Hobby by Jane Yolen Read Free Book Online Page A

me?"
    "Oh, a duke's spy has his little ways." The man laughed. "But a strange boy with eyes like gooseberries was a sign. That horse and cow a surety. You picked my pocket."
    "I never . . Hobby's voice was more vehement than an innocent's should have been. It was because he
had
considered—if only for a moment—stealing from the foul man.
    "At least you left me my boots."
    "Master Robin's boots, you mean."
    "Master Robin, is it? I heard his name was Ambrosius. He has as many names as you, young Hawk." Fowler smiled. In the torchlight his one good eye gleamed, the scarred eye was black as an empty socket. "I shall have to speak to your master for recompense. He took my boy, my horse, my cow. He shall have to pay me or I take it out in blood. Your blood for mine. Blood, they say, makes great bargains."
    Hobby twisted in the man's hand but could not shake his hold. The dog growled.
    "Up, hawkling." He yanked the boy to his feet and they marched through the shadows toward the castle on wheels.
    Â 
    But the green wagon was gone. Gone were the mules. And gone as well were Goodie and Churn.
    Hobby wrenched free of Fowler's hand, scouring the darkness. But he did not bother to call out. He knew, from the hard stone sitting in his chest, that they had fled long since, taking his horse and cow with them. All he had of them, his new family, was the Lady Renwein's pendant and a handful of coins. Viviane had not overpaid him after all.
    The chapel bell tolled midnight and Hobby willed himself not to cry.
    "So they have flown the dovecote, leaving the little pigeon behind," Fowler said, his hand once more heavy on Hobby's shoulder.
    Hobby did not bother to answer. Indeed, what could he have said? That he had been cozened by Viviane's smile and an evening's worth of coppers? That he had believed Ambrosius wanted him for a son? That they had run off in the end because they were afraid of him, afraid of his dreaming?
    "I wonder the Duke let them go," Fowler mused aloud. "But perhaps he does not know they are gone yet. Perhaps they greased the palm of some willing gatekeeper. There may be some good to be made from this yet."
    "You mean good for
you,
" Hobby said.
    "That is all anyone ever means, boy," Fowler said. He laughed out loud and at that his dog slapped at the ground with a paw. Neither sound was comforting. "Come, Hawk. I expect the Duke would like to know that you, at least, are safe and awake."

14. TRUE MAGIC
    THEY WENT UP TO THE DUKE'S PRIVATE APART ments by a twisting back stair. At each turning stood a stone-eyed guard, hand on sword beneath a flickering wall torch. The flames made shadows crawl up and down the stairs. Hobby could not have run, even if he dared, not because of the guards but because Fowler's hand was ever on his shoulder.
    The Duke was waiting for them, sitting at a great desk near a window. He was fingering papers and his eyes were not on them. Hobby could not tell if the man was just tired or if he—like most of the nobles—was unlettered. His eyes, however, were on Hobby and his keeper, and these two he could read very well indeed.
    "You have brought me the singing bird but not his handler," the Duke said. "He is no good to me without his quick-fingered interpreter, that mage."
    Hobby spoke up at once. If Fowler had hoped to get something for his news, he would not. "The mage, Ambrosius, is gone. You will not find him."
    "A father desert his child?" the Duke asked, then gave a short laugh, musing aloud. "The forest teems with such leavings—boys and girls without hope of family or life. Why should
your
father be different?"
    Hobby looked down at the rushes on the floor. "He is
not
my father. My father was a falconer." Then he looked up, staring directly into the Duke's eyes. "Ambrosius is no real magic maker either."
    The Duke leaned back in his chair and made a triangle of his fingers. "A charlatan. And you think this news surprises me?" But his face spoke differently.
    Fowler