Mad Maudlin

by Mercedes Lackey

  She sighed, and turned away from Mystery. Maybe she'd see her best girl again in Heaven, in the unlikely event she ever qualified for that particular destination.

  Hunching her shoulders, she strode toward the gate.

  * * *

  A Renaissance Faire, Jeanette quickly discovered, was a bizarre place full of annoying losers dressed in weird costumes who simply lived to make fun of people by talking like Shakespeare.

  Full of people—where had they all come from? Most of them were tourists, and she didn't think Eric would be one of them. But there were a lot of people dressed in costumes. Some of them were wandering around playing instruments, or juggling, or giving impromptu puppet shows. Others were selling things in booths.

  Unfortunately, she suspected that shooting them with the gun she discovered that she'd brought with her wouldn't help things along.

  She hadn't thought she'd have to talk to people to find Eric. Jeanette hadn't had very good social skills while she was alive, and death really hadn't improved them. And finding herself in someplace that looked so . . . real . . .

  Was this some kind of spell? An actual place, like Underhill? A disused part of Eric's mind? Did it, in fact, actually matter, so long as she found him and got him back out and up those stairs again before Kayla got bored standing around?

  Probably not.

  What would happen if the link with Kayla did get interrupted for any reason was something Jeanette preferred not to think about. Would she just vanish? Or would she be permanently stuck here in La La Land's version of Shakespeare in the Park?

  No, that was too much to hope for. What happened would probably be whatever was most horrible. Not that she didn't deserve it, she supposed, after what she'd done in life, but that didn't mean she was going to go racing toward her karma with open arms.

  She wandered through the crowds, hoping to spot Eric. He had to be here somewhere, didn't he? Or why was she here?

  Finally she spotted a booth that looked promising. It had a large sign over it that said Information—lost and found.

  Well, Eric was lost. And she was trying to find him.

  "I'm looking for a guy," she said, coming up to the booth.

  "What's his name?" the woman behind the counter said. Despite the fact she was dressed like something you'd see on PBS, she seemed to be efficient enough.

  "His name's Eric Banyon. I was supposed to meet him here," Jeanette said, stretching the truth only a little.

  "Is he a traveler or a player?" the woman asked.

  Jeanette stared at her. Riddles? Next she'll be asking me, "What has it got in its pocketses?"

  The woman smiled. "Does he work at the Faire, or is he just visiting?"

  "Oh." I hate people. Even people who don't exist. "He's a player. He's got a flute."

  "Oh, sure an' ye'll be meanin' O'Banyon the Irish Rogue! Friend of his?" For some reason the woman suddenly had a thick Irish accent, but to Jeanette's relief, she quickly dropped it.

  "Kayla said he'd show me around the Faire," Jeanette said, unable to think of anything else to say but a version of the truth. Apparently this made sense to the bimbo in crushed velvet, because she pulled a sheet of paper out from somewhere Jeanette couldn't see, and made some marks on it, talking all the time.

  "He's on the Main Stage right now, but the show's about over. You should be able to catch him when he comes off. Here's a map. I've marked the Main Stage. Good luck!" the woman said, smiling cheerfully.

  She handed Jeanette a sheet of paper with a map of the Fairesite on it, with the Main Stage circled in yellow Magic Marker. Jeanette took it and walked off.

  She found the Main Stage without much difficulty. The woman said there was a show, so Jeanette followed the map until she heard music, then followed the music.

  The Main Stage was a raised platform with a curtained backdrop, facing enough benches to seat maybe seventy very friendly people. Up on the stage, what looked like a cross between the cast of Robin Hood and the cast of Riverdance with a few walk-ons from Braveheart thrown in were making an almighty Celtic racket. It was a lovely sound. Jeanette stopped, so enchanted by the music that she forgot for a moment to look for Eric.

  I miss the music most. Why couldn't Hosea play a guitar or something sensible instead of that damned banjo?

  Then the sound of a flute soared up through the opening notes of "Banish Misfortune," and Eric Banyon stepped to the front of the stage.

  Yes, that was him. He'd looked different the last time she'd actually been able to see him—and she'd been in too much pain, then, to really care—but that was definitely him. Younger, she thought. Longer hair. But him.

  She stood and watched for a few minutes. She'd heard Eric play often, of course, whenever he played with Hosea, but this was different. Better. Sure, the costumes were dorky, but the music. . . .

  Couldn't we just stay? Jeanette thought wistfully. What's out there that's so important, compared to the music?

  But she knew they couldn't. It would be wrong. Eric was needed back in the Real World. She was here to bring him back. That was all.

  Besides—

  It occurred to her that if this was Banyon's dream, there was absolutely nothing keeping it from becoming his nightmare. And she'd be trapped here with him.

  She blinked, as the thought settled into place with a sense of solid rightness. Yes. That was the nasty surprise just waiting to spring up out of the ground and bite her in the ass. And she did not want to see what Eric Banyon's worst nightmare could be like. She already knew he'd faced down a Dark elf-Prince as well as assorted unpleasant things and people associated with the Threshold Lab, and those were by no means the only horrors he'd dealt with, according to Hosea. So if his worst nightmare incorporated any of that—

  No. She very definitely did not want to be trapped here when the pretty dream turned into a nightmare.

  Going wasn't only right, it was necessary. And the journey had brought enough rewards.

  I got to see my bike again, and hear this. More than I deserve, I guess.

  I know I haven't come anywhere near to paying what I owe. Not nearly. Hosea'd better plan on having kids to pass me on to. But when I do . . . will I know?

  There was no point in wondering about something that might never happen. What Hosea did wasn't all that safe. It was far more likely she—or more precisely, the banjo that held her—would be destroyed before she could complete her atonement.

  Or maybe we'll all get careless, the Healer kid'll blink, and it'll be over tonight. She shrugged the thought aside irritably. Worrying about things you couldn't affect was a quick ticket to the boneyard, whatever that meant for someone like her.

  When it seemed like the show was winding up, Jeanette started moving around the edge of the crowd, toward the back of the stage, where the performers would come out when the set was finished.

  * * *

  It had been a good show—one of the best. The audience had been right with them, and everything had gone off without a hitch. Eric was feeling really good about everything, right up to the moment that the strange traveler walked up and called him by name.

  "Eric."

  He turned toward her. She was nobody he'd ever seen before, but it wasn't like he was exactly anonymous. He gave her his best bow and a charming smile.

  "O'Banyon the Irish Rogue at your service, milady. And what is it that I can do for you this foigne Faire day?"

  She stared at him as if she'd never heard anyone speak Faire cant before.

  "I'm Jeanette Campbell. You don't recognize me. Kayla sent me."

  Now it was Eric's turn to stare.

  She frowned, clearly annoyed. He couldn't imagine why. "Don't give me that doe-eyed gaze! You've got to remember them! Kayla, and Hosea, and all those other people you left hanging back in New York—"

  That was all Eric needed to hear. "New York" meant only one thing to him. Juilliard. His parents. The people who wanted to drag him back to a life he'd sworn he was never going to ha
ve anything to do with ever again.

  He pushed through the crowd of players around him and took off running.

  * * *

  After a stunned instant Jeanette followed. What the hell—? He'd gone pale as chalk the moment she'd mentioned New York. Damn, damn, damn. And she absolutely guaranteed he knew this dreamworld better than she did.

  She was keeping him in sight—just barely—as he fled up the hill and toward what her map told her was the edge of the Faire. In a tiny part of her mind, she wondered if she could corner him, or if they'd both run forever.

  "Where do you think you're going?"

  A woman dressed in furs and armor stepped out of a would-be tavern right into Jeanette's path. Jeanette tried to dodge around her, but the woman grabbed her by the arm, dragging her to a stop.

  Jeanette kicked out expertly—not that engineer boots could do much against iron shin protectors—but the damage had been done. Eric had gotten away, and two more Babes in Armor had shown up. All three of them looked like they ate weights for breakfast, not just lifted them.

  "I need to talk to Eric," she said sullenly.

  The first woman grinned nastily, not letting go. "Well, if it was Eric I just saw lightfooting by, I'd say Eric doesn't want to talk to you, Traveler."

  "And you make all his decisions for him, do you, Big Chunk?" Jeanette snarled. "He's needed back in New York. I was sent to tell him so."

  "And who could possibly need Eric in New York?" the woman sneered. "You?"

  "I want to talk to Eric," Jeanette repeated, with what passed, in her, for patience. "It's important. Eric will agree that it's important. I came a long way to talk to him, and if I don't get to talk to him, people are going to die who shouldn't have to die, okay? People who are sitting in a hospital in New York right now."

  "Oh, wow," said one of the other Babes, "you mean you want to talk to him about, like, donating a kidney or something? My cousin donated a kidney last year. But he might not be a good match."

  "I need to talk to him," Jeanette repeated, wondering if this might be Hell already, instead of Heaven. "I've come a long way to talk to him. Now we can do this the easy way, or I can go and find whoever's running this insane asylum and rope them in. Your call."

  "Come inside then," the woman who'd originally grabbed her said, letting go reluctantly. "Someone will go look for him. And no funny stuff."

  Funnier than sending a dead drug dealer to go looking for the soul of a Bard in a coma? Hard to beat that.

  But Jeanette allowed herself to be led into the back of the tavern, and sat down at one of the benches. Jeanette waited nervously. How long could she spend here? What if she couldn't manage to convince Eric to be reasonable?

  Finally, an idea occurred to her, straight out of one of those old Twilight Zone reruns she'd used to watch. But it was the only thing that occurred to her. She had to break through, get him out of this reality and into the—ah—"real" reality. He didn't want to go, and she guessed she could see why—but maybe if she could lead him back to the door she'd come through—if it was still there, and visible—it would jolt him enough to make his memories come back.

  Eventually Eric arrived, flanked by two guys in kilts. He looked as wary as someone arriving at his own execution. He scanned the room until he saw the Babe, and came over and hugged her.

  "Thanks, Karen," he said. He looked at Jeanette, his expression hostile.

  "She says she just wants to talk to you," Babe Karen said.

  "Privately?" Jeanette said.

  "I guess," Eric said reluctantly. "Don't go too far, okay?"

  "We could just throw her out," Karen said hopefully. "Accosting one of the players?"

  Eric sighed, shaking his head. "They'd just send somebody else. Might as well get it over with."

  He stood across the table from Jeanette, not bothering to sit down. "Well, go ahead."

  Jeanette hesitated, but she'd played to tougher audiences while she was alive. "Nothing about this seems at all odd to you? And you don't remember Kayla, or Hosea, or Ria? Being a Bard? Your brother, Magnus?"

  "I don't have a brother," Eric said. But he sounded doubtful, and he'd started, just a little, when she'd said Magnus's name.

  "Okay, here's one: tell me your home address."

  A stricken look crossed Eric's face, quickly masked. "Look, are we done here?"

  She shook her head, and decided to give her crazy idea its best shot. "No. I could give you the whole explanation, but if none of those names mean anything to you, the explanation won't help either. But I know one thing: you really want me to go away and never have to see me again."

  "You got that right," Eric said feelingly.

  "Okay, here's the deal. You walk out of the Faire with me, across the parking lot. There will be a doorway. If it's there, you walk through it with me. You can bring anyone with you that you like as far as the doorway, but only you and I go through. Deal?" Jeanette said.

  Eric had a strange expression on his face. "Um . . . Jeanette, right? There isn't a doorway out in the parking lot. And we're not supposed to leave the Faire during working hours."

  She hardened her expression. "This is the deal, Eric. You want me to leave. Do this with me and I will. Look, down inside you know you aren't supposed to be here. You know there's something wrong. It won't hurt to go look. I can't wait until the Faire shuts down for the night. We don't have that long. And don't give me the official party line. You know they won't miss a couple of you for a half hour or so."

  "Why should I trust you?" Eric demanded.

  What are you, deaf as well as paranoid? "I'm not asking you to trust me," Jeanette pointed out in exasperation. "I'm asking you to walk across the parking lot with me and trust the evidence of your own eyes."

  "And if the door isn't there?" Eric said cannily.

  Then I'm in big trouble.

  "Then I leave. You go back to the Faire. You'll never see me again." Because if the door isn't still there, I'm going to take Mystery and ride as far as I can before whatever's going to happen catches up with me.

  "And this . . . Kayla? How do I know she won't just show up next?" Eric asked.

  Jeanette was losing the small amount of patience she'd started out with. Her voice was curt as she answered. "She sent me because she couldn't come. Stop wasting time. Do we take a walk?" Or do I have to see if I have a hope in hell of getting you out of here at gunpoint? It was something she didn't want to try. It would definitely put a hole in his reality—but it might be the kind of hole that would turn dream into nightmare.

  "What the hell," Eric said, shrugging. He turned away and went over to talk to Karen for a moment. She looked puzzled as he spoke, and kept glancing over at Jeanette, shaking her head vigorously.

  Jeanette got to her feet. "Come on, Eric. You think I've got a van with the A-Team in it waiting for you outside the gate? Get real. If you see anything like that, run. We're just going for a walk. And I guarantee: whoever you think sent me, didn't."

  "You do anything to hurt Eric, and I will break every bone in your body," Karen hissed, walking over to Jeanette and leaning in close.

  "Fine," Jeanette said. Just try it, and we see how well guns work in the Faire. "Can we go now?"

  * * *

  Karen and her two girlfriends went with Eric and Jeanette. All three of them were armed with knives, swords, and axes: Jeanette had no idea of how well they knew how to use any of those things, but she did know that all three women were bigger and stronger than she was, and their furs and armor would get in the way of some of her better bar-fight moves, and maybe even stop a bullet.

  She really hoped it wouldn't come to that.

  They didn't go out through the Main Gate. Eric said that would attract too much attention, and Jeanette supposed he cared about that, still thinking this place was real. He took them around through the Faire and then out through a side gate that led through what looked like a campground. There were tents in all shapes and sizes.

  "This is where we
stay when the Faire shuts down for the day," Eric said.

  "You don't have to talk to her, Eric," Karen said edgily.

  Jeanette looked around, wondering if all this ever had been real, some where-and-when. It actually looked like it might have been fun, she thought grudgingly.

  They passed through the camping area and worked their way through the players' parking and out into the main parking lot.

  "Where's this 'door' of yours?" Karen demanded. "I don't see it."

  Fine talk from a figment of somebody's imagination.

  "It's on the other side of the parking lot," Jeanette said, not slowing down. I hope.

  She spared a longing glance for Mystery as they passed the bike again. Maybe someday, girl.

  The door was right where she'd left it, an impossible hole in reality.

  Eric stopped as soon as he saw it.

  "Come on, Eric," Karen said nervously. "It's time to go back."

  "There's the door, Eric," Jeanette said harshly. "Right where I said it would be. The door back to the real world. Where you have people who love you, and a brother who needs you. This is a fantasy. It isn't real."

  Eric took a hesitant step forward.

  "Eric!" Karen wailed.

  "Is this a dream, Karen?" Eric asked, turning to face her. "Is that why everything here is so perfect? Why the Faire never ends? Why the sun is never too hot, why it never rains, why the travelers never get drunk and ugly, and there's always a good take in the hat? Is this Neverland without Captain Hook? Am I a Lost Boy?"

  "You're happy here," Karen said pleadingly, not answering him directly.

  "It isn't real," Jeanette said. "You know it, down deep inside. Face the truth."

  "I am happy here," Eric said slowly. "But—" his face twisted, and if it hadn't been so sad, it would have been funny. "But it isn't real. So I guess . . . I have to see what's on the other side of that door."

  "No," Karen said, a pleading note in her voice.

  Suddenly the air seemed charged, as if a storm was brewing, though the sun shone down pure and changeless.

  "Don't make me get real, bitch," Jeanette said, stepping between Karen and Eric. She slipped her hand into her pocket, closing her fingers over the pistol. "Get going, Eric."