Simon returns to his side of the warehouse and murmurs to his compatriots while they all chuckle. On our side, we’re silent.
Otto appears at my feet, clutching his sack and staring at me with his large, dark eyes.
Henry nudges me with his elbow. “Can you move over? This is Otto’s spot.”
I scoot over so Otto is between us, although he snuggles up against Henry.
His wee voice is but a whisper. “Can you tell me a story, Henry?”
I must admit that Henry’s soft voice and sweet story, about a little boy who is lost while his mother and father search the world for him, is so soothing that I fall asleep before I even hear the end, although I’d wager eight pounds of herring that the lost boy is found.
THE NEXT MORNING, HENRY, OTTO, THE OTHER YOUNGER boys, and I are out early on our mission to find eight pounds of fish.
“We’ll never get that much!” Ned whines. Although he’s a head taller than the rest of us, he seems the weakest. Maybe he’s young and was just born tall and lanky.
Henry waves his hand dismissively. “We’ll find something to make Simon happy.”
Ned looks at Daniel, who simply shrugs.
“But first,” says Henry, “we’re helping Adrian find his friend, a soldier.”
“A soldier?” Otto’s eyes are wide.
I describe Hugh, and Henry dispatches the others, telling them where to meet us at noon. “And keep your eye out for anything tasty or valuable,” he calls after them. “Come on,” he says to me, “let’s go.”
Henry takes me to the hill that Carlisle Castle sits upon, so I can get a better view of the city. We walk almost to the guard gate, across the moat, behind an oxcart delivering goods to the soldiers. Henry instructs me to look at people from there. I strain my right eye to see.
“They’re so small from up here, and there are so many,” I say.
“Keep looking. Just one group at a time.”
It seems impossible, but I do as he says and eventually I realize he’s right. It’s too much to take in all at once, but broken into little groups, it’s manageable. I can’t make out people’s features but I’d know Hugh’s stance and walk from any distance.
Finally, I shake my head. “He’s not there.”
Next, Henry takes me to a tavern, the Carlisle Arms, and we go inside. Henry asks the tavern owner where the battle is.
“It’ll be east of here,” the man says, filling a tankard with ale from an oaken cask.
“Where, exactly?” I ask.
He laughs, sloshing some mead out of the tankard. “The Scots haven’t given me their battle plan, you knave! They’ll be headed for Durham eventually, though. They always are.”
“Your friend Hugh must be headed east,” Henry says as we leave the Carlisle Arms.
I’m making plans in my head of leaving, but when we meet the other boys at the nook at midday they’re looking glum, save Otto, who has two small loaves of bread.
“I’m sorry we didn’t find your friend,” David says. “We asked a couple of young men who matched your description, but they weren’t Hugh.”
“Simon’s not going to be happy,” Ned says.
Even David and Daniel shuffle their feet, looking nervous.
I can’t let them get in trouble with Simon. I have to use my money to buy herring. “Where’s the fishmonger?”
Otto shakes his head. “It’s no use. We tried to filch some and I even begged, but all the fishmonger’s wife gave me was this.” He holds up one small loaf.
“Then how did you get two?” Henry asks.
“I told her my brother was starving as well, and his name was Henry.” Otto’s face breaks into a grin. “That’s her boy’s name, too, so she gave me a second loaf!”
Henry smiles but Ned groans. “Simon will kill us.” He looks at Henry’s belt. “You could sell your knife.”
Henry clutches his side. “Never! Not for Simon!”
“It’s not for Simon,” Ned whines, “it’s for us. Besides, we were all there when the knight gave you his knife. We all helped.”
“We did not,” David says with disdain, “least of all you, Ned. You were cowering behind an oxcart when Henry grabbed the knife from the knight’s saddle and ran it over to him as he lay defenseless on the road.”
“Henry could’ve been run through with that robber’s sword,” Daniel adds, “but he stepped right in front of the robber to give the knight his weapon.”
“Yes,” Otto says, glaring at Ned, “that’s why Sir Knight gave the knife to Henry.”
I stare at Henry, who still clutches his belt. I always knew he was a fine person, even if he does have to live on the street and thieve.
“I’ll buy some fish,” I say. They all stare at me. “I have money. I just didn’t want to tell Simon.”
Henry claps me on the back and I feel like a savior until we get to the fishmonger and see how expensive eight pounds of herring is. It takes two of my three groats to buy six pounds and I can’t bear to spend the last one. How can I buy any food for Hugh?
Henry is grateful. “Simon never expected us to get eight pounds, anyway. He may be pleased enough with this. Especially if …” He runs into the fishmonger again and returns a few moments later. “He’s going to cook it for us. That’ll please Simon.”
The boys cheer and Henry runs inside again before I can ask how he managed it, because it says right on the sign at the front of the shop that cooking costs two pence. I’m distracted when I hear a choirboy singing because we are nowhere near the cathedral. I can see its spire far off. I follow the others as they sidle up to the door of the shop. At first, all I can see is the fishmonger, cutting his fish, but he’s smiling now, his whole body swaying to the sweet music.
And then I see Henry. He’s in a dark corner, singing. It’s his sweet voice we hear. He sings for much of the time the fish is cooking, only stopping for one break. When his voice starts getting scratchy and croaky, the fishmonger tells him to drink some water.
“Can I give some to my friends?” Henry asks.
When the man looks out and sees all of our faces, he refuses. In turn, Henry refuses to drink any water himself. His voice gets worse. Quite rapidly. I think it may be on purpose. Finally, the fishmonger invites us all in to drink with Henry, which cures Henry’s voice instantly.
“Where did you learn to sing like that?” I ask Henry when the fish is done and the fishmonger wraps it in cloth.
“My mother sang those songs to me. I sing them so I’ll remember her. And” — he grins — “sometimes people even pay me to sing.”
“You sound like one of those boys in the cathedral.”
“Do I?”
I nod vigorously. “Maybe even better. You should see if they pay there!”
He laughs.
“No, really,” I say, as an idea takes shape in my mind. “There are choir schools in lots of cathedrals, maybe the one right here.”
“I can’t go there.”
“Why not?”
“Look!” says Otto. “A kitty!”
A tiny black-and-white kitten peeks shyly from behind the wheel of a cart and Otto creeps over to it.
“You can play with him for a little while,” Henry calls to Otto before turning to me. “I don’t have any money for school and …” He looks down at his clothes.
I see what he means. His clothes are old and torn and dirty. I hadn’t focused on it before, but he is dirty, too. His face is gray, his hair unkempt, and he even smells a little. Still, I tell him what Father Fraud said about a boy he knew who went to a cathedral school with little or no money, simply based on his angelic voice.
There is hope in Henry’s eyes for a moment, then he smiles shyly and shakes his head. “That boy may not have had much money, but he probably didn’t come from the streets. His parents likely brought him to the cathedral.”
He is probably right, and I think, again, about Father.
“Besides,” Henry says, looking over at Otto, who sits wi
th the kitten in his lap, stroking it, “I can’t leave him.”
It is getting late, so we coax Otto away from the kitten and head back with our fish.
“I hope Simon will be happy,” Ned says in his whiny voice.
“Shut up, Ned,” David answers halfheartedly. I get the feeling he is just as worried, but what is the use of talking about it?
Otto grabs Henry’s hand as we enter the warehouse.
They are right to be nervous. While some of Simon’s boys are grateful for the fragrantly cooked fish, Simon is not.
“You’re useless!” Simon yells, and I grit my teeth.
With a flick of Simon’s hand, two older boys flank Henry, each grabbing hold of an arm.
“No!” Otto shouts, as another of Simon’s gang picks up the little boy and walks several steps away.
“Leave him alone!” Henry says, but Simon laughs as Henry struggles to free himself, and I feel sick to my stomach because it reminds me too much of Bryce and William and Warren. And me.
Before I think about what I’m doing, I step forward. “Stop!”
Henry stops struggling and everyone freezes.
“I know I’m useless. And I’ll leave. I’ll head east as soon as the city gates open.” The boys are still holding on to Henry. “So let him go.”
Simon narrows his eyes at me. “He still has to pay.” He walks and pulls the knife from Henry’s belt. A cry comes out of Henry and I know it’s not pain or fear, but anger and frustration, because that knife is his prized possession.
Simon’s boys are gathered around me, so I can’t whip out my weapon or they’ll be on top of me before I have a chance to draw back my bow.
Simon turns the knife over in his hand, examining it with his evil smile. “This will do nicely as payment.”
“Give him back his knife!” I don’t know why I say it, because I have no way to make Simon give it back. And the two henchmen still have hold of Henry. The older boys only laugh at me.
Simon is still chuckling. “I told you, farm-boy freak, this is my payment.”
I see the look in Henry’s eye. That knife is a symbol that he’s a hero, not a scoundrel, even though he must live on the street.
I don’t hesitate for a moment. Grabbing the coin in my pocket, I hold out the groat. “If it’s payment you want, then here it is.”
Simon’s eyes flick from delight to doubt to anger. “You said you had nothing.”
“It’s all I have in the world.” This time I’m not lying. “If you give him back his knife, this silver coin is yours.”
His eyes widen again, closer to delight, as he eyes the coin. I see the henchmen loosen their grip on Henry in their delight as well.
“Give him the knife,” I repeat.
Simon drops the knife but puts his foot on top of it. “Give me the money.”
He has unwittingly given me an idea, so I toss the coin behind him and he turns, lifting his foot from the knife, and the two henchmen scramble after the coin as well.
Henry loses no time grabbing his knife and running with his small gang, but not before he grabs my arm and pulls me with them, and we run out of the building at full speed.
After a while, we stop to catch our breath, hiding under a cart in the street.
Simon’s voice is close, too close. “Of course he has more! He wouldn’t toss a silver coin on the floor if it were his only one! Check every alley.”
The crowd of boys takes off in different directions.
“Where can we hide?” Otto whispers.
“They know all the places,” Ned points out, “even our nook.”
And then I realize there’s one place they don’t know. “This way!” I hiss.
THE CATHEDRAL IS QUIET BUT FOR THE NOISE OF OUR panting. The only person I see is a monk far to the front of the church who likely can’t hear us from there. Still, I make us all duck down and scoot to an alcove under some pews, near where I hid before.
No sooner have we settled than Ned squeaks, “They’re here!”
He’s right. They must’ve seen us come in. There are ten of them, at least, outnumbering our six. And they’re bigger than we are.
Although they call out “Henry” and “Farm Boy” much softer than they would on the street, it’s still loud in the sanctuary of the cathedral.
A whimper comes out of Otto. Henry puts one hand on his shoulder, and with his other hand puts a finger to his lips, his eyes widening meaningfully at the other boys.
I can hear the mutterings of the older Hoods and the echoing of their footsteps drawing nearer.
“Look under the pews!” I hear one of them hiss, and my heart sinks. We are found!
“Boys!” It’s a man’s voice ringing out from the front of the church. “What is going on?”
It’s silent. No one moves. Finally, Simon gives a chuckle. “Ah, yes, Father. My little brother is missing and my mother has sent me to look for him.”
“I see,” the monk says, sounding unconvinced. “Would that be ‘Henry’ or ‘Farm Boy’?”
“Henry,” Simon says quickly, “and — and the other is our cousin.”
“Indeed. Well, I shall keep a lookout for Henry and Cousin Farm Boy, and tell them to run along, just as I’m telling you to run along now.”
The other Hoods are already backing toward the front door.
“But I think they’re all in here!” Simon protests, standing his ground, not giving any deference to the monk’s station.
“What do you mean, ‘all’? These farm cousins reproduce like rabbits, apparently.” The monk’s tone turns cold. “Your story is thin, boy, and so is my patience. Out! Now!”
His “Now!” echoes in the cathedral such that most of the boys run out of the door and even Simon walks quickly, the door slamming behind him.
The monk drums his fingers on a nearby pew as he stares at the door. Even though it was dark the other night, from his stance I’m sure it’s the same monk who carried basket after basket into the church.
“For shame,” the monk says to himself, but powerfully loud. “I should have told them that if they wanted food, I’d leave some by the side door of the sanctuary.” He clucks his tongue a few times and strides off toward the front of the church.
Henry looks at me, quizzical. “Is that for us?” he whispers.
I nod my head, grinning. Just like he left me those apples.
The monk leaves the sanctuary, a door closing behind him.
Ned looks around nervously. “What are we supposed to do now? Where will we go? We can never go back to the Hoods.”
“You could have your own gang,” I say, and I imagine my face looks as surprised as all of theirs, because the words tumbled out of my mouth without my even thinking them.
“But how?” says Ned. “Simon will run us off before we have a chance to get at the food.”
“Then you have to be faster,” I say.
“He knows where all the good shops and taverns are already.”
“Then you have to be smarter.”
“He knows everyone who might give us anything.”
“Then,” says Henry, smiling at me, “we’ll need to make new friends, won’t we?”
I think about Cook at the manor and Grandmother. “There are people around who will be good to you. In my village, there’s —”
“But this isn’t a village,” Ned says, “it’s a city. That’s different.”
“Perhaps, but there are still good people. The fishmonger’s wife gave Otto two loaves of bread, and the fishmonger cooked our herring for Henry’s singing.” I try to remember the name of the tavern where the woman gave me meat pies. “At the Black Bear, I think it was, the cook tossed me two pies.”
“No,” says Ned, “that fat man tries to paddle us!”
“But the woman who works there is kind.” I answer Ned’s doubting look. “Truly. She may be loud but she has a soft heart.”
David nods slowly. “It could work.”
“I think it’s time,” Da
niel says.
“I think it’s dangerous —” Ned starts before he’s interrupted with “Shut up” and “Nervous Ned” from David and Daniel.
For my part, I can’t help but laugh. “You live on the street, Ned. It’s already dangerous!”
The others laugh, too, and even Ned shows a hint of a smile.
“What should our name be?” David asks.
“They already have the best name, the Hoods, after Robin Hood,” Daniel says.
“We could be the Robins!” Otto says.
David snorts. “Named after songbirds? No thank you!”
“Henry,” I say.
“What?”
“Henry is a king’s name. Why not be … the Kings?”
Henry raises both arms in victory as the others cheer.
“Whist,” I say, although I’m smiling. “It’s a cathedral.”
Henry nods. “I’ve never been in here before.”
The other boys murmur their agreement.
“Really? But it’s a house of God, meant for everybody,” I tell them.
“But we’re nobodies,” Otto explains.
“That’s not true,” I tell him, “you’re the Kings!”
We hear Daniel’s belly rumble and we all laugh. Henry and I each go to a side door to find the food the monk promised. There’s nothing at my door but Henry returns laden with two loaves of bread, a pitcher of milk, and a pot of honey. We sit at the feet of a statue of Mary and feast, no one talking because we’re too busy eating.
Eating honey reminds me of something, and I count the days. “It’s my birthday today!”
David and Daniel shrug.
“So?” says Ned.
“So, usually my father gets me honey cakes and buys me a gift.”
They stop eating and stare at me as if I’ve said today is spring when really it’s fall. “Truly,” I say.
“Is it a feast day?” Henry asks.
“No. It’s just something my father does for me.” When I look at all five of them, their mouths hanging open, I wish I’d kept mine shut. They don’t have a father. They don’t have anyone who would do anything special for them. They’ve probably never received a birthday gift in their lives.
The Badger Knight Page 10
