Free Will Sparrow's Road by Karen Cushman

That leaves twelve pence. A shilling. A whole shilling. A day. Every day.
    It seemed to Will that Master Tidball made a good living for someone who did nothing but watch others work. Will himself could do that, he thought. He could earn and keep that shilling a day, have a place in the world and plenty to eat. "How was it you first became master of oddities and prodigies?” Will asked the man when he ceased muttering.
    "'Twas the infant mermaid,” Master Tidball said. "I came upon her near Blackpool. Such a beauty, is she not? Folks paid a farthing to see her. Admire her fishy tail.” Remembering, Tidball smiled. "I added more wonders and found that folks would pay more. So here I am, traveling the world with my odd little family, bringing joy to everyone in the world, or leastwise those with a penny to spare.”
    Early in the evening they came upon a stream with tall trees on either side. A soft breeze ruffled Will's hair and stirred the stream. "Here is where we stop,” said Master Tidball, "here in this Eden.”
    They drank their fill from the stream and then sat back on the grassy bank. The creature was not there. Was she not thirsty? Will wondered. Did cats not drink?
    Fitz carried a basket of apples, bread, and strongsmelling cheese from the wagon. "The girl Greymalkin,” he said, "will eat inside.” He gestured toward Will. "She be not fond of rude and saucy strangers.”
    "You, boy, come sit by me,” Master Tidball said to Will, who did so. "The girl is lately testy and impossible to please,” he went on. "Lancelot Fitzgeoffrey, you know I am right. Her acting the beast would make our fortunes. Half human and half cat! Imagine the crowds who would pay their pennies to see that!” Tidball passed an apple to Will, who took a large and noisy bite. "But of late,” the man went on, "she will not pace nor growl nor roar, but only sits upon the stage and scowls. Talk to her, Lancelot, make her see reason.”
    "Not I,” said Fitz. "'Tis you who wish her to play the beast. You talk to her.” He dropped to the ground and glowered in silence, first at Tidball and then at Will.
    I believe he is jealous to see me so friendly with the master,
thought Will. He took another bite of the apple and spat the seeds near—but not too near—Fitz's small feet.
    The night was clear and cool. Will pulled his—he thought it must now be considered his—jerkin on and curled to sleep near where Solomon was grazing, soothed by the familiar sound and smell of horse.
    The morning dawned gray and shimmery with dew. Soon they were on the road once more. The company climbed gentle hills and passed great estates of gleaming stone manors and new grass, enclosures with puffs of sheep and specks of cattle, and vineyards heavy with grapes. The air grew heavy and damp, promising rain, and the wind blustered as they climbed toward a grove of limestone towers marking the city.
    Stamford proved a town of shining white stone. The market square was crowded with stalls covered in thatch or canopies that fluttered and flapped in the wind. Will drove the wagon to a space between a seller of saddles and a church, and he and Fitz set up the booth and began to unload. The stuffed animals and turtle shells were hung inside, and the baskets of various oddities arranged. Will dusted off the unicorn skull and carefully placed the young sea monster. He and Fitz then carried the baby mermaid's flask into the booth.
    By afternoon it was drizzling. People passed by quickly, their boots and the hems of their cloaks already bespotted with mud. Few stopped before the oddities booth, and none revealed a desire to enter.
    "Faugh, but this is a poor fair,” said Master Tidball, who sat on the low stone wall that surrounded the churchyard. He pulled his cloak closer around him and spat in the general direction of the ground. "Lancelot, ensnare me a visitor or two.”
    Fitz began: "Come and see! Oddities and prodigies of all sorts here are seen. A one-eyed pig and a