Will Sparrow's Road Page 9

  Alas, Grace Wyse, you do me wrong

  To cast me off discourteously,

  For I have labored oh so long

  Delighting in your company.

  Grace Wyse is all my joy,

  Grace Wyse is my delight,

  Grace Wyse is my heart of gold,

  Who but my lady Grace Wyse.

  Will had sung loudly enough to be heard within the wagon, but Grace did not return. Well, no matter, he thought, he did not truly want to speak with her anyway, oddity that she was. He finished the unpacking and setting up and then sat to watch Tidball sleep, imitating his snorts, puffs, and whistles to pass the time.

  Evening had come before Fitz returned. His clothes were disarranged, his hair dusty and tousled, and his right eye bruised and beginning to darken. He let out a soft moan as he dropped to the ground and wiped blood from his lip with the hem of his shirt.

  Tidball snorted himself awake. "Have you been brawling again, Lancelot, you little fool? Can you not control your temper?” To Will he said, "He is a most violent and disagreeable little person, is he not? Beware his moods and fits of ill feeling.”

  "My wages?” Will whispered to Master Tidball. "You said you would attend to it.”

  "Fitzgeoffrey, this lad would have his pennies,” said Master Tidball. "And supper, I imagine. See to it.”

  Fitz scowled, but he took a purse from his belt and tossed it to Will. "Go, infant. Bring us supper.”

  Coins. Many coins. Should he buy supper for them all or take the coins as his wages and run? How far would this many coins take him? At the thought of leaving, he felt a strange clenching in his belly. Mayhap it was but hunger, he thought. Only hunger. Certes he could not run on an empty belly. So it would be supper, and off he set to find foodstuffs both tasty and warm.

  This fair was considerably larger than the last. He sauntered slowly through the grassy fields, past silversmiths, pewter crafters, makers of boots and saddles and swords, sellers of cloth and candles and ale. Here was a field of horses, there stalls of hemp and hops and fragrant herbs. He followed the aromas of roasting pork, currant buns, cinnamon and cloves, deliberating what to buy for supper.

  A familiar scent from a perfumer's booth lured him in. Lavender water it was, and it smelled, he realized, like his mother. He closed his eyes and recalled her sweet fragrance and her soft lap. Was it true, as his father said, that she left because of Will? He had been hardly more than a babe. He rubbed his nose to get rid of the smell of her and shook his head to blow the memories away.

  Will spent every coin in the purse and returned with pears and cheese, juicy beef ribs, a jug of ale, and the promise of an apple tart when it had done baking. He heard the sounds of laughter and quarrels and music as the other merchants and performers gathered by their fires, sharing food and company. The oddities as usual kept to themselves, knowing themselves not welcome at anyone's fire. Will found it easier to stay and eat with them than to seek other company, especially given the beef ribs. Master Tidball waved the food away, but the rest ate in tired silence.

  "I have someut to say,” the girl said in a small voice, after the apple tart arrived and had been eaten. She cleared her throat and continued a bit louder. "I did not mind so much being Greymalkin the cat when I was young. It seemed a game to act the cat. But now I be Grace Wyse, person, not cat, and wish to be called such. Grace Wyse, an it please you.”

  Tidball grunted and said, "Call yourself Greymalkin or Grace or Godiva—we know what you are, would you just accept it.”

  "I do not know what I be—mayhap only God knows—but I know what I am not: I am in no part cat. I will tell no more lies and never again act the cat. Or the beast.” She stood proudly and climbed into the wagon.

  Tidball grunted again and then rose. "I be meeting an important personage in town. Lancelot Fitzgeoffrey, hie you into the booth to guard my treasures. And you, boy, stay here with the wagon.” He hobbled away.

  Fitz stood and scratched his head sleepily. "The important personage likely is an innkeeper with brandywine and a soft bed. You will not often find our Master Tidball sleeping on the cold ground.”

  Will could not stay silent at such slander. "Why must you ever find fault with the man? He employs us and feeds us, and we owe him gratitude, not—”

  "You, boy,” said Fitz with a lift of an eyebrow, "have no more brains than a wood louse.” He spat, stretched again, and left.

  FOURTEEN

  CONCERNING SAMUEL'S DISTRESS,

  WILL'S NEW CHARGE, AND

  THOUGHTS ABOUT HAM

  "PLAGUE! THE plague is here!” Will heard the cries from behind the spice merchant's stall the next morning. They were picked up by the stall holders and then the visitors. "Plague!”

  People began to push and shove away. Will pushed against them, toward the sounds. He feared the sores and buboes, cramping belly, and death that the plague was said to bring, but he was right curious.

  "Nay! Nay!” called a man coming from the scene. "'Tis but a fever. Not the plague.” He grabbed people by their sleeves to stop their running off in panic and shouted louder. "The apothecary has come! He says 'tis but a fever!”

  Will crept around behind the stall where the uproar had begun, and there was Samuel Knobby's cart! The Duchess, squealing like, well, a pig, was tied to one of the wheels. Will stuck his head over the side of the cart and looked down. Samuel, his face red and shiny with sweat, thrashed about. Samuel!

  "A putrid fever, I say,” said a man in black leaning over the cart. "He must be bled regularly and dosed with mustard, garlic, and St. John's wort. And he should be kept warm and still for nigh onto a seven-night if he is to recover. Is there somewhere within doors where he might shelter?”

  No one answered. Finally the apothecary sighed and said, "I have an attic where he might stay, but someone must pay my fee and a bit extra for his board.”

  There was much discussion and consternation, but finally someone passed a cap around and coins were thrown in with many a clink and a clank. Why did these folk care enough to turn over their pennies? Will wondered. Mayhap it was but a trick, and Samuel would take the money and run off. That was belike what the villainous tooth puller would do. But to the boy's surprise, the money was given to the apothecary, who counted it and nodded.

  Samuel Knobby began wriggling. He mumbled words no one could understand. When his eyes alighted on Will, he grabbed the boy's arm and pointed to the ground.

  "I believe,” said Will, "that he is asking about the Duchess. Can she go with him?”

  "Where might this Duchess be?” the apothecary asked, smoothing his hair and straightening his robe.

  "The Duchess is his pig,” Will answered, "the smartest pig in the world, he says, and clean, and—”

  "A pig!” the apothecary growled. "No pig. I will have trouble enough explaining the man himself to my wife.”

  Samuel thrashed harder.

  "But the Duchess goes everywhere with Samuel. How will she fare without him? Who will feed her? And play with her? Splash her with water and practice her tricks and...”

  Everyone looked at Will, and he knew why. They expected him to do it. But he cared for no one but himself and nothing but his belly.

  Samuel grabbed Will's hand. The boy looked about for someone, anyone, who would take the pig, but all eyes—blue eyes and green eyes and brown, candid eyes and hooded eyes, sad eyes and laughing eyes, young eyes and old—were on him. Fie upon it, Will Sparrow would have to do it, take on the care and feeding of the Duchess while Samuel Knobby recovered. From Samuel he had learned something of caring for a pig. He supposed he could do it. He had, after all, been taking fine care of Solomon these many days. The boy sighed a mighty sigh. Although he liked it not, he would have to do it. And the Duchess nuzzled his ankle, as if she knew. Samuel and the cart were trundled to the apothecary shop, and Will led the Duchess away.

  As they neared the wagon, Will heard Master Tidball shouting, "You will, you impudent wench! Stubborn as a goat
you are, but you will! Folk pay to see the wild girl, half cat, and see her they will, or you will stay in here until your bones turn to dust!” He slammed and barred the wagon door as the Duchess snorted over to sniff at his clothing—looking for treats, Will knew.

  Master Tidball barked, "What does that swine here!”

  Will explained, and Tidball said, "Keep the dirty thing away from me,” and he kicked at her with his good foot while standing on his bad foot, which caused him to twist the ankle anew. "A pox on you all!” he cried. "I am plagued like Job!” He turned to the wagon, unbarred the door, pulled the girl out, and climbed in himself, remaining out of the way the rest of the day.

  Between the creature's—Grace's, he amended—stubbornness and Fitz's brawling and ill humor, it was no wonder the man's temper flared at times, Will thought. I am the only one who does not torment him.

  Will and the Duchess sat in the sunshine and shared an apple Will had nicked from a fruitmonger's stall. Grace, watching, said, "I hate pigs.”

  "Know you many pigs?” Will asked.

  Grace did not answer but said only, "I hate everyone.”

  "Nay, you do not.”

  "I do.”

  "Do you hate Benjamin?”

  "Nay, I be most fond of Benjamin. He says that being blind, he can see me more clearly than others do. And I do not hate you. Does that please you?”

  Will felt a sudden warmth but said, "Nay, I care not what you think of me.”

  "You are a stupid boy.”

  The Duchess rolled over and snorted with happiness. Indeed I am, sometimes, Will thought, for now I am charged with the tending of a pig. He frowned and spat apple seeds into the dirt.

  For days following, Fitz trumpeted the marvels in the wonder room and collected pennies from the curious. Inside the booth, Grace Wyse sat on the chair on the platform, her arms crossed.

  Will walked the fair, calling folk to the booth as he had heard Fitz call. He tended Solomon the horse, dusted the oddities, polished the wagon, and watched the comings and goings in the booth. He was surprised by the number of folks who would pay to see a dead sea monster and an odd chicken. People in fine doublets and ruffs, padded silks and satin capes, russet homespun and frayed linen, lined up for entry. The usual swarms of children in rags crowded about, thrusting out their empty hands, crying, "Good sir, a crust of bread, an it please you” and "Gentles, my mam be sick and the little ones burnin' with fever. I beg help.” No one heeded them. A man in velvet doublet and polished sword kicked a small girl out of his way, which made her cry and his raspberry-silked companion giggle.

  'Twas his good fortune, Will thought once again, to be fed and employed, even if it were but as hireling of the monstermonger and there looked to be no more wages coming his way. He realized he had stopped asking about wages. His belly was full and his days occupied, but what about when the weather turned foul? Were there still fairs in the winter? If not, what then would he do? What would happen to him? But as long as the sun shone, he was able to push the worries away.

  When he could absent himself from Master Tidball and his duties, Will attended to the Duchess. He found a bit of scrubby woodland amidst the marshes and the mires outside the town, where he took her to hunt for acorns and pignuts, mushrooms and worms. Dragging his feet and muttering, he told her over and over that he did not choose to be caring for her but it was necessary until Samuel came back. She listened with her ears erect and her tail spinning in circles, and she would not be dismissed or ignored. Instead she often sat at his side and looked at him so intelligently, Will swore the pig was waiting for him to say something of importance, something she would understand and remember.

  One day as the pig and the boy lay in companionable silence, Will, knowing she would not argue or scold, opened his heart to her. "Fie, Duchess, I be liar and thief, unloved and unlovable, and I have no Samuel to look out for me as you do, so I must care for myself and you as well.”

  He felt a bit silly at first, talking so to a pig, but soon grew more easy. He told her of where he had been, how he came to be here with her, and how strange he felt traveling with oddities. "I do not belong with them, yet I had no choice but to join them for a time. Master Tobias left me for London, for Bartlemas Fair. 'Tis a wonder, Bartlemas Fair, so Master Tidball says.”

  And the Duchess, having been there once with Samuel, grunted in agreement.

  With light heart Will watched her roll in the green herbs and splash in the water he poured to cool her. "We must have a song,” he said, and so they did, one he had learned at the inn.

  Tomorrow the Fox will come to town,

  Keep, keep, keep, keep, keep:

  Tomorrow the Fox will come to town,

  O keep you all well there.

  I must desire you neighbors all

  To halloo the fox out of the hall,

  And cry as loud as you can call,

  O keep you all well there.

  "Nay, Duchess,” Will said, "we should have a pig song. I will make a pig song.” He stood and danced around her, singing:

  Tomorrow the pig will come to town,

  Whee, whee, whee, whee, whee,

  Tomorrow the pig will come to town

  And visit the Ely fair.

  Fairgoers come, come one, come all,

  To watch the pig play with cards and ball

  And call as loud as you can call,

  Whee, whee, whee, whee, whee,

  When you visit the Ely fair.

  The song pleased him so much that he shouted the next verse to the winds:

  Her snout is long, her eye is round,

  She's the biggest porker pound for pound,

  And she makes the most unlovely sound,

  Whee, whee, whee, whee, whee,

  Here at the Ely fair.

  Will swore that the Duchess smiled in pleasure.

  The singing and the making of the song tired him, and he lay down with his head on the pig's surprisingly firm, warm, bristly side, which smelled of dust and powder and woolly thyme. He could hear her heart beat. Strange, he thought; he had no mother, no father, no friend, but for the moment he had the Duchess. It was enough.

  The next morn dawned rainy and cool. Few people ventured through the damp to the fair, and even fewer found the oddities booth. "I have business elsewhere,” Tidball said, leaning heavily on his walking stick. "Do not think you can grow lax whilst I be gone. I be counting the pennies when I return.”

  As soon as Tidball turned a corner, Fitz said to Will, "I must be off. See to the girl. Do not leave her alone.” And he, too, left.

  Will grumbled. He was not only pig keeper but also keeper of the wild girl. Or Grace Wyse, as she now insisted. Must he do everything? He would not stay and be the only one to work. He huffed in irritation as he fetched Grace from the wagon. "Come with me.”

  "Where?”

  "Somewhere else, somewhere not here. Come.”

  Grace followed Will and the Duchess to a quiet spot away from the fair. They found shelter beneath a tree, breathing deeply of the damp, green, mossy smell of the woods. The Duchess poked and prodded the strange creature in the blue cloak, but once she determined there were no apples about the person, she curled up next to the blue cloak, snorted once, and fell asleep.

  Grace, frowning, looked down at the pig but did not move away.

  "Samuel thinks pigs are smarter and more well-mannered than people,” Will told her.

  "Mayhap he is right,” Grace said. "A pig has ne'er laughed at me or called me names.” She reached out carefully and, with one finger, touched the Duchess on her snout. "I thought 'twould be bristly, but 'tis soft,” she said, "like fine cloth.” She watched the pig sleep for a moment and then said, "I believe I do not hate this pig. She does not think me odd or ugly or indeed any different from you.”

  "What, Grace, what ... I mean, what...” Will stumbled around the words. "What is it like having ... being, you know, a cat-faced girl, a—”

  "Creature? Oddity? Monster?” Will co
uld see Grace frown, and he feared he had once again insulted her. But she said, "'Tis at times pitiable, and ever burdensome.” She sighed. "Now and again I pretend my face is a mask and not really me at all, just a mask, and I am behind it, apple-cheeked and ordinary. But 'tis all I know. Can you say what 'tis like being Will Sparrow?”

  Will Sparrow, liar and thief, knobby kneed and undersized, unloved and unlovable? 'Twas what he was. To say what it was like? He shrugged. There was no saying.

  At last the clouds moved by, the rain stopped, and birds and squirrels began to bustle. "We must haste back to the fair afore Master Tidball returns,” Will said, and he, Grace, and the Duchess began the walk back.

  "Where be you headed?” Grace asked.

  He looked at her quizzically. "Back to the booth, am I not?”

  "Nay, I mean after all this. How did you come to be here? And where be you going to?”

  "Nowhere. I'm going from,” he said, as he had said to Nell Liftpurse before. And he told Grace of his mother leaving, of his father and the inn, of the prospect of being a chimney sweep. He was at ease in the telling—belike talking to the Duchess had loosened his tongue.

  "Be they still after you?”

  Will considered this. "Nay, likely not.”

  "Then you are not going from anymore. Where be you going to? Even a sparrow sometime alights.”

  Sparrow? He frowned but then bethought himself. Grace likely did not mean to insult him, and it was a good question. He had been on the run and on the road nigh on three weeks now, going where the road went. He did not choose but was like a twig caught in the current and propelled downstream: from his father to the inn to Hieronymous Munster and the conjurer and Tidball. Where was he going to?