Relieved, Mags trotted down to the Kirball field, glad that it was only midmorning and the field hadn’t heated up yet. That blessed breeze was still holding steady, and he was mortally glad of it. The “easy” version of Kirball was played entirely by Trainees, teams could be anywhere from one to eight players, the ball was never supposed to be hit hard and never supposed to leave the ground. By the standards of one of the regular players, this was just a sort of warm-up, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t fun. Mags couldn’t have said that he preferred the “real” version or the “easy” version better. The easy version was just simple-hearted fun, the real version was a challenge, and he loved both.
Dallen cantered up the moment after he arrived, and since Pip had been sitting out until that point, they were both welcomed to the teams, making both sides six players.
Mags declined the offer to be team Captain, Pip accepted it. There was a lot of whooping and laughing as the game restarted. No Gifts were allowed, not even Mindspeech, so instructions had to be shouted for anyone to hear. It was chaotic good fun. They soon got into a scrum, but Dallen solved that by kicking the ball halfway down the field as soon as it got under his tail. The fun version was certainly a lot more mobile than the real version.
Without the armor, without helmets, without the padding, this was just a romp. The breeze blew over them, keeping them cool, they could actually see an unrestricted view, they could move more freely. And without the competitive pressure of an actual game, everything was much more relaxed.
Not that actual games weren’t fun in their way . . . but you couldn’t call them relaxed, not by any stretch of the imagination.
:Yer getting right good at that,: Mags noted, as the entire pack galloped off after the ball.
:Thanks. No idea what earthly use the skill could be in combat though.: Pip had got there ahead of the others and bunged the ball toward the single goaltender.
:Kick out someone’s knee, maybe,: he replied, as the goaltender intercepted the ball and smacked it back at them.
Mags got it and sent it back at the goal, with Dallen pounding after it. Pip shouted at the others to swarm the goaltender and keep him off the ball. They managed to do so while Mags and Dallen chased the ball right into the goal, with Dallen pulling up at the very last minute to avoid getting into the goal itself. Which would have been unpleasant, since the door to the goal was the size of an average human door, and not exactly fit for a Trainee-on-Companion. He practically sat down on his tail to keep from getting into trouble, but that was where Mags’ ability as a rider came in. Dallen got right back up, shook the dust from his coat, and they trotted off while the referee got the ball.
Corwin, serving as sole referee, got the ball out and took it back to the center of the field, and they began all over again. No one was really keeping track of the goals, and no one but other Trainees were really watching. Since it wasn’t a “proper” game, the real aficionados of the sport couldn’t be bothered with taking their attention away from all of the other entertainments. But the rest of the Trainees, who were somewhat intimidated by the skill level required to play the full-on game were encouraged by this “gentler” version, and when a player got tired and was ready to drop out, there were others queuing up to take his or her place. Mags played most of the morning, but by the time his stomach told him that breakfast had been several candlemarks ago, he was ready to stop, and so was Dallen. They rode over to the stable, where Mags unsaddled and rubbed him down himself, making sure to clean the tack before putting it up.
Horse aroma was not the best of perfumes, so a quick wash at the stable pump was in order before he went to find himself some lunch. And, predictably, his conscience nagged at him. Nikolas was working. Should he be? Shouldn’t he at least make sure Nikolas didn’t want or need him?
As he pulled on a fresh uniform, he gently nudged Nikolas’ mind without trying to read anything. Nikolas responded immediately.
:Enjoy yourself. Nothing for you right now; perhaps tonight, when drink makes tongues loosen again. Oh, I thought I saw Amily heading for the lunch tables at the Collegium.:
Nikolas went back to whatever it was that was occupying him; Mags grinned. Until after dinner, then, when he’d be helping clean up, his time was free. He felt almost giddy at this point; this was his third day with no classes and little work of any kind except for last night. Really, that hadn’t been so bad, other than having to talk Kirball with a lot of highborns who thought they knew the game and probably would not take well to being corrected. Even on Midwinter holiday he’d been working at Master Soren’s get-togethers, at least, to an extent.
He wondered what Master Soren would do this year, with Lydia being the Princess and all. He couldn’t imagine Soren not hosting his open house, and yet, it could hardly be the same again, could it? There would be more guards, and maybe the “open” part of the open house would have to end. Or maybe Lydia would only be able to come to part of it. She certainly couldn’t attend the Midwinter Night vigil with her uncle; she would have to take her vigil with her husband and her new household. Anything else would be unthinkable.
Ah, worry about that at Midwinter.
He hurried up to the Collegium, hoping to catch Amily there. If Nikolas didn’t have any work for him this afternoon, surely he wouldn’t have any for Amily. Of course, there was always the possibility that Amily had plans with her other friends, Lydia’s own personal circle, but since they were also his friends, surely they wouldn’t mind him coming along.
He actually caught her just finishing her lunch, but she was happy to join him, since a fresh set of sweets had just been brought out. They soon had a chattering group around them, discussing the rest of the entertainment planned for the afternoon and evening.
A great deal of the entertainment was for the highborn only, being set in the Great Hall, the Audience Chamber, the Lesser Audience Chamber, the Throne Room. There were small plays, more professional dancers, some very exotic entertainers rumored to come all the way from Katashin’a’in, the conjurer from last night, more Bards than one could count, of course—all of these were for select audiences who would be able to disport themselves in the cool, shaded rooms, with breezes blowing through the windows and cool drinks available at the lift of a finger.
But for those who were not so elect, the grounds had their own entertainments, which would culminate tonight with the illuminated procession of barges.
“Fire juggling,” Pip said with relish. “Only ever saw a fellow do that once. And it was just him by himself, but this time there’s supposed to be a team of four jugglers who work together. And a lot of acrobats, and a ropewalker this afternoon!”
“And a play in the Great Hall in the afternoon and early, and they’ll do it twice to fit everyone in,” Gennie reminded them. “It’s a comedy, and that’s all I know, but it’s that troupe from down in Haven that plays all the time in that inn.” She made a face. “The ones we never get to see because the plays are always over after Lights Out.”
Mags knew exactly what troupe she was talking about and was relieved, because these were people Nikolas worked with all the time. That meant that the entire troupe was “safe” to be up here. In fact, the inn in question was one of the ones where he could hide Rolan and Dallen when he and Mags went down into Haven in disguise. He didn’t know anything about the plays themselves, since he had never been there long enough to see much of one, except for once. He’d enjoyed that, but it had been a tragedy, with practically everyone dead at the end. Not the sort of subject for a wedding festival.
It appeared that there was a great deal of entertainment planned, ending with that lighted parade of tableaus on barges going down the river; but there was a detail new to him: an ensemble of musicians playing on the bridge. His mind rather reeled at the idea of everything going on this final day. The jugglers and acrobats in the gardens, the ropewalke
rs in the courtyard at the front of the Palace, the plays in the Great Hall, three different small stages where Bards would be performing, the play, and the barge parade—anyone who complained there was nothing to do had to be very jaded or ridiculously picky. And that didn’t even count all the things that had been going on this morning while he and his friends had been at their game.
He just wondered how much he would be able to watch . . . depending on whether Nikolas wanted him and Amily to “work.” Well, at least there was plenty to do this afternoon.
As they left the Collegium, Dallen was waiting for them. The Companion presented himself broadside to them and gave them both a look. Mags didn’t even need to Mindspeak to know what he meant, and it was pretty clear to Amily too, who laughed. “Thank you, Dallen,” she said, with a little mock curtsy. “Since you are going to insist that I ride instead of walk and stand, who am I to thwart the will of a Companion? If we are going to watch the tumblers and acrobats, I don’t mind having a seat up higher than anyone else.”
Mags boosted her up onto Dallen’s back; she was wearing a split skirt today, perhaps in vague anticipation of riding at some point, so there was no question of her having to try to ride aside and bareback. Not that Dallen would ever let her fall.
“Ropewalkers or acrobats?” he asked. “Though the acrobats might turn up too.”
“Ropewalkers,” she said instantly, and they made their way through to the courtyard at the front of the Palace. It was a side of the complex that Mags had only rarely seen, since he usually came and went through one of the back or side gates. The entire area was paved over, with trees set in stone boxes along the edge. Today a net had been strung from one side of the courtyard to the other at about head height from the trunks of those trees, and at about the same distance above it was a single rope strung between two small platforms. A young lady in a very short outfit of colorful stockings and breeches and a tight tunic was posed on one of the platforms, looking as calm as if she were standing on the ground. She looked as though a rainbow had been cut up and made into her clothing. Her hair had been wound up into a fanciful heap on the top of her head, ornamented with feathers and artificial flowers.
Mags watched her with professional admiration. Most people, even Heralds, would not be able to stand so far above the ground on such a small space. And even he would not dare to do what she was about to, without an awful lot of practice. Rooftop-running, fine. Walking along a rope? Even with a net for safety beneath you?
Not without a damn lot of practice, thenkee. Not only is it narrow, it’s gonna be moving. Moving more even than a tree branch.
When the crowd had quieted, she stepped out. She kept both arms outstretched for balance, but moved like a dancer along the swaying rope, walking toe-heel, but lightly and quickly. She walked all the way to the other platform, back to the first, and paused for applause.
She got it and bowed, but her face was an expressionless mask of concentration. She set out again, this time going out to the middle, where she turned in place on one foot, not as fast as a dancer but not so slowly that she was likely to lose her balance over it. Then she eased herself down as the crowd went silent. The rope trembled under her. She got all the way down to a knee and knelt.
She didn’t pause for applause this time. She rose, turned, and lowered herself again, this time with her weight centered farther back and one leg stretching out in front of her. Mags understood what she was doing probably before the rest of the crowd did, as she sat on the rope, that outstretched leg lying along it. He could tell she was pausing for breath before she got up again, turned, ran down to the other platform, and bowed.
Mags found a part of his mind suddenly springing into action, watching and taking notes on her performance. He noted her shoes—thin things, with soles of very flexible leather, with a split between the big toe and the rest. She could probably feel the rope through those soles, and the split allowed her to grip the rope between her toes, although normally she walked with the rope along diagonally along the sole of her foot, just as he would walk a rooftree. He watched how she balanced, how she was making it look more difficult for her than it really was, exaggerating her balancing movements. He saw how she kept her center of balance directly over her feet, no matter what her posture was. He noted the rope itself—how thick it was, how stiff it was, how slack it was.
He wondered in that analytical part of his mind how this could be of any use to him . . . surely, if he found himself in a situation where he had to cross by rope, it would be both more secure and more efficient to hang under it and pull himself along . . .
But wait . . . what if it was fastened to something in such a way that if he got to the other end, he’d find himself faced with a blank wall, no way to pull himself up, and nothing he could lower himself down to? In that case, assuming there was a roof or a ledge he could reach by standing on the rope, it would make much more sense to cross it standing than upside down. Or practice until he could get himself to a standing position without anything to pull himself up by.
Well, that could be tricky. It could be done, though. It would take a very strong body, but it could be done. If he could get himself lying flat and balanced on the rope, he could then get himself into a seated position, and, as this girl was doing, from seated he could get to his feet.
She waited for the applause to die, then went out to the center again, this time carrying a child’s skipping rope. Mags could scarcely believe his eyes, nor, from the sound of the intake of collective breath, could anyone else. But she did it. She swung the rope in her hands over her head and did three skips, and how she managed to keep from being flung off the rope, he had no idea.
At least, not at first. Then he realized that the trick was that she kept her feet so close to the rope that there was barely enough room for the skip rope to pass beneath them. The rope was stiff enough it didn’t move that much, and she had kept her knees so flexed that she didn’t bounce it much. Not much use to him. He couldn’t imagine a need for being able to skip rope while standing on a rope . . . but it certainly was a pure marvel to watch, and he was more than prepared to applaud her wildly when she returned to her platform.
Back to the first platform she went and then back out to the middle of the rope. This time when she went out to the center, she paused and balanced on one foot, with the other behind her rather than in front of her. Slowly, slowly, she brought that foot up behind her, reached around behind her head with both hands and seized it, and stretched that foot and leg up over her head, while the rope trembled and swayed under her. She held that pose for as long as ten heartbeats before releasing her foot, bringing her leg back down, and running back to the second platform.
All righty, then. Not only is that little thing all sinew and muscle, I think she’s just a tad crazy, too.
This time the applause made the very stones tremble. But it appeared that she wasn’t done yet.
Now she went out to the center, posed there for a moment, and began bouncing on the rope. When it was moving at an alarming rate, she suddenly let her feet go from underneath her, and bounced her rear on the rope, bounced back up again, and got her feet underneath her. Then she did it again. Then she twirled at the top of a bounce, making a full rotation before she landed on the rope again.
He couldn’t think how he would use this either, until it occurred to him that if the rope started to get out from underneath him, he could probably manage to use this to get things back under control.
She ran back to her platform and posed with one arm flung up, for applause.
He thought that surely, surely now she was done. But no!
A tiny little girl swarmed up the little ladder leading to the platform and stood beside her. They were dressed identically and even had their brown hair done in the same fanciful way, with feathers and flowers on the side and a kind of pad of hair on the top. The first g
irl knelt down, and the little one climbed up onto her shoulders. Now with the little girl balanced there, the two of them went out on the rope together. They paused in the middle, then the little girl put both her hands on the top of the older girl’s head.
Now Mags understood that hairstyle. The feathers and flowers hid what must have been a headband, which held the pad in place securely so that it wouldn’t move. The pad gave the little girl something to balance on rather than slippery hair.
He thought he knew what she was going to do, but he could still scarcely believe it when she inched her way up into a handstand, then inched her way back down again as the crowd held its collective breath. With the tiny thing perched on her shoulders, the older girl executed several deft turns, then balanced with one leg outstretched in front of her, turned, and then balanced with one leg behind her, as the little girl took the same pose, but kneeling on her shoulders rather than standing.
So . . . it was possible to carry a weight on your shoulders and keep balanced. That was useful to know, too.
Then the older girl held out her hands, and the little one put both feet into them. With a quick toss, the little girl went up into the air and down into the net. As soon as she had rolled off the edge and dropped to safety, the older girl jumped down into the net herself. Then both of them raced up the ladders to the two platforms and posed there, one hand on the support, leaning precariously out with the other hand waving, collecting their well-deserved applause.
A moment later, a set of tumblers in bright yellow tunics and trews came rollicking through the crowd, which cleared away from the center of the courtyard to give them room. They had brought with them a drummer, whose rapid beats set the rhythm of their performance. Mags noticed there was a strong family resemblance among them, and between them and the ropewalkers.
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