Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon

by Nancy Atherton

  “We’ve been discussing the fair’s finances,” said Bill.

  “Not my best subject,” Jinks admitted amiably, “but if you want a layman’s opinion—”

  “We don’t,” Bill interrupted. “We want your expert opinion . . . Rowan.”

  Jinks’s smile froze and his green eyes darted from one face to another. Then he took his lower lip between his teeth and bowed his head, chuckling quietly.

  “Oh, dear,” he said. “The joke’s on the jester. I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, have I?”

  “I wish it were so simple,” said Bill.

  “Tell them it’s not true,” pleaded Calvin. “Tell them they’ve made a mistake.”

  “Ah, but they haven’t,” Jinks said softly. “You see, I couldn’t let you waste your money on this ridiculous venture, old friend. Working a Ren fest is one thing, but running one? Do you have the slightest notion of how much you’ve spent already?” He lifted his head and met Calvin’s beseeching gaze. “I don’t have a pension, Cal. My knees are shot, but there’s no golden-age home for broken-down acrobats. I was investing in my future as well as yours. I love you, Cal, but I couldn’t let you waste my retirement fund.”

  “No,” Calvin whispered.

  “If it’s any consolation,” Jinks said, “I wasn’t trying to kill you. I wanted merely to frighten those closest to you. I hoped they’d convince you to shut down the fair, not only to protect you, but to protect your fellow players and the paying public. Accidents are bad for business.”

  Sir James harrumphed impatiently. “You’ve explained why you staged the accidents. Would you be so kind as to explain why you stole the crown?”

  Jinks threw his head back and laughed. “It’s Cal’s lucky charm.

  I was sure he’d give up the throne once he’d lost the precious, custom-made crown sprinkled with his mummy’s jewels, but he soldiered on, regardless. Rule number one at a Ren fest: Don’t disappoint the punters.”

  Lord Llewellyn lumbered to his feet and spoke for the first time. “Now, then, sir, if you’ll come with me.”

  “Certainly I’ll come with you.” Jinks’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “But you’ll have to catch me first!”

  Lord Llewellyn’s brawny arm shot out, but Jinks dodged it, did a backflip off the platform, and sprinted down Pudding Lane. Bill took off after him, I took off after Bill, and everyone else followed me, with Calvin bringing up the rear. Jinks’s laughter rang out ahead of us as we tore down Pudding Lane, dashed across Broad Street, and raced toward Gatehouse Square.

  Bill reached the square before I did, but when I caught up with him, he’d come to a standstill. He signaled for me to stay back, then turned in a circle, scanning the stalls bordering the square.

  “Jinks!” he shouted. “This may sound like a cliché, but we really do have you surrounded. You’ll be caught the moment you set foot outside the fairground.”

  I looked over my shoulder at the retired Scotland Yard detectives, the middle-aged farmer, and the farmer’s overweight nephew. All five were bent double and gasping for air, as if they’d recently crossed the finish line in a marathon. I didn’t think they posed much of a threat to Jinks’s bid for freedom.

  “Police,” Lord Belvedere managed, catching my doubtful glance. “Out front. All round the perimeter. Brought them with me.”

  I nodded to him, and as I turned to face the square again, a lithe figure darted out from the shadows between two of the stalls.

  “Bill!” I screamed. “He’s behind you!”

  Bill swung around, but Jinks darted past him, hurled himself at the gatehouse, and began to clamber up the fake stone wall of the west tower. I heard the clinking of keys as Calvin jogged past me, but I didn’t understand what the sound meant until I saw him open the locked door I’d tried to enter on my first day at the fair.

  “Stop him!” I shouted, but I was too late.

  Before anyone could react, Calvin had disappeared into the tower and slammed the door behind him. Bill darted after him and tugged on the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. He threw me a helpless look, then backed into the center of the square, peering upward. Lord Belvedere, Sir James, Lord Llewellyn, Horace Malvern, and I strode forward to join him, our gazes transfixed on the top of the west tower. Above us, Jinks pulled himself over the battlements, rolled onto the tower’s roof, and sprang to his feet, with his arms outstretched.

  “Outnumbered and undone!” Jinks shouted down to us, grinning. “Never fear, though. I have a new retirement plan!” He jumped up on the battlements and balanced on one foot, like a tightrope walker.

  “Don’t be a fool!” Bill shouted.

  “But I am a fool,” Jinks retorted, teetering precariously as he hopped from one foot to the other. “Just ask your wife. I tried my best to seduce her, but she couldn’t stop laughing long enough to take me seriously. Women never do take me seriously. The story of my love life would fit on the head of a pin.”

  I heard a faint, whining creak followed by a thud that reverberated throughout the deserted fairground, and Calvin’s bulky form suddenly appeared atop the west tower. He bent to close the trapdoor he’d pushed open, then stood straight and looked up at Jinks.

  “I say, old man, come down from there,” he said in a kindly voice. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  “No,” said Jinks, chuckling. “I’m going to kill myself.”

  “Don’t be daft,” Calvin chided. “Your sovereign majesty won’t allow it. And I certainly won’t.”

  “I’m sorry, Cal.” Jinks’s manic grin vanished as he locked eyes with Calvin. Then he let himself fall.

  Calvin lunged forward and caught Jinks around the knees with both arms. Jinks struggled wildly to break free, but with the strength of a sumo wrestler, Calvin heaved him onto the roof, pulled him upright, and punched him in the face. Jinks crumpled into an unconscious heap at Calvin’s feet.

  Calvin looked down at him for a moment, breathing heavily, then leaned over the battlement and threw the keys to Bill.

  “Be a good chap and pop up here,” he said. “I’ll need help getting the poor fellow down.”

  Twenty-three

  The bonfire crackled and snapped in the cool night air. I sipped from my flagon of hot chocolate and listened to the sounds of the drowsing encampment—the indistinct murmur of voices, sudden outbreaks of laughter, the gentle notes of a harp. Beside me, Bill gazed reflectively at the star-filled sky. Unbeknownst to me, he’d arranged for Will, Rob, and Stanley to spend the night at Anscombe Manor, so we were allowed to stay out late.

  Bill had attained celebrity status among the Rennies. He’d received so many salutes, bows, curtsys, and admiring looks as we crossed the encampment that Calvin had half jokingly offered to share the throne with him. Bill had politely rejected the offer, saying that he’d already found his Camelot.

  Randy Jack had been given a somewhat less favorable reception when he’d crept back to his pavilion after the fight. The foot soldiers, as it turned out, took a dim view of the mistreatment of civilians. Their code of honor did not allow a knight to kick a handyman in the ribs.

  The men had communicated their displeasure to the Dragon Knight, who’d promptly packed his bags, loaded Lucifer in his trailer, and taken off for parts unknown. Calvin was serenely untroubled by Sir Jacques’ defection. He’d intended to sack the bounder anyway, he told us over dinner at the farmhouse, and replace him with a chap who didn’t take the bad guy role quite so seriously.

  A log fell on the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the air. Horace Malvern refilled his flagon, then passed the pitcher of ale to Sir James, who handed it off to Lord Llewellyn. Lord Belvedere was drinking mead. The hectic hours we’d spent giving statements at the police station in Upper Deeping were behind us. It was pleasant to sit peacefully around a bonfire, sipping our chosen beverages and reviewing the remarkable events that had brought us together.

  “The fair is very much like a village,” Bill continued, loweri
ng his head and looking from Calvin’s face to mine. “And nothing goes unnoticed in a village. Two food vendors saw Jinks near the quintain, with a knife in his hand, after the morning practice session on opening day. They didn’t think twice about it, because . . . well, because he’s Jinks.”

  I nodded. “That morning, when I heard the sound of the saw—I remember noticing how quiet it was on the other side of the stile. I thought Jinks was still asleep in his camper.”

  “He wasn’t asleep,” said Sir James. “He was up on the gatehouse, making fine cuts in the parapet’s supports. A builder noticed him, but didn’t ask him what he was doing. He assumed that it had something to do with the opening ceremony.”

  “A ticket wench saw Jinks come out of the motor home with the crown,” said Lord Belvedere. “She assumed that he intended to wear it during one of his routines.” He gazed into his mead. “We found it in his caravan, hanging next to his jester’s cap.”

  “Mistress Farseeing, the crystal-ball vendor, saw him near the cannon,” said Lord Llewellyn, “and the rocks in the brook near his picnic spot had definitely been disturbed.”

  “It’s a moot point, in any case,” said Lord Belvedere. “He’s confessed to everything.”

  “I haven’t read his confession,” I said, “and I can’t read your minds, so I’m still in the dark about a few things. Would someone please explain to me how he poisoned the king after he’d left for Cheltenham? I mean, did he ever go to Cheltenham, or did he lie about that, too?”

  “He went there.” Bill took a swig of ale, then placed his flagon on the ground and clasped his hands loosely around his knees. “But before he left, he presented Calvin with a bottle of Riesling, which he’d spiked with a tincture of aconite—also known as monkshood.”

  “We found monkshood growing wild near his picnic spot,” Lord Llewellyn put in.

  I recalled the pretty flowers dotting the sylvan glade and shivered.

  “We had the wine bottle analyzed after Calvin became ill,” said Lord Belvedere. “The dose of aconite in it was too low to kill anyone, but it would have incapacitated Calvin for several days, had he drunk the entire bottle himself.”

  “Fortunately, Calvin has a generous nature,” Sir James went on. “He shared the bottle with me and three of the courtiers, thus sparing himself the full effects of the aconite.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I understand how he managed the poisoning, but I’m still not clear about the stampede. Where did Jinks get the dog?”

  “Liebling belongs to a gentleman who lives in a flat on Montpellier Terrace in Cheltenham,” said Lord Belvedere.

  “Jinks’s friend?” I asked.

  “They were at school together,” said Lord Belvedere. “I followed Jinks to Cheltenham. I saw him put Liebling in his caravan. If I hadn’t lost him in traffic, I might have prevented the stampede. However, I did lose him traffic, and he was able to travel back to Fivefold Farm and set Liebling loose on the herd in the south paddock.”

  “After he’d opened the gates between the paddock and the horse pasture,” Mr. Malvern interjected. “Liebling’s a fine, friendly dog, by the way. He’d just never seen a cow before, so he got overexcited.”

  A young woman emerged from the darkness beyond the pool of bonfire light and walked over to Calvin. I recognized her immediately as the tallest madrigal singer.

  “Sorry to bother you, Cal,” she said, “but I thought you’d want to know that Mirabel and Edmond are back from hospital. Edmond’s ribs are bruised, not broken. He should be up and about in a couple of days. Mirabel’s going to nurse him back to health.”

  “Of course she is,” said Calvin, smiling. “Thanks, Kay. That’s wonderful news, indeed.”

  “Mirabel also asked me to ask you if you would marry them on the last day of the fair,” said the young woman.

  “Tell her that I will be honored to preside at the ceremony,” said Calvin. “It will be an idyllic conclusion to their romantic summer. Now, off to bed with you. I expect you to be in fine voice on Saturday.”

  The young woman bent to kiss the top of his head and he blew a kiss to her as she departed. I sat up straight and stared after her as a number of ideas began to spin rapidly in my mind.

  “Calvin,” I said slowly. “Who was that?”

  “Kay Jorgensen,” he replied. “My cousin.”

  “If you spot her in the crowd during the procession,” I said, “do you blow a kiss to her?”

  “I do, as a matter of fact.” He laughed. “It’s a family tradition. I’ve blown kisses to her ever since she was a small girl.”

  I felt the color rise in my face and hastily lowered my gaze to my flagon. I would never admit it to the men sitting around the bonfire with me, but I’d just solved another mystery. Mirabel hadn’t been responding to King Wilfred when she’d curtsied during the procession. She’d been flirting with Sir Jacques, who’d been walking beside the king. King Wilfred’s kiss had been aimed well over Mirabel’s head, at Kay Jorgensen, his cousin, who’d reacted with composure because it was a family tradition, not a come-on. My mistake had been in assigning Calvin characteristics he simply didn’t possess. Aunt Dimity had been right about him. Calvin was no lothario.

  “Cal,” Mr. Malvern said gruffly, “I wish you’d change your mind.”

  “You can go on wishing, then,” said Calvin, with unaccustomed severity. “I’m not going to press charges against Jinks. He’s spending the night at the station because the police insisted on it, but he’ll be a free man tomorrow morning. The poor chap’s had a breakdown. He needs to be looked after, not thrown in prison.”

  “He could have killed you,” Sir James pointed out.

  “Yes, but he didn’t, did he?” Calvin retorted irritably. “And he never meant to kill me, so I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

  “He duped you into giving him control of your finances,” said Lord Belvedere.

  “I want him to control my finances,” Calvin shot back. “He’s done a bang-up job so far, and I expect he will again, once he’s recovered himself. We’ll make the arrangement all legal and aboveboard, naturally, but I’m going to ensure that he has his fair share of my money. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have so much of it.” Calvin peered at us in exasperation. “Can’t any of you imagine what he’s been going through? The poor fellow’s been worried sick about ending up penniless, crippled, and alone. Is it any wonder he’s a bit doolally?”

  Mr. Malvern, Sir James, and the two lords shook their heads in bewilderment, but I caught Calvin’s eye and nodded. I found it extremely easy to imagine what Jinks had been going through. It was, however, nearly impossible for me to imagine someone with a heart bigger than Calvin’s.

  “Once he stops fretting about his future,” Calvin continued, “he’ll settle down and be his old self again. When he’s released from jail in the morning, I’m going to see to it that he has the very best of care.” He raised his hand, palm outward, in a gesture signaling finality. “Let there be no more discussion. My mind is made up.”

  A period of silence followed his pronouncement. Finally, Calvin cleared his throat.

  “I think you should have a knighthood for your valorous work on my behalf, Bill,” he said. “What say you?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Bill, “but I can’t accept. I’ve already sworn an oath of fealty to my family, so I can’t swear one to you. My sons, on the other hand, are ready and willing to become knights of your realm.”

  “We’ll have a horseback ceremony for them,” Calvin proposed, warming to the idea. “We’ll do it in the arena, before the joust. The more pageantry, the better, I say.”

  “They’ll love it,” I said. “It might be a good idea to knight Thunder and Storm as well.”

  “An excellent idea,” said Calvin. “We’ll have to start thinking about Edmond and Mirabel’s wedding, too. I want it to be a day they’ll never forget.”

  “Leave it to Lori,” said Bill. “She’s good at weddings.”

  �
��Would you consider arranging it?” Calvin asked me.

  “Would I consider arranging a full-out medieval, prince-and-princess, happily-ever-after, fairy-tale wedding?” I said in one breath. “Yeah. I think I might be willing to give it a go.”

  “Try stopping her,” said Bill, grinning. “Are you allowed to marry people, Calvin?”

  “Oh, yes,” Calvin replied. “I got my minister’s license online last year. It’s perfectly legal.” He sighed. “The wedding will be my last official ceremony at King Wilfred’s Faire.”

  “Until next year,” I said.

  “I’m afraid there won’t be a next year,” he said. “At the end of the summer, I will close King Wilfred’s Faire permanently.”

  For a split second we simply gaped at him. Then came the reactions.

  “What?” said Mr. Malvern.

  “Huh?” said Lord Llewellyn.

  “I beg your pardon?” said Sir James.

  “Close the fair?” said Bill.

  “Permanently?” I said.

  “Why?” said Lord Belvedere.

  “I don’t much like being king,” Calvin replied thoughtfully. “Nor do I enjoy managing such a large enterprise. I’ll see it out to the end of the run, of course, but when it’s over—and when Jinks is well enough to come with me—I’m going back to America. I’ll work as a town crier or a lord mayor or a peasant.” He chuckled. “Perhaps I’ll sell turkey legs again. Anything to spare myself the dreadful burden of all this blasted responsibility.”

  “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,” said Bill.

  “Truer words were never spoken,” said Calvin. “Clever chap, Shakespeare. Knew a thing or two. My head’s so uneasy that I’ve decided to demote myself to the rank of duke for the rest of the summer. I’ve hired a new king. He’ll start on Saturday.”

  I stared at him in utter disbelief. “You mean . . . King Wilfred is dead?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” said Calvin. “But a new King Wilfred will be born the day after tomorrow.”

  The men observed him solemnly for a moment, then got to their feet and raised their flagons. I hastily followed suit.