by Sarah Fox
For the next hour, we were wowed by the high-flying feats of half a dozen acrobats. They walked the high wire, swung on the trapezes, flew through the air, and performed with the aerial silks. Kiandra was riveted the entire time.
“I want to do that,” she whispered as a young woman let go of one trapeze and soared through the air before another acrobat on the second trapeze caught her.
“I don’t think so,” Shontelle said with alarm.
“Please!” Kiandra turned her beseeching eyes on her mother.
Shontelle put a finger to her lips. “We’ll talk about it later.”
She shot me a look of dismay over Kiandra’s head. I didn’t blame her for her concern. The thought of Kiandra flying through the air way up high terrified me, and she wasn’t even my daughter.
At one point, I caught another glimpse of the blond-haired girl who’d sneaked into the tent. She watched the show from between two sets of bleachers, her eyes as wide as Kiandra’s. When the show finished, I looked for her again, but she was nowhere to be seen.
As we headed out of the tent, Kiandra bounced up and down between Shontelle and me, chattering nonstop about the acrobats’ amazing feats. She eventually wound down and asked for a snack. Shontelle and I were hungry too, so we wandered away from the tent in search of something to eat. We paused to study a poster affixed to the wall of one of the thatched huts. The poster advertised the most talked-about and anticipated attraction of the entire faire. Illusionist Ozzie Stone would be performing in the main tent each night.
I’d heard of Ozzie Stone before the faire arrived in Shady Creek. He’d appeared on a televised, nation-wide talent show a year or so ago, and his star had been on the rise ever since. I’d hoped to catch one of his shows, but when I inquired at the gate that morning, I was informed that the tickets for all his performances were already sold out. That had disappointed me, but I was still determined to enjoy the faire as much as possible.
We moved on from the poster and spotted a hut with a sign that read Rosie’s Fare. Another sign indicated that the vendor sold burgers, fries, cheese melts, and milkshakes. Before we reached Rosie’s Fare, we paused to watch a juggler performing for passersby. He looked to be in his mid-twenties and had curly brown hair. At the moment, he had four beanbags in the air. He wrapped up the juggling act by catching all of the beanbags. The crowd applauded, and he bowed.
“Now for some magic,” he told everyone who was watching.
He had three upside-down cups on a roughly hewn wooden table. He picked up one of the cups and placed a ball beneath it.
As he opened his mouth to speak to the crowd again, another man strutted over to his side, a self-assured smile on his face. I knew who he was right away—illusionist Ozzie Stone. He wore a white shirt beneath a blue velvet cape with a black silk lining, just like his photo on his poster. He had piercing blue eyes, and his jet-black hair was a little on the long side. Despite the beautiful summer weather we’d been having in Vermont, I suspected his deep tan had been sprayed on.
There was a collective intake of breath from the crowd. I clearly wasn’t the only one to recognize the illusionist.
“Lords and ladies,” Ozzie said to the crowd. “If it’s magic you desire, it’s magic you shall get.”
He whipped a blue mug out from beneath his cape and snapped his fingers. “Water, please, Tobias.”
The juggler frowned but handed over a small pitcher of water that had been sitting on the table.
“Observe,” Ozzie commanded, “as I instantly turn this water into a block of ice.”
A hush fell over the crowd as he poured the water into the blue mug. As soon as the pitcher was empty, he turned the mug upside down. No water flowed out, but a small block of ice fell into Ozzie’s waiting hand.
The crowd cheered, me included.
“That’s so cool!” Kiandra exclaimed with delight.
It seemed Ozzie had captivated her almost as much as the acrobats had.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the curly-haired juggler slink away, looking disgruntled. I couldn’t blame him. Ozzie really had stolen his thunder, and he wasn’t finished yet. For his next trick, Ozzie produced a small piece of paper and had a woman from the audience sign her name on it. He rolled up the paper and held it up for all of us to see. Then, with a flick of his hand, he made it disappear.
He fished a lemon out of his pocket, showed it to us, and then cut around the middle of it with a knife. When he pulled the two lemon halves apart, a rolled-up paper protruded from one half. Ozzie removed the paper, unrolled it, and had the woman from the audience confirm that it was the same paper she’d signed. We all burst into applause as Ozzie bowed.
While the illusionist posed for selfies with fairgoers, we headed over to Rosie’s Fare and purchased our snack, which turned out to be more of an early lunch. Shontelle bought some fries and a cheese melt to share with Kiandra, and I bought a cheese melt for myself. All three of us ordered chocolate milkshakes. We needed something cold to drink to keep us from getting too hot in the summer sunshine.
I gave myself a brain freeze with the first sip, but after that, I drank more slowly and was able to enjoy the delicious creaminess of the chocolate shake. The cheese melt was heavenly too, and it calmed the growling of my hungry stomach. We ate at a rustic picnic table, watching the goings-on around us.
At one point a stout, costumed man came stumbling out of the tavern, another actor following on his heels.
“Away, you varlot! You rampallian!” shouted the taller man in the tavern’s doorway. “I’ll tickle your catastrophe!”
The stout man staggered about as if drunk. “You sodden, contumelious louse!” he yelled before weaving and lurching his way down the grassy walkway that stretched between the two rows of vendors.
I was pretty sure Kiandra had no idea what the insults meant, but she laughed along with Shontelle and me.
As I was finishing up my cheese melt, I caught sight of a dark-haired, attractive man dressed in a costume that included black boots, dark trousers, a leather doublet, leather arm bracers, and a gray cape. He carried a sword at his side, and his hair reached nearly to his shoulders.
“He looks like Aragorn from the Lord of the Rings,” I said to Shontelle, with a nod in the man’s direction.
“He really does,” Shontelle agreed. “He’s almost Viggo Mortensen’s doppelgänger.” She watched him walk by. “Very easy on the eyes.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” a man’s voice cautioned. “It’ll go to his head.”
I turned to find local man Matt Yanders standing next to our picnic table. Matt owned the Harvest Grill, one of Shady Creek’s restaurants. He was also a member of the science fiction and fantasy book club I hosted at my literary pub, the Inkwell.
“You know him?” Shontelle asked Matt, her gaze returning to Aragorn’s look-alike.
“As much as it pains me to admit it, he’s my brother.” Matt’s grin softened his words. “Flint, you scobberlotcher, get over here!” he bellowed.
Flint’s face broke into a grin when he spotted Matt. “It’s my knave of a brother!”
Matt pounded Flint on the back when he reached his side. “Flint, allow me to introduce these three fine ladies, Shontelle and Kiandra Williams, and Sadie Coleman.”
Flint bowed. “Ladies, I’m honored to make your acquaintance.”
“Is that a real sword?” Kiandra asked him.
“But of course.” Flint pulled the blade from its scabbard. “It’s a weapon of the finest craftsmanship.”
“Cool!” Kiandra said before taking a long sip of her milkshake.
“How are you enjoying your day, ladies?” Flint asked Shontelle and me.
“It’s great,” I said.
“We’re having a blast so far,” Shontelle added.
“Excellent! I’m glad to hear it.”<
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A woman wearing several gauzy scarves and many bracelets breezed past him.
“Minerva!” Flint called out.
The woman stopped in her tracks and turned to Flint. She smiled when she saw him.
Flint gestured at her with a flourish. “Have you ladies met our most esteemed soothsayer, Minerva the Mysterious?”
Minerva came closer and addressed us. “If you wish to have your fortune told, I am most happy to oblige.”
“For a price.” Flint chuckled.
Minerva gave him a side-long glance. “Worth every penny.”
“Undoubtably,” Flint said.
“I wouldn’t mind having my fortune told,” Shontelle spoke up. “It sounds fun,” she added to Kiandra and me.
“Then please,” Minerva said, “come this way.”
“I’ll stay with Kiandra,” I told Shontelle.
Her daughter waved at her, but most of her focus was on her milkshake.
Shontelle followed Minerva the Mysterious into a small tent across the grassy walkway from our picnic table.
Flint bowed again. “My ladies,” he said to Kiandra and me, “I’m afraid I must depart. And you, you useless knave,” he said to Matt, “we shall meet again, unfortunately.”
Flint headed off, with several female fairgoers flitting along behind him, snapping photos with their phones.
Matt laughed before turning his attention to me. “I’ll see you at the Inkwell sometime soon, Sadie.”
I said goodbye, and he took his leave.
Kiandra finished off her milkshake with a loud slurp.
“All done?” I asked her.
She nodded and jumped up from the table. “Can we go look at the costumes?”
Next door to Minerva the Mysterious’s tent was a costume rental shop. While we were eating, I’d seen two women go into the store dressed in regular clothing. Now they emerged, fully decked out in renaissance wear.
“Sure,” I said in response to Kiandra’s question. “Let’s go take a look.”
I gathered up all our garbage and tossed it in a nearby bin. Kiandra skipped off ahead of me and disappeared into the shop. I followed after her, pausing one step inside the door so my eyes could adjust to the dim interior.
We browsed the store for a few minutes until Kiandra lost interest.
“Let’s go look at the hats,” she said, when we emerged from the costume rental shop.
She dashed over to a shop called The Mad Hatter and tried on a pirate’s tricorn hat.
“How about this one?” I suggested, holding out a blue velvet hat with a fake peacock sitting on top, the tail feathers cascading down over the back rim.
Kiandra removed the hat she was wearing, and I plunked the peacock one on her head. She checked her reflection in a small mirror set out for that purpose.
She giggled, and I snapped a picture of her with my phone, so we could show Shontelle later.
“You try this one,” Kiandra said, handing me a gray cavalier hat with a single feather.
As we tried on several other hats, I noticed the curly-haired juggler we’d seen earlier standing nearby, speaking with a raven-haired woman who was texting on her smartphone. The device looked out of place, considering that she was wearing a renaissance costume.
“I deserve my own show, Rachael,” the juggler was saying. “I could draw in as much of a crowd as Ozzie.”
Rachael continued to tap away at her phone, not even glancing up. “It’s not happening, Toby. How many times do I have to tell you? Ozzie is our biggest draw. And your strength is street busking.”
“But—”
Rachael cut him off. “But nothing. That’s all I’ve got to say on the matter.”
Toby looked as though he was about to protest again when Rachael squirmed in her costume.
“This bodice is too tight,” she complained. “You’d think Patty was trying to suffocate me when she laced me up.”
For the second time in the past hour, Ozzie Stone appeared on the scene.
He dipped down in a theatrical bow. “Allow me to assist you, milady.”
While talking with Toby, Rachael’s expression had been stern, a crease traversing her forehead. Now the crease smoothed out, and she smiled.
“Thank you, Ozzie.” She turned her back to him.
Ozzie loosened the laces on the back of her corset and began retying them. As he worked, he spoke quietly into Rachael’s ear. She giggled, her dark eyelashes fluttering.
Toby, the juggler, scowled at them, but they took no notice. He muttered something under his breath that I couldn’t quite hear. Ozzie rested his hands on Rachael’s shoulders, and she giggled again. Toby’s nostrils flared, and he stormed away, disappearing into the crowd of fairgoers.
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