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

scalps out and examined them by the lantern light. The brown piece was small and stiff. It looked like boar’s hair, the follicles thick and shiny and flat against the skin. The blond piece was softer, but the strands were dry as flax. Ren could see where the curls had been glued to the leather.
     
    “They’re not bad if you don’t look at them closely. I think we had that Father fooled at least. He gave you up quickly enough, didn’t he?”
     
    Ren put the scalps back into the pouch and settled onto a pile of straw. He could hear the chickens rustling in the coop, their tiny claws scratching. A breeze threaded through the slats of the barn. “What really happened to our parents?”
     
    Benjamin rolled over onto his back and stared up into the rafters. A long time passed, so long Ren believed he was not going to answer. But just then Benjamin said, “They were murdered. They were killed by a terrible man.”
     
    A moth fluttered against the lamp, its shadow spread across the wall. Ren pulled the collar of his jacket close. “Why did you lie to me?”
     
    “Because you wouldn’t want to hear what really happened.” Benjamin sat up, looking irritated and angry. He pushed the blankets off, marched toward the barn door, and opened it. For a moment he stood there on the threshold as if he was going to leave, his shoulders hunched against the cold night air. Then he closed the door and sat down next to Ren.
     
    “Our father was a soldier. Our mother a woman of station and wealth. They met one day in the woods. She was out picking mushrooms, and he—I’m not sure what he was doing. Maybe he’d spent so much time fighting that he’d lost what it was like to be quiet, and surrounded by trees, without worrying that someone was about to come from behind and try to kill him. Maybe he was just standing there, looking up at the way the branches swayed against the sky, when she came and stood beside him, in a dress as green as the moss under their feet, and said nothing, and looked up as well.
     
    “Our mother had a brother. Some people called him terrible. Others were so afraid of him they didn’t call him anything at all. But he loved his sister. Loved her so much that he wouldn’t let anyone else love her. And it was because of him that our parents kept their meetings secret, until our father was pressed again into the service and sent west. They wrote letters. Wonderful letters that sustained them both as much as food and water, but the mail was slow in coming and often misdirected, and so when our father heard that she was going to have his child it was half a year too late.
     
    “In the end he deserted. He left his station and his horse and traveled the miles back, through forests and over rivers, lakes, and mountains. All the while she tried to hide that a child was on the way. Then her time came and her brother discovered her secret, and he cut off her hands, and her feet, and her nose; every part of her that our father had loved. She was taken away, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of her.”
     
    Benjamin reached out for the lantern and drew it close.
     
    “Give me your arm.”
     
    Ren gave it.
     
    Benjamin held the wrist to the light and ran a finger along the scar, outlining where the skin had been folded over and stitched. Where he touched felt numb in some places and sensitive in others, tiny bumps on the surface tickling. Ren tried to take his arm away, but Benjamin held it tightly.
     
    “I don’t want to know anymore.”
     
    “All right.” Benjamin let go. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
     
    “No.”
     
    The man reached over, took hold of the lantern, and blew it out. Night enveloped the barn. “Well,” he said at last to the darkness between them, “that’s when you know it’s the truth.”

Chapter VI
    R en woke to the sound of chains rattling in the early morning. The barn was still dark, but the boy could make out the shape of the farmer’s wagon. Scurrying