Hobby Read Online Free PDF

prosper. The eyes and ears are different listeners, but both feed into magecraft."
    Viviane rolled her eyes up. "What makes an old man want to
lecture
all the time?" she said, not quite to herself.
    Ambrosius ignored her. "What do you hear?"
    Once Hobby had been used to listening, the year he had been alone in the woods. He had listened for danger: for the sound of dog and bear and wolf. He had listened for changes in the weather: leaves rustling, the grumble of the sky. And then for four years he had learned to listen to the sounds of the farm—to the needs of dogs and hens, horse and cows, and to make out the different cries of falcons in the mews and on the wing. But listening in a city was of a different nature altogether. "I hear noise."
    Laughing, Viviane said, "
I
hear carts growling as they roll along. A tinker's cart is all a-jangle with pots. A farmer's cart groans under its load. And I hear voices, many different tongues. A bit of Norman, some Saxon, Welsh. Ah yes, and Frankish, too. There is a hawk screaming in the sky." She imitated its sound. "Ah—and a heavy clamor from behind the walls. Something being built, I would guess. And from the cursing, not going well."
    Hobby listened again. He could begin to sort out the carts now, and the voices, though he did not know the tongues as Viviane did. The hawk, which he would have recognized, was either silent now or beyond his ken. But because Viviane had mentioned it especially, he could hear the heavy, rhythmic pounding. It was like a bass note grounding the entire Carmarthen song.
    "Yes!" he said. "I can hear it. I can hear it all!"
    "And what do you
see?
" Ambrosius asked.
    Determined to match Viviane's ears with his eyes, Hobby began. His litany included wagons and wagoners, beasts straining to pull, birds in cages. He described farmers and weavers and cup makers and their wares. As they passed through the great city gate, under the portcullis, and into the street where burgess houses stood together in rows, he described them as well.
    "Well done," Ambrosius said. "And what of the soldiers to your left?"
    Hobby turned.
    "No!" Viviane spoke the one word sharply, and Hobby turned back. "Never look directly on soldiers, highwaymen, or kings. Especially kings. It makes them nervous. You do
not
want any of them nervous. Look through the slant of your eye.
    Hobby did as she instructed. "There are ten of them," he said.
    "And..." Ambrosius prompted.
    "And what?" Hobby was puzzled.
    "What do they wear?"
    "Why—their uniforms. And their helms. And swords.
Big
swords."
    "What
color
uniforms? What
color
helms? And what
kind
of swords?" Viviane asked, exasperated.
    Hating the tone of her voice, Hobby was quick to answer. "Six are in red, with red plumes in the helms. Four in white." He took a deep breath. "I do not know what kind of swords."
    "The swords are unimportant," Ambrosius said. "At least for such as we. But we need to ask ourselves why. Why are some of the soldiers sporting red plumes, and some white? Why are they in two different colors? Are there two armies here? Do they serve two different lords? And if so, why?" "I do not know," Hobby said.
    Ambrosius laughed. "I do not know either. Yet. But it is something odd to be tucked away. And I collect oddities."
    Viviane laughed, too. "Thus endeth the lesson, master hawkling."
    Hobby thought about the strange lessons. With Master Robin he had learned about farming, about the rounds of endless caring, a straightforward life. Mag had taught him cleanliness. And Nell—games. But Ambrosius and Viviane's lessons were more twisty somehow. And full of lies. Still, he liked being part of their company. They made him laugh.
    Viviane clicked to the mules, who had slowed, and slapped their backs with the reins.
    "Once around the square, fair Viviane," Ambrosius said. "Then shall we choose our place. Things are already begun. I have seen a juggler, Hugh of the Reeds, I believe. And a pair of acrobats, young but