Nancy Atherton (18 page)

But would a romantic young man use sabotage as a means of achieving

his goals? Wouldn’t he simply snatch up a sword and fight for his angel’s

honor? Heaven knows, there are enough swords lying about for him to use.

“If Edmond attacked the king openly, he’d be carted off to jail,”

I said. “Edmond can’t defend Mirabel’s honor if he’s behind bars.”

True.

I pursed my lips and sighed wearily. “I don’t have all of the answers, Dimity. But my gut tells me that something funny is going

on at the fair.”

Something funny . . . and potentially deadly. Perhaps it isn’t good to be

king.

I read her words twice before asking tentatively, “Do you think

I may be on to something?”

I wouldn’t go so far as to accuse anyone of attempted murder just yet. We

may be dealing with a case of malicious mischief. Someone may wish to

frighten people away from the fair by making it seem unsafe.

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115

“Why would someone do that?” I asked.

I can think of a dozen reasons—spite, envy, jealousy, greed, vengeance.

Your task will be to discover the correct one.

“Will it?” I said, my spirits rising.

Indeed, it will. I believe that the situation merits further investigation.

“You do?” I said, blinking at the journal in happy disbelief.

I most certainly do. I’m glad that you’re attending the fair again tomor-

row. It will give you the opportunity to gather more information. I, for one,

would like to know who was wielding the solitary handsaw this morning and

what he or she was doing with it. If someone was seen making unnecessary

alterations to the parapet, we may have our culprit.

“I’ll ask around,” I said.

I’d also like to know more about the quintain. Do the knights practice

their skills before displaying them to the public? If so, the saboteur must have

tampered with the rope after the practice session, but before the fair opened.

“If he damaged the rope before the practice session, it would have

broken too soon,” I said, nodding eagerly. “And if he damaged it

while the fair was in progress, he would have run too great a risk of

being seen. The fair was crawling with people almost as soon as the

gates opened, and most of them were just wandering around, taking

in the sights.”

Our culprit may have been seen by one of the performers. Try to find a

witness who can place him in the arena within the proper time frame, prefer-

ably with a sharp knife in his hand.

“I’ll do my best,” I assured her.

I would also urge you to wear your costume tomorrow.

“After seeing Bill and Emma, I don’t need urging,” I said. “I felt

like a party pooper today.”

I want you to feel like a performer tomorrow. Find out if anyone involved

in the fair has a grudge against King Wilfred. People will confide in you

more readily if they think you’re a cast member. Let your costume be your

disguise. It may even gain you access to the encampment.

“I’ll outwench the wenches,” I promised. “But I’ll keep my

clothes on in the encampment.”

116 Nancy Atherton

I’m relieved to hear it. I need hardly tell you to keep an ear open for

general gossip.

“I’m going to have lunch with Jinks the jester tomorrow,” I said.

“He’s promised to clue me in on the scuttlebutt.”

You speak the gossip’s language fluently, Lori. Finch has taught you

well.

“I’ll give Bill a crash course on the way to church tomorrow

morning,” I said. “It’ll be useful to have an extra set of eyes and ears

working for us behind the scenes.”

Will you share your suspicions with him?

I gave the matter careful consideration, then shook my head. “I

won’t put Bill into the picture until I’ve collected more facts. If I

jump the gun, he’ll just laugh at me.”

Your husband is a dear man, but he can be sarcastic at times.

“Yes, he can,” I agreed fervently. “Especially when it comes to

my suspicions.”

If you could discover tangible proof to support your claims, Bill would be

more willing to give credence to them. It’s a pity about the rope, but perhaps

something else will turn up. If it does, please try not to lose it.

“Thanks for the tip, Dimity,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Sarcasm runs in the family, I see. Never mind. I’ve been known to indulge

in it myself on occasion. Back to business. It’s up to you, my dear, to find out

who the saboteur is and—if you can do so without compromising your own

safety—to stop him before he harms the king. It may quite literally be a mat-

ter of life and death.

“Leave it to me, Dimity.” I peered grimly at the journal as I

paraphrased Lilian Bunting’s words. “I don’t want King Wilfred’s

Faire spoiled by bloodshed.”

No indeed. On a lighter note: I wonder what impact the performers’

free-and-easy lifestyle will have on the village.

“I don’t think it’ll have any impact on the village,” I said. “Most

of the performers are staying in the encampment. If they go anywhere, it’ll be to Oxford or some other big town. Finch isn’t exactly

the excitement capital of the universe.”

Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon

117

You may be right. It’s getting late, Lori. You should go to bed. You’ll

need your wits about you if you’re to catch our saboteur tomorrow.

A warm rush of gratitude welled up in me as I read the last sentence. I’d entered the study expecting to be doubted, teased, even

ridiculed for inventing yet another improbable scenario. Instead,

Aunt Dimity had believed my story, with reasonable reservations,

and suggested several lines of inquiry for me to pursue. Her confidence in me had never been more apparent.

Smiling, I traced the fine copperplate with a fingertip. “Thanks

for hearing me out, Dimity. I wasn’t sure you’d ever listen to me

again, after the vampire fiasco.”

Was it a fiasco? I thought it was a highly successful and rewarding en-

terprise. Now run along, my dear. We’ll speak again tomorrow.

I waited until the curling lines of royal-blue ink had faded from

the page, then closed the journal and hugged it to my chest. I was

still smiling as I tidied the study, bade Reginald good night, and

went to the laundry room, but as I removed the costumes from the

washing machine and hung them up to dry, my mind traveled back

to the fair.

Where was Edmond Deland? I wondered. And what would he

do next?

Twelve

T here was no need to load the twins’ ponies into trailers

and transport them to Bishop’s Wood the following

morning, but Bill and the boys rose at the crack of dawn

anyway, and I rose with them. They were champing at the bit to get

back to the fair. For very different reasons, so was I.

I intended to change into my garb after I returned from church.

Will and Rob wanted to jump right into theirs, but I insisted that

they put them aside until they were at the fair. I didn’t want porridge stains on their clean tunics. Bill clinched the decision by zipping their costumes and his into the garment bag and stowing it in

the Range Rover with his hat.

After some discussion, the overloaded day pack was left at

home. Bill argued successfully that they could find anything they

might need at the fair, including rain ponchos, bottled water, and

sunblock. If the temperature took an unexpected dip, he reasoned,

they could borrow leather capes from the foot soldiers.

I began my fact-finding mission as soon as we sat down for breakfast. I doubted that Bill would be able to tell me much about the solitary handsaw, because he and the twins had arrived at the fair long

after the telltale sound had drifted to me in the back garden, but he

would almost certainly be able to describe the early morning activities in the arena.

“Bill,” I said, passing the honey pot to him, “did the knights rehearse their show yesterday morning?”

“They were hard at it when we arrived,” he said. “Perry and Jack

may be entertainers, but their skills are real. They take practice sessions seriously.”

Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon

119

“So they went through the whole routine,” I said. “The spearthrowing, the ring-jousting, the quintain . . .”

“The whole nine yards,” Bill confirmed.

“How long did they practice?” I asked.

“Two solid hours,” he said, spreading a dollop of honey on his

toast. “Perry told me that they practice from seven until nine every

morning. It’s better to work the horses in the cool morning air, and it

gives them plenty of time to rest before the afternoon performance.”

“Were the soldiers and the squires there as well?” I asked.

“The squires were.” Bill leaned forward on his elbows, as if he

found the subject interesting. “The knights can’t don their armor

without help, and they certainly wouldn’t be able to practice ring

jousting without a trained squire to hold the rings for them. If Harold and Drogo hadn’t been there—”

“Drogo?” I interrupted.

“Sir Jacques’s squire.” Bill smiled wryly. “His real name is Kevin

McGee, but he prefers to be known as Drogo Dragonfire.”

“Who wouldn’t?” I said.

“At any rate,” Bill continued, “if Harold and Drogo hadn’t been

there, the knights would have had to dismount every time they

wanted to change weapons. It’s not easy to get on and off a horse

while you’re wearing armor and carrying a lance.”

“I can imagine,” I said. “Why didn’t the soldiers hand them their

weapons?”

“The soldiers didn’t attend yesterday’s practice session.” Bill gave

the twins a sidelong glance before adding in a meaningful undertone, “I think they’d enjoyed themselves a bit too much the night

before.”

“They

were drunk as lords,” Will said conversationally, between spoonfuls of porridge.

“Sloshed,” Rob clarifi ed.

“Pie-eyed,” Will remarked.

“Legless,” Rob offered, in case I hadn’t understood.

120 Nancy Atherton

“I . . . I beg your pardon?” I said, flabbergasted.

“It’s what soldiers do,” Rob explained matter-of-factly. “Drogo

said the soldiers had sore heads because they can’t say no to a pint

of the hard stuff .”

“They were quaffing,” Will added helpfully. “And ravishing

wenches.”

“What’s ravishing wenches, Daddy?” asked Rob, turning a pair

of innocent brown eyes on his father.

My mouth fell open and Bill choked on a snort of laughter. I

shot him a piercing look and he sobered immediately, but his voice

trembled with suppressed mirth as he answered Rob’s question.

“It’s a game for grown-ups,” he said, and went on briskly, “I

think we’ve seen enough of the arena for the time being, boys. What

do you say to exploring the rest of the fair today?”

Rob and Will were amenable and I was relieved. It seemed to me

that they’d already spent far too much time at the arena. I wanted my

sons to learn about spinning and weaving, not quaffi

ng and ravishing.

I was so rattled by their unexpected contributions to our breakfast

conversation that it took me a moment to regain my focus.

“What did the knights and the squires do after practice?” I

asked. “Did they hang around the marquee, polishing armor?”

“Harold and Drogo went out back to look after the horses,” said

Bill. “But Perry and Jack cleaned themselves up and went to Gatehouse Square, to be on hand for the opening ceremonies. King

Wilfred and his court assemble in Gate house Square at nine-thirty

on the dot, and the ceremonies commence at nine thirty-five precisely. Calvin may seem like an easygoing guy, but he runs a tight

ship.”

“It must be challenging to run a tight ship with so many free

spirits onboard.” I sipped my tea. “Have there been any mutinies?”

“Not that I’ve noticed,” said Bill. “I told you yesterday, everyone

likes Cal. I think they respect his management skills. A strong king

makes for a happy kingdom, apparently.”

Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon

121

I didn’t want Bill to catch on to the fact that I was pumping him

for information, so I dug into my cheese omelet and let Bill work

on his. After he’d eaten a few bites, I began again.

“The grounds must be pretty quiet before the gates open,” I

commented. “Apart from the arena area, of course.”

“The place is like a ghost town,” Bill agreed. “Things don’t get going until nine o’clock, when the food vendors show up. I could smell

the steak-and-kidney pies baking while Will and Rob were grooming

Thunder and Storm. I almost drooled all over my dude shirt.”

“It’s called a poet’s shirt,” I told him. “I saw a whole rack full of

them in one of the stalls.”

“We’ve finished,” Will and Rob announced.

“In that case, you’d better run upstairs,” I said. “I want your