by Alex Bledsoe
“Fat man?”
“Aye. Billy something-or-other. He’s full of stories, and he tells them for drinks. I bought him three times as many as I drank myself, and look at me. Yet there he sits, still rambling on.”
“It’ll catch up with him eventually. And it’ll hurt worse than yours does.”
“That,” he assured me, “is not possible.”
As I passed the Head Boar, I did hear Billy Cudgel’s loud voice, just as the bald man said. “There live not three good men unhanged in Altura,” he declaimed, “and one of them is fat, and grows old.” The laughter told me that he had at least four or five people around him. Did the man never sleep?
As I shuffled back to the gate with the water, two men rode up, tied their horses, and paused to look around. One was very tall, broad-shouldered, with the cocky, rolling gait of a professional soldier who enjoyed intimidating people as much as he did hacking them to pieces.
The other man was older, with a ramrod-straight back and a sense of entitlement that surrounded him like a glow. His clothes were tailored but not ostentatious, and he looked around as if searching for something. Apparently it wasn’t the smattering of drunks left from the night before, or the dedicated shepherds up with sunrise.
Three children ran past them, bumping into the older man. “Your pardon, sir!” one of them called back. The bigger of the two looked ready to skewer the youngsters, while the older man seemed peeved but not surprised, as if this were merely the latest annoyance of dozens.
“They’re still going at the tavern,” I called out. The taller one gave me a narrow-eyed once-over, and I grinned and waved. “Happy spring!”
“Thank you,” the older man said, while the big one just scowled.
I looked over their horses when I passed. The tack and saddles showed evidence of much use, but the horses themselves were not farm animals by a long shot. Not even Owen Glendower could afford two such magnificent animals. I considered rifling their saddlebags once the riders were out of sight, but ultimately decided against it. I already had one mystery that no one was paying me for; if I took on another, Liz might marry me just so she could then divorce me.
Back at the wagon, Liz had dressed and combed her hair. She used the same blue ribbon to tie it back, then winced as the practicing piper filled the morning with another series of bleats. “Do you know,” she asked sleepily, “why pipers walk around when they play?”
“No, why?”
“To get away from that sound.”
I kissed her. “Art demands sacrifice.”
Suddenly sheep were all around us, threading through the parked wagons with their woolly chaos. A few more sleepy faces peeked from the other wagons. The animals seemed as confused as the people.
Two boys and an overexcited dog tried to encourage the sheep to move out into the open, but they weren’t coordinated and it only confused the animals more. “Sorry, mister!” one of the boys said as he tried to drag a sheep away. “We’ll get ’em out as soon as we can.”
“The kids here are very polite,” I said.
“Yeah, small towns are like that.”
“I’m polite, and I wasn’t raised in a small town.”
She pinched my side. “But you’re at your best when you’re rude.”
“Only with you.”
As I bent to kiss her, the dog jumped up and licked her face. A boy whistled sharply, and the animal ran away. Liz looked at me, dog slobber fresh on her cheeks, and said, “Well, come on, what are you waiting for? Kiss me.”
Which I did. It takes more than a little dog spit to make me not want to kiss her.
I washed up, got dressed, and then we went into town in search of some breakfast. By then several carts had food for sale, and we wandered as we ate, waiting for the other merchants to get ready for the day.
It did not take long to wander the length and breadth of Mummerset. We passed the Head Boar, but Billy Cudgel’s voice no longer rang out. I stuck my head in; except for one man asleep on the floor and another sprawled and snoring on a table, it was empty. Guess even Billy had to sleep sometime.
“So, what’s your first move?” Liz asked when I rejoined her in the street.
“I need to talk to Glendower. He can tell me where the gold coins in the money bag came from.” Most money was stamped with the seal, crest, or face of the king, queen, or other ruler. Bonny Prince Jack, for example, was on the Alturan four-bit gold piece. That would tell me a bit about the origin of the money paid to her original guardian, the man pursued by the bear. And “follow the money” was a basic sword jockey tenet.
“And then?”
“Depends on what I find out.”
The same two men I’d spotted earlier passed us again. Now that I was fully awake, I noticed details I’d missed before. The tall, bulky man wore a sword with a tattered grip and notched guard that spoke of lots of action, and under his rustic clothes seemed to be sporting leather armor. He stayed right behind the other man, his gaze sweeping the path ahead of them. He was unmistakable: strong-arm security, which made me immediately curious about who the other man might be. This isolated festival was suddenly becoming the hottest spot around.
“Hey,” Liz said, and nudged me. “What’s wrong?”
“Huh? Nothing. Just noticing things.”
“Well, stop it. You can’t do anything this early in the morning, so just enjoy spending time with me, okay?”
“I always do.”
The town came to life around us. More noticeably, men were building several small pens in the courtyard where, the night before, Eolomea had welcomed the spring. A few questions determined that these would be for the sheep-shearing contests coming up shortly.
The two newcomers examined these pens. Well, the older one did. The security man, for I had no doubt about his job now, watched everything else. Including me. If he was good, and I had no reason to doubt it, he’d spotted me as just as out of place here. I’d have to watch it. And them.
The best place to do that, of course, was right under their noses. Liz and I sidled up beside them. Although he was dressed as a shepherd, the older man’s fingernails were neat and spotless, and the edges of his hair were nearly trimmed and shaved. Disguises are more than clothes, I wanted to tell him, but before I could, he said to me, “Do you believe that?”
“Believe what?”
“They’re already selling alcohol to people. It’s not even bloody noon.”
“It’s a festival.”
“It’s disgraceful.”
“If you don’t like it, why are you here?”
“I wanted to see for myself.”
“See what?”
“Nothing,” he said, realizing he’d spoken out of turn. I felt the presence of the bodyguard behind me making the air between us shiver. Who was this guy, who needed security when even the crown prince didn’t?
And then I knew. Oh, I thought. Of course.
I had no idea what King Ellis looked like, so I couldn’t actually confirm this was him, but it made sense. Sure, your average king would send trusted agents to retrieve a truant prince, but what if said king wanted to see what was up for himself? Not every monarch stayed on his throne all the time. This made me want to like the guy, but that impulse was negated by his one-man security retinue, who I wanted to punch in the face on general principles. He was, I realized, exactly the kind of swaggerer the mistress back in Mahnoma didn’t want in her tavern.
If he was King Ellis, and he was here to retrieve Bonny Prince Jack, then this was related to Isadora, and thus fell within the self-defined borders of my “case.” Well, nothing would reveal itself if I stayed polite. So I said, “You are an old grouch, aren’t you? Denying hardworking folks a little fun?”
The old man looked at me as if unused to hearing such honesty, then laughed. “By heavens, you’re right, I am an old grouch. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be young. Please, enjoy your festival.”
He nodded to the bodyguard, and they moved away
. Liz looked at me oddly. “What was that about?”
“That,” I said quietly, “was the last person you’d expect to find here.”
“The king looking for his son?”
“Okay, maybe not the last, then.”
“It is kind of obvious.”
“Yeah. But I wonder why he’s here?”
“You just said—”
“I know. I mean, is he here to discreetly drag Junior back to the castle by the ear, or is he planning to make an example of anyone who’s helped out with Jack’s little masquerade?”
“Is he that kind of king?” she asked seriously.
“I have no idea.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“I could introduce you, so you can forget your name again.”
She thumped me between my eyes. Then she said, “All right, go to work.”
“I don’t need to—”
“Yes, you do,” she said with the kind of weary forbearance that made me love her even more. “Go see what he’s up to. If I can help, let me know.” She kissed me. “You’re going back to school with the little kids when we return to Neceda, though.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you clearly don’t know the meaning of a simple word like ‘vacation.’ ”
I thought about this. It didn’t hurt that, in the morning sun, Liz looked particularly adorable. “Ah, you’re right. They’ll keep. Let’s have some fun while we can.”
Mummerset was way too small for effective shadowing, anyway. If I followed the incognito king directly, his trained ape would try to pound me into the dirt. On the plus side, the town was surrounded by a rock wall, which meant there were only four ways out. So I really only had to stay in the general area. And once the crowd began gathering for the sheepshearing competition, I only had to keep my eye on the tall man towering above everyone else to follow the king’s movements.
A little parade brought the shearing competitors into town. Owen Glendower led his group, a large sheep hook in his hand like a king’s staff. He was dressed in an ostentatious robe, again like something you’d see in court, and he passed obliviously by the actual king in disguise. He nodded and smiled to many people, occasionally gesturing with his crook as if it might convey a blessing. I wondered how he’d explained his fairly meteoric rise in status to his neighbors. At least none of them made faces at him when he wasn’t looking.
Behind him his son Clancy followed, shirtless and dressed in loose pants, evidently prepared for the competition. I was a bit surprised they trusted him with sharp things like shearing scissors. A younger boy, either a farmhand or another son, brought up the rear, making sure the half dozen sheep stayed together. I saw no sign of Beatrice or Isadora, but Prince Jack and Billy Cudgel now stood near the front of the crowd. Jack couldn’t see his disguised father from where he was, and unless the tall bodyguard noticed Billy’s bulk displacing the crowd, they couldn’t see him. Yet they were barely twenty feet apart.
I shook my head. The once and future kings of Altura, both in disguise as commoners, both in the same microscopic town. This couldn’t end well.
“You ever sheared a sheep?” Liz asked.
“Only if that’s a metaphor for something else.”
“Ha! Didn’t think so.”
“And you have?”
“We had sheep when I was growing up. Well, two. So yes, I have.”
“Want to join the contest?”
“One reason I started my own business and became my own boss was so I’d never have to shear sheep again. Or clean out pigsties. Or milk cows. Or milk goats.”
“Or brush horses?”
“No, that I don’t mind. I’m not afraid of them like you are.”
“I’m not afraid of them. I just don’t trust them.”
“I’ve never met anyone else whose ‘mistrust’ makes them shriek like a little girl whenever a horse backs up toward them.”
I played my trump card. “Yeah, well, I saved you from a fire-breathing dragon once.”
She jabbed me in the ribs. “You need to find a new clincher for arguments. Really. That one’s run its course.”
Smugly, I finished, “That’s what the dragon said.”
The little herdlets were guided into their small pens, where they milled about, sheeping. “How’s everybody doing today?” a robust man said as he strode before the contestants. He held a small megaphone decorated with the omnipresent ribbons. “I see a lot of sore heads out there this morning. But honestly, I feel sorry for folks who don’t drink. After all, when they wake up in the morning, that’s the best they’re going to feel all day!”
A cheer mixed with laughter came from the crowd.
“Now, let’s meet our first shearing contestants. I remind you, this is a double-elimination tournament, so you’ll be seeing both of these shearing masters again. First, from the household of Owen Glendower, winner of second place for seven years in a row, Clancy Glendower!”
There was some polite cheering at this.
“Wow,” Liz said softly. “Second place for a third of his life.”
“And I bet that percentage will only increase,” I said.
“This is the year!” Clancy said, and held up his index finger. “Number one! Wait and see!” Then he put a stool down beside the designated sheep.
“That’s the spirit!” the announcer said, and tousled Clancy’s hair. “Next up, we have our challenger in her first time on the big stool. Let’s hear it for Phoebe York!”
A girl stepped up to one stool. She was young, stocky, and with long blond hair tied up in a knot on her head. Except for a single piece of cloth wrapped around her torso to cover—or control—her breasts, she was as bare chested as the boys.
She raised her fists, and her knot of supporters began to clap and say, “Phoebe! Phoebe! Phoebe!”
“Why do they take off their shirts?” I asked Liz. “Seems like wool on sweaty skin would be irritating.”
“Part of the challenge is putting up with the irritation,” she said. “It’s a lot like dating you.”
Phoebe paced in a tight circle before she sat. She settled in, grabbed a handful of the waiting sheep’s wool, and shook it as if to ensure it was still attached. Then she looked over at Clancy and winked. He blushed.
“Apparently it’s a friendly rivalry,” I said.
“Or just good strategy,” Liz said.
Before they could start, there was a commotion along the edge of the crowd. Jack Kingson, incognito prince, followed Billy Cudgel as the fat man used his bulk to clear a path. Then the prince stepped up and whispered something to the announcer. The announcer looked puzzled, then motioned for Clancy to join them. Grinning, Jack said something to Clancy, whose eyes opened wide. Then they shook hands, and Clancy stepped back. Jack took off his shirt, to the cheers and catcalls of girls in the crowd, and assumed Clancy’s seat beside his sheep.
“What a piece of work!” one girl cried.
“Take him for all in all,” another commented.
I surreptitiously checked the king’s reaction. He looked as if someone had tapped him hard in the balls. Only his bodyguard kept him from rushing forward, and only the crowd’s interest in the contest kept anyone else from noticing. There could be no good end to this family feud.
Jack grinned like this was the most enjoyable thing in the world, testing out the shears’ tension and arranging the stool beside the blase’ animal. Phoebe glared at him, all business now, and wasted some serious intimidation on an opponent who thought this a lark.
“Shearers, assume your position!” the announcer said. Phoebe and Jack picked up their shears.
The announcer raised a short riding whip over his head and held it there expectantly. He enjoyed the attention.
Suddenly a girl pressed a tankard into my hands, without a word of explanation. She was quite attractive, with long red hair darker than Liz’s, and she winked at me and licked her lips suggestively. Then she was gone.
T
he announcer said, “Ready . . . ready . . .”
Liz nodded at the cup. “What’s that?”
Before I could answer, he brought the whip down with a sharp snap. “Go!”
Phoebe jumped up, kicked the stool aside, expertly grabbed her sheep under the front legs, and sat it back on its haunches. The teats revealed it was a female. Phoebe held the animal up with her left hand, while her right clipped expertly in a diagonal line across the sheep’s chest.
Jack did the same thing, but with far less certainty. He quickly fell behind, but seemed oblivious.
The birdlike noise of the two blades sliding together rang out in the courtyard. The two sheep seemed thoroughly unconcerned with any of this, and exchanged a look that could rival any veteran courtiers for smug indifference.
The crowd, seeing that Phoebe was going to win, again shouted her name. She began to move with little flourishes, which slowed her down, but not enough for Jack to catch up.
I took a big swallow of my drink. It was mead, thicker and sweeter than ale, and tasted great despite its rather vile odor. I let the first mouthful settle contentedly in my stomach as I drank more.
Jack was only halfway done by the time Phoebe let her the sheep drop to its hooves, raised her clippers overhead, and yelled, “Sheared!” Stray bits of wool stuck to her shoulders and face. Jack finished his sheep and, still grinning, stood and offered his hand. She shook it, and took a victory strut before the crowd. We all chanted “Phoebe!”
Clancy stepped out and kissed her politely on the cheek. She grabbed him and kissed him on the mouth hard enough to curl his toes. The crowd approved.
I hadn’t quite drained my tankard, but I did pretty well for this early in the morning. I looked at Liz, who regarded me skeptically.
“You keep telling me I’m on vacation,” I said defensively.
“Do you even know what that is?”
“Shum sort of mead,” I said.
“ ‘Shum sort’?” she repeated, amused.
“Some sort,” I corrected testily. “I just woke up, you know.”
She leaned over and sniffed the mug. “Wow. That’s ghastly. How can you stand it?”
I put it to my nose. It was pungent, but I’d smelled worse. “It’s not that bad.”