The Blue Shoe

by Roderick Townley

  “That’s ridiculous,” Hap said.

  “Fine. Enjoy your sandwiches.”

  He sighed but lifted his voice and spoke the words of the spell.

  Two seconds later, a violent tug almost ripped the pole out of his hands.

  Everybody jumped up shouting as Hap fought the tremendous creature to shore. When it was almost close enough to reach, he caught a brief glimpse of its broad, spiny shell.

  Shell?

  Suddenly, a huge turtle thrust itself halfway out of the water, swung its furious head to the side like a scimitar, and snapped the line. The monster whirled back under the surface, leaving the children speechless.

  “Maybe,” said Hap, “we should hold off on spells for a while.” He noticed that Sophia looked scared. “What is it?” he said.

  “Nothing.”

  “Was that one of your magic animals? A turtle, right? That means I’ll have a strong house.”

  “Wrong turtle.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t listen to her,” said her brother, but even he had stopped throwing stones.

  “That was a snapper, wasn’t it?” she said.

  “The biggest I’ve ever seen.”

  She nodded. “And it cut your line.”

  “You saw it.”

  “It probably means nothing.”

  “It means,” said Hap, “I lost a hook. Anybody got one I can borrow?”

  Rag dug into his pocket. It had a hole in it. All his pockets had holes. That’s why his friends called him Rag. He smiled and shrugged.

  “Never mind,” said Jon. “I’ve got one.”

  Before he left, an hour later, Hap did in fact land a respectable trout and pulled it, flipping madly, onto the shale.

  “Do you have to go?” said Sophia, watching him wrap his fish in leaves to keep it fresh.

  “I’d better.”

  “He’s got to go back to that crazy old shoemaker,” said Rag.

  “Don’t pay any attention,” she said. “He’s jealous of your fish.”

  Hap waved a peaceful hand and started up the rock-strewn path to town.

  “Be careful!” Sophia called after him.

  Hap gave another wave and went on. He felt unaccountably happy—seeing Sophia had that effect on him, despite her maddening quirks—and he hummed to himself as he climbed the fence onto the town’s main street.

  Master will be pleased, he thought.

  The little shops lay ahead, each one neater and brighter than the next. But something wasn’t right. Someone had dumped a dirty bundle on the curb. The streets in Aplanap were always kept whisk-broom clean, and no one left trash in front of their shops.

  Coming closer, Hap realized that the bundle was in fact a human being. You couldn’t see the person’s face under the dirty green blanket, but a crutch was partly visible, and a white hand poked out holding a tin cup.

  A beggar! In Aplanap?

  “Excuse me, mister,” Hap called out, hurrying over.

  “Excuse me. You can’t do that here.”

  The tin cup swung around in his direction.

  “You don’t understand. They’ll arrest you! They’ll send you off to the next mountain!”

  The cup didn’t move. There wasn’t a single coin in it, Hap noticed. Of course there wasn’t. Who would risk giving a beggar a coin? It was as serious a crime to give to beggars as it was to beg in the first place.

  “Come on, sir. We’ve got to get you out of here.” Hap took hold of the beggar’s arm, still covered by the blanket, and tried to pull him to his feet.

  The blanket fell away, revealing long, matted hair; a dirty face; and a single angry eye. Hap stepped back.

  It was a child! A child with one eye!

  “Who are you?” he said. “You’re not from around here.”

  No answer. He wanted to look away but looked more closely. He could see now that the rags the beggar wore were the remnants of a dress.

  “You’re a girl!”

  No answer, except a silent shake of the cup. Unpleasant little creature, he thought.

  The child wound herself in the blanket until only her fierce eye could be seen.

  “Don’t you understand?” Hap said. “You can’t be here!”

  The girl’s steady gaze unnerved him. Why didn’t she say something?

  “Where do you live? You need to go home.”

  She held out the dented cup as if it were a gun.

  “Here,” he said, exasperated, and took out the trout he’d caught. “Take this back to your parents.”

  Her eye narrowed. She took the fish, then slowly turned and limped away, leaning on her crutch and trailing the filthy blanket behind her.

  “You’re welcome!” Hap called after her. Ungrateful wretch, he thought.

  The girl didn’t turn. Finally, she reached a bend in the street and disappeared.

  Five

  “YOU DID THE right thing,” said Grel, cutting a Finster cheese sandwich on the diagonal.

  “She could at least have said thank you.”

  “She probably hasn’t been taught. What would she know about please and thank you?” Grel poured a mug of warm goat’s milk and set it before the boy.

  They ate in silence.

  “Maybe she’s a mute,” said Hap.

  Grel nodded. “It’s possible.”

  “Where did she come from? Where does she live?”

  Grel reached over and mussed the boy’s hair. “You’ve got a good heart,” he said.

  The next morning, Hap was on a stepladder hanging the new sign over the door. “The Blue Shoe,” it said simply. That was the most his master would agree to. No magical or amazing or wondrous.

  A small crowd had already gathered in front of the window. In the street, passing carts and coaches slowed and their passengers craned their necks to get a better look. Hap even caught sight of the mayor’s ebony and gold carriage rumbling by.

  But then he saw something else, and his heart sank. A creature wrapped in a green blanket sat on a curbstone at the edge of the crowd. A thin arm held out a dented cup.

  “No, no!” Hap cried, jumping down from the ladder. “You’ve got to get out of here!”

  From a fold in the blanket, a dark eye stared out at him.

  Several people in the crowd had turned to look. Soon, he knew, it would be too late. He pulled the child to her feet and hustled her around the back of the shop. “Wait here!” he warned sternly, sitting her down on a stump.

  He ran inside to tell his master what had happened but found him deep in conversation with Ludmilla the Large, the mayor’s wife. She was here to discuss dancing shoes for her daughter, Edwinna. Seeing Hap, she glared, her rouged cheeks glowing.

  “You still have that little thief working for you, I see,” she said to Grel.

  Grel threw Hap a smile. “Oh, he’s turned out to be a wonderful apprentice.”

  “No more stealing and begging?”

  “Not in the least,” Grel said with a laugh.

  Hap nodded politely and backed away. This would not be the moment to ask what to do about a beggar girl. He ducked into the larder and took a fresh, crusty loaf of bread that the baker had given Grel in exchange for a pair of sandals. Then he returned to the child.

  “Here,” he said breathlessly. He handed her the loaf, noting that it was almost as tall as she was. The girl still kept her head covered with the blanket, but he could make out the glint of her eye. Without a word, she stood and started limping away on her little crutch.

  “Wait,” Hap said. “Who are you?”

  The creature turned briefly toward him, then continued on.

  “Where do you live?”

  The girl headed toward the street.

  “Listen to me,” Hap called after her. “You can’t come around here anymore. You’re putting yourself in danger. You’re putting us in danger!”

  She was gone.

  Late that night, a low sound pulled Hap from a dream. It was Rauf growling.
Rauf never growled. Immediately awake, Hap climbed from his narrow cot and padded to the front room of the shop. His breath caught in his throat to see a ghostly blue object floating through the darkness.

  It was the shoe, his master’s wonderful blue shoe. Someone was carrying it to the side window. Someone, Hap realized with a start, was stealing it!

  “Stop!” he shouted, stumbling forward.

  “Rauf!” said Rauf in his loudest voice. “Rauf! Rauf! Rauf!”

  The shoe moved faster, with a jerky motion. There was a loud crash. Hap grabbed the darkness. It was someone’s arm.

  “Give it back!” Hap yelled. A moment later, he was spinning backward, sparks dancing before his eyes. His cheekbone throbbed.

  The glowing shoe was at the window. Against the dim light from the street, the outline of a tall, thin person was just visible. He had one foot over the sill.

  Hap heard a thump, a growl, and a scramble.

  “Ow!”

  It was a boy’s voice.

  “Let go, you filthy dog!”

  Suddenly, the shoe swung down like a hammer. There was a loud yelp followed by whimpering.

  He’s hurting Rauf! Hap plunged blindly forward and ran full force into the thief, who let out a grunt and dropped the shoe.

  Again, Hap was flung forcibly back, but this time the thief’s punch went wild. Hap was back at him in a moment. He became aware of a flickering light and saw that his master, Grel, had come in, holding a lantern.

  Hap got a brief look at the intruder’s face. It was that smirking boy, the mayor’s nephew. He wasn’t smirking now; he looked frightened. Giving Hap a shove, he turned and scrambled through the window, hitting his head sharply on the frame.

  Hap and Grel watched him run through the street, his boots pounding the cobblestones. Then Hap dropped to his knees to look at the dog, who was still whimpering.

  “Let me take a look at that bruise,” Grel said.

  “Is Rauf bruised?”

  “No, you. Your cheek is all swollen.”

  Hap tenderly touched the place. It felt hot. “I’ll be all right. How’s the shoe?”

  Grel picked it up. A small moonstone had come loose. Easily fixed. Grel looked gravely at his apprentice. “I’m a lucky old man,” he said, “to have a brave helper like you.”

  Hap glowed at the words.

  The dog nuzzled the shoemaker’s hand.

  “And Rauf, too,” Grel said.

  Six

  MORNING SUN GLINTED off trumpets as they blared a triumphant fanfare. It was the Lord Mayor’s Annual Birthday Parade, and the street was lined with cheering citizens.

  Behind the marching bands strode the municipal guards, in their tightly starched uniforms. Then came a squadron of young girls strewing rose petals—which were promptly swept up by the sanitation police. At last, the mayor’s open carriage rolled by, with the great man and his great big wife, Ludmilla the Large, waving to the crowd.

  The mayor was dressed in his finest, with all his medals in rows. Even the three hairs on his wart had been washed and curled that morning. As for Ludmilla, she wore so many jewels that the townspeople had to shield their eyes.

  Hap and Grel were among the crowd, of course. It was a civic duty to honor the mayor on his natal day, as a policeman had reminded them earlier that morning. Looking around, Hap noticed officials mingling in the crowd, taking notes on who was cheering and who wasn’t. Hap started cheering louder than anybody, to make up for Grel, who wasn’t cheering at all.

  Suddenly, from between the boy’s legs, a small, dirty creature darted out in the midst of traffic, just as the Lord Mayor’s carriage approached. The crowd gasped.

  “No!” Hap cried.

  Swathed in a greasy green blanket, the creature stood defiantly in the middle of the street, causing the surprised horses to swerve to a stop and throwing Ludmilla and all her jewelry into her husband’s lap. He lay gasping with the wind knocked out of him until his wife managed to climb off and fall back to her seat. He was still woozy as he tried to focus on the filthy lump blocking the way.

  From somewhere under the blanket, a thin arm held out a metal cup.

  “What’s this?” he cried.

  “I think,” his wife stammered, a little unsteady herself, “it’s a beggar!”

  “What!” boomed the mayor. “In Aplanap?”

  “Well, look at him!”

  He squinted. “I can’t see anything under that awful blanket.”

  “You can see the cup, can’t you?”

  “Of course I can see the cup! Perhaps this unfortunate person is offering us a present of some sort. A humble offering, to be sure, but …”

  The arm gave the cup a defiant shake.

  “Dear,” declared Ludmilla, “it’s a beggar.”

  He looked at her.

  She nodded.

  The offender was quickly whisked away and bound over for trial. At some point, it was discovered she was a child—in fact, a little girl, although not a girl that any decent Aplanapian would choose for a daughter. She fiercely guarded her crutch and dirty blanket and would not be persuaded to take a bath. All well-brought-up children took baths twice a day.

  The next morning, the girl was led into the columned courthouse, her little crutch making a slow tock, tock, tock on the marble floor. Curious townsfolk jammed the back of the chamber, jostling for a view. There wasn’t much to see, since the child was still wound in her blanket, which trailed behind her like a queen’s train.

  The Lord Mayor gazed down from the high bench.

  “Your name, child?” he asked, not unkindly.

  No answer from the mounded blanket.

  “Where do you live? Who are your parents?”

  No answer.

  The mayor did not want to appear to be bullying a child, especially if its parents should turn out to be taxpayers, but this was insulting.

  “Why do you not answer me?”

  No answer.

  “Are you aware,” he said, pronouncing the words slowly, so that even a mental defective could understand, “of the penalty for begging in the streets of Aplanap?”

  From the darkness of the blanket came a flash of defiance, but no answer.

  The hairs on the mayor’s wart twitched dangerously. “I said, do you know the penalty?”

  No answer.

  “Well, I will tell you the penalty, you impudent creature. It is banishment to the north side of the next mountain! What do you think of that?”

  The girl kept her thoughts to herself.

  The mayor let out an exasperated sigh. “Would you please remove that filthy blanket so we can see you?”

  No movement.

  He turned to the guards and nodded. One of them took hold of the blanket, but the girl spun around and bit his hand, drawing blood.

  Another guard approached. The girl crouched like a fighter and let out a growl. The man hesitated.

  The mayor raised his hand. “Let her be. Clearly, the child is insane. Being insane is no defense, of course, so we must find her guilty as charged.”

  “Wait, sir!” came a voice from the back of the chamber.

  “Who speaks?” The mayor shaded his eyes.

  Slowly, twisting his cap in his hands, a boy stepped forward.

  “It’s that horrid little thief!” cried Ludmilla, her several chins trembling. “The one who works for the shoemaker.”

  “I believe you’re right, my dear,” said her husband. He turned his narrowing eyes on Hap. “What do you want?”

  “Begging your pardon,” Hap answered, “but isn’t there some other punishment you could impose in this case?”

  “Other punishment?”

  “Other than sending her off—”

  “No there isn’t. Now, with your permission …”

  Hap ducked his head and was about to withdraw. He paused.

  “But,” he began, looking around.

  “Are you still speaking?” The mayor’s left eyebrow rose dangerously.

>   “I just thought,” Hap said, “there might be a fine or something.”

  “A fine? Of course there’s a fine! But how do you suppose a beggar girl would come up with ten gold pieces?”

  “Ah, yes,” said the boy, nodding, “that is a lot of money.”

  “Indeed it is. Now, if you’ll excuse us—”

  “Wait!” cried Hap suddenly. “I’ll be right back!” Before anyone could speak, he ducked out of the chamber and ran up the street to Grel’s shop.

  He arrived, gasping, and called his master’s name, but the only response was the wagging tail of Rauf, who’d been wakened from a nap.

  “Where is he?” cried Hap, forgetting that the dog knew only one word, and not a helpful one. “I’ve got to find him!” Hap hurried into the back room but found it empty. “I need his permission.”

  There was no time. The mayor’s justice was swift, and the girl might be sent to her punishment at any moment. It would be a death sentence. That wretched little blanket of hers, he knew, was no protection against wind-whipped snow. Nor would her crutch be much of a weapon against Xexnax or whatever monster prowled those desolate slopes.

  Anyway, she was deformed. One eye! And a limp. Probably mentally defective as well.

  Hap stood before the shop window, staring at the wonderful shoe. He was afraid of very little in this world, but he hesitated. The shoe seemed alive, bathed in ghostly fire.

  He lifted it carefully. He examined the jewels. The jewels examined him.

  Almost any one of them, he thought, would pay the beggar girl’s fine.

  His eye rested, finally, on a large, sparkling stone attached to the heel. He didn’t know much about gems, but this one was a particularly luminous blue. Surely, nobody would notice the absence of one stone. And on the heel. Who looks at the heel of a shoe?

  He took hold of it.

  Wait, he thought.

  He sat down. Rauf wiggled up to him and licked his hand.

  You did what you could. You gave her your fish. You gave her bread. No one expects you to do more. She doesn’t expect it herself—and probably wouldn’t thank you.

  Then he thought of his own case, how Grel had saved him from certain death on the frozen slopes of Mount Xexnax.