Will Sparrow's Road Page 10

  "Will Sparrow, look!” Grace cried. She held aloft a tiny twig on which perched a beetle with wide stripes of green and gold.

  "'Tis indeed most colorful,” Will said. "Mayhap Master Tidball would display—”

  "Nay!” Grace shouted, flinging the twig and the beetle away. "No displays. This beetle should live free, not caged like me, like the mermaid baby.” She stood looking into the distance as if she could see where the beetle had flown. "I grieve for the mermaid baby, Will Sparrow. She has grown tousled and worn. Her hair is tattered and her tail coming loose.”

  "No doubt Master Tidball will see her put right.”

  "She is a person, fish tail or no, and should not be floating in a bottle from fair to fair. I know what 'tis like to be displayed all unwilling.”

  "The mermaid baby is not alive.”

  "Still, she should not spend forever in a bottle on a shelf. I would bury her myself, but the flask is too heavy.” She looked at Will, her eyes wide and expectant.

  Annoyed by her unspoken request, he ran ahead, spinning and jumping, while Grace and the Duchess trailed along behind. No more was said. Let the mermaid baby sleep in her flask in the booth, Will thought. Master Tidball was his employer and his ally. Will would not choose to cross the man as Grace did.

  The nights were growing cooler. Grace stayed in the wagon, and Master Tidball took to sleeping each night at a nearby inn. Fitz built a fire before he headed for his place in the booth, and Will and the Duchess curled up next to it. Many a night he had reminded himself that he cared for no one and nothing, but one night, listening to the Duchess snore a small, porcine snore, he decided it was no longer true. Mayhap, he thought, I shall say I care for no one but myself and nothing but my belly, and the Duchess a bit, and maybe even Grace a little. The notion made him either pleased or irritated, he was not certain which.

  On an especially cold night Will huddled close to the pig for warmth. He woke to the appetizing aroma of ham. Or bacon. He sniffed deeply. What fortunate person was eating ham in the middle of the night? Will's mouth watered. He sniffed again. It was the Duchess, lying as close as she could to the fire, her warm body giving off the aroma of, well, ham. Of course, he thought, the Duchess was ham. And bacon. Roast pork and pigs' trotters. Chops and sausages. Could he ever eat such foods again? He sighed. Fie upon it, this tending of a thing brought unforeseen consequences. He would be certain never to tend a herring or a goose or an apple tart, else he might find himself with naught to eat.

  FIFTEEN

  REGARDING GRACE'S TROUBLE AND

  WILL'S RELUCTANCE

  THE NEXT morning brought more damp and bluster. The fair would be late in starting. Will missed the activity of the road. His legs and his mind were restless. He craved something to do, something adventurous.

  Will tied the Duchess to the wheel of the wagon—he could do with some time alone—and started off. But there was Grace, peeping from the wagon door. She had spoken little to him since he had ignored the plight of the mermaid baby. Mayhap he could appease her with an invitation. "Hist, Grace Wyse. Come with me. Let this fair sleep today while we see what the town has to offer.”

  "And let the town see me?” Grace shook her head no and nay and ne'er. "Not with this face of mine. 'Tis but inviting trouble.”

  Will watched the large green eyes in her cat's face grow sad. "I have grown somewhat fond of your face, for it be gentle and friendly,” he told her. "Mayhap others would feel the same if you gave them the chance.” He lifted one eyebrow in query.

  "Foolish boy. You see me every day. 'Tis different for those who encounter this face for the first time.” Yet she agreed to go with him. She wrapped herself in her blue cloak, pulled the hood down to hide her face, and followed Will through the deserted fair and farther into the town.

  Dominating the town was the great central tower of the cathedral, and Will, remembering his wonder when first they had arrived, bade Grace look up and up and up. "Belike angels perch there and watch over us,” Grace said.

  "Belike,” said Will, though he misdoubted it.

  They peeked into the windows of a tailor's shop and admired the bolts of cloth and what Grace said were crimping irons for ruffs. Will rubbed grime from the window of a lawyer's chambers and they peered in, but they could see nothing beyond a desk and chair and wooden chests. An apothecary's shop held shelves of glass vessels filled with mysterious things brightly colored or brown, liquid or solid, in large pieces or powdered. The apothecary! Did Samuel lie above? Will looked through the open door but saw no one inside to ask.

  Next stood a fine inn, the Lamb, its plaster stained with mud and wet, promising warmth and warm food inside. Grace and Will stood a moment in the fragrant steam. People passing on the street paid scant attention to the small boy and the smaller girl cloaked in blue until a cold wind blew the hood back from her face.

  Someone passing shouted, "God have mercy, look at the creature!” and his companions did just that, pointing and laughing or shrieking in fright. One woman called, "Alack, alack, such a pitiful thing!” and Will thought perhaps Grace would mind that most of all.

  A gaggle of half-grown boys stumbled toward them. "Let us go, Will, I pray you, back to the wagon,” Grace said, pulling on his sleeve, but the boys surrounded them.

  "How now, Rowly,” hollered a boy with a runny nose, "here is someone yet more ugly than you!”

  A boy in patched doublet grabbed Grace's arm and looked into her face. "By God, the lass has need of a barber!”

  "Are you this shaggy elsewhere?” another boy asked as he pulled at her cloak while Grace yelped and struggled.

  Will stood still. What could he do? The boys were so many and so big, and his nose still hurt from his encounter with Alf back in Stamford.

  From the doorway of the Lamb came a roar. Master Tidball, red-faced and raging, strode into the tumult. "Away with you, you scurvy rascals!” he shouted, swinging his stick. "You wretched worms, you slugs, you curs!” The boys took off running and jeering.

  Grace clung to Tidball's doublet. He pulled her hood forward, but not before Will saw her tears. Fie upon it, he thought, he had forgotten that she was but a young thing. She looked so odd and was so well-spoken that he often considered her some strange otherworldly being. The creature, he thought her. But she was, in sooth, a child—a person, as he was. He kicked at the ground.

  Master Tidball frowned at Will, and the boy could see the muscles in the man's jaw tighten. "Froggenhall should have added cowardly to his list of your attributes,” Tidball said. He grabbed Grace's arm and pulled her back toward the fair.

  Will said nothing, although he thought, Nay, not cowardly. He had wanted to help, truly he had, but he hadn't known how. And his nose did pain him. He followed Tidball and Grace with slow and heavy steps.

  The weather was clearing, and crowds were returning to the fair, but the oddities booth was deserted and Fitz nowhere to be seen. "Lancelot Fitzgeoffrey!” Master Tidball bellowed. "Fitz, you minnow, you insect, where be you?” He thumped the ground with his stick. "The Devil take him, belike he is brawling again. Why do I abide him?”

  Tidball shoved Grace into the booth. "Go bedeck yourself in some wild garb and make ready to frighten folk. And you, Sparrow, apply yourself to something useful. Convince folk to come and pay their pennies.”

  Will strode away, calling, "Come and see. Oddities and prodigies of all sorts here are seen. A one-eyed pig and a three-legged chicken. Behold true wonders and marvels for only a penny.”

  "Sparrow!” Another bellow from Master Tidball brought Will back to the booth. "Nay. 'Tis Greymalkin who will draw them in. Listen and then do as I do.” He swept his cap from his head, bowed, and called, "Gentlemen and gentlewomen, goodmen and gossips, come and see! Mark me, here be a monstrous child!” He paced back and forth before the booth, catching folks by their sleeves. "She be half wild cat and half human, a creature never before seen on England's shores. Be she of a strange and unknown race? Or is her monstrous condition
a curse or punishment for sins? We know not. She be a wonder and a mystery, in sooth. Come and behold.”

  A knot of well-dressed gentlefolk gathered and paid Tidball their coins. "That is how 'tis done,” he said to Will as the gentles entered the booth, shoving past the begging children crowded there. "Now go you and do likewise.”

  Before Will walked on, the fine folk had emerged. One man in a yellow taffety doublet and mouse-colored hose, his ruff all aquiver with his irritation, grabbed Tidball's arm. "You, sirrah, are a liar and a cheat, taking money falsely from honest gentlefolk. No monster waits inside but a girl sitting quietly, giving us her back. She does not roar nor rumble nor even show her face. A poor monster indeed.” Tidball returned his coins, and his party left, muttering.

  Tidball, his face as red as an October apple, hurried into the booth. "You pathetical axwaddle!” he shouted. "Get you up and do something fierce!” Will heard a slap, and a cry from Grace.

  Will was shocked by Tidball's sudden cruelty and surprised that Grace would continue in her defiance, no matter the cost. He himself would be more careful not to annoy Master Tidball. But as he proceeded through the fair, calling folk to come see the oddities and wonders, Will did not mention Grace. Let folk be satisfied with the three-legged chicken, he decided.

  At long last the day was over and Will found his way back to the booth. Fitz, sporting a great black eye, sat with his back against the wagon wheel. "No supper today, no Tidball, no Grace,” he said, and he closed his eyes.

  Will's belly rumbled. "Where are they?”

  "He has taken her into the town again,” said Fitz.

  "To sup with rich gentlemen?”

  Fitz shrugged. "He takes her wherever he will. She belongs to him.” He stood, spat, and limped off.

  What did that mean? Was Tidball her father? Silence reigned, and the next thing Will knew, it was morning and Solomon the horse was nibbling grass near his ear.

  Grace, he saw, was standing, leaning against the wagon, clutching a loaf of bread. "You, Grace Wyse, fare you well?” he asked.

  "Aye, indeed, how else should I fare?” She tore off a hunk of her bread, handed a piece to the Duchess and one to Will, and sat down next to him. "Master Tidball,” she said, "has gone into the booth with Fitz. He said you are a lazy cur and not worth your wages.”

  "Which are naught,” Will said. Autumn was here, the nights growing longer and the days chillier. The cold crawled below his shirt and bit the tip of his nose. Where would he be come winter? Would Master Tidball continue to care for the oddities then? And he remembered Fitz's statement of the night before. "Is Master Tidball your father?” Will asked Grace.

  "Him?” She spat on the ground. "Ne'er! I would rather this pig were my father. He says my mam sold me to him when I was but five summers old.”

  Sold, as he had been. "Then why do you not leave him?”

  "Master Tidball says I am free to go when I have repaid what he gave my mam, else he will call the sheriff and I be sent to prison. But I have no money and no way to earn such, for he gives me only food and a place to sleep. I look never to get away.”

  So Grace had no wages either. It appeared that Fitz kept all their earnings. "Could not you steal away and—” "Foolish boy! Think you I could travel unnoticed? A cat-faced girl?” Tears filled her green eyes, and she wiped them with the hem of her dress.

  Will watched her, an unlovely child sold like a sausage. He was silent for a moment, thinking of his lost mother and the father who had sold him for ale. Were ever two babes more unfortunate? "Do you remember your mam at all?” he asked finally.

  "Nay. What I remember is waking on the floor of the wagon, cringing in the corner, with frightful beasts staring at me from bottle and shelf.” She shivered. "I was afeared of them at first, monstrous creatures born and unborn, dead and undead. But now I think they watch over me, the one-eyed pig and the mermaid baby and the others. They do not care that I am ugly. They care for me and keep me from being lonely, they and Fitz.” Grace smiled. "And you, now that you be here.”

  Will looked at her for a moment. A cat. A sad and friendly cat. "I do not think you ugly,” said Will, surprised but knowing it to be true. "Just somewhat more bewhiskered than most.” He rubbed his chin. He longed to be bewhiskered himself, but his chin was still smooth and hairless.

  Grace snuffled, and then she began to cry in earnest. "The poor wee mermaid baby ... she is more forlorn even than I. She should be laid to rest, Will Sparrow. I would bury her, and I would have you help me.” She laid her hand on his arm. "I pray you. Together we could carry her flask, though it be heavy indeed.”

  "Nay, she do be Master Tidball's,” Will said, his voice squeaking. "I would not discontent him.”

  She started to speak again, but Will, pushing her hand away, said, "Nay, Grace, I will not.” The morning had grown brighter, and more people were about. Grace slipped silently into the booth.

  Will scratched the sleeping Duchess on her bristly back and tied her to the wagon. "I must go to Master Tidball and see what he would have me do. You stay here, Duchess, and guard—” What was there worth guarding? "The wheels, Duchess. Guard the wheels, for we will ne'er move again without them.” He patted her on her snout, enjoying its warmth and softness, and took a few steps. He stopped and turned back again. "And the girl, Duchess, pray look after the girl.”

  SIXTEEN

  ABOUT A RELUCTANT RETURN TO

  THIEVERY AND A SURPRISING DISCOVERY

  NOT MANY steps later Will stopped as a cart rumbled up in front of him. The carter jumped out and made his way to the ale stall. "A felon,” Will heard the carter say to the alewife, "caught thieving here at the fair. I be taking her to the magistrate for punishment.” The carter drained his mug and pushed it forward to be filled again.

  "You, boy,” someone called from the cart. It was a woman with a plump red face, white teeth, sky-blue kirtle under a bodice of buttercup yellow, and fine reddish hair peeping out from beneath a green hat. Nell Liftpurse! "Remember me? We was friends for a bit. You be Master ... some kind of bird, is that not right?” She beckoned him over.

  "Sparrow. I be Will Sparrow.” He went closer. Nell's hands were bound tightly to the side of the cart with stout rope.

  She spoke quietly. "Aye, Sparrow. Now, Sparrow, I would flee from here, and I pray your assistance. I were kind to you, were I not?”

  "You pinched my apples and my blanket,” Will said.

  "I did? Well, I be right sorry for that, but we compeers of the road, we must help each other, must we not? I pray you, Sparrow, help me. They mean to cut off my ears or my hand or stretch my neck!” Nell's voice shook with fear. "Sparrow, help me!”

  The boy sighed. He opened his mouth to say nay, he cared for no one but himself, but then he looked her fully in the face. She reminded him of someone. Something about the eyes and the blue kirtle. He shook the memory away and sighed again. He supposed he would help her, but not too much.

  "I will find a knife or shears or some such so you can free yourself. Wait here.” He snorted at his words. Wait here? Had she a choice?

  Will thought he might find a knife or a pair of strong shears ripe for nipping, but he did not fancy sharing Nell Liftpurse's cart or her punishment. Master Tidball and Benjamin had knives, but he did not know where either man could be found, and Fitz carried no knife. Master Tidball said it was too dangerous for an ill-tempered brawler to have such a thing. Will could not buy—he did not have even a ha'penny and had given up hope of seeing any. Would some shopkeeper allow a puny, dirty, barefoot boy to borrow as valuable a thing as a knife or shears or a small hand ax? Aye, he would like the feel of a hand ax. He could but try.

  He searched the stalls. He found drums and battledores, shuttlecocks and pipes, trumpets and comfits and bright-painted dolls, stalls of fine fabrics and rough shoes and hats of painted leather. Ahh, there was a seller of ladies' trifles. A counter ran around three sides of the booth, displaying needles and thread, spoons and shears and amber br
acelets. Shears. They would do.

  "These are fine shears,” Will said to the booth keeper. "Strong enough to sever heavy rope, I vow.”

  "Indeed,” said the man, directing a wary glance at Will's ragged breeches and bare feet. "I ask but a groat for them—a great bargain. See how sharp and finely balanced.”

  "Good master,” Will said, "might I borrow these fine shears for a moment and—”

  "Get away,” snarled the booth keeper, hands on his hips.

  "I will use them gently and return—”

  "Away, before I use them to separate your nose from your thieving body!”

  Thieving? There it was. He had no choice. He would nip them. The thought of being caught filled him with fright. He had not been thieving these many days. Had he lost the knack?

  He had not, and in a wink the shears were tucked into the waistband of his breeches.

  Will hurried back to Nell, panting from the effort and the noonday sun. But the cart was gone and Nell with it. He had taken too long. Poor Nell, left to her fate and justice and the mercy of God.

  He sat down right there by the road and mopped his sweating face with the tail of his shirt. The shears at his waist pricked him. And he decided to do something he had never before done and never thought to do. He would put the purloined shears back. Why ? he wondered. He was a liar and a thief, was he not? But his belly was full enough not to depend on what he could steal.

  And there were other reasons. He was surprised to find that he didn't want Master Tidball or Benjamin, Grace or the Duchess or even Fitz, to know him for a thief. He didn't want to end like Nell, tied to a cart like a cow for the butcher. And the shopkeeper would certainly suspect him if he discovered the shears missing. Indeed, returning the shears seemed like exactly the right thing to do.

  He meandered through the fair, trying to look upright and innocent, until he was in sight of the booth where he had found the shears. He could not slip them back onto the counter where they had been, for there were too many people about. Instead he merely dropped them into the dirt and kicked them close to the booth before he began once more to move through the fair, calling, "Wonders and marvels, oddities and prodigies, in the booth hard by the ale stall at the west side of the fair,” as if that was what he had been about all along.