The Cross of Lead by Avi

while he played. What’s more, our pennies mounted. Never had I felt so free. Never had I felt such constant joy.
    Then one evening, Bear said, “Crispin, what do you know of arms?”
    His question startled me. “What do you mean?
    “Weapons. The sword. The dagger. The bow.”
    “Nothing.”
    “It’s time you learned.”
    “But… why?” I said.
    “Since you are still a wolf’s head, you might as well have some fangs. It could prove necessary.”
    It was hard to know what upset me more: the weapon; the handling of it; the idea that I might need it; or that I was in such danger that I’d have no choice but to use it.
    But I did practice.
    At another time when we were before our evening fire, he set about using needle and thread to mend the holes in his leggings. When he’d done, I asked if I could do as much, and would he teach me how. This he did, with much laughter on his part, and frustration on mine.
    Once I asked him how he had learned to speak so boldly, not merely to strangers, but even to those above his station.
    “It’s all in the eyes,” he said.
    “What do you mean?”
    “In faith, Crispin, you have a servile look. When you first came upon me, you kept your eyes upon the ground as if that was where you belonged.”
    “Where should I look?”
    “I’ve heard it said that a man’s soul may be observed behind the eyes,”
    “Is that true?”
    “Perhaps. All I know is that, when I look upon a man, if he refuses to look at me, I can’t see his soul. I’ll consider him without and act accordingly. Therefore you need to let people see what lies within you.”
    “I don’t know if I can.”
    “You doubted you could make music, too.”
    “Then, from now, when I speak to you,” I said, “call ‘Eyes!’if I look away or down.”
    He laughed loudly. “I promise.” And so he did.
    Then there was the day when I asked him to teach me how to make the snares he used to catch rabbits and birds.
    “Do I not catch enough?” he asked.
    “The only reason you caught me in that abandoned village,” I said, “was because I had no food. What if I’m alone again?”
    He looked at me curiously. “You’re right,” he said with a rueful smile, and commenced to teach me that as well.
    At two places where we performed, we learned more of the search for me. Though we discovered nothing new, it meant that they were still looking.
    One night, just before he lay back to sleep, Bear said, “Crispin, tomorrow we’ll enter Great Wexly.”
    “What will happen there?” I said.
    “Only God in his Heaven knows,” he replied. “But,” he added, “if you pray tonight, Crispin, not know first.”
    That put me in mind of the images of the demons in the church at Lodgecot. “Bear,” I asked, “what do you think the Devil looks like?”
    “I suppose the Devil has as many faces as there are sins. At the moment however, I think of him as Lord Furnival.”
    “Why him?”
    “So much of the land we’ve passed through—and the misery—belongs to him. He treats his people badly.”
    “Bear, you … you won’t betray me … will you?
    He gave me an angry look. “How can you even ask?”
    “Forgive me,” I said. “But… it has happened.”
    “And do you think I will?”
    “I … don’t want it.”
    Frowning, he considered me for a while. “Crispin,” he said, “you must know I care for you. Perhaps you remind me of what I once was. And as the Devil knows all too well, liking goes many leagues with me. True, you’re as ignorant as a turnip—or perhaps a cabbage—but you’ve a heart of oak, small acorn though you are.
    “What say you to becoming my apprentice? I’ll teach you as much as I know, the juggling, singing, and dance. The music making. I’ll be your teacher, not your master. Would you care for that?”
    “Very much,” I said, barely able to speak.
    He extended his great hand to me. I grasped it. “Then it is done,” he said. “You are henceforward my true apprentice.”
    Then he