The morning sky was a brilliant blue, the sun beating down cooled by a breeze just stiff enough to keep the pennants on the iron market entrance snapping without tangling about the poles, the air redolent with the scents of flowers and the trilling of songbirds. It was as perfect a MidsummerEve as could be . . .
“What game d’you think yer playin’ at, beak! Our family’s been sellin’ at the Rose Fair for decades, an’ our stall’s always been right here next ta the main entrance!”
Straightening from the small wagon he’d been trying to help maneuver through the gate, Sergeant Hektor Dann of the Haven City Watch kept his expression as neutral as possible in the face of the small, angry flower-merchant shaking her fist at him from behind a load of rose boxes.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “On that side.” He indicated the space to the left with a careful nod of his head; Pansy Barrow was well known for her matchstick temper, and she’d never cared for pointing. “Basil’s stall’s always been on this side, remember?”
“Basil’s stock’s caught the mold!” she retorted. “He ain’t comin’ this year.”
Hektor glanced up the street to where Basil Greenfields was waiting patiently to bring his fully laden wagon inside the market grounds.
Pansy followed his gaze with narrowed eyes, but her only concession to his silent point was an explosive snort.
“So, uh, where’s Jem?” he asked carefully. “Isn’t he supposed to be helpin’ you set up this year?”
“He was,” she growled. “He’s chasin’ after some girl, no doubt. A body could fall down dead in a ditch afore some grandsons’d lift a finger to help ’em. And don’t think he’ll inherit a thing neither. That farm an’ all that goes with it’ll go to his cousin Marnie. See how he likes them apples,” she added loudly as a young man ambled over to them. He bent to kiss her cheek and received a mild smack for his trouble. “Where’ve you been?” she demanded.
“Helpin’ Ellan wi’ ’er ma’s stall,” Jem replied with an easy smile.
“Ellin’s ma has enough family to set up three stalls at once. Get workin’ on mine or you’ll get no supper!”
“Sure, gran.” He gave Hektor an evil grin. “Where’d ya want it?”
Eyes narrowed, Hektor pointed silently toward the left of the entrance, then tried to regain the sense of peace he’d somehow managed in the midst of Iron Street’s Midsummer preparations. But it was no use. With a sigh, he returned his attention to the line of merchants waiting outside the grounds.
Traditionally a time when Valdemar’s youth showed off its physical prowess; the Midsummer festival was held outdoors; in the countryside on the village greens or the common lands, in the towns on whatever bits of open ground that could be spared. In the capital, the wealthier neighborhoods, those that contained green spaces within their walls, erected large, colorful tents where the older citizens could take their ease with a glass of wine or cider while the younger contested with the bow, quarterstaff, and sword. In the vendor and trade districts the well-to-do merchants sponsored skittles, bowls, or stoolball competitions, and even the poorest streets managed a foot race or a shinty game during the day, with the more adult pursuits of fighting, dancing, and drinking in the evening. Betting was fierce and neighborhood pride fiercer. All manner of prizes, from money to sweetmeats to simple bragging rights, were handed out, but at the Iron Market, renamed the Rose Fair for the duration of the festival, the traditional prizes had always been roses, for Midsummer was also the traditional time when the flower sellers descended on Haven en masse. The best went straight to the Palace and the wealthier houses, but enough of the smaller ones crowded into the Iron Market to cause a yearly sweet-smelling and colorful headache for the Watch.
“Sleepin’ on the job, eh, Sergeant?”
Once again, Hektor dragged himself up from the sense of peace he’d struggled to maintain to find Fair Master Linton Kray grinning at him.
“Jus’ thinkin’.”
“Bad idea. Causes ya to miss things.” Linton jerked his head to where Constable Marcher was trying to broker a peace between two elderly brewers arguing over the placement of their individual stalls.
“Clay’s managin’ fine.”
“If by managin’ you mean managin’ not to get his head knocked in by a walkin’ stick, I’d agree with you, but managin’ to get all the food an’ drink vendors set up by tonight, I dunno.” He turned before Hektor could answer. “Mornin’, Pansy. You got my order?”
“Who else would have it? Twenty of the finest yellow roses in all of Valdemar.”
“Twenty? You’re gettin’ generous in your old age.”
Hektor’s older brother, Aiden, laughed as Linton turned an indignant scowl on him. “You do like to sneak up on a man, don’t cha Corporal?” he retorted. “Gonna get yourself into hot water one of these days. As it happens, besides the heavylift and the hammer throw, I’m sponsorin’ the littles’ stone toss. Got a grandson enterin’ for the first time.”
“All three of those sites are already set up,” Hektor pointed out. “So, did you actually want me for somethin’?”
Linton shook his head. “Nope. Just wanted to let you know that the tug-a-war ditch is all set up too,” he answered. “Nice an’ muddy. Just waitin’ for a line of smiths to send a line of watchmen tumblin’ into it just like they do every year.”
“Not this year,” Aiden retorted. “This year we’ve got Lance Constable Barrons to anchor us.”
Linton made a mock show of considering the other man’s words seriously. “Yep, yep, that might do the trick for you, unless, of course, we got Benj Gransil’s nephew, Ted, to anchor for us.”
Hektor’s eyes narrowed. “Thought Ted was a butcher.”
“He is, but as it turns out, he served a full apprenticeship under Benj afore he took over at his da’s abattoir.”
About to say something he was sure he’d regret, Hektor was spared incurring the undying wrath of Haven’s leading blacksmith by a shout of warning from one of the wagoners. All three men turned to see the youngest Dann brother, thirteen-year-old Padreic, pelting down the street toward them at high speed.
“He ain’t half fast, your Paddy,” Pansy noted. “Guess I’ll be bettin’ on his gameball team this year.”
“Hek! I mean Sarg!” Paddy skidded to a halt in front of Hektor, straightening the front of his Watch House runner’s uniform as Hektor gave him a stern look.
“You gotta come quick,” he panted. “The Cap’n’s gone an’ gutted the tug-a-war team.”
“What, why?” Hektor kept his gaze on his brother’s face, ignoring Linton’s suddenly wolfish grin.
“Dunno. But he’s got most of ’em on shift tomorrow at dusk. He’s written it on the staff chart by the Duty Sergeant’s desk an’ all.”
Aiden’s eyes widened. “There’ll be a riot.”
“Constable Marcher!”
Clay came at the run, drawn by the urgency in Hektor’s voice.
“Take my place here. The flower an’ honey sellers all know their sites.” He waved a distracted hand at Pansy’s snort, and for a change, she allowed the familiarity to pass. “If there’s any problem with the food an’ drink vendors, get Linton to sort it out.”
The Fair Master’s grin became a full out laugh.
“You wanna concede our win now, Sergeant Dann, or wait till tomorrow dusk?” he asked.
“Not a chance.”
“An’ when we win,” Aiden added, “any of you smart enough to lay your bets on us’ll clean up.”
Linton’s retort went unheard as the three Danns turned and ran for the Watch House.
The place was in an uproar when they arrived, but as yet, no one had mustered the courage to confront the Captain, sitting peacefully in his office with the door open, either unaware, or unconcerned about the chaos he’d created.
Aiden shoved his younger brother unceremoniously inside.
“Sir?”
Captain Travin Torrell, closed the ledger he was studying and looked up, an expression of mild inquiry on his face.
“Ah, Sergeant.” He glanced past him. “And Corporal. Do come in.”
Hektor schooled his own expression to one of neutral respect as they entered. Ordinarily it was the responsibility of the Day Sergeant to post the shifts. The Captain had the right to have his . . . opinions listened to, but he rarely interfered with Hektor’s decisions. And he’d never arbitrarily rewritten the staff chart. Until today.
“What do you need?”
“About the new staffing for Midsummer’s Dusk, sir. It’s just that you’ve put Pat an’ Jamie across from the Awl an’ Tongs.”
“I did.” The Captain leaned back. “Last year, with so many Watchmen attending the tug-of-war competition, we saw far too many incidents of public drunkenness and brawling in and around the local taverns.” He laid his hand on the ledger for emphasis.
“Yes, sir, which is why I doubled the Watchmen in those areas. Already. Without your . . . help,” Hektor added silently.
“I noted that. However, Lance Constable Barrons has the height and Constable Farane the girth to create the necessary impression to promote order, which Constables Spotsworth and Cooper lack.”
“Yes, sir.” Hektor took a deep breath. Might as well leap into it. “But we need Pat an’ Jamie to beat the smiths, Capt’n. Without ’em, we don’t stand a chance.”
Behind him, he felt Aiden bridle, but he ignored him.
“From what I’m given to understand, the Watch has never stood a chance as it were, Sergeant,” the Captain replied. “That we have never, in fact, beaten the smiths in the history of the Rose Fair. And I’m not so sure that having the entire community see the Iron Street Watch covered in mud year after year promotes the proper degree of respect and confidence necessary to maintain the peace. We have a reputation to uphold, after all.”
Hektor cast a swift sideways glance at Aiden. From anyone else, this outlandish speech would have generated aggressive disdain, if not full out derision from his older brother, but Aiden had a tightly controlled expression of polite neutrality on his face. To be honest, the Iron Street Watch covered in mud was what most of the community came to the Rose Fair to see on Midsummer’s Dusk, but since most of the Watch were their sons, grandsons, and nephews, it hadn’t ever seemed to erode respect, confidence, or their reputation all that much.
“I am aware that the tug-of-war is a time-honored tradition,” the Captain continued, “Which is why I have put in a request for reinforcements from a few of the other Watch Houses. If they arrive in time, we may have enough men to keep order and field some kind of a tug-of-war team at the same time.”
Hektor and Aiden shared a look of deep apprehension.
“Um . . . no disrespect intended, Sir,” Hektor said slowly, feeling his way around the delicate subject of the Captain’s Breakneedle Street past, “but Iron Street’s awful’ proud of its own, an’ they don’t take too kindly to . . . um . . . outsiders tellin’ ’em what to do.”
The Captain raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say. But I think I’ve got that problem solved as well.”
“Aiden! Hektor! Where are you hidin’, boys?”
“Uncle Daz?”
As the two Danns spun toward the familiar voice, Captain Torrell smiled slightly. “Ah, good. That will be Lieutenant Browne now. Captain Hutton’s letter said he would be arriving today.”
“Lieutenant Browne?”
Like most cities, Valdemar’s capital was made up of many small, insular districts, some no more than a single street long, each with its own history and traditions. There was very little movement up, down, in, or out, and generations of families lived and died within a few blocks of each other. Their mother’s twin brother, Dazen Browne, had done the unthinkable. He’d accepted a position at the Cheese Court Watch House on the other side of Haven, taking his wife, children, and aging parents with him. They might as well have moved to another country.
“So, you’re an officer now, huh?” Once Aiden had extricated himself from their uncle’s bear hug, he gave the insignia on his uniform a suspicious look.
“Well, there was an openin’, an’ what with gettin’ older, I figured I might need a bit more authority to keep the younger fellas in line.”
“Uh-huh. What does retired Sergeant Grather-Preston think of that?”
Daz chuckled. “Not much,” he admitted. “Had a few choice words for his youngest son.”
“I’ll bet he did. Somethin’ about nothin’ carryin’ more authority than a proper sergeant’s voice.”
“Word for word. You developed that voice yet, Hek?”
“Workin’ on it,” Hektor answered as Aiden snickered. “You come by yourself, Uncle Daz?”
“You mean besides the five Watchmen I brought from the Cheese Court nick to show you lazy louts how it’s done?”
“Yeah, besides them.”
“Emptied the house. Your ma hasn’t seen our youngest yet, an’ the rest haven’t seen their auntie nor their cousins in ages. Came up the river way with Deem first thing this mornin’. Already dropped most of ’em off at your place, but Hamil an’ Prest walked up with me.” He jerked his thumb behind him to indicate the two very large young men in Watch House uniforms standing by the duty sergeant’s desk. “Oh, an’ Shanda brought a pile of littles hopin’ they could earn some fair money cleanin’ out bird cages for Kasiath. Hey there, little Bird Speaker!” he shouted as Hektor and Aiden’s fourteen-year-old sister came pelting down the stairs to throw her arms around a girl only a few years older than herself. “Messenger Bird apprentice, eh? Yer Granther Thomar woulda been proud.”
Shanda returned Kassie’s hug before they were both engulfed by a crowd of children all talking at once. They slowly moved across the floor and up the stairs as one, the sound of their chatter slowly receding.
“So, you were saying, Sergeant?”
Hektor blinked. “Cap’n?”
“About outsiders? Are these men close enough to suit the street?”
His tone was mild, but Hektor thought he could see an unusual flash of humor in the older man’s expression.
“Yes, Captain.”
It didn’t take long to get Hamil, Prest and the other three Watchmen partnered up with Iron Street veterans; then Hektor and Aiden returned to the market grounds with their Uncle Daz in tow.
Since it was for the most part sponsored by merchants, on Midsummer’s Eve the Rose Fair predominantly involved selling in the daytime and revelry in the evening. Most of the flower, salt, and honey sellers were in position by noon, and, not to be outdone, herbalists Sue and Bill March had a stall next to Pansy’s, selling kellwood and sendlewood oil lotions and wheat smut tinctures. Several potters had tall, thin ceramic vases for sale to hold the winning roses, and the posymakers were doing a brisk business in the small maiden’s hope bundles popular with young lovers. Although no livestock was allowed on the Iron Market grounds, the Temple of Thanoth had special dispensation; it had a wide area fenced off with various domestic animals available for deserving families only, a table for selling whistles and small carved animals, a bin for food and cleaning donations, and a small iron box for monetary offerings.
The serious drinking and dancing wouldn’t begin until dark, but the scrumpy and summer-wine sellers were already in place in the very center of the grounds. As the three men ambled slowly through the growing crowds, they kept a careful eye out. Clay had already arrested three pickpockets, a smash-and-grab artist, and two Tyver boys for tossing stench beetles into Holly Poll’s ribbon cart.
“I mostly hauled the littles in to keep her from braining ’em,” he’d confided to Hektor.
And Jez Poll was on his way off the grounds, escorted by two of the larger Watchmen, for picking a fight with Hektor’s father-in-law, Edzel Smith. Of an age, the two men were equally matched sober, but as Jez was already reeling and Edzel never touched a drop, the retired blacksmith had sent his old schoolmate flying into a sweetmeat stall with one punch.
“We arrested Jez on account of his language around the littles,” Corporal Kiel Wright told them. “That and for the chaos he caused sendin’ all those treats scatterin’ in among ’em. He can come back this evenin’ if he can dry out a bit.”
Along the far west side, the food vendors were already busy, and the odors of frying onions, fish pies, and pescods reminded Hektor that he hadn’t eaten since early that morning. He shared half a dozen pickled eggs and a huge cheese toasty from Nanny Agga’s pie stall with Aiden and Daz, then led the way back toward the entrance.
As they passed the bookmaker’s stall, the man waved them over.
“Is it true the watch is concedin’ the tug-a-war?” he asked, eager for some first-hand information.
Aiden’s eyes narrowed. “No, it ain’t true, Lee. Who told you that?”
The bookmaker shrugged. “It’s all over the fair. I’ve had to set the bettin’ at four to one what with Pat an’ Jamie off the team an’ all. I know yer the Captain, Aiden, an’ the Danns have always been big, strong lads,” he added with an attempt at an ingratiating smile, “but really, it hardly seems worth it without them two, don’t you think?”
“Pat an’ Jamie are not off the team,” Hektor retorted.
“Thought your Cap’n put ’em on shift. He take ’em off again?”
Hektor made to reply, then just turned away, shaking his head.
“Nothin’s settled yet, Lee; not by half,” Aiden growled as he turned to follow.
“So, they’re still on shift then?” Lee persisted.
Neither Dann bothered to turn around.
“You need to talk to the Cap’n,” Aiden said as they headed back to the Watch House, their Uncle Daz wisely keeping his thoughts to himself.
“I know.”
“Soon.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“When we get back to the nick.”
But when they arrived, Paddy informed them that the Captain had gone to take an early dinner with Captain Rilade of the Breakneedle Street Watch House, and before the Captain returned, Hektor got called out to handle a botched shoplifting-turned-street brawl in Spud Lane. By the time he got back, with the four Watchmen he’d had to call, the shoplifter, his accomplice, and the three grocers who’d objected to their behavior, the Captain had left for the night.
“Why’d you bring them in?” Hektor’s old partner, Kiel Wright, asked, jerking his thumb at the indignant grocers.
Coach of the tug-of-war team Corporal Hydd Thacker turned on him with a furious snarl. “Because you don’t bring a punch-up into the street!” he shouted. “That’s why we’re missin’ Pat an’ Jamie in the first place! Get ’em all downstairs!”
As cowed as the grocers were now, Kiel obeyed.
By the time Hektor and Aiden got off shift, the wall chart still held the names of Lance Constable Barrons and Constable Farane at the Awl and Tongs on Midsummer’s Dusk.
“You have to talk to him,” Aiden said as they took the tenement steps up the Dann flats, two at a time.
“I will.”
“When?”
“First thing tomorrow, all right?”
“We’re not on shift tomorrow,” Aiden reminded him.
“I’ll go in anyway.”
“An’ if the Cap’n won’t change his mind? What are you gonna do then?”
“I’ll think of something.”
“It better be a good somethin’.”
Hektor closed his mouth on what would have been a profane answer as their Aunt Alana and Aiden’s wife, Suli, met them at the door to her and Aiden’s flat. Suli thrust a large pot of stew into her husband’s arms, and their seven-month-old twin sons, Thomar and Preston, into Daz’s.
“Everyone’s at your ma’s for dinner,” she told them. “Hektor, can you help Jakon and Raik with the chairs, please? Bring all of ’em. How many are you here?”
“Just us. Hydd Thacker took the other Cheese Court men home with him,” Aiden told her.
“Well, at least that’s three less. If the littles sit on the floor an’ Granther Preston’s in Granther Thomar’ old armchair, we should have enough seatin’. If not, Rosie’s folks have offered to lend us theirs.”
“Comin’ through!” The two middle Dann brothers pushed past them, carrying two chairs each, then headed up the stairs at a run.
“When you’re done with that, the plates need bringin’ up,” she called after them.
Daz laughed. “Just like old times,” he noted, “happy chaos.”
“It is that,” Alana agreed. “Entertainin’ any thoughts about movin’ back, husband?”
He smiled over the heads of his two nephews. “Maybe.”
“Good.”
Half an hour later, fifteen adults, seven youths, including Paddy’s sweetheart, Rosie, and Kassie’s best friend Laryn, six children, and eight babies all sat down to dinner together.
The next morning, heading for the fair in a crowd of family, Hektor shot his brothers a look that banned talk of the tug-of-war. He’d said he would handle it, and he would handle it, although he was still completely unsure of how. Adult conversation was impossible anyway as Aiden’s four-year-old son, Egan, holding court high above them on his father’s shoulders, kept up a constant, high speed explanation of the fair for the benefit of those cousins who had never attended before.
“Cost a pennybit to get in, but babies are free. All the sweets are a pennybit too an’ so’s the cider.”
“The soft cider, little jaybird,” Aiden interjected.
“Uh-huh. Ma says we gotta keep together an’ that we gotta do what Kassie an’ Shanda say. Ma say’s that if we’re all real good we can stay at the fair for supper. I’m gonna do the littles long race an’ the short race. Gus an’ Jacy an’ Emma can do those too, but Ben an’ Bryan are too young. They can do the littlest stone toss an’ the beanbag throw.”
“Me too!” Squirming around in her cousin Shanda’s arms, two-year-old Leila gave her older brother an egregious scowl.
“Maybe. You might be too little still.”
“Me too!” Leila began to cry, and Aiden tapped his son sternly on the knee.
“But she might be, Da!” he protested. “It’s not my fault!”
“We’ll find a game for you to do, cousin,” Shanda assured her. “Maybe we can team up together for something.”
Comforted, Leila settled down, and Egan continued to sort out which family members were to enter which competition and who was going to come away with what prizes.
“Da is cap’n of the tug-a-war, so we’re gonna win that a course, and take all the roses there an’ make a HUGE bunch on Gramma’s table!” He threw his arms wide, almost flying backward off his father’s shoulders. Hektor caught him at the last second, and the boy gave him a beatific smile in response. “Thanks, Uncle Hek. The Danns an’ the Brownes are gonna take all the prizes, right?” he added as he righted himself.
“Hope so.”
Aiden shot him a look but said nothing.
As they passed The Awl and Tongs tavern, Hektor turned to see the publican, Helena Rell, and her four children lifting the shutters off for the day’s trade. With the clear weather holding, they had several tables outside already under an awning, and he paused, an idea beginning to grow in his mind. “I’ll meet you later,” he said, striding across the street. “Don’t let anyone talk about any kind of conceding until I get there.”
By the time he reached the fairground it was midafternoon, and the place was crowded with people from Iron Street and beyond. Egan ran up to him, bubbling over with news about the family’s triumphs. Jakon and Raik had placed second in the junior relay race, but Paddy’s gameball team, the Watchmen, had destroyed their rivals, the Chandler’s Row Wolves, by a score of five to nil. Aiden remained the unbeaten senior wrestling champion for the fourth year in a row, and Kassie had taken the junior ring toss and junior horseshoe throw both, winning two roses and a twisted wire bracelet. He himself had come in third in the littles long race, behind Tawny and Hassa Tyver, and second in the short race to Ebony Poll.
“There’s still the stone toss an’ the three-legged race; I’m gonna do that with Jacy, an’ then there’s team tag! After that, we’re all gonna watch the tug-a-war an’ eat sweets!”
Still chattering, he led his uncle to where most of the family, babies in their arms and at their feet, were taking their ease beneath a small tent within sight of the children’s games.
As he came up, he was surrounded by the rest of the littles, all shouting at once to make themselves heard.
“How come you didn’t race today, Cousin Hek? Da said you was the fastest ever when you was a little!”
“You gonna buy us all sweets at the tug-a-war, Cousin Hek? Egan said you might!”
“I lost a tooth bitin’ a treacle pie; wanna see it?”
“I’m gonna be in the stone toss, I’ve been practicin’ all week!”
“How come there isn’t a littles’ tug-a-war; we’d win it for sure!”
“Ben barfed behind the sweetmeat tent ’cause he ate way too many at once an’ then spun ’round and around and around!”
All six cousins and at least eight friends of Egan’s began spinning about in a circle until they all fell laughing to the ground. Hektor admired their technique for a few moments, answered questions, and exclaimed over winnings until Kassie and Shanda scooped them up to prepare for their next events. Then he threw himself down next to Jemmee and Ismy, accepting his own sons, five-month-old Ronnie and Eddie, onto his lap. As Jakon and Raik presented their mother with their winning roses from the long jump, he looked over at the ceramic vase of flowers already sitting by her side.
“Shouldn’t there be more?” he asked.
Jemmee shifted her new niece from one arm to the other as she gave him an unimpressed look. “Well, you weren’t here to add to my hoard this year,” she scolded. “An’ Kassie gave most of hers to her Granny, as she should,” she added in case Elinor might think she was finding fault with that.
“What about Paddy’s?”
“Ah, yes, well,” she glanced over to where Paddy and Rosie had already found themselves a seat on the makeshift bleachers beside the tug-of-war pitch. “Who’m I to stand in the way of young love,” she said with a fond smile.
Hektor followed her gaze, counting the flowers clutched tightly in both toung fists. “Looks like they did about the same. That’s good.”
Uncle Daz glanced over their heads. “I see there’s no bonfire pit again this year.”
Hektor shook his head. “Not since the fire two years ago. Just didn’t seem right what with the deaths an’ all. We may never see another on Midsummer’s Dusk now.”
Daz nodded. “I miss your Da. He was a good friend.”
“When I was a young man, we didn’t have no Midsummer’s Dusk,” Preston noted. “Jus’ Midsummer’s Eve. All the games were packed into one day. The tug-a-war was at sundown right before the bone-burnin’—the bonfire, that is. The butchers made a killing all through the springtime, what with folk buying an’ drying bones to add to it. The whole street built it, not just the woodsmen like nowadays.” He scratched at his chin. “Somethin’ to do with raisin’ of healthy crops or the chasing off’a bad magic. Can’t remember. There was fire jumpin’ too. In yer great-granther’s day it were only maidens that did the jumpin’, but by my time, it was boys as well as girls. That was a sight. An’ I was pretty good at it too, could jump to the moon back then. When I was seventeen, I leaped straight over the top to impress yer granny.”
Aiden glanced over at Granny Elinor, whose attention had already wandered from a story she’d heard a hundred times.
“Was she impressed?” he asked.
Preston caught up her hand as she gave an amused snort. “Not a bit of it,” he declared with a laugh. “She’d jus’ jumped twice as high herself. But she was impressed by the great long scorchin’ I did to my left calf.”
“Impressed isn’t the word I used at the time, Preston Browne,” she scolded. “Nor the one I’d use now if it weren’t for the littles here. Silly old fool.”
He chuckled. “I was a silly young fool then, but you married me anyway, didn’t you?”
“I did.” She squeezed his hand, then waved at Jemmee to pass little Preston over to her, before shading her eyes with one hand. “Well, hello there, Linton Kray, don’t you look official?” she said as the Fair Master strode over, his blacksmith’s apron trimmed in yellow fringe.
“Thanks Ellie. My granddaughter sewed it on for me. Hey, Preston. Nice to see you both again.”
“Hey, yerself,” Preston acknowledged.
“These all your grandbabies?”
“Yup. Every last one, an’ that pile of puppies over there. This is our newest, little Abbie.”
Linton chucked the baby under the chin, smiling as she made a grab for his fingers. “She’s a pretty wee thing. Got eight myself and two on the way,” he said proudly.
“They’re a comfort as you get older. How’s your Jillian?”
“Good. She’s over at the stone toss gettin’ our Hollen ready for his first ever competition.”
“I saw him. He’s a fine-looking lad.”
“He is that. Takes after his ma.” Linton straightened. “Well, it’s nice to see you both again. The street hasn’t been the same without you.” He turned to Hektor. “You ready to concede that-tug-of-war match yet?”
Hektor smiled back at him. “Nope. Hey, Pat, hey, Jamie.”
He nodded as the two burly watchmen headed for the area where the tug-of-war teams were warming up.
“So, you got ’em off shift, huh?” Linton noted. “How’d you mange that?”
Hektor pointed to the large beer tent in the center of the grounds. “Publican Rell felt she would make more money bringin’ all her goods an’ staff here instead of splittin’ them over two sites, so she’s closed the Awl and Tongs up for the evenin’. With no tavern, there’s no need for Watchmen.”
“Always said you were the clever one,” Linton said grudgingly. “Good thing I laid a bet with Lee that you’d get ’em back. What?” He widened his eyes in mock surprise at Hektor’s expression. “You figured I didn’t believe a Watch House Sergeant could run circles around any Captain to get what he wanted? Afternoon, Captain Torrell.”
The others turned to see the Iron Street Captain and four other men coming toward them.
“Good afternoon, Fair Master Kray,” Captain Torrell said formally. “May I present Captains Rilade and Guthers of the Breakneedle and Water Street Watch Houses respectively, and my dear friend, Captain Elbert, late of Lower Devine. Gentlemen, this is my Sergeant and his family. We’ve just come from escorting Daedrus to the fair. I understand that he is to drop the flag at the tug-of-war.”
“He is that,” Linton agreed.
“We’re looking forward to watching the competition,” Captain Rilade added.
“Won’t save your lot from their comin’ mud bath,” Linton chuckled. “No disrespect to the Watch; a fine bunch of lads they are, but Tay an’ Ted are more than a match for Pat an’ Jamie, whatever their size, an’ Aiden couldn’t beat my boy, Jared, in a game of marbles.”
“Good thing we aren’t only relying on them then, isn’t it?” Hektor replied.
Linton followed his gaze to where Hamil and Prest were stripping down with the rest of the Watch House team.
“Who’re they?!” he demanded.
Aiden gave him a smile completely devoid of warmth. “Our cousins.”
“They ain’t Iron Street.”
“They are,” Daz replied, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Born an’ bred.”
“Well, they ain’t Iron Street Watch.”
“Oh, I think you’ll find that they are,” Captain Torrell said, his upper class Breakneedle Street accent even stronger than usual. “Attached to the Iron Street Watch House for the duration of the Rose Fair.”
“You wanna concede our win now, Fair Master?” Aiden asked, glancing past him to the sudden flurry of activity around the bookmaker’s stall.
Linton scowled. “Not by half. We’ll see you on the pitch in an hour. Bring yer towels.”
He stalked off, already shouting to his team, and the Captain smiled.
“I think it’s high time the Iron Street Watch gave the Iron Street smiths a nice mud bath, don’t you think?” he asked. “My friends and I have sponsored six roses apiece from Flower-Master Greenfields, and I expect them to grace the Duty Sergeant’s desk by tonight.”
Aiden showed his teeth. “They will,” he promised.
“Good man.” The Captain turned. “We’ll take our places now, I think, yes?”
With the others in agreement, he nodded to Preston and Elinor and took his leave.
“Jus’ remember you’re a Browne as well as a Dann,” Daz said to Aiden a few minutes later as the entire family made their way, en mass, toward the bleachers, “an’ we never quit until the job’s done.”
“Not likely something I’d ever forget,” Aiden answered. “Hey Daedrus! Thanks for coming,” he called as he took his place at the front of his team.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, my boy,” the retired Artificer replied. “Honored to have been asked. Now where is that flag, Mern?” He turned to the boy at his side, who pointed silently at his pocket. “Oh, yes, of course. Are all of these people your family, Hektor?” he continued. “My, my, there are a lot of you. Now who is who?”
It took some time to make all the introductions, but eventually, Mern drew the older man toward the pitch and the rest took their places on the bleachers. The crowd hushed as sixteen men took hold of the long length of hemp stretched over the ditch. Daedrus fumbled in his pocket for a moment, then pulled out a brightly checkered dishcloth. One hand on Mern’s shoulder to steady himself, he lifted it into the air, paused a moment to enjoy the sight of every eye glued to his every move, then flung it to the ground. The crowd roared as Linton and Hydd began to scream orders at their respective teams.
An hour later, as Ismy tucked her arm in his, Hektor took a deep, contented breath. The evening sky was a deep, dark blue, the setting sun a streak of pink and orange against the clouds, the air redolent with the scents of flowers and the sound of music and laughter. It was as perfect a Midsummer’s Dusk as could be asked for . . . made that much more perfect by the earlier sight of seven smiths and one butcher going headfirst into the mud.