Harrowing Hats (2 page)

So I got the five frogs, lingering an extra second or two to splash cold water on my face. I took the frogs back to the little Viking and handed him the first one to load on the catapult.

He looked at the frog in his hand and squinted up at me. “It’s not real.”

“Pardon me, sir?”

“The frog. It’s not real. I thought the frogs were
real
.”

I laughed a little and gripped the four, slimy rubber frogs that were left a little tighter. That was to keep from injuring my obnoxious customer. “Of course the frogs aren’t real, sir. That wouldn’t be allowed. But they are wet and will connect with yon target if your aim is good. And there are plentiful rewards for a young master like yourself who can do so.”

He looked at the frog again and shrugged. “Okay.”

The first frog almost went out of the booth where the frog catapult was set. The second fared not much better. The third made it to the water trough. The fourth and fifth frogs fell to the ground before reaching the water.

“Well done, young sir!” I fetched the consolation prize—a Pan’s pipe—and gave it to him with a flourish. “No doubt you shall someday be a great catapulter!”

“That wasn’t fair,” he complained, not reaching for the pipe. “I was prepared for real frogs, not those fake ones. I needed the real frog weight to reach the prizes. You tricked me. I want my money back.”

My smile felt like it was cutting into my face. “Good sir, I am only allowed to abide by the rules of the game. I cannot refund your money because you lost.”

“I didn’t lose. You cheated. Where are the real frogs?”

“Yes.” Our resident wizard, Merlin, joined the fray. “Where are the real frogs, Lady Jessie? Why haven’t you brought out the best for this fine young man?”

It was bad enough that I was here, helping people at the Renaissance Faire catapult frogs. I should’ve been studying a craft for my dissertation—“The Proliferation of Medieval Crafts in Modern Times.”

I had put in for my apprenticeship at Pope’s Pots and Kellie’s Kites months before it was necessary. Pope’s decided not to have an apprentice this summer and Kellie was taking a three-month sabbatical. By the time I found out, no other apprenticeships were available.

That left me a choice of waiting tables at the Pleasant Pheasant or doing the frog catapult. Not much of a choice. It was better than
not
working at Renaissance Faire Village over my vacation from the University of South Carolina at Columbia, where I’m an assistant history professor in my everyday life. But not by much.

“Merlin, perhaps you can explain to this good gentleman that there are no real frogs.”

The wizard looked at me like I’d lost my mind. His purple robe with gold stars matched the crooked pointed hat on his head. His white hair and straggly white beard helped him look the part even more. “What do you mean, there are no real frogs? Find a swamp and bring some here, wench! We must keep the customers happy.”

And that was truly the motto at the Village this year. Times were tight. Customers had thinned out, at least according to management. Though the cobblestone streets looked to me as full as ever of laughing tourists wearing Ren Faire finery and brandishing weaponry.

Adventure Land, the parent company of Renaissance Faire Village, was pulling out all the stops to bring in more paying customers. I certainly wouldn’t have been wearing this blouse otherwise. The new posters advertising the Village used the word
more
at least twice in every sentence.

But even though I loved the Village, there was only so much I was willing to do. I’d been a kitchen wench, cleaned the stables, sat with sick elephants, and cleaned out dirty fountains in my time. But I had to draw the line somewhere.

Digging up frogs to throw across the booth wasn’t one of the things I was willing to do. It didn’t even sound like one of the things I
should
do. Wasn’t there some law against killing frogs? “Perhaps you should use your magic, Sir Wizard, and compel frogs to come here and leap upon yon catapult.”

The little boy turned his gaze from me to Merlin. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“Of course! I should have thought of that myself!” Merlin made a face and threw out some magic powder that sparkled in the sunlight. “I command all frogs to come forth and display themselves for our young friend.”

By this time, as was always the case in the Village, a small crowd had gathered to see what was going on. At any time during the day, visitors could see one of Robin Hood’s Merry Men captured by the Sheriff of Nottingham, listen to Shakespeare reciting his odes, or watch knights joust on the battlefield. You never knew where to look for the next amusement.

“Well?” the boy asked after a moment. “Where are the frogs?”

“Is something wrong, Kenny?” A large, male version of the young boy joined us. “Is someone giving you a hard time?”

Kenny at once launched into his horrific tale of being cheated because I only had fake frogs. His father seemed to understand completely and turned to me. “I think that makes sense. Give my son his money back.”

I glanced at Merlin. Not many residents who lived in the Village knew that he was the CEO of Adventure Land. I wasn’t totally sure, but if he wanted to put real frogs into the game, that was his prerogative. And he could definitely decide if the boy (and his ogrelike father) should get their money back.

But he distanced himself, performing magic tricks for the crowd around us. That meant I had to handle it. I adjusted my bosom again and addressed Kenny’s father. “We do not use real frogs here, sir. I cannot refund the money your son paid. I did offer him a consolation prize.” I held out the Pan’s pipe again.

“That’s for girls!” Kenny’s father proclaimed. “Are you saying my son is a sissy? I want to talk to someone in charge! There must be a
man
around here who knows what’s going on.”

I glanced at Merlin again. He was playing with the gold cord braided at his waist. Clearly he was not going to be in charge of this incident.

“Is there a problem?” Village Bailiff (and my main man) Chase Manhattan entered the fray. He’s like the police chief and circuit court judge rolled into one very attractive package.

Seeing him there had to make Kenny and his father quake in their fake boots. Chase was six foot eight and two hundred fifty pounds of former jousting star—not to mention a college football hero. He wore his long brown hair in a braid that was carelessly tossed over one shoulder to reveal a gold earring. His tight black leather vest molded itself to his broad, muscled chest. He looked tough and determined.

Kenny began running through his list of complaints. His father seemed a little less willing to back his son up now that he was facing Chase. “Maybe live frogs are a little too much to expect, son.”

“No matter. We shall gladly refund your money, young sir.” Chase swept the boy a gallant bow. “Mayhap you can find another game to your liking.”

“But—” I started to complain. What would stop everyone from playing any game in the Village and asking for their money back when they were done? Truly, Chase wasn’t considering the consequences.

Delicious brown eyes, like Dove dark chocolates, gazed serenely back at me while he addressed our visitors. “Thank you for visiting Renaissance Faire Village and Market Place, good sirs. Enjoy a wonderful afternoon!”

The crowd, sensing the moment was over, started to move away, looking for other excitement. I gave Kenny and his father their money, adjusted my bosom, and went to pick up the frogs that had missed their mark.

“Well done, my boy!” Merlin commended Chase. “Really, I had no idea what to do. It was such a quandary. Lady Jessie seemed intent on cheating the poor lad. I’m wondering if some time in the stocks might do her some good.”

“All you had to do was tell me to give him his money back,” I said to Merlin. I was still holding a slimy, non-real frog, considering if I should hit the wizard squarely in the face, when Chase stayed my hand.

“I have some good news,” he said.

Merlin wandered away, the breeze whipping at the ends of his long robe—not an inspiring sight, since the wizard had a habit of flashing residents from time to time.

“Does it involve any kind of live animal or children?”

“Probably not. I think I may have found you an apprenticeship for the summer. Interested?”

I hugged him tightly. “Desperately so. I don’t care what it is, as long as I’m not out here on the front lines.”

“I don’t know.” His dark eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “You look good in that blouse, wench.”

“Thanks.” I adjusted the bosom again (just for him). “Now where is yon apprenticeship?” I gratefully put up the Closed sign on the Frog Catapult.

I didn’t want to sound ungrateful so I refrained from asking if it would fit in with the craft plan for my dissertation. Most of the crafts here would, but there were a few that were questionable. The Village maintained the air of the sixteenth century, for the most part. Weaving baskets at Wicked Weaves, making glass ornaments at the Glass Gryphon, or throwing pottery at Pope’s Pots could all be useful to me and my research.

On the other hand, Totally Toad Footstools or Lady Cathy’s Crochet might not be. I wasn’t sure about crochet. I’d have to check into it.

But on this clear, hot day, I wasn’t going to be particular. If it got me away from the frog catapult, it was a blessing. “Are you keeping it a secret?” I asked him as we crossed the cobblestones past the King’s Tarts Pie Shop and Brewster’s Tavern.

Chase swept a gallant bow to a group of female visitors in brightly colored gowns wearing matching hats, gloves, and boots. The ladies giggled and nodded back, mindful of their positions. “I know this might be something you wouldn’t normally consider, Jessie. I don’t want you to prejudge the position until you take a look.”

His reticence was starting to make me wonder how bad this was. We crossed the crowded Village Square and the Green where jugglers and fire eaters performed for the crowd. The visitors were a mesh of sunburned shoulders, shorts, and flip-flops rubbing elbows with knights in armor, magicians, and ladies dressed like queens. If there was a scarcity of visitors this summer, I sure couldn’t tell. The place was packed, as usual. Adventure Land execs were probably just worried over nothing.

We walked past Fractured Fairy Tales, where the actors were getting plenty of laughs as they performed their weird version of
Cinderella
. “Where did you say this was?” I asked again.

“You know, there were lots of crafts going on during the Renaissance, including making clothes,” Chase lectured me on my specialty.

Then it hit me. “Oh no! You aren’t saying Portia wants me at the costume shop, are you? You know it’s a trap. She hates me, Chase. They wouldn’t offer me an apprenticeship unless they had something nefarious in mind. Besides, I don’t think I can sew. I have to throw things out when they get holes in them.”

“I knew you were going to be this way. That’s why I didn’t tell you. But you said anything was better than the frog catapult, right? You’ve repeated that since you got here last week. Working with Andre Hariot will be fun.”

“Who?” I thought I knew all the craft people in the Village. The name wasn’t familiar.

“Harriet’s Hat House,” he explained. “They did the name wrong on the shop and it was never corrected. Andre makes hats. That’s a Ren craft, right?”

Hat making. I had never really considered it. I was relieved it wasn’t clothes making, but my mind was blank. Obviously they made hats during the Renaissance. This could work for me. “How did you hear about it?”

“Andre lost his apprentice this week. Her parents needed her at home for the summer. Andre makes all the hats for the whole village. He always needs someone, and I thought it might as well be you.”

“Hat making could be fun. I don’t know anything about it. Usually I research before I apprentice. But it could be fine. What’s he like?”

“Andre? He’s a nice guy. A little strange. But so is everyone else around here.” He shrugged as we passed the three brick houses that made up Squires’ Lane. “Andre got his start in Hollywood. He knows everything about every movie ever made. You’ll see. You’ll like him.”

The fact that he had to reassure me made me nervous. I could see Harriet’s Hat House from here. There was a sign shaped like a fancy hat outside the tiny shop with the upstairs living quarters—like all the other shops in the Village.

I had probably passed the Hat House a thousand times since I’d started coming here the year I left college. I just never paid it much attention. I never considered hat making as a craft, but I supposed it was. And Chase was right. It probably would be interesting, though not necessarily my kind of thing.

I wanted to throw pottery, make swords, shoot arrows—that kind of thing. But hats were good. I could include them in my dissertation. I adjusted my bodice again and put a smile on my face. Hats were
great
! I was the luckiest woman in the world!

Chase ducked his head to get into the hat shop. I followed him in time to see a small, well-dressed man with graying brown hair tossing yards of material into the air. He wore an orange and brown tunic with the matching short pants and hose. His little goatee curled up at the end.

Hats of all sizes, shapes, and colors were strewn about in careless abandon. Several young college or high school students were clustered around Andre Hariot. All of them looked tense.

“What must I do to have you make quality? You must think about the customer. How will he or she look wearing one of our hats? You all sicken me with your incompetence. Go away! I don’t want to see any of you again until tomorrow.”

I looked at Chase, who smiled back at me and grabbed my hand as though he was worried that I might leave. “Andre, I brought Jessie to meet you. Lady Jessie Morton, meet Andre Hariot, hatmaker to the stars.”