Breath (9781439132227) Read Online Free PDF Page A

and making spreads for our bread. She’s worried about everything rotting, even the plants growing in the field—even me, it seems. She rubs my hair dry every time I come inside, muttering, always muttering.
    I like the rain, though, at least when it comes slow and thin, like now. It’s true that my breath moves heavier when the air itself soaks me. But there’s a peaceful quiet to this rain. And I haven’t had a coughing fit since the night Kröte died.
    It was dawn when I got on this barge at Hameln town, and we haven’t arrived yet, though the morning is already full. That’s because the river goes faster after so much rain, and we’re paddling against the current. But it can’t be too much farthernow; we passed the rock cliffs that mark the halfway point long ago. The shore on both sides is wild with mixed oaks, hornbeams, hawthorn shrubs, brambles. The hills hold tall sycamores and shiny copper beeches.
    I’ve seen lots of animals from my perch: squirrels, of course, and hedgehogs, and I even saw a beaver. The lagoon near our farm has two dams, so I know beavers well. Großmutter and I make a beaver stew with sage and horseradish that leaves all of us so leaden with the fatty meat that we fall asleep in the common room. Yes, I know beavers well; but I had never seen one swimming in the river Weser before, and the sight surprised me so much I laughed.
    Finally we come to the small fields, lying in short, parallel strips with irregular edges. These are tended by the farmers who’ve moved into Höxter town, just like the farmers around us have moved into Hameln town. I squint, hoping to see the lone farmstead I know still stands this side of town. But the gray rain foils me.
    I can make out the Castle Corvey, though, down on the river’s edge. Schwalenberg, inland between Hameln town and Höxter, has a castle too, and people talk of other castles being built all around Saxony. They’re inhabited by counts who arecontrolled by the emperor and, in turn, control the townsfolk. No one else can build a castle—no rich merchant, for example—it’s not permitted. Castle Corvey is the only one I’ve ever seen, and only from the boat each month as I come for my lesson. The thick gray stones seem to form from the rain, but they look strong all the same. I wish Hameln had a strong castle.
    Beyond the castle is the high town wall and the spires of the church inside it. Höxters church has two towers, though it’s smaller than Hamelns main church. It was built in the year 800, more than 480 years ago. I love its oldness and its wood statues of the Virgin and of the popes. And I love the library where Pater Frederick teaches me.
    I straighten up in my excitement, and the box of hens slides down my back. It crashes on the crate under me and breaks open. Hens squawk and flap around like idiots.
    And I’m running after them, grabbing at their legs, slipping and sliding, and cutting my shins on the corners of crates. There’s nothing in my pouch but a stone, nothing I can use to pay if anyone insists. Someone swats me hard on the back of the head and I go sprawling. But I manage not to lose my grip on the hen in each hand. I get to my feet.Sweat breaks out all over me. It’s a wonder I’m not curled on the deck in paroxysms of coughs. But they’re laughing at me, the crew—snorting with laughter; they won’t insist on the cargo fee. They’re saying I lack sense, I’m a fool, I’m good for nothing, just like any other child.
    By the time we dock, I’ve managed to get all four hens back in the box, which I’m holding shut by circling both arms around it. My hair is dripping and I remember Großmutter’s warnings. I’ve been stupid not to take a new familiar, for now I have nothing to help me ward off the malady that already sends the slimmest tendrils to curl around my lungs.
    Men wait with horses on the