Free The Anatomist's Dream by Clio Gray

and for all. Philbert was glad of it. He’d not liked the bitter twist to Tomaso’s mouth when he announced Kroonk’s failure, a bitter twist Tomaso tried to turn into a smile without success.
    Philbert had relished the feeling of cold water on his feet when he’d paddled in the lake’s shallows attempting to perfect the technique Hermann had explained to him of how to stab a fish with a sharpened stick, in the manner of a heron. Things hadn’t gone well. Twice he’d stabbed at his prey and hit his foot by mistake, unaware of the illusion of refraction, and twice had mistaken a strip of weed for an eel, at which point he gave up.
    He was performing the age old ritual of boy burying himself in fallen leaves, apart from his head, when he heard the noise of a clopping pony and partially exhumed himself, turned his head, seeing a man walking along the track maybe twenty yards distant, lop-eared donkey and small cart in tow. He wasn’t much interested at first, for he supposed it was just another traveller, a pedlar most likely, wanting to join up with the Fair, an occurrence not unusual when they were on the outskirts of a busy town; until he recalled they weren’t anywhere near a town, busy or otherwise, were deliberately in the middle of nowhere to take their ease before heading into Dortmund. He twisted himself around, observing the newcomer’s progress with some suspicion, long enough with the Fair to be wary of strangers popping up from nowhere, never mind that he’d been one himself. The man looked old and stooped, wrapped around with old grey blankets, man and donkey appearing tired and thin, both hobbling slightly, the cart hiccupping slowly over the stones. Philbert followed their progress, wondering which would collapse first – donkey, cart or man – but was interested enough in their passage for him to shuffle himself free of leaves, put on his boots, call Kroonk and slowly meander his way back to camp.
    Philbert heard the laughter well before he got there, and was astonished to see the stranger sitting, miraculously revived, amongst a knot of people jostling for his attention, waving their hands above their heads.
    â€˜Pick me!’ their hands and mouths were saying, ‘oh please pick me!’
    So another Fair’s person after all, and one the rest obviously knew. Philbert was about to head off again, casting one last glance at the stranger, startled to see the man looking right back at him, dark eyes aglint in the failing light. He also noticed that beneath the grey blankets he wore a monk’s habit dyed red as a holly berry.
    â€˜Ah, at last!’ Maulwerf shouted. ‘Here he is, Kwert, our Little Maus, a subject I’m sure you’ll find most interesting.’ Philbert dithered but Maulwerf was not to be put off. ‘Here, Philbert. Now,’ he commanded, in his not-to-be-ignored Master-of-the-Fair voice.
    Philbert obeyed and came forward, to cries of, ‘Oh yes!’ and ‘Of course, now this will be good,’ and ‘What do you think he’s going to make of that?’
    The scarlet man fixed him with his eyes and Philbert had the uncomfortable sensation of being pulled forward like a fish on a line.
    â€˜Oh my,’ the scarlet man murmured as Philbert came into the fire’s light and everyone else fell silent. ‘Oh my word, Maulwerf!’ said the man, ‘but you did not lie. Come on, boy! Come here. That’s it. Stand before me so I can see you properly.’
    Philbert did as bid, standing like a slave on the block, heart pounding like Otto’s hammer on the anvil, the man in front of him looking at him this way and that, his dark eyes probing and alive, flickering and flecked with speckles of gold. His hand came out and pulled Philbert so close he could see the tracery of broken veins lacing the man’s long nose, his lips moving and pausing over his yellow teeth, and then very gently, oh