“Awww, is baby scared of the big funny horsey?” Christian taunted, trying to push Amber ahead of him in line.
“If I wanted a huge, filthy monster between my legs, I’d just go out with Rafi.”
“Holy crap, Amber, you can’t talk like that in front of the kid!”
“The kid’s heard worse.”
“You have no idea,” Christian said, and bounced with joy, like a much younger child, as the camel’s handler boosted him up into the saddle.
“I must take some offense at you, milady,” said the handler to Amber in a false but charming British accent. “I keep my camels very clean. If your friend can’t bathe himself, that’s no reflection on my majestic animals.”
“Why does everyone hate me today?” Rafi opined.
“Don’t be so sad, Rafi.” Julian sidled into his arms, playing The Role. “I have no objection at all to…camel rides.”
Rafi buried his face in his hands, golden-brown skin darkening in a charming blush. “I don’t know how you people can talk this way in front of a child.”
Christian flipped him the bird.
Rafi and Julian took their turn on the camel together, and Julian struggled to focus on the experience of riding the unusual beast—rather than the sensation of Rafi’s body behind his in the saddle, thighs pressed together, arms around Julian’s waist. It was almost too much; if Rafi had pushed it any further Julian might have fled, bolted like a panicked horse…but Rafi didn’t push, and so it remained something on the outermost edge of comfortable, a breath away from tipping over into something…else. Maybe something terrifying. Maybe something that ought to be terrifying, and wasn’t.
“Hey Christian, does this count as defeating a giant?” Rafi called down from atop the huge animal.
“Only if you’re gonna challenge it to combat!”
There was a “unicorn” as well, a white horse with a horn affixed to its bridle; they waited in line behind a party of pre-teen girls in princess outfits who looked ready to swoon.
“I suppose it would be in poor taste to make a joke about virgins,” Rafi said as their own party stepped up for their turns, and laughed as Amber cuffed him.
“Yeah, I’m surprised it’s tolerating us at all, huh?” Christian murmured to Julian, and Julian felt all the color drain from his face.
“What do you mean by that?” Julian said, and grabbed Christian’s arm when he shrugged and moved away. “Christian! Tell me what you mean by that.”
“Oh, you know,” Christian waved a hand, “boys! Unicorns always like girls better, right? Maidens?”
“Right,” Julian said after a moment, releasing Christian’s arm. “Yes. We’re lucky this one is so easy-going.”
He watched Christian ride the resigned and placid “unicorn” in its accustomed circle, and told himself he was oversensitive. That Christian meant exactly what he said, and nothing about virginity or purity or being spoiled, corrupted, ruined—
“I’ve ruined you for anyone else, Julian, you’ll see. You’re mine and no one else’s, and no one will ever love you like I do.”
But nothing like that had happened to Christian, Julian had made sure of it. Julian had protected him. Christian was safe—
“Hey,” Rafi said, touching his arm. “You okay?”
“Of course,” Julian said, and allowed himself to be distracted.
After the camel and unicorn rides, Rafi dragged everyone through a tour of some—not all, not close to all—of the musicians playing the Faire. They admired horn and flute players, Irish penny whistles, a harpist, a hammered dulcimer, and a group of pirates performing sea shanties.
“I haven’t given a lot of thought to this style of music before,” Rafi said as he signed the hat of one of the pirates, who was trying to contain himself after recognizing Rafi. “Medieval, Renaissance, whatever—I’ll have to look up the difference between them. It’s so vibrant, so different—”
“So bawdy,” Julian murmured.
“Sometimes!” Rafi laughed, shooing the pirate away with a smile. “And sometimes just really odd to our ears, doesn’t follow the same rules as we’re used to.”
“Thinking of ways to incorporate it into your own sound?”
Rafi shrugged. “I mean, Distant Kingdom probably doesn’t need a member who plays the hurdy-gurdy, but a bit of fiddle and dulcimer might not land badly at all…”
Julian liked the music, too. He liked the whole feel of the Faire, for probably the same reason that he liked playing historical roles; because the past was always better than the present. You could get it right, and know you’d gotten it right. You could look it up in a book and find out how it ended.
“Christian,” Lyle said, trying and failing to take a soft pretzel from the boy’s hand. “Stop licking off the salt! You’re going to make yourself sick.”
“Okay.”
“You’re still doing it!”
“Yep.”
“If he gets sick, he’ll have only himself to blame,” Julian shrugged.
“Himself and you, for buying him more food every other minute!”
It was true. Christian begged for food at every fried meat stall or dessert shop they passed, out of what sounded more like reflex than any urgent desire—but Julian was inclined to indulge him, shelling out for apple cider, roasted nuts and candied oranges at the first hint of a request. He found that they were stopping for ice cream almost before the pretzel was gone; he did owe some to Lyle, as the bodyguard had mentioned pointedly more than once.
“Didn’t the kid bring any pocket money of his own?” Rafi said as Julian opened his wallet once again. “Goodness knows he’s earning a living.”
“I doubt it. Uncle Eddie keeps a tight hand on the purse strings,” Julian said. “I had to beg on my knees for the slightest bit of cash, up to the day I turned eighteen and started opening secret bank accounts. Look, face painting!”
Only Christian and Lyle actually got their faces painted—a few graceful, delicate dots and swirls for Christian, a screaming bird over fully two-thirds of his face for Lyle. Here again they were recognized, this time just Christian and Julian, who provided selfies and signatures on various body parts.
“Oh my gosh, it’s so cute that you two hang out,” said one buxom wench in a green corset. “Aren’t you, like, stepbrothers or something?”
“Cousins,” Julian said.
“Adopted,” Christian added. “We share zero genetic similarity. Thank God.”
“That’s funny,” said one of the other face painters, a chubby man in a kilt, “since you actually do look alike.”
He was right, though Julian had mostly managed to avoid thinking of it in those terms. He and Christian had the same delicate sort of features, slim build, and bright blue eyes. In the sunlight, Christian even had a bit of red in his hair. They could have passed for brothers without question.
Rafi, he saw, was looking back and forth between Julian and Christian with his brow knitted, as if wondering at the odd coincidence of Uncle Eddie adopting a son so much like his nephew.
Coincidence. It’s a coincidence. Julian hurried them along.
They watched a pair of trained rats doing tricks, while arguing over which rat looked the most like which of their companions. They watched a juggler, whom Christian had to be bodily restrained from poking, just to see if he would drop anything. Julian remained on edge for several minutes, before he was finally distracted by a tiny bookshop, where he bought an expensive blank book, its intricately tooled leather cover inset with gems.
“Trust you to go straight for the books,” Rafi said, running his finger over the cover. “What are you going to write in here?”
“My diary, of course,” Julian said dryly. “‘Went on ridiculous date with camel today. Looked splendid in blue hat. Spent too much money on ungrateful cousin.’”
Rafi laughed. “Speaking of the ungrateful cousin, clue me in here. What’s his middle name?”
“That would be cheating.”
&n
bsp; “You’re enjoying this.”
Julian gave him a sparkling smile.
“Are you actually going to dump me if I don’t complete Christian’s impossible tasks?”
Julian shrugged. “I mean, you will have proved yourself unworthy. What choice will I have?”
Rafi glowered at him. “Hey, Christian, how many guesses do I get?”
“As many as you want,” Christian said. “It doesn’t matter. You won’t guess it.”
“So it’s something unusual, then? Algernon? Benedict? Charlemagne?”
“Wrong, wrong, wrong.”
“Can I have a hint?”
Christian considered this. “It’s also my father’s name.”
“Oh! Eddie! Edward, I guess.”
Christian sneered. “My real father.”
“Hey,” Amber called from behind them, “guys, you have got to check this out.”
‘This’ turned out to be a fortune-teller’s booth, with a bright-eyed elderly lady in layers of multicolored shawls and an actual crystal ball on the table before her.
“Good morning, young sirs!” she called out, her accent noticeably better than the camel handler’s. “The spirits are speaking to me loudly this day, and they have much to say to thee! Please, come closer to Mother Moonwise!”
Rafi stepped forward, but stopped when Julian hung back. “Julian?”
I’m not sure I want to know about my future. Which was silly; this old lady could no more see the future than he could. But this had been a good day, and Julian didn’t want to think beyond it yet.
“You don’t have to,” Rafi said, but Julian shook his head.
“It’s fine. Come on.”
The others were already congregating around the booth, waving them over. Rafi took Julian’s hand, and they crossed the walkway to the fortune teller.
“Ahhh,” Mother Moonwise said, her voice creaking, as she took both Rafi’s hands. “The spirits swirl very happily around this young man! I—oh, ah. Ahem.” She jerked her chin at a tip jar sitting next to her. Suggested donation five dollars. Rafi snorted and dropped in a ten.
“The spirits swirl very happily around this young man!” the old woman repeated, in exactly the same tones. “I see music in your soul, young fellow.”
You feel guitar calluses on his fingers, you mean, Julian thought, and knew Rafi agreed from the wink he shot him. Either that or she recognized Rafi, but she was pretty nonchalant about it, if so.
“You seek to unite your melody with that of another, hmm? You wish to make sweet harmony?” the old woman continued, grinning broadly. Rafi went red, glancing sideways at Julian, who looked somewhere else, anywhere else. The old lady cackled. “Take heart, young man, I do see harmony in your future! Be wise and patient, and it shall be yours. Oh, what’s that? I hear the spirits. They—have a message for you—” She screwed up her face, as if listening intently. “Use protection! All right now, who’s next?”
Amber, near tears of laughter, elbowed Rafi aside and gave the lady her hands—and her five dollars.
“Ahhh, I see you are a strong woman, you have withstood many trials.”
“You hearing this, buddy?” Amber said, looking pointedly at Rafi. “Many trials.”
“You have withstood them bravely! But will there be an end to them?” Mother Moonwise screwed up her face again before declaring cheerily, “No. No, there will not. You will suffer greatly. But never fear! For you also the spirits have a special message! Listen closely.” She pulled Amber’s head down close to her mouth. “Keep out of reach of children.”
“Oh you don’t have to tell me twice—”
“My turn, my turn!” Christian was bouncing with excitement. His hands looked so tiny and pale in the fortune teller’s weathered ones that Rafi took a surreptitious picture.
“Ahh. I see that though you are only a tiny baby,” the old lady said, “you have the soul of a tiger.”
Christian preened, color blooming in his cheeks. “Soul of a tiger, guys. Remember that next time you call me a child.”
“Yes, your soul is quite terrifying,” Mother Moonwise said solemnly. “Be careful whom you choose to bite, hmm, little tiger? Your bite is fearsome, be certain it lands only where it is deserved. But where it is deserved,” she jabbed a long finger into his face, making his eyes cross, “bite hard!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Christian said breathlessly. “I will. I do. What about the spirits? What do they have to say to me?”
“Nothing, dear, you scared them all away. Your aura is too fierce for them. Now what of you, my child?” She gave Julian a toothless grin, extending a hand.
Julian, deciding he would not be intimidated by an elderly carnival fortune-teller, swept off his hat and bowed as he handed over his money. “Good morrow to thee, grandmother.”
She chortled in delight. “A lad with manners! Yes indeed, a great favorite amongst the spirits art thou. A powerful message have they for you, they crowd all about us now—no, no, don’t look, you’ll scare them away.” She settled her hands around Julian’s. “The spirits, they have watched your many struggles. They have seen the darkest shadows of your past. But yours is not a darkened soul, e’en though it be in darkness. And so they speak to me these words, gifts to you from the great beyond…” She leaned close and stage-whispered, “Nice hat.”
“I thank thee kindly, grandmother, it is a favorite,” Julian said, and had to force his hands to release hers. She squeezed them before letting go.
“One last question, Mother Moonwise,” Rafi said as they turned to go. He pointed at Christian. “What is this young man’s middle name?”
“Trouble,” Mother Moonwise said without hesitation, and they walked off to the sound of Christian cackling even as he insisted that no, that was not correct.
* * * *
After leaving Mother Moonwise, Rafi steered the group toward the area where Ollie and the Tin Tankard Troubadours would be performing. Passing belly dancers, a puppet show, and a magician that thoroughly distracted Julian, they arrived with good timing—it looked like the Troubadours were just beginning a show.
Ollie, a beanpole of a white dude with a bald head and a beard, was one of two men and two women occupying the stage. They all wore hats, hose, pantaloons, or skirts that were likely too bright and whimsically patterned to be period-accurate.
“Ollie ollie oxen free!” Rafi called, cupping his hands to his mouth for volume, and waved when Ollie turned at the sound of their old joke. Ollie waved back, looking excited, and tugged the sleeves of his companions to point him out. Rafi waved some more as they took seats close to the stage.
The Troubadours’ act turned out to be something like a variety show, equal parts sly comedy, acrobatics, sleight of hand, and musical performance. Whenever a song escaped comic interruption long enough to be performed in earnest, Rafi found himself impressed. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know Ollie was talented, but he’d grown as an artist since Rafi heard him last, and—well, it was possible Rafi had been assuming that one only became a Ren Faire singer if they couldn’t make it in a “real” career. He was wrong there.
Right now the other male Troubadour, older and a bit grey, was picking a fight with Ollie, both of them trading convoluted insults while the women egged them on, surreptitiously placing bets on who would win the inevitable duel.
“Have at thee, then, scoundrel!” Ollie cried. “I do challenge thee to combat! Will you not fight like a man?”
“Me?” the other man squeaked. “Not in the least!”
“You refuse my challenge, then, coward?”
“Indeed not! Since I am challenged, and my health forbids me to answer it—” this with an aside to the audience, “it’s a heart condition, you see—it needs to keep beating,” then raising his voice again, “—I am permitted to name a champion!” The older Troubadour looked out over the crowd, considering. Several folks had raised their hands to volunteer. “You, there, the muscular fellow with the piratical air! You would serve my purposes
nicely. Will you not help out an old man?”
He was pointing straight at Rafi. Rafi raised an eyebrow at Ollie, who only grinned and gestured him to come up. Laughing, Rafi stood.
Julian caught his arm. “Are you actually going up there?”
“Would you have me turn coward and disgrace myself?” Rafi winked at him. “A kiss for luck, my darling?”
“I’ll tell you what you can kiss,” Julian muttered.
“Maybe later.”
Rafi was pretty sure he knew what was up. He and Ollie had first met at their university’s wrestling club, where Ollie had enjoyed many victories—but he’d never beaten Rafi. He somehow thought he’d have better luck now. Ha.
Although, Rafi thought as he stepped onto the stage, he had to admit he’d forgotten just how tall Ollie was. It was hard not to feel just a little bit of doubt about his chances when his opponent loomed half a foot over him—and Rafi wasn’t anyone’s idea of short.
“I’ve grown two inches since you last saw me,” Ollie said, grinning through his beard.
Holy giraffe legs, Batman. “You still have all the muscle tone of a chrysanthemum,” Rafi retorted, returning the grin.
The Troubadours kept up some kind of introductory patter while Rafi bowed and flexed for the audience. He surrendered his hat and, at the coy urging of one of the ladies, his vest and shirt, for safekeeping during the fight. Someone in the front row gasped and started whispering furiously to his friends, all of them breaking out their phones. Rafi caught the words “Reyes” and “DK.” He smiled and blew the group a kiss.
Ollie removed his big green tasseled beret, revealing his bald head, and took up a stance. One of the ladies dropped a handkerchief as a signal to begin, and they leaped at each other with simultaneous dramatic roars.
Rafi could have beaten him faster than he did, but principles of friendship and audience pleasure made him stretch it out. Ollie had not grown as a wrestler the way he had as a singer, but the contortionist aspect of the show had apparently improved his muscle tone, if not his technique. He was always going to lose, but he didn’t embarrass himself, and there was more than one spot of impact that Rafi was sure he would feel in the morning.
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