The second day of the fair had gone surprisingly well, with times of good brisk sales and times of blessed lulls. I continued to carve on the plaque I was making and work with Shyla. Her father really did not need her at their booth, and I was glad to have her company at mine. While shy in most things, she was surprisingly good at selling, and I found myself letting her wait on some of the customers. She seemed to have good instincts about what might appeal to both a customer’s taste and pocketbook. I had just finished teaching Shyla how to scrape in the groves on the lid of a small walnut box so she could inlay it with a lighter wood, when I noticed Evan had returned to Master Clarisse’s booth. I was surprised he was back so soon, having expected him to be gone all day. Once I got a good look at him, I became more concerned, for he was not his normal enthusiastic self. He and Master Clarisse had their heads close together, and I could not hear what they were saying.
Shyla asked me a question, which distracted me from the two in the booth next to mine, and when I had a moment to glance back, Evan was no longer there. Master Clarisse leaned over into our booth and told me she would catch up with me later. I had to be content with that. The rest of the afternoon flew by, and I was pleased with the results of both Shyla’s and my labors. She was a very quick study, and I closed up the booth with a nice feeling of satisfaction. That bubble swiftly burst during the discussion with Master Clarisse that took place after dinner.
“I wonder if we might have a chance to talk,” Master Clarisse inquired.
“Now?”
“Now would be good. Meet you behind your homewagon. I’ll grab Beezle, and we can go sit on the stone wall.”
It would be nice, I thought, to just meet, sit on the stone wall like friends after a long day at the fair, and wind down talking about the day and the customers, discussing what food booth was good or whether we thought one pastry cook or bread baker’s wares were better than another’s, but that was not reality. I was sure such common topics were not why Master Clarisse wanted us to meet. I was right.
I found a spot on the low stone wall that was relatively flat and pulled myself up to sit on it. I did not have to wait long for Master Clarisse and Beezle to arrive. Beezle hopped up and settled himself next to me, and Master Clarisse leaned her body against the wall on the other side of me.
“Evan spent the morning with his friend Clare but returned earlier than expected because Clare needed to get some rest after a long night and an early morning rising. She is entered in the apprentice pastry category, and the baking and the worry took a toll. Evan should be back shortly, but he went to the bakers’ pavilion to see if she won and to find out anything more about the Princess,” said Master Clarisse, dropping her voice to a soft whisper.
“If his friend won, knowing Evan, he will probably volunteer to help with any pastries left over, so they don’t go stale,” suggested Beezle with a chuckle.
“That lad does have a sweet tooth in addition to a hollow leg,” Master Clarisse countered in a just louder than normal voice. I wondered why we were having this conversation about Evan’s capacity for food, when I noticed a couple I did not know strolling towards us.
“Evening,” the man of the couple said to us, tipping his hat slightly in greeting. “Lovely night, isn’t it?”
We all agreed that it was indeed a lovely night, and the couple passed us and strolled on. This switching back and forth between secretive and normal back to secretive was getting old. Having to watch what I said, and to make sure I was aware who might be listening, was also irksome. I tried to shake my irritation off and turned my attention back to what Master Clarisse was saying.
“Evan’s friend Clare, who knows the Princess somewhat, agreed with Evan that the Princess does not look well.”
“Is she ill?” I asked.
“That’s not quite how Evan described her; more like the light inside of her is dimming. He didn’t know how else to put it. His friend Clare said that the Princess is for the most part cheerful and full of life, but that is not how she seemed this day. Clare is very worried but has no chance to get close to the Princess. Evan has arranged to meet Clare for lunch tomorrow and hopefully will learn more. We know the Princess is scheduled to judge in the bakers’ area over the next two days. We’ll see what more he can find out, if anything.”
“Could she be under the influence of some type of concoction of herbs or plants?” Beezle asked.
I had an urge to smack the front of my head with my hand, for I should have thought of that.
“I don’t know, but it’s a possibility,” I answered. “I have a pretty good notebook concerning herbs and plants and how to use them locked in my cart. I will spend some time going through it this night, trying to find if there is a mixture which would make someone, ah, . . .”
“Lethargic,” supplied Master Clarisse, “and pale or faded.”
“Even if I find something that might explain her change in appearance and personality, what good does that do us, or for that matter, what could we do about it?” I demanded somewhat more hotly than I had wanted. I think the frustration and anxiety of the last few weeks was finally getting to me.
“I don’t know,” Master Clarisse replied appeasingly, “but the more we know, the better we will be able to figure things out. I have a feeling the situation in Sommerhjem is not getting better and has the potential to get much worse. We have been sucked into a part of it whether we ever asked for it or not. We know just enough to be dangerous to the Regent. I hope we have been so far on the fringes that we have not been noticed yet.”
“My booth is closer to the baking area, and there was a lot of grumbling this day about the Princess,” suggested Beezle. “This contest is a big deal for many, for there is pride of goods and pride of place involved. That ‘my baker from my town is better than your baker from your town,’ type of rivalry. No one is going to come to blows over whose hot cross buns are better, but nonetheless, the Princess’ ruling is important, if for nothing else but bragging rights for the next year. Since she showed no enthusiasm for anything placed before her this day, it takes a bit of joy out of the final outcome. Folks have certain expectations about what the royals should be and act like, and our Princess fell far short, only adding to the apathy the general public is already feeling towards her.”
“Let’s hope tomorrow is a better day,” remarked Master Clarisse.
After that statement, the conversation continued a little while longer, and then we all headed to our respective campsites. I had not had much time to spend with Carz in recent days and so decided to take a walk outside the town walls to stretch our legs. Like many larger towns, the area outside the town walls had been cleared and was farmed. I could see woods in the distance but none very near. Hedge rows and stacked stone fences divided the fields and grazing lands. Carz and I turned back as dusk began to cast long shadows and heavy dew began to dampen the air. I made a side trip to my cart before going to the homewagon to get Nana’s book on herbs and medicinal plants.
Once settled in bed with a cover thrown over my legs, my back propped up with several pillows, and Carz stretched alongside me, I began to look through Nana’s book. I was searching in particular for plants, or combinations of plants, which might produce lethargy or cause one to appear faded or pale. I fell asleep mid-formula, having found nothing so far.
I was awakened by the sounds of the campground stirring and realized I had overslept a bit. Despite the worries swirling around in my head, I was looking forward to the day. I was going to pick up my new boots from the rover shoemaker. I decided if I grabbed a quick breakfast of a biscuit or two with honey and a mug of tea, I still had time to go through a few more pages of Nana’s book while I ate. With breakfast finished, and aware of the time, I licked a bit of honey off my fingers so I could close the book, but then decided I had time for one more page. That is when I found what I was looking for. Was it possible? The proper use of the mixture was to calm someone in hysteria or under extreme stress. There were warning symbols all over the page suggesting that this mixture, when consumed in too large an amount or over a long period of time, would begin to sap the life out of someone. Was that what was happening to the Princess? I quickly turned the page and read on. There were a number of antidotes listed, many surprisingly simple, but if this was what was happening to the Princess, how would someone get the antidote to her? The other problem I thought about was, if she began to show signs of increased energy and life, what would happen to her? How could she be warned? I needed to talk to Master Clarisse right away about my suspicions. I hurried out of my homewagon, almost tripping on Carz on the way out, and headed towards Master Clarisse’s tent only to find it empty.
“Are you looking for Master Clarisse?” Mistress Jalcones asked, looking up from stirring a pot of porridge. “She left just a moment ago, heading towards her booth.”
I thanked Mistress Jalcones and hurried towards our booths. When I arrived there, I was not surprised to see Shyla already set up, working on her box. I glanced over and saw Evan setting wares out, but no Master Clarisse. Just as I was beginning to despair that I had missed her, she stepped out of her wagon carefully carrying a small stained glass panel. I did not disturb her until she and Evan had hung it in their booth.
“Master Clarisse,” I called, “could I have a word with you?”
She must have seen something in my face, for she motioned that I should follow her back to her wagon behind her booth.
“What is it Nissa? You look worried.”
“I think I found a possible reason why the Princess is, as Evan said, fading.” I explained what I had read in Nana’s book.
Master Clarisse thought for a long moment and then asked if I could copy the pages out for her. She wanted to consult with Master Rollag and see what he thought. Once Master Clarisse had the copy from Nana’s book in hand, she instructed Evan to watch the booth and told him she would be back as soon as she could, for she wanted Evan to keep his lunch date with Clare. At the mention of a date, Evan blushed all the way to his ears. So that was the way the wind was blowing.
It was getting close to noon before Master Clarisse returned and motioned me aside.
“Master Rollag thanks you for your information. He and the guild’s herbalist looked over what you sent. The herbalist said at another time, in a calmer time, he wants to get a gander at that book you have, or meet whoever wrote it. It is better that we do not know what they are going to do with the information, but I know they plan to do something. We will just have to wait. Master Rollag did ask that we go about our business as usual, but be alert, and to please not to try to do anything concerning the Princess.”
I agreed to Master Rollag’s requests and went back to my booth before heading off to pick up my new boots. I felt comfortable enough leaving the booth in Shyla’s hands and instructed her to ask for help from Master Clarisse if she needed it. I wrapped up the plaque I had carved with a design copied out of the Huntress’ book and headed off to find the rover shoemaker. I took my time wandering down the aisles of booths, looking at the items for sale and noticing the different levels of craftsmanship. I looked in particular in the booths of the knife makers and felt none of knives could compare to the quality that Da made. Again, I had that longing for an ordinary summer where Da, Nana, and I might have traveled to some of the fairs. With what I had learned so far, observing other woodworkers and being introduced to more woods than I ever knew existed, I knew I could fashion handles for Da’s blades which would be the envy of the marketplace. At least in my opinion, they would.
When I arrived at Shueller the shoemaker’s booth, it was empty of other customers. He invited me in, exclaiming that I was going to be very pleased with my new boots. He was right. He sat me down on a bench and went back behind a curtain. I could hear him rummaging around, and then he reappeared carrying a pair of boots. At first glance they looked fairly plain, but when he handed me one, I realized that he had cleverly created a pattern in the deep red brown leather of ivy leaves twining from the toe up to the top of the boot. They were beautiful, and then I tried them on.
“Oh, these fit like they were made for me,” I exclaimed, and then realizing what I had said, continued, very embarrassed. “What I meant was . . .”
It did not help that the shoemaker was quietly chuckling. “I know what you meant, lass, and glad I am that they fit you well. The design then is to your liking?”
“It could not be better. With leather so soft and fine I could dance a jig in these, yet with a sole so sturdy, I could walk from here to the capitol and back. We didn’t discuss price, so I am hoping I don’t have to sell ol’ Flick the horse to possess these.”
We haggled and dickered for a while, just for the enjoyment, and settled on a price which I think was really too low for the boots. After I paid him, I handed him the plaque I had made. I do not know why it was important to make it for him, but it was. I was surprised how shy I felt handing it to him. Maybe because he was an elder in rover terms, and I hoped for his honest approval.
Shueller turned it over in his hands, and when he saw the carving on the front, a tear fell slowly down his craggy, lined, weathered cheek. I began to worry that I had done something wrong.
Seeing the worry and concern on my face, he said, “Ah, there now, lass, these are good tears. ’Tis a beautiful gift you have given me. I never thought in this lifetime I would see anything made with a Neebing pattern again. I had thought them lost and gone forever. I will cherish this for all of my days. Thank you lass.”
I did not know what to say to that, and at any rate, we were interrupted by someone else entering the booth. The man was dressed in forester green very similar to that worn by the Huntress, and I quickly glanced at his hands to see if he wore a ring like mine. He had a ring on with a dark stone in it, but mine did not warm or stir as he passed right by me, heading towards the back of the booth where boots were displayed. He also gave no more than a cursory glance at the plaque the shoemaker was holding. I thought it odd, and then I looked at Shueller and thought I saw a puzzled look cross his face, but I might have been mistaken. I was not mistaken when he briskly rose, put the plaque behind his counter, and motioned that I should follow him to the front entrance of the booth.
“Glad you like the boots. Come by tomorrow and see me so I can make sure the fit is right after you have worn them a day. You take care now,” he said, with a slight tip of his head towards the man in the back.
I left the booth but heeded Shueller’s words as I made my way back to my booth.