At the Edge of the World Read online

  PRAISE FOR

  CRISPIN

  AT THE EDGE OF THE WORLD

  A 2006 Child Magazine Best Book of the Year

  A Book Sense Winter 2006-2007 Children’s Pick

  A 2006 National Parenting Publication Honors Award Winner

  *“A must purchase.”—KLIATT (starred review)

  *“Super storytelling.”—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

  *“Readers will devour this story and eagerly anticipate the conclusion

  of Crispin’s adventures.”—School Library Journal (starred review)

  *“Plenty of action and adventure … will make fans eager for the final

  installment.”—Booklist (starred review)

  “This thrilling page-turner has an open-ended conclusion that will leave

  youngsters hungering for the third book.”—VOYA

  “A perilous, riveting journey across land and sea …”—Child Magazine

  PRAISE FOR

  CRISPIN

  THE CROSS OF LEAD

  2003 John Newbery Medal Winner

  2003 ALA Notable Children’s Book

  Publishers Weekly Best Seller

  New York Times Best Seller

  A Seattle Times Best Book of the Year

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped” book.

  Copyright © 2006 by Avi

  Published by Hyperion Paperbacks for Children, an imprint of Disney Book Group. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Hyperion Books for Children, 114 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011-5690.

  First Hyperion Paperbacks edition, 2008

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file.

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4231-4070-2

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4231-0305-9

  ISBN-10: 1-4231-0305-X

  Go to www.hyperionbooksforchildren.com to download

  the discussion guide and author interview for

  Crispin: At the Edge of the World.

  For Anne Dunn

  Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ENGLAND, A.D. 1377

  The more I came to know of the world,

  the more I knew I knew it not.

  1

  IT WAS A JUNE MORNING when Bear and I passed beyond Great Wexly’s walls and left the crowded and treacherous city behind. The June sun was warm, the sky above as blue as my Blessed Lady’s spotless robe; our triumphant sense of liberty kept me giddy with joy. Hardly able to contain myself, I more than once cried out, “My name is Crispin!” for all the world to hear.

  I carried Bear’s sack, which contained little more than his music-making recorder and his fire-making tools, plus the few pennies we had eked out with our music and dance. His juggler’s double-pointed hat, replete with bells, was the glorious crown that capped my head.

  At first we sang, played music, and stepped lightly while thanking Jesus profusely for our deliverance. What more, I thought, could my newly found soul require?

  Yet though our spirits were as high as any cloud-leaping lark, it became increasingly clear that while the dungeon from which I’d freed Bear had not broken his soul, it had greatly reduced his strength. Indeed, as the day waxed he seemed to wane. More and more he leaned on me. Unshod feet had him limping. Though it was summer, his garment—no more than an old wool cloak—left him in need of warmth.

  By midmorning, when our exuberance had all but ebbed, I said, “Bear, I think we need to find a place for you to rest and eat. And some decent clothing.”

  “Easier to say,” he replied, “than do.”

  I held up our sack. “Bear,” I said, “we have the quarter-penny to spare.”

  He shook his great, red-bearded head. “Crispin, we can’t rest. Not yet.”

  “Bear, we’ve won our liberty.”

  “I’m afraid,” he growled, “the most lethal of all sleep potions is success.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We’ve escaped. But don’t doubt it, we’ll be pursued. I’m as easy to find as a cardinal in a flock of ravens. And there are many now who would like to catch me.” Bear had been a spy for John Ball’s secret and illegal brotherhood, which sought to regain people’s ancient liberties. It meant he had many enemies.

  I did too—for different reasons.

  Bear’s words so reined in my good spirits that I looked about with apprehension. We were traveling on a deep-rutted, muddy track that ran as straight as any arrow. “Made by Caesar’s great legions,” Bear had told me. To one side lay thick forest. The other side was open, hilly land. Bear’s warning made me wonder if those who wished us harm might crest the horizon at any time.

  True, we had passed many a plodding peasant and footsore pilgrim, with scallop badge over heart and staff in hand. There had been fat merchants aplenty too, on thin horses, likely heading to the fair at Great Wexly. Though I had spied no one who alarmed me, quite naturally, they had gazed upon Bear. For God had made Bear a huge fellow with massive arms and legs and a great belly before all. His bald head was equally striking to behold, with great red beard, fuzzy eyebrows of the same hue, large nose and mouth, if small eyes. To see Bear was to know why he bore the name of beast—and yet, most surely he was a man, and one not likely to go unnoticed.

  We had come upon some scattered houses, cottages, huts, and even an old, abandoned church. Perhaps a village had been there, but time or sickness had turned it to all but naught.

  As I looked about, I spied a house from which a broom hung. I recognized it as an alestake: those within had brewed more ale than they could keep and the broom was set out as a signal to tempt passersby to purchase. My hope was that there would be bread as well.

  “Bear,” I said, pointing to the alestake, “look! The food and drink should be cheap. It will do you good.”

  “We’re still too near Great Wexly,” he cautioned.

  “It will take only moments,” I coaxed.

  Bear considered, and then said, “As you wish,”—words, no doubt, called forth by his exhaustion.
So it was we turned our steps off the road.

  The house was large, a half-timbered structure with a few small and shuttered windows, its roof thick-thatched. Noting the tilled fields just behind, I supposed a free yeoman dwelled within. In the foreyard, geese strutted, clucking and hissing at one another. An old wooden trestle table had been set out, along with benches suggesting the dwellers offered food with some regularity. Just the thought made my stomach speak with hunger.

  Upon reaching the house, Bear dropped heavily on a bench set to one side of the door. Right off, he shut his eyes and set his face toward the warming sun. It was, I realized, the first time since he’d been arrested in the city that he had been at ease.

  Glad of it, I went to the split front door and rapped upon it.

  In answer to my summons, the top part of the door opened a crack. A dark eye peered out. I must have been judged no threat, for the next moment the door swung wide.

  The man who revealed himself was a broad-shouldered, powerfully built fellow of middling age, with long, ill-sheared black hair. A few days’ growth of beard made his scowling mouth appear grim. Over his kirtle he wore the leather vest of an archer. The first and second fingers of his right hand were extra muscled and callused from—I assumed—pulling a bowstring to his ear. He looked vaguely familiar, but I was unable to claim him in my memory.

  “Good morrow to you, boy,” he said, although his voice carried little welcome. Moreover, he frowned so that his brow became as beetled as a well-plowed field.

  “And to you, sir,” I returned. “If it pleases, I saw your alestake. I’d like to purchase bread and drink.”

  “Have you anything to pay?” the man asked. His eyes squinted as if to take my measure, or his aim.

  “Enough,” I replied, “for me and my foot-weary master.”

  “What master?” he demanded.

  I gestured. “He sits right here, sir.”

  Not bothering to look, the man muttered something that sounded like a curse as he withdrew into the darkness of his house.

  How good it was to rest. Bear remained on his bench, eyes closed, face turned to the sun’s kind heat. I took myself to the table where I sat, head in my arms. As I had not slept for two days, a surge of weariness swept through me.

  The man returned, kicking open the lower door with a thud loud enough to make me sit up. Only then did I note the sheathed dagger that hung upon his hip. Not that I cared: he was carrying two wooden mazers full of drink, and barley bread was tucked under his arm.

  My mouth watered.

  The man set the mazers down and dropped the bread. “Where’s your master?” he demanded.

  “Right there,” I said, nodding toward Bear.

  The man turned round—and started. “By the wounds of Christ!” he cried when he saw Bear. “It’s you!”

  2

  HIS CRY STARTLED ME, and made Bear blink open his eyes. “We thought you dead,” said the man to Bear. It was as much an accusation as a statement.

  “All in God’s good time,” returned Bear, scrutinizing the man with his red-rimmed eyes. “How do you know me?” he asked. “And who is we?”

  Instead of answering, the man swung about to look at me as if to reassess who I was. I recalled him then. He was a member of John Ball’s rebel brotherhood, which had met at a shoemaker’s shop in Great Wexly. At that meeting, Bear had helped this man and others to escape, though it resulted in his being taken prisoner.

  The man turned back to Bear and asked, “Aren’t you the one they call Bear?

  I am.

  “The spy,” the man said, not kindly. “How did you free yourself?”

  Bear considered the question and then said, “The boy freed me.”

  “Lord Furnival’s bastard?”

  Bear frowned. “His name is Crispin.”

  “This one?” the man demanded, turning back to me.

  “Himself.”

  Alarmed, I rose to my feet, though I did not know what to do. It was hardly the moment to tell him that to ransom Bear’s liberty, I’d renounced any claim to my noble name.

  The man considered me with harsh contempt before turning back to Bear. “Why have you come here?”

  “Be assured,” said Bear, holding up one of his large hands as if to show it empty, “it’s by chance. We’re trying to get as far from Great Wexly as we can. Passing by, the boy saw your broom. We’re weary. Hungry. I’d no idea you lived here. In faith, I don’t even know your name.”

  “Have you abandoned the brotherhood?”

  Bear paused. “My friend,” he said, “the only thing I wish to abandon is my fatigue.”

  “We’re all weary,” snapped the man. “Did you give names in exchange for your freedom?”

  “Not I,” said Bear.

  “Watt the butcher has been taken. So too, Guy, the miller’s man. We don’t know what’s become of them.”

  “God bring them quick release,” said Bear, making the sign of the cross. “I’m from other parts. By Saint Peter, I don’t know any of your names.”

  The man glanced about, as if others might be lurking near. Momentarily, he fixed his eyes on me.

  I was so agitated I hardly knew where to look.

  “Then was it this boy,” he persisted, “who bought your freedom with our names?”

  Bear sighed. “The sole payment he gave was his courage.”

  “I don’t believe you,” said the man.

  “That’s as you may,” said Bear. “But, as Our Sacred Lady is witness, what I say is true.”

  I kept wishing Bear would do something. I just wanted to leave.

  “Then explain if you will,” cried the man, growing more raddled each moment, “why among those held only you are free?”

  “I cannot,” said Bear.

  “The authorities would never let you go without something in exchange.”

  “I know nothing about our brothers,” said Bear. “I saw no one else where I was held. God knows they pressed me, but you may be sure I gave them nothing. I wouldn’t do so to save my soul.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  Bear snorted with contempt. “Believe what you wish.”

  “I say you’re an informer!” cried the man. “A traitor to the brotherhood!” He turned then, and with a broad stroke of his hand and arm, swept bowls and bread away, sending all aground. “I’ll serve neither you nor the boy. Take yourselves off before I kill you both.” His hand was on his dagger.

  Greatly frightened, I edged from the table.

  Bear ruffled his beard with deliberate care while eyeing the man with visible—if mute—ill will. Then, with a grunt, he used his large hands to push himself up from the bench. He was a head taller than the man—enough to make the man back away some steps.

  “Crispin,” Bear called. “We’re not wanted here.”

  “Your kind are not wanted anywhere,” declared the man. “Traitors! Be gone with you!”

  Quite slowly, Bear walked away from the house, moving in the direction of the road. I stayed close by his side. But knowing all too well the man was behind us—and recalling the dagger—I found it hard not to turn around.

  “Crispin!” Bear whispered harshly. “Don’t look! It will provoke. Just head for the trees.”

  “Do you know him?” I asked.

  “Only by his face. As he said, he’s part of Ball’s brotherhood.”

  We moved to the road, crossed it, and approached the forest. Bear’s step continued to be measured, refusing to honor the man by looking back.

  I was not so composed. In spite of Bear’s warning, I darted a glance back. The man was standing before his house. To my horror, he had a longbow in his hands. Worse, he had nocked an arrow and was pulling back the drawstring.

  “Bear!” I shouted. “He’s going to shoot at us!”

  3

  UPON THE INSTANT, Bear swung about and shoved me so hard I tumbled. Then he dove down. Even as he did, I heard a sound—zutt!

  Bear gave a harsh grunt, crie
d, “Run!” then picked himself up and ran headlong for the protection of the trees.

  With Bear hobbling along as best he could, we stumbled into the forest. Once there we continued running for I don’t know how long. When at last Bear halted, he leaned against a tree, gasping for breath. He looked at his left arm. I followed his gaze and near swooned: an arrow was sticking through the fleshy part. Blood was trickling down.

  “Bear,” I cried. “He struck you!”

  “Just barely,” he said, though his hand was already crimson with blood. “If you had not warned me, I’d be dead.”

  “Forgive me,” I said. “When I said we should stop I only meant—”

  “No, no. It’s only sweet Jesus—and you—who care for me. Feel free to disobey me at any time.”

  I gazed back, but could see nothing of the road, the house, or the man. “Do you think he’ll follow?”

  “That kind will get others first. And then, I promise, they’ll follow.”

  “But wasn’t he a friend?”

  “Doubt it not; old friends make the worst enemies. I know their secrets and their way of thinking. If they believe I’ve betrayed them, I’ve become their worst foe. They won’t rest until they kill me. But no more talk,” he said, beckoning me toward him. “You must pull the arrow out.”

  “What do you mean?” I cried.

  “Take hold of the end of the arrow, break off the feathered end, then pull the whole thing out.”

  “Are you … sure?” I stammered.

  “Crispin,” he said, “more men die of wounds than blows to the heart. Quickly, now!” He held out his arm, winglike.

  With my stomach churning to the point of illness, I went to him. Bracing myself, I gripped the arrow at the nether ends.

  Bear gritted his teeth. “Do it!” he said.

  I faltered.

  “Crispin,” he shouted. “On my life! Break it!”

  Hands shaking, I took a deep breath, and broke the arrow.

  “Jesu!” Bear cried out.

  I stood there, panting, feeling faint.

  “Now!” he commanded. “Pull it out, pointed end first!”

  Grimacing, I did what he told me, then flung the arrow away as if it was some loathsome snake. The effort left me so weak, I leaned against a tree.