“Just a traveler passing through,” he said, which was no manner of answer. “And what is your name?”
“Netta,” I said, still glaring at Baldbeak.
“I am Patrick, and this is Fane,” he said, reaching to pat his horse. She had a sweet face and large, liquid eyes fringed by long lashes. She swung her nose towards me, perhaps hoping for a treat, and I backed away.
“You don’t like horses?” he inquired.
“I don’t know much about them. We haven’t had a horse for a long time.”
His hazel eyes flickered over me, clearly making their own judgements. I bristled. He was hardly the picture of respectability himself, in his gaudy patched coat. As always, I found myself distracted by clothing—the fabric had been fine once, I could see, with some nice stitching at the cuffs and lapels, but it had been mended shamefully poorly. Perhaps by his own hand? A badger wearing mittens would have done it better. There was a large rip in one shoulder seam.
“Why are you wearing that?” I said. “It’s …”
“Blindingly ugly? Yes,” he said. He swept a theatrical bow. “I’m a traveling magician. I have to look the part.”
“A magician? Like a mage?”
“No, no,” he said. “It’s all for show.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Watch.” He snapped his fingers, and a glass sphere appeared in one hand. Another snap, and it was gone, and then two appeared, and a third, and he juggled them for a moment before they disappeared again.
I squinted at him.
“People usually applaud,” he said.
“It’s trickery,” I said.
“Well, yes. That’s the point.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Why?”
“For entertainment. Like music, or a story well told.”
“I see,” I said, though I didn’t really. It seemed strange to me to ape power with tricks when the real thing existed.
“You disapprove of my profession,” Patrick said in a melancholy tone, but I could see the hint of a smile in his eyes.
“I don’t disapprove,” I lied. “But I don’t have time for this. It will be dark soon, and I need to keep moving.”
I refrained from telling him what Mother had thought of such frivolous magic use—he had helped me, after all. Instead, I shrugged on my pack and adjusted the straps, making it as comfortable as I could for the long journey ahead, and started walking with long strides towards the path that led into the woods. Patrick fell into step beside me, leading Fane by her bridle, one little sphere appearing again to gleam in his free hand. To my annoyance, Baldbeak still rode on the magician’s shoulder, his eyes half lidded with satisfaction.
“Baldbeak!”
I clicked my tongue, calling him back. He flapped over, somehow managing to look like he was dragging his feet in midair.
The man has food in his packs, he told me.Cheese and sausage.
“We’ll eat later,” I muttered.
“Eat?” said Patrick, showing an uncomfortably acute sense of hearing. “I don’t have much, but I will gladly share it with you.”
Sausage!repeated Baldbeak, and nipped me on the ear.
“Didn’t you fill up on eyeballs?” I whispered to him, but sighed and stopped. “All right. Thank you,” I said to Patrick.
Patrick opened one of Fane’s saddlebags, pulling out a packet of hard cheese and a loaf of bread. Baldbeak flapped over and landed on the horse’s flank, pulling at the flap on the bag in an attempt to get inside.
