The Good Thief Read Online Free PDF Page A

arms and leaned against it. He looked at the boys over the top of his glasses. His eyes were blue, summer-sky blue, the bluest eyes that Ren had ever seen.
     
    “This is Mister Nab,” said Father John. He glanced at the paper in his hand, then turned to stare at the stranger, who was now standing on one foot and twirling his ankle in the air.
     
    “Old war wound,” the man said. “When the weather turns cold, it aches a bit.” He put his foot back on the ground, stomped it once, then once again, and opened his mouth into a broad, bright, beaming smile. It was winning, and he turned it with force, first on the priest, then on the line of boys.
     
    Father John collected himself and turned back to the paper. “Mister Nab is looking for his brother, who was sent this way as an infant. He says that he is approximately eleven years of age—is that correct?”
     
    “I believe so. Although it’s been so long now it’s hard to remember.”
     
    “Well,” said Father John, pausing for a moment. Ren could see that he was losing his patience. “Do any of these boys look familiar?”
     
    Benjamin Nab stepped forward and gave each of the children a thorough going-over. He seemed to be looking for something, but it was hard to say what it was, for with each boy he searched in a different place. He took hold of their chins and tilted their faces into the light. He felt their necks, measured the length of their brows with his finger, and twice lifted a patch of brown hair to his nose.
     
    “Too short,” he said to one boy.
     
    “Too tall,” he said to another.
     
    “Show me your tongue.” Marcus stretched it out into the sunlight, and the man considered it, then shook his head again.
     
    Ren could sense the twins fidgeting next to him. Brom’s hands were clenched into fists. Ichy lined up his feet perfectly. But Benjamin Nab did not even take the time to examine them. He moved farther around, as if he knew their bad luck and was afraid of catching it. Then he came to Ren.
     
    Benjamin Nab poked the boy once in the shoulder. It was a hard poke, as if he’d caught Ren sleeping.
     
    “You look like a little man.”
     
    It was said like a compliment, but Ren was worried it might mean something else. He knew that he was smaller than the other boys. Benjamin Nab stepped forward, his blue eyes passing over every inch of Ren’s face, neck, and shoulders. Ren waited, his heart hammering in his chest. He stood as straight as a board. He tried to flex as the man reached down and squeezed his arm. Then there was a sudden stillness, and Ren knew that Benjamin Nab had noticed the missing hand.
     
    The man closed his eyes, as if he were trying hard to remember something. And then he was on his knees, his arms thrown around the boy, and Ren’s face was pressed into the coachman’s collar, which smelled of sweat and dirt from the road, and he could hear Benjamin Nab’s voice crying out: “This is him. This is the one.”
     
    Ren barely knew what had happened. One moment he had been a part of the line and the next he was caught up in the stranger’s embrace, shouts and exclamations ringing in his ears and kisses being planted on his forehead. The rest of the boys exchanged glances. Ren could feel ripples going out from his place in the line, spreading across the courtyard. When it became clear that he’d been chosen, that he had a family now and would be leaving the orphanage forever, he felt a surge of joy through his body, flushing his cheeks, until, just as suddenly, it turned into an overwhelming dizziness, and he vomited onto the ground.
     
    Benjamin Nab shoved the boy away from him, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to wipe at his coat for a few moments, a look of revulsion on his face, before glancing at the priest, and smiling again, and passing the handkerchief to Ren. He gave the boy a tap on the head.
     
    “Didn’t mean to get you so excited.”
     
    Father John stood by, watching