THE TWO MOVED QUICKLY THROUGH the Tacky Tavern. Rosa stuffed her pockets full of salt packets. Jasper put another handful into the pouch he carried. His clothes had no pockets. Sir Dad was a purist when it came to anachronistic pockets, which didn’t show up in European clothes until the seventeenth century, so Jasper had to carry a pouch.
It felt like theft to take so much salt, especially without buying a turkey leg first, but neither one of them was hungry. Besides, Jasper had already eaten three or four lifetimes worth of tasteless turkey legs in his years as a squire and festival kid. He would need to be very, very hungry to want another one.
Next they ran to Odds Bodkin’s Knickknackery Shoppe for a pocketknife and a cigarette lighter. The folding knife had a polished wooden hilt to make it look fancier than it really was. The lighter was a chrome Zippo with sea chantey lyrics etched into the side. Jasper couldn’t find anything cheaper. They didn’t have enough cash between them. So Jasper held up the items, made eye contact with Mr. Bodkin behind the counter, and tried to communicate urgency.
Mr. Bodkin gave him a skeptical look. Festival performers got discounts at the shops and stalls, but they didn’t get things for free, and Mr. Bodkin probably wouldn’t sell cigarette lighters to eleven-year-olds, anyway.
Jasper didn’t want to explain. He wasn’t sure where to start. He wasn’t sure Mr. Bodkin would remember what he told him if he did try to explain. But he must have looked urgent and serious enough, because Mr. Bodkin nodded and turned his attention back to paying customers. Jasper left the shop with knife, Zippo, and lighter fluid.
“How’s this?” he asked. “I’m not sure where to find matches instead. And Nell makes the best knives around here, but she’d never let us use one.”
“Should be fine,” Rosa said. She filled up the Zippo and tried to light it, but couldn’t get it to work. Sparks shot away from the flint and gears, but the wick wouldn’t catch. She kept trying.
“You can keep creepy things out of the festival with this stuff?” he asked.
Rosa hesitated. “Maybe? I think so. But I don’t even know what we’re dealing with. Or what it’s trying to do. Or redo. Or undo.” She looked like she wanted to burn something. Her fingertips attacked the lighter. Spark, spark, spark.
“Your mom said you could handle this,” Jasper reminded her.
“Yeah.” Rosa shut the stubborn Zippo and stuffed it in her pocket. She clearly didn’t want to discuss her mother. “Let’s go. We should start with the lagoon.”
“I can’t,” Jasper said. “Not yet, anyway. I’ll meet you there in a bit.”
“Belly dancing?”
“Belly dancing. I have to pass the hat. They don’t get paid much without tips.”
“Okay. Meet you back at the lagoon.”
Jasper turned, ran, and jumped over Handisher, surprised that the tortoise was in his way.
Rosa walked. She tried to move with singular purpose. She did not ask for anyone’s permission on her way back to the closed lagoon. She did not acknowledge the guards at the entrance until they crossed their spears and blocked her way.
“Wait just a sec,” said one guard, uncomfortable and out of character.
“The lagoon is closed for the day,” the other guard said. “We’ve heard complaints of wild creatures in the forest. Best keep to the larger crowds.”
“It was a ghost,” Rosa told them. “I was there. And I’m the appeasement specialist.” I’m really just the specialist’s daughter, she thought, but didn’t say.
“Ingot isn’t haunted,” the guards said in unison.
One of them wore a motley uniform of different colors stitched together. The sleeves of his doublet were poufy and cut into long, slashed strips of fancy fabric.
“You’re dressed up as a Landsknecht,” Rosa noticed. “German mercenary.”
“How do you know that?” he asked, incredulous.
Rosa ignored the question. She had little patience for grown-ups surprised by young knowledge. “Landsknechts wore patched finery cut from the corpses of nobles that they killed in battle. Those clothes were seriously haunted. That was part of the appeal. Their outfits screamed in pain and rage. They thought it made them more badass. If you want to be really authentic, you should carry hidden speakers and play recordings of horrible yelling wherever you go.”
“I tried that already,” the guard admitted. “Didn’t have the right effect. And no one else understood. I kept having to explain.”
“I’m glad you tried,” Rosa said. “And now you know that I know about hauntings. So trust me when I tell you that there is one, and that I need to see to it—even though we’re in Ingot.”
The guards looked uncomfortable and uncertain, but they uncrossed spears and moved out of her way.
Rosa followed the path around the hedge, over the bridge, and up to the lagoon. She took another look at the loop of copper wire and the lurid green mark where the haunted beast had touched it.