He glanced up at the crow. The bird had huffed its feathers against the storm and sidled into the shelter of a chimney. He’d never catch that bird again. Behind me, the wolf whined suddenly.
“Nine coppers!” the merchant offered suddenly, desperately. He’d sold nothing that day, I’d wager.
“I told you, I’ve no way to take him home!” I countered. I tugged up my hood, glanced at the sky. “Storm’s here,” I announced as the thick wet flakes began to fall. This would be nasty weather, too warm to freeze, too cold to melt. By daylight, the streets would be shining with ice. I turned to go.
“Give me your six damned coppers, then!” the merchant bellowed in frustration.
I fumbled them out hesitatingly. “And will you cart him to where I live?” I asked as he snatched them out of my hand.
“Carry him yourself, boy. You’ve robbed me and you know it.”
With that, he seized up his cage of doves and pigeons and heaved it into the cart. The empty crow’s cage followed. He ignored my angry remonstrance as he climbed up on the seat and shook the pony’s reins. The old beast dragged the creaking cart off, into the thickening snow and dusk. The market around us was abandoned. The only traffic now were folk hurrying home through the storm, collars and cloaks tight against the wet wind and blowing snow.
“Now what am I to do with you?” I asked the wolf.
Let me out. Free me.
I can’t. Not safe. If I turned a wolf loose here in the heart of town, he’d never find his way to the woods alive. There were too many dogs that would pack up to bring him down, too many men who would shoot him for his hide. Or for being a wolf. I bent toward the cage, intending to heft it and see how heavy it was. He lunged at me, teeth bared.