A Single Shard Read Free

that he found himself half listening for the sound of a quack. Min had shaped and then carved the clay to form curve of wing and tilt of head. Even the little tail curled up with an impudence that made Tree-ear smile.
    He tore his gaze away from the duck to examine the next piece, a tall jug with ribbed lines that imitated the shape of a melon. The lines were perfectly symmetrical, curving so gracefully from top to bottom that Tree-ear longed to run his finger along the smooth shallow grooves. The melon's stem and leaves were cleverly shaped to form the lid of the jug.
    The last piece on the shelf was the least interesting—a rectangular lidded box as large as his two hands. It was completely undecorated. Disappointed in its plainness, Tree-ear was ready to turn away when a thought struck him. Outside, the box was plain, but perhaps inside...
    Holding his breath, he reached out, gently lifted the lid, and looked inside. He grinned in double delight at his own correct guess and at Min's skill. The plain box held five smaller boxes—a small round one in the center and four curved boxes that fit around it perfectly. The small boxes appeared to completely fill the larger container, but Min had left exactly the right amount of space to allow any of them to be lifted out.
    Tree-ear put the lid of the large box down on the shelf and picked up one of the curved containers. On the underside of its lid was a lip of clay that held the lid in place. Tree-ear's eyes flickered back and forth between the small pieces in his hand and the larger container, his brow furrowed in thought.
    How did Min fit them together so perfectly? Perhaps he made the large box, then a second one to fit inside, and cut the smaller boxes from that? Or did he make an inside box first and fit the larger box around it? Maybe he began with the small central box, then the curved ones, then—
    Someone shouted. The chickens squawked noisily and Tree-ear dropped what he was holding. He stood there, paralyzed for a moment, then threw his hands up in front of his face to protect himself from the blows that were raining down on his head and shoulders.
    It was the old potter. "Thief!" he screamed. "How dare you come here! How dare you touch my work!"
    Tree-ear did the only thing he could think of. He dropped to his knees and cowered in a deep formal bow.
    "Please! Please, honorable sir, I was not stealing your work—I came only to admire it."
    Min's cane halted in mid-blow. The potter stood over the boy with the cane still poised for another strike.
    "Have you been here before, beggar-boy?"
    Tree-ear's thoughts scrambled about as he tried to think what to answer. The truth seemed easiest.
    "Yes, honorable sir. I come often to watch you work."
    "Ah!"
    Tree-ear was still doubled over in his bow, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see the tip of the cane as it was lowered to the ground. He allowed himself a single sigh of relief.
    "So is it you who breaks the twigs and bruises the leaves of the paulownia tree just beyond?"
    Tree-ear nodded, feeling his face flush. He had thought he was covering his tracks well.
    "Not to steal, you say? How do I know you do not watch just to see when I have made something of extra value?"
    Now Tree-ear raised his head and looked at Min. He kept his voice respectful, but his words were proud.
    "I would not steal. Stealing and begging make a man no better than a dog."
    The potter stared at the boy for a long moment. At last, Min seemed to make up his mind about something, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost the sharpest edge of its anger.
    "So you were not stealing. It is the same thing to me—with one part damaged, the rest is of no use." He gestured at the misshapen pottery box on the ground, badly dented from its fall. "Get on your way, then. I know better than to ask for payment for what you have ruined."
    Tree-ear stood slowly, shame hot in his breast. It was true. He could never hope to pay Min for the