskets. "This,” said Thomas Tidball, "is Lancelot Fitzgeoffrey. 'Tis odd, is it not, an ill-tempered, ugly little man, a tavern brawler, with a name of such dainty elegance? Some call him Fitz, but I do not, preferring a more respectful form of address. Is that not true, Lancelot?” The man some called Fitz scowled, but Master Tidball smiled, and his good humor made Will feel easy.

Master Tidball's eyes searched the booth. "And somewhere is Greymalkin, wild cat and wild girl. Hiding, no doubt. She be somewhat shy and skittish.” Will thought for his part the strange girl could remain hidden forever, if she wished. She was no monster, he knew, but her oddity made him uncomfortable, like a rash in a place he could not reach to scratch.

Tidball sat to rest his injured leg and directed Will to join Fitz in the packing of antlers, bones, and turtle shells. Before long the canvas booth had been emptied, dismantled, rolled, and fastened to the top of a roofed wagon. The baskets and barrels were stacked in the crowded interior, and the three-legged chicken tossed in.

"Fitzgeoffrey,” Master Tidball said, "go seek the wild girl. We leave at once.” And Will's heart thumped with apprehension.

ACCOMPANYING THE ODDITIES

W
ILL CLIMBED
to the driver's seat and clucked to the horse, who was called Solomon, Master Tidball said with a smile, for his wise ways: "He eats anything, says nothing, and has never married.” The wagon inched through the crowd of merchants and tinkers, jugglers and archers and alewives, on the move from this fair to the next.

Will was relieved to see that Tidball sat next to him on the wagon seat, and the oddities—including Fitz and the girl—traveled inside. They rode in silence through neat little villages with trees all around, their hillsides freckled with sheep. Fields stood empty, waiting to be sown with winter wheat. Golden leaves crunched under the horse's hooves, and Will could smell the coming autumn.

After a bit there came a furious knocking from inside the wagon, and Will pulled Solomon to a stop. Fitz jumped out. "I will walk a bit,” he said. "I have a fancy to stretch my legs.”

Will snorted.

"Did you hear something that amused you, stripling?” Fitz asked, raising one bushy eyebrow.

"'Tis but the thought of you stretching your legs. Belike you wish you truly could.” He snorted again. "Stretch them.”

Fitz frowned. "Fine words indeed from a wee, runtish fellow like yourself,” he said, and he marched on ahead, pumping his arms and legs and muttering, "A flea, he is, a gnat, may beetles and bats swallow him!” Will jumped to his feet, but Master Tidball pulled him down. "Pay him no mind,” he told the boy. "He and Greymalkin are ever evil tempered, at odds with their peculiar gifts. If only they might accept that they are part of God's plan.”