Katherine beamed at him as he held up the other before her.
“Potions!” shouted a man as he came between them, carrying a box full of all manner of vials and jars. “Potions of all descriptions and efficacies! Potions to help you sleep, potions to keep you up all night! You, my lad!” He looked Edmund up and down, then over at Katherine. He drew Edmund aside.
“I’ve just the thing for you—you look like you could use the help.” He swirled a crystal vial full of rich red liquid. “A few drops of this in her wine and before you know it, she’ll be waiting for your hand. Just six pennies, but a whole lifetime of joy! What do you say?”
Katherine stomped over and led Edmund away by the sleeve. “Whatever it is, he doesn’t need it!”
The man gave Katherine a dark look. “You mind that one, my boy. More trouble than she’s worth.” He turned his back before Edmund could think of a retort.
Tom stared around him as though looking for some path of escape. “What do I do?”
“The first thing you do is keep your hand on your purse.” Edmund pulled him out of the worst of the bustle.
“Why? I don’t have any money yet.”
“It’s just a good habit.” Edmund cast about him for a likely-looking merchant. They had laid things out in a different pattern than they did for the regular fair in the spring. This fair had a wild, haphazard character, more ale tents and makeshift gambling halls than proper merchants, and far too many folk who just seemed to loiter and look, neither buying nor selling and so quite likely there for a less savory purpose.
“That one looks promising.” Katherine stood up on her toes. “Over here.” She shouldered up a sack and pushed them off toward the corner of the square in the fullest sun.
Tom craned around him, his green eyes wide. He pointed. “What’s that?”
Edmund glanced across. “That’s a play. People acting, you know. That one’s about the making of the kingdom. It’s a bore.”
“Oh.” Tom nodded. “I didn’t know they had singing. What’s that, then, over there? Is that a play, too?”
“Those are two men arguing over the price of a barrel of salted herring. I suppose you could treat it as entertainment if you wanted.”
“And that?”
Edmund tried to catch Katherine’s eye to smirk at her, but she seemed intent on finding their way through the crowd. He turned to follow Tom’s direction. “What are you looking at?”
“That big tent where the woman is shouting inside.”
“Oh, that? That’s the court.” Edmund stopped—he thought he felt something brush at his side. He clapped his hand at his belt and glared around him, but it was only an ox being driven past for sale. He looked back at Tom. “The Court of Dusty Feet—Lord Aelfric sets one up for every fair. There’s more trouble for him to hear about in one day than he usually gets all year.”
“—stole my pigs!” The shouting woman could be seen through the opening of the tent, but the person she jabbed her finger at could not. “I swear to you, my lord, and I bring ten solid folk to swear on my name that I am no liar! My pigs, good porkers, stolen and gone!”
Edmund laughed. “Oh, no—more missing pigs!”
“So Lord Aelfric’s in there?” Tom bent down to peer beneath the flap. “I’ve never seen him before. Does he leave the castle very much?”
“I must remind you, good woman, that I merely sit in my father’s name.” The answering voice had a highborn accent but sounded clear and young. “I judge for your lord, but I am not your lord. I would ask you again to address me as a squire for the sake of propriety. Clerk of the court, you will note her claim and take the names of those who swear for her.”
Edmund looked inside the tent. A ring of angry relatives surrounded the woman, all of them glaring at a cringing, road-dusted man with the look of a traveling tinker about him. A platform stood at the opposite end, upon which had been set a thick oaken
“Potions!” shouted a man as he came between them, carrying a box full of all manner of vials and jars. “Potions of all descriptions and efficacies! Potions to help you sleep, potions to keep you up all night! You, my lad!” He looked Edmund up and down, then over at Katherine. He drew Edmund aside.
“I’ve just the thing for you—you look like you could use the help.” He swirled a crystal vial full of rich red liquid. “A few drops of this in her wine and before you know it, she’ll be waiting for your hand. Just six pennies, but a whole lifetime of joy! What do you say?”
Katherine stomped over and led Edmund away by the sleeve. “Whatever it is, he doesn’t need it!”
The man gave Katherine a dark look. “You mind that one, my boy. More trouble than she’s worth.” He turned his back before Edmund could think of a retort.
Tom stared around him as though looking for some path of escape. “What do I do?”
“The first thing you do is keep your hand on your purse.” Edmund pulled him out of the worst of the bustle.
“Why? I don’t have any money yet.”
“It’s just a good habit.” Edmund cast about him for a likely-looking merchant. They had laid things out in a different pattern than they did for the regular fair in the spring. This fair had a wild, haphazard character, more ale tents and makeshift gambling halls than proper merchants, and far too many folk who just seemed to loiter and look, neither buying nor selling and so quite likely there for a less savory purpose.
“That one looks promising.” Katherine stood up on her toes. “Over here.” She shouldered up a sack and pushed them off toward the corner of the square in the fullest sun.
Tom craned around him, his green eyes wide. He pointed. “What’s that?”
Edmund glanced across. “That’s a play. People acting, you know. That one’s about the making of the kingdom. It’s a bore.”
“Oh.” Tom nodded. “I didn’t know they had singing. What’s that, then, over there? Is that a play, too?”
“Those are two men arguing over the price of a barrel of salted herring. I suppose you could treat it as entertainment if you wanted.”
“And that?”
Edmund tried to catch Katherine’s eye to smirk at her, but she seemed intent on finding their way through the crowd. He turned to follow Tom’s direction. “What are you looking at?”
“That big tent where the woman is shouting inside.”
“Oh, that? That’s the court.” Edmund stopped—he thought he felt something brush at his side. He clapped his hand at his belt and glared around him, but it was only an ox being driven past for sale. He looked back at Tom. “The Court of Dusty Feet—Lord Aelfric sets one up for every fair. There’s more trouble for him to hear about in one day than he usually gets all year.”
“—stole my pigs!” The shouting woman could be seen through the opening of the tent, but the person she jabbed her finger at could not. “I swear to you, my lord, and I bring ten solid folk to swear on my name that I am no liar! My pigs, good porkers, stolen and gone!”
Edmund laughed. “Oh, no—more missing pigs!”
“So Lord Aelfric’s in there?” Tom bent down to peer beneath the flap. “I’ve never seen him before. Does he leave the castle very much?”
“I must remind you, good woman, that I merely sit in my father’s name.” The answering voice had a highborn accent but sounded clear and young. “I judge for your lord, but I am not your lord. I would ask you again to address me as a squire for the sake of propriety. Clerk of the court, you will note her claim and take the names of those who swear for her.”
Edmund looked inside the tent. A ring of angry relatives surrounded the woman, all of them glaring at a cringing, road-dusted man with the look of a traveling tinker about him. A platform stood at the opposite end, upon which had been set a thick oaken
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