The Good Thief by Hannah Tinti Read Free Book Online Page A

Ren ventured.
     
    “Well, that’s something at least,” said the farmer. “Can you give us a song, boy?”
     
    Ren slipped the remains of the licorice into his pocket. The inside of his mouth felt like paste. He wet his lips. He thought of the chants the brothers sang in chapel and he gave one now, his breath following the notes. When he was nearly finished, he noticed the farmer’s wife, standing on the ladder halfway down, listening, a bundle of blankets under her arm.
     
    She was how he’d dreamed his own mother would be. Beautiful, and half-lit by shadows. He did not want to stop, but the hymn was over, and she turned her face away, and put her hands back onto the ladder and climbed down.
     
    The farmer stood and clapped Ren on the back. “Come,” he said, taking the blankets from his wife. “I’ll show you the way to the barn.”
     
    They stepped out into the night, the farmer leading with a lantern. The trees were swaying and clacking against one another in the wind. A swarm of leaves blew across the field. The farmer unlatched the door to the barn and held it open as Benjamin and Ren walked in.
     
    It was a small building with a hayloft overhead, which filled the air with a sweet smell and nearly covered the scent of manure. Ren could hear animals moving in their stalls, stirred by the light of the lantern. To the side was the cart the farmer had brought to Saint Anthony’s.
     
    “Just some chickens and a cow,” said the farmer, “and the horse. There’s bats, too, in the rafters, but they shouldn’t bother you any.” He handed Benjamin the blankets.
     
    “We can’t thank you enough.”
     
    “My wife will be in early for the milking.” The farmer hesitated. He looked at Ren as if he wanted to say something, but instead he walked over to his horse. The brown mare lifted her head and nuzzled the side of the farmer’s neck. He stroked the animal’s forehead and gave her another kiss on the nose. “I’ll leave you the light.” It could have been directed to them or the horse. But with those words he put the lantern on the ground and closed the door.
     
    Benjamin threw the blankets on some straw in the corner, then sat and removed his boots. He turned them upside down, knocking out a number of pebbles, then put them back on. Ren rubbed his arms against the cold and thought of all the places his brother had traveled to and seen, all the adventures he’d experienced. The boy had so many questions to ask he didn’t know where to begin.
     
    “Have you ever seen an elephant?”
     
    “A what?”
     
    “An elephant. In India. I saw a picture of one once, in a book.”
     
    “Don’t be a fool,” said Benjamin. “I’ve never been to India.” He bunched one of the blankets behind his head. “You better get some rest. We’ve got to be up in an hour or two.”
     
    The boy took a step back. “But you said—” he began.
     
    “I know what I said. Didn’t you listen? What did I tell you before we went inside?”
     
    “You told me not to say anything.”
     
    “And what else?”
     
    “To learn.”
     
    “We needed a place to sleep. And now we have it. I told them what they wanted to hear so they’d give it to us. It’s as simple as that.”
     
    Ren watched Benjamin Nab settle in for the night with a growing sense of alarm. The man gathered a bunch of dry straw with one arm and covered it with a blanket. He took some more straw and stuffed it inside of his coat and down into his boots. Then he took the collar of his coachman’s coat and turned it up around his face, wrapped another blanket around his shoulders, and curled into a ball on the bed he’d made. It was as if he slept outside every day of his life.
     
    “I’d like to see them again,” said Ren.
     
    “Who?”
     
    “Our parents.”
     
    Benjamin reached into his coat pocket. “Here,” he said, “you can have them.” He threw the leather pouch onto the ground.
     
    Ren opened the drawstring. He pulled both