After Annwr sent them off, Arddwn and Lliem dashed away, with Aleswina running after them. Pulled by the calls of peddlers hawking their wares, the clamor of competing musicians, and the smells of every kind of savory food imaginable, they rushed past players acting scenes from the bible and into the fun part of the fair.
By midafternoon they’d seen acrobats leaping so high they seemed to be flying. They’d watched the puppet show twice, laughing until their sides ached. They’d eaten ginger-spiced cakes and buttery fried bread and fruit tarts soaked with honey. But in all the fun and excitement, they still hadn’t decided which toy they would choose for themselves.
Arddwn would have picked a real-looking wooden sword, but Aleswina stood unexpectedly firm, repeating, “Nothing sharp or dangerous,” in a close approximation of Annwr’s voice.
Lliem would have chosen a patchwork horse at a stand of cloth dolls and animals if Arddwn hadn’t scoffed, “Those are for babies!”
Half-way through saying, “I’m not a baby,” Lliem saw a tub of stick horses with leather heads and yarn manes at the far end of the stall. He dashed up to it, his eyes fixed on a spotted black and white one with a long, thick white mane.
“That one!” he squealed, adding, “Please, please, please!” as he jumped up and down.
The extremely plump woman selling the toys put down her knitting, got up from her stool, and lumbered over to the barrel. In the next moment, Lliem had his pony in his hands and was crooning, “Brave Horse, I’ll call you Brave Horse,” in its ear.
Arddwn was too old for stick horses. While Ethelwen was paying for Lliem’s toy, he kept looking around for something he wanted that wasn’t sharp or dangerous.
Not far from the toy stand, a crowd gathered around a show that was making them clap and cheer.
Dodging his way through the throng, Arddwn came out in the front row to see a juggler tossing brightly colored balls through the air in loops and figures of eight, dipping down to add one more and one more and one more again from a basket by his feet as the onlookers applauded at each new addition, until he had twelve balls in the air at once and his hands were a blur of motion. Then, far too soon for Arddwn, the juggler, Trombert, dropped off one ball after another back into the basket, until he was back to three. Keeping those going, he walked around the edge of a circle, calling for donations and offering to sell his balls for a pening each.
The crowd thinned as the act came to the end, leaving Arddwn still enthralled.
Hoping he’d had a paying customer for a change, Trombert lowered his offer to sell three balls for a single pening and include a juggling lesson in the bargain.
“They aren’t sharp or dangerous!” Arddwn’s response made no sense to Trombert but did to Aleswina, and she wanted to say yes only she took Annwr’s directions literally and sighed, “But An—I mean, your grandmother—said you could buy just one toy.”
“I’ll sell you one for a pening,” Trombert said quickly, “and will give you other two for free.”
Aleswina was persuaded, and Arddwn got to pick his balls, which, along with his juggling lesson, took long enough that Lliem, who was anxious to ride his new pony, climbed over the stone wall behind the food stands, mounted onto Brave Horse and rode off across the open field towards a stand of trees on the other side. Caught up in his game, he danced and pranced through the grass, unaware of how far he’d gone or that he was now completely alone except for a single figure cloaked in black who’d been passing by and who left the road to follow him.