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and Mannon. He found a trough of water where the horse could drink and dismounted to stretch his aching legs. Not far down the road, he heard a sudden burst of laughter and saw a small crowd of women and children gathered in a circle, looking down at something. Patch walked over to see what was amusing them.
    A man was lying there on the ground, and he had twisted himself into the strangest position. He was rocking on his back, and both of his ankles were tucked behind his neck. His long arms were wrapped around the knees, and his chin rested on his interlaced fingers, just above his own buttocks.
    Patch broke into a grin, though the sight reminded him how much his own muscles ached from the hourson horseback. The women were staring with widened eyes and giggling behind their hands, and the children jumped and clapped.
    “Now, my good folk,” the contorted man said in an odd, high voice that quavered and cracked. “I need a bit of help. You, my good lady, would you lend a fool a hand?”
    “Who, me?” said a plump woman in the crowd. The woman next to her pushed her forward, shouting, “Go on, Millicent, help the fool!”
    “Yes, the lovely Millicent! Would you kindly give my nose a squeeze? I would do it myself, but I have tied this knot too tight. That’s right, go ahead…”
    “You’re a strange one,” Millicent said, chuckling. She approached cautiously, coming no closer than was necessary, then reached down toward the smiling face and squeezed the nose. And when she did, the fool unleashed an explosive, thunderous fart. Millicent yipped and fell back on her behind. The crowd gasped, and an instant later they roared with laughter. Patch couldn’t help but laugh along with them, especially when the contorted man waved at the air before his nose with a ludicrous expression of mock disgust.
    The crowd applauded, and the fool at last unfolded himself and stood up. He was tall and gangly, with thin arms and legs that moved as if there were no bones inside. His neck was exceptionally long, and his tongue lolled outside his open, happy mouth. His head was shaped like a gourd, round at the cheeks and narrow ontop, where yellow hair jutted in every direction, like a haystack where children had played.
    “Hoo ha!” he shouted. “Simon Oddfellow at your service, my good people!”
    There was a sudden cry from outside the circle, and another strange man burst in. His head was as hairless as an egg, and he was dressed in a filthy quilt of multicolored rags. He slapped at Simon with both hands, bellowing, “Get out, you! This is my town, my town! You’re not wanted here!”
    The crowd laughed anew, as if this, too, was an act, but Patch didn’t laugh with them now. “Yeah, one fool’s enough,” said one of the older boys in the crowd, and he threw a stone at Simon. Other boys joined in, and Simon backed away. He threw his hands up around his face, shouted “Ooh! Ooh!” and ran back and forth to dodge the stones, and the roar of laughter grew.
    Simon had been forced toward the lake, and he ran onto the ice. “Well! Maybe the folk are nicer on the other side,” he shouted back. Patch watched him turn and walk—no,
skip—
across the vast flat surface. The opposite shore was miles away. The bald fellow made rude gestures after Simon and broke into a madcap dance on the shore, while the people of Shorham laughed and clapped.
    “You—apprentice! We’re leaving,” a gruff voice called. Patch turned to see Mannon staring down at him. The smirk was visible through his beard.
    “Perhaps you’ll remember to tether your horse next time,” Mannon said. Patch saw his horse, a hundred yards away, heading in the wrong direction. He ran to retrieve it, wishing he were a grown man, strong enough to knock Mannon right out of his saddle.
    The sun had slipped out of sight by the time they reached the south end of the lake, where the river Cald was reborn. A mile later, as the stars flickered on overhead, the river came to