The tiny Beggar worked the crowd. Her giddy voice cried, “A bit of coin for handsome Lady-Bear and her boy! Mirth and joy she brings you! What prize give you in return? This dear Lady-Bear and her boy!” Bystanders tossed pennies and gifts into the girl’s apron.
Bear Boy shook his head twice. The Beggar stood over him. She clutched his arm, urged him up, still shouting her routine. Betwixt lines she hissed in his ear, “Out of here, while the going’s good. A crowd turns in a moment.” And Bear Boy found himself out of there, child on one side, lumbering bear on the other, limping, rushing, staggering, until at last the three entered a rocky maze that hid them from the people.
Not the place Bear Boy wanted to be, amid rubble as old as the beginning of the world. It had been, they say, a monstrous castle during the Age of Giants, but nothing fortress-like remained. The little group settled in a corner enclosed by tall, broken stones — ancient stones with weathered skins warm from the midday sun. Bear Boy lay one palm on a rock, then snatched his hand away. Hard coldness within. Despite the surface heat, what he felt was the heavy coldness of dead stonemasons who had dressed these blocks in a forgotten time.
“There are dead people,” he whispered, “inside.”
The Beggar examined an upright pillar. “I don’t see any doors,” she said. “So the dead people can’t get out.” Cheery as ever, she emptied her apron onto a flat block.
The take: a meat pie, a round loaf of bread, three ripe pears, more coins than all his fingers, a bit of lace, some of ribbon, knucklebones for gambling, a glass marble, and a crude little bear figure carved out of wood. More than Bear Boy had ever earned from a dance.
His thought: —We must hit her on the head and take everything.
Dancing Bear woofed in response. The bland look slid off her bear face. Her little eyes flamed disapproval. Her lip curled.
Bear Boy glared at her. —You like this poxy Beggar.
Dancing Bear sneezed and huffed.
Bear Boy: —I’m the one who feeds you.