Will Sparrow's Road (9 page)

As Will made his way back toward the oddities booth, his nose began to tickle. Smoke. He smelled smoke from somewhere. Fire was always a problem in a place of flimsy stalls and thatched roofs.

As he drew near the ale stall, the smell grew stronger. A lone man was leaning against the stall, his head wreathed in clouds of smoke. "Fire!” Will called. "The ale stall is on fire!” But no one heeded him. The stall would burn up, and likely the entire Stamford fair, Will thought, and he would never get his pennies. Will ran to the stall, grabbed a tankard, and dashed the contents about the stall and the man himself.

Beer streaming from his cheeks, the fellow removed a clay object from his mouth and grabbed Will by the arm. He shook the boy hard and shouted, "A pox on you, villain! You spoiled my shirt, wasted my beer, and soaked my pipe. Bailiff!” he cried. "Bailiff! I have caught me a vandal!”

"Nay, sir,” Will said, squirming under the man's rough hand. "'Twas only that the stall was on fire ... your very head was smoking!”

"Fool! Witless lout. I was but enjoying my pipe!” He wiped the beer from his face with the hem of his shirt before shaking Will again.

"Soft, Ned, soft,” said a man newly arrived. "Belike the boy has never seen someone drinking smoke.”

Drinking smoke? Will's forehead crimpled in confusion.

"'Tis sotweed,” the newcomer explained, "tobacco from the colonies, set afire, and the smoke is breathed and swallowed. Some say there is nothing from the New World more valuable than this plant, a remedy for sores, wounds, infections of the throat and chest, and the plague.” He loosed Will from the wet man's grasp and walked the fellow, dripping beer, away.

"Fire!” someone behind Will squeaked. "He thought the man afire and poured beer on his head!” And a gaggle of boys commenced squeaking and jumping about, calling, "Fire! He thought the man afire!”

"Alf, look, this fool is the boy dwarf from the oddities booth,” hollered Hugh, for they were among the gaggle. "Do something odd, boy.”

His blood a-boil after a day of insults, humiliations, and disappointments, Will threw himself at Alf, who was biggest but nearest, and shoved him a mighty shove before turning to run. But Alf was too quick, and Will had not gone more than a few paces before he was dragged down. At first Will saw only Alf's feet, but then the bigger boy was on him, all teeth and nostrils as he strewed punches on Will's head. "Get off me, you beetle-headed clotpole!” Will shouted. "Fat-witted worm!” while the onlookers called, "Thrash him, Alf!” and "Crush him!” and "Bloody his nose for me!”

Of a sudden there was daylight and the cessation of pummeling as a growling someone thumped and walloped Will's tormenters. Will, facedown in the dirt, heard scrambling as the boys ran away. "Someone ought to teach you to fight, pup.”

Fitz. He lifted Will by the back of his shirt.

"Who? You? What could you teach me, you runt? I have seen what fighting gains you—black eyes and broken teeth!” Will's arms swung futilely in the air. "Put me down, you puny, drunken measle! Drink-sodden botch of nature!”

Without a word, Fitz dropped him and strode away.

Will cursed as he spat dirt from his mouth, wiped blood from his face, and struggled to his feet. Fight? He was too small to fight—he knew it. Running and hiding. He spat again. He was just the size for running and hiding.

The promised rain began. Wet, sore, and still angry, Will returned to the wagon, rolled underneath, and slept the afternoon away.

He woke to voices. "I am off to the Blue Bell in Ironmonger Street,” said Master Tidball. "Do not trouble me unless someone truly is afire at the fair.”

Will heard laughter, so he knew Fitz had told Tidball of the scene at the ale stall. But he was hungry, so he crawled out to see what might be had to eat.

The rain had stopped for the moment. Fitz and the creature were sitting by a small fire. She saw Will and, ducking her head, stood and took a step back toward the wagon. And stopped. She looked closely at Will. "You are not a stranger,” she said, "but that pitiful boy from Peterborough fair. A stray Master Tidball has taken in. I be not afeared of you.” She sat down again and stretched her legs toward the fire.

Will glared at her. "A boy, aye. Peterborough fair, aye. But not so pitiful as some,” he said, jerking his head toward her. Then he sat down on the far side of the fire.

Fitz threw him a heel of bread, none too fresh, and a plum. "Here, churlish boy,” he said, "fill your mouth with these in place of those ugly words. Would I could stitch your lips together to keep you silent.”

"And I would stitch yours so you would not be able to drink my wages away, you muddy-mottled rascal,” said Will.

Fitz snorted. "Fine words from a mewling wheyface such as yourself.”

The rain began again. Fitz went to the booth to guard it, the creature Greymalkin crept back into the wagon, and Will crawled beneath. His belly churned with anger after such a day. Indeed, he would collect his pennies from someone, anyone, he decided, and be on his way.

FETCHING A JUGGLER AND
FINDING HIM UNLIKELY BUT TRUE

T
HE MORNING
brought rain again. The few fairgoers, huddled in their sodden cloaks, went about their business quickly and did not stop to be astounded or astonished. Will sat on the church porch, where the overhang offered him some protection from the wet, and watched.

Despite the weather, a passing family laughed loudly, and Will turned to study them: a round-faced woman and a round-bellied man with a child on his shoulders, who shrieked with delight as he pulled on the man's hair. Will watched them go.
Bah,
he thought,
a pretty picture indeed, but belike she will leave, he will drink, and the lad be sold for a climbing boy.
Will stood, hitched up his breeches, and looked away.
Me,
he thought,
I care for no one but myself and nothing but my belly. And my wages. And staying dry.

As wet morning turned to misty afternoon, Samuel Knobby trundled by with his pig and his handcart. "The Duchess and I are for Ely, young Sparrow,” he said, "where I trust there are more fairgoers and fewer raindrops.”

"Indeed,” said Master Tidball as he and Fitz appeared from the oddities booth. He mopped rain from his face and his bald head with his cap. "A fine fair, it is said, for horses, cheese, and hops. And for oddities, I hope.” He laughed. "We also shall leave this place of rain and phantom visitors and make for Ely. Sparrow, you and Fitz pack the specimens and make them ready for travel. Fitz then will fetch Solomon and the wagon here and commence loading.” Master Tidball nodded to Will. "And you, boy, will hie to the west end of the fair, hard by the inn yard, where you will find a juggler. Fetch him and meet us in the field near the east road. He will travel with us to the fair at Ely, and farther if he can be so persuaded.”

Will and Fitz packed the oddities and gathered them near the churchyard. Then Will hurried to the inn, and indeed a juggler was there in the yard, entertaining those few folk reluctant to leave the fairgrounds even with the damp. The boy watched for a few minutes, eager to be amazed by the juggler's skill.

The man juggled colorful scarves that flew like brightly hued birds. He threw balls into the air and caught them in varied designs and patterns, but it did not seem to Will that the juggler was particularly able or adept. Though the crowd clapped and called "Huzzah,” Will was not a bit amazed. At Peterborough fair he had seen a man juggle knives and flaming torches. Five, that man juggled
five
torches, even in the dark. They whooshed as they cut the air and gave off bits of flame like tiny shooting stars.

This juggler finished his tossing and catching, and he placed the balls and scarves in a canvas bag. "I am here, Master Juggler,” Will said, "to escort you to Master Tidball's wagon.”

"Well met, young sir,” said the juggler, a tall, thin man with few teeth and leathery skin marked with pocks like a dusty road in a drizzle. "I am in readiness.” He bent down, gathered up his coin-filled cap, and poured the coins into the pouch at the waist of his much-mended doublet. He shook droplets off the cap and put it on his head, threw the bag over his shoulder, and said, "My name be Benjamin Bassett. And you are?”

"Will Sparrow,” he said, "partner to Tobias of Froggenhall, master of the sleight—” and then he stopped, remembering that Master Tobias was gone and he himself was only Thomas Tidball-the-monstermonger's drudge.

Will and the juggler started up the path. "We turn to the left at the gingerbread stall,” Will said before losing himself in thoughts of what sweets his forthcoming pennies would buy.

"Here, young Sparrow,” called the juggler, "did you not say we turn at the gingerbread stall?”

Will had passed it by. He nodded sheepishly and turned back to the juggler and the right path.

"Be careful,
cave et cura,”
the man said, pulling Will aside as a group of youngsters, splashing and sliding through the mud puddles, stumbled past them.

"Gramercy, sir juggler,” Will said. "Leastwise one of us has his eyes open.”

"
Auxilio ab alto,
with help from on high,” said the juggler.

Will wondered what he meant, but they had reached the field where the wagon waited, booth rolled and stored on top. Benjamin and Fitz exchanged
How nows
and
Well met
s, and Fitz produced onions and sausages from a basket and a pail of ale. With their cloaks wrapped tightly about them, Fitz and Benjamin sat on the ground and leaned against the wagon to eat.

"Where is the, er, girl?” Will asked.

"In town with Tidball,” the little man said, throwing a sausage to Will. "Foolish gentlefolk, the ninnies, pay dearly to sup with the Wild Girl, and that nip-cheese Tidball seizes every opportunity to fatten his purse.” Fitz took a long pull on his mug, and he spat in the direction of the town. "He said we leave tomorrow at first light.”

Will moved to chew his sausage away from the grumbling of the short, ugly man. Fitz might call Master Tidball a nip-cheese, but the master never failed to see to their bellies.
If Fitz thinks so little of Master Tidball, let Fitz return his sausage,
Will thought. How would it be, he wondered, to be trapped in such a body? It might account for the little man's ugly temper.

Benjamin Bassett left to relieve himself, and Fitz lay back, eyes closed. Will took the opportunity to examine the juggler's bag, on the lookout for coins or cake or anything worth nipping. Alas, there was nothing but balls and scarves and an extra pair of patched hose.

"Why does Master Tidball want this fellow?” he muttered to himself. "He is hardly a fine juggler and tosses and catches only scarves and balls. I have seen better.”

"Ye wee want-wit, are ye too daft to notice?” Fitz asked without opening his eyes. "This juggler is blind.”

Will shook his head. "Nay, he is not. He led me here when I missed a turn; he warned me when I looked to be overrun by revelers. For cert he is not blind.”

The returning Benjamin dropped down next to Fitz and saluted Will with a finger to his cap. "
Vero,
in truth he is,” the juggler said, "but his nose and ears work exceedingly well.”

Will was astounded. "A blind juggler? Is Master Tidball looking to assemble a mighty army of oddities?”

Benjamin shrugged. "What say you, Fitz? Why is he so eager to have me join you?”

"He has dreams of Bartlemas Fair in London,” said Fitz, "and to that end seeks out the oddest of oddities and the most prodigious of prodigies.”

"
Libertas inaestimabilis res est,
liberty is a thing beyond price, and I do not hurry to give mine away,” said Benjamin with a shake of his head. He pulled a small wooden flute from his bag and began to tootle a tuneless tootle.

Will sat again and pondered. A man with a limp and a walking stick. A blind juggler. A bad-tempered, thieving dwarf. A creature half cat, half human. A one-eyed pig head and a mermaid baby. He shook his head again. In sooth he was the only sound one among them. He would stay with them long enough to get the money owed him, and then he would ... he would ... he did not know precisely what he would do, but he was no oddity.

Suddenly a mug flew through the air and shattered against the side of the wagon, splashing ale like raindrops. Will's heart gave a mighty thump. "Fie on Thomas Tidball!” Fitz shouted. "May his dreams be as empty as his heart, the mingy moldwarp!” He belched loudly. "There's no more honor to be found in him than in a cow turd, the loathsome, hellborn knave!”

A pox upon this Fitz,
thought Will, whose heart still thumped,
the hateful man slandering a goodly fellow like Master Tidball! A pox upon him! Upon them all!
As soon as he got his money, he would go. He, too, belched and then asked, "Does Master Tidball know that you withhold my wages? When will you give me my pennies?”

"When there be a snowstorm in Hades,” Fitz responded. He stood, kicked at the remains of his mug, and shouted, "To bed! We leave at first light and wait for no one.”

Fitz and Benjamin slept under the wagon, but Will stayed outside by himself. It appeared Fitz would continue to drink up Will's wages. Will now had bread and meat from time to time and an occasional mug of ale, but he wanted more. He wanted to be dry and safe. He wanted food every day—nay, twice a day. And he wanted ... he wanted ... he did not rightly know. Finally he sighed, pulled his jerkin over his head, and pushed the wanting away.

ENCOUNTERING LATIN, THE FEN
COUNTRY, AND FRIGHTFUL
THINGS IN THE NIGHT

I
N THE
darkness Will could hear Benjamin grunting and tossing. Finally the man crawled out from beneath the wagon. "Can you not sleep on this hard ground, Master Juggler?” the boy asked.

"Nay, 'tis not the ground,” said Benjamin, dropping down next to Will. "I am but fretting about what I shall henceforth do. Your Master Tidball offers food and transport, but Fitz is of the opinion that the man is a varlet.”