Merlin's Booke by Jane Yolen Read Free Book Online Page B

that was the other thing about Merrillin the Hawk. Not only did he see the truth slantwise, but he dreamed. And his dreams, in strange, uncounted ways, seemed to come true.
    So Merrillin stood in front of the barrow on a late fall day and told himself a lie; that the apple would fall into his hand of its own accord as if the barrow were a tree letting loose its fruit. He even reached over and touched the apple he wanted, a rosy round one that promised to be full of sweet juices and crisp meat. And just in case, he touched a second apple as well, one that was slightly wormy and a bit yellow with age.
    â€œYou boy,” came a shout from behind the barrow, and a face as yellow and sunken as the second apple, with veins as large as worm runnels across the nose, popped into view.
    Merrillin stepped back, startled.
    A stick came down on his hand, sharp and painful as a firebrand. “If you do not mean to buy, you cannot touch.”
    â€œHow do you know he does not mean to buy?” asked a voice from behind Merrillin.
    It took all his concentration not to turn. He feared the man behind him might have a stick as well, though his voice seemed devoid of the kind of anger that always preceded a beating.
    â€œA rag of cloth hung on bones, that’s all he is,” said the cart man, wiping a dirty rag across his mouth. “No one in Gwethern has seen him before. He’s no mother’s son, by the dirt on him. So where would such a one find coins to pay, cheeky beggar?”
    There was a short bark of laughter from the man behind. “Cheeky beggar is it?”
    Merrillin dared a glance at the shadow the man cast at his feet. The shadow was cloaked. That was a good sign, for he would be a stranger to Gwethern. No one here affected such dress. Courage flooded through him and he almost turned around when the man’s hand touched his mouth.
    â€œYou are right, he is a cheeky beggar. And that is where he keeps his coin—in his cheek.” The cloaked man laughed again, the same sharp, yipping sound, drawing an appreciative echo from the crowd that was just starting to gather. Entertainment was rare in Gwethern. “Open your mouth, boy, and give the man his coin.”
    Merrillin was so surprised, his mouth dropped open on its own, and a coin fell from his lips into the cloaked man’s hand.
    â€œHere,” the man said, his hand now on Merrillin’s shoulder. He flipped the coin into the air, it turned twice over before the cart man grabbed it out of the air, bit it, grunted, and shoved it into his purse.
    The cloaked man’s hand left Merrillin’s shoulder and picked up the yellowing apple, dropping it neatly into Merrillin’s hand. Then his voice whispered into the boy’s ear. “If you wish to repay me, look for the green wagon, the castle on wheels.”
    When Merrillin turned to stutter out his thanks, the man had vanished into the crowd. That was just as well, though, since it was hardly thanks Merrillin was thinking of. Rather he wanted to tell the cloaked man that he had done only what was expected and that another lie had come true for Merrillin, on the slant.
    After eating every bit of the apple, his first meal in two days, and setting the little green worm that had been in it on a stone, Merrillin looked for the wagon. It was not hard to find.
    Parked under a chestnut tree whose leaves were spotted with brown and gold, the wagon was as green as Mab’s gown, as green as the first early shoots of spring. It was indeed a castle on wheels, for the top of the wagon was vaulted over. There were three windows, four walls, and a door as well. Two docile drab-colored mules were hitched to it and were nibbling on the few brown blades of grass beneath the tree. Along the wagon’s sides was writing, but as Merrillin could not read, he could only guess at it. There were pictures, too: a tall, amber-eyed mage with a conical hat was dancing across a starry night, a