by Andre Norton
Although Borg and Omz were missing for most of the morning, Driss and Tonya were able by good management and much hard work to have the show ready by noon as promised. Borg showed up late enough to avoid most of the physical exertion but at least quickly learned the few lines he was required to speak. Omz, on the other hand, returned earlier but spent a considerable part of his time muttering to himself behind the wagon and making passes in the air. A pair of passing fair-wards suspiciously observed him at this activity for a time but, since nothing whatever seemed to occur because of Omz’s words and gestures, continued on their rounds without comment.
The show itself was a simple one, involving a dragon, who appeared to subsist entirely on a diet of virgins (in an historic era when virgins were fairly common); an overlord, who found this state of affairs not only unseemly but also bad for business; a princess, who had the misfortune to be captured by the dragon and tied to a stake for later consumption; a bold prince, who rescued the princess and converted the dragon to vegetarianism; a little dog for even more comic relief; and various maidens and townspeople.
It was not expected that the noon show would be heavily attended and it was not. But by the time of the evening performance word had gotten about concerning the charm and miniature perfection of the dolls, the ferocity of the dragon and the amusing antics of the little dog, and the last show of the day completely filled the space inside the canvas fence. Borg’s deep and powerful roars and Omz’s surprisingly melodious and varied voices added not a little to the play’s attraction.
It was late when the last show of the evening was over and Tonya counted up the receipts. There was a goodly bag of coppers and even one shining piece of silver. She showed it to Driss.
“A few more of these and we might make it,” she said. “We can’t count on many pieces of silver, though, and unless we can pack in more admissions it will be a close thing by the end of the fair. Do you think we could enlarge the space for the audience?”
“We’d need more canvas to surround a bigger space,” Driss said.
“There’s the awning over the first six rows. You could use that. I’ll help you pick apart the seams.”
“Suppose it should rain?”
“If it rains,” Tonya said, “no one will come at all. We could just fold up the stage and wait for the next day.”
“It’s risky,” Driss said.
“We’ll just have to take the risk against the chance to have a bigger crowd.”
“You sound just like your father, Tonya. You aren’t becoming a gambler, are you?”
“Father gambled on races and dice. This is different. This is betting on the weather. Farmers do it all the time. You’ve nothing against farmers, I hope?”
“While we’re hoping, let’s just hope it doesn’t rain.”
“It mustn’t rain.”
“You worry too much, Tonya. I promise you it won’t rain. We’ll use Omz’s sunshine spell if necessary.”
Tonya giggled. “I’d rather trust your promise than Omz’s spells.” Then, becoming serious, she added, “You shouldn’t make fun of the old man, Driss. One of these days he’ll surprise us.”
“Sometimes I’m afraid he will,” Driss said.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. He’s a little . . . odd, you know. I hope, in his well-meaning way, he doesn’t get us in some sort of trouble.”
“Look who’s worrying now. Go feed Lightning and I’ll prepare us a good hot supper.”
While Driss took care of closing down the show for the night, Tonya put away the coppers in the bottom of the blood-red chest, locking it with a whispered word. Next she fixed a spicy stew over the flame of one of the flares and called the men to supper.
The next morning the awning was sacrificed to make an addition to the screen surrounding the places of the audience. The result was at least ten more seats and they were well occupied during the day and evening performances.
They continued to be filled for the next several days, but then the attendance began to drop off. Many of the people in the immediate neighborhood had seen the show—some of them two or even three times—but the receipts for the sixth and seventh days were lower than on the first.
At the end of the seventh day Driss found Tonya sitting on the wagon’s tailgate, her legs dangling, counting the coppers for the third time. She showed him some figures on a slate.
“If this keeps up, I won’t be able to pay, even if I work as a seamstress or something after the fair until Midwinter Moon. Oh, Driss, what shall we do?”
Driss jumped up on the wagon beside her and put her head against his shoulder. “Please don’t worry so, dear. We’ll think of something. Suppose Borg and I go about in the mornings to tell people about the show?”
“Borg often isn’t here in the mornings and I have the impression he’d keep more people away than he coaxed in. Besides I need you here. Neither Omz nor Vallo is strong enough to do your work.”
Driss was silent for a long moment.
“Tonya,” he said, “do you remember the merchant who paid in silver that first day to admit him and his family?”
“Yes, of course. What about him?”
“His name is Bothro. He’s as wealthy as a flea with his own private dog and he has just dozens of children. Surely among all this horde of little Bothros there must be at least one who was born during fair month. He laughed and enjoyed the dolls like a child himself, if you remember.”
“Hmm. Yes. Although he frowned rather fiercely when Village Girl was turned down by Dragon as inedible.”
“We could leave that part out,” Driss said.
“Just for Bothro? Everyone else seemed to think it was hilarious.”
“Yes, Tonya. Just for Bothro. What I’m thinking is that if we could find out the birthday of one of the children, we could offer to do the show privately for his or her party on that date. Bothro could invite all of his friends and their children as well and we could charge him an arm or a leg or two.”
“We’d have to in order to make up for moving the wagon and missing the proceeds from the other shows of the day. Do you think you could get him to pay enough for that?”
“I’m sure of it. I’ll bet we could earn three days’ receipts.”
“Look who’s gambling now!”
“All right, I’m a gambler, too. Shall we try it?”
“I’ll think about it,” Tonya said.
“While you’re thinking, I’ll find out who has a birthday this month.”
Omz, who had been straining to hear the two young people’s conversation, hobbled up, leaning on his staff.
“Did I hear someone say ’birthday’? I have a little spell—a trifling thing, really—which brings health and prosperity for an entire year if worked on a birthday. May I offer it to you on the birthday in question?”
“Of course, Omz,” Tonya said with a smile. “But it’s neither my birthday nor Driss’s. We could certainly use all the prosperity we can get, if you think it would still work under those circumstances.”
“I’ll have to look that up,” Omz said, and began pulling his robe this way and that to squint at the lettering on it.
Tonya and Driss darted each other a secret smile and Driss went off to feed Lightning and secure the stage for the night while Tonya prepared the evening meal.
After supper Vallo timidly asked if he could have a very special dessert.
“What sort of dessert, dear?” Tonya asked him.
“One of those pink ices the sweetmeat man sells. He says the snow to make it comes from our mountains.”
“I was a bit afraid the sweetmeat seller’s stall was too near. Things like that cost money, you know.”
“But I’ve been working for a whole ten-day, Tonya, and you pay Omz and Borg two coppers a day. I heard you tell them. Aren’t I worth one copper a whole ten-day?”
“The lad has a point,” Driss said.
“All right,” Tonya said. “But what will you put your pink ice in? The
man doesn’t give cups away, you know.”
“I could use one of your little bone cups.”
“They’re very old and thin. Promise you’ll be careful with it if I let you have one?’’
Vallo promised, was given his copper, and dashed off at flank speed to the sweetmeat stall. To give him credit, he ate his pink snow with unusual care and neatness. Later, when Tonya was cleaning up the supper things, she took up the cup and almost dropped it because of its unexpected temperature. She wiped the moisture from it and placed it on a shelf. A moment later she found it still moist and was obliged to wipe it a second time.
“I declare, it’s too humid to sleep tonight. I do hope it won’t rain tomorrow.” Smiling to herself, she added, “Driss promised me it wouldn’t, so perhaps it won’t.”
Driss’s promise held good the following day, but attendance at the day’s shows still showed signs of falling off. The count of coppers that night almost made her regret Vallo’s copper for the ice.
The next day in midmorning Driss returned from a foray into the temple precinct with a wide grin on his face and gave Tonya a sudden bear hug.
“Driss, what in the world has come over you?” Tonya said. “Have you discovered a silver mine?”
“Mm. Sort of.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“I discovered that one of the infant Bothros does indeed have a birthday. Better yet, it falls on ten-day next. And best of all, Father Bothro has agreed to pay us twenty-five silver pieces for the show!”
“Wonderful!” Tonya almost shouted and hugged Driss around the waist. “On the start of a ten-day people are at the temple much of the day, so we lose very little by moving the wagon. But however did you get your merchant prince or princely merchant to pay so much? Why, you and Omz can almost let it rain for the rest of our stay! How did you do it?”
“By exerting my manly charm upon Mama Bothro, that’s how. She considers me a fine, handsome young man. She said so.”
“I’m not sure I like that. What’s she look like?”
“Remember Lightning when he was a week old? She weighs about the same and has the same highly intelligent look. Tonya, let’s all eat a pink snow tonight!”
Borg had returned from the tavern quarter at the same time as Driss’s excited homecoming and had heard most of this happy exchange. He maintained his usual phlegmatic expression throughout and shortly after made a second trip to a nearby tavern, returning only just in time for the day’s first performance.
The remaining days before the private showing retained a heavy burden of humidity, and there was a slight chill in the air at night. To encourage a larger attendance Tonya had Driss place half a dozen braziers filled with glowing coals around the edges of the seating area. This helped a bit, but trade was still falling off and Tonya worried about it as she and Driss counted the day’s receipts.
“If this goes on, we may have to find another rich merchant,” she said, “and after ten-day—tomorrow—there will be only a few more days to the end of the fair. We may even have to sell some of the dolls, and I’d almost rather work off the debt in Lord Caum’s castle than do that.”
On the evening of the special performance, which was to take place in the courtyard of Bothro’s estate, the weather was still damp and slightly chill. The children who assembled for the show were bundled up and even the adults wore cloaks or woolen shawls. Borg and Omz appeared only moments before the play was to begin and both had found heavy capes somewhere. Omz looked almost ill. Fortunately the audience was slow in settling down and the dolls were able to make their first appearance without any annoying delay.
Never had the dolls performed as well as for the youngest Bothro’s birthday. Snow Princess was lovely and her enhanced spell allowed her sweet smile to be seen even in the farthest rows. Never had Dragon’s roar been louder or deeper, and Little Dog was so convincingly doglike that he even (quite naturally and unexpectedly) lifted one tiny hind leg at a property gatepost.
The birthday child was entranced and she squirmed forward until her chin was almost on the edge of the stage. She squealed in mock fright each time Dragon snapped his jaws, and in the final battle she implored valiant Prince not to kill him too cruelly. As if in appreciation, Dragon turned toward her for his final roar and, as he did, a huge blue-white cloud of smoke erupted from his open mouth straight into the child’s face.
Her screams were real this time and were followed at once by a violent fit of coughing and a torrent of tears.
What happened next was utter pandemonium. With leonine roars, Mother Bothro charged up and gathered her child to her bosom, than began screaming unladylike imprecations in all directions. Every other child in the audience began to bellow and every parent present added his or her voice to the uproar, some condemning the proprietors of the doll show, some threatening Bothro with the utmost rigors of the fair-court. Driss and Tonya thrust dismayed faces from behind the stage backdrop. Borg made a hasty dash for elsewhere but was quickly brought back by a Bothro footman, who held him firmly by the ear. Vallo, delighted with the event, sent Little Dog capering and barking lustily from one end of the stage to the other. The birthday child divided her time equally between shrieks and fits of coughing.
Mention, here and there, of the fair-court brought Merchant Bothro’s captain of industry side to the fore and he dispatched several servants in search of fair-wards, who promptly appeared and roughly restored order. When the gathering was reasonably quiet, Bothro leveled a shaking finger at Tonya.
“I charge this woman and her crew with the use of unauthorized magic to attack my children and to ruin my reputation with my friends and business associates! Lock them up. They shall appear before the court no later than tomorrow morning to answer for their crimes.”
Madame Bothro, being a practical woman, was the first to regain her poise. “Bothro, dear, I hardly think the court will take up the matter so soon. Besides, I have my seamstress coming in the morning. I shall have to send for a physician to look at Cyndia. There’s no telling what these horrid people have done to her.”
“The court will take up the case when I demand it,” the red-faced Bothro insisted. “I count for something in this country, I’ll have you know. For the rest, send for your physician at once, if you will, and your seamstress will simply have to await your pleasure. Consider our position, woman!”
Locking up the doll show and its personnel was somewhat of a problem with space during the fair at a premium, but it was solved by sending for a temple wizard, who put a restraining spell on everyone and everything, including the ox, Lightning.
Despite Bothro’s self-proclaimed importance, the court would not consent to considering the case until late the following afternoon. Under the spell, which limited their movements to less than three yards from the wagon, the five people (and Lightning, the least concerned) found the unavailability of fresh food and water and the humid overcast weather added considerably to their fears and general discomfort. Tonya’s efforts to get to the bottom of the matter of the cloud of smoke did nothing to clear the air. The obvious suspect in the question of unauthorized spells was, of course, Omz.
“How could you have done this to us?” Tonya demanded. “You certainly must have known that even if you hadn’t blown whatever it was in that wretched child’s face, any magic which wasn’t passed might cost me everything we’ve earned. And, believe me, the earnings are more important to me than you could possibly know. Now why did you?”
“I am, after all, a magician, dear lady. I meant only to add a bit of luster to the performance. If friend Borg hadn’t clumsily turned Dragon in the wrong direction, no harm would have been done.”
There was something strangely wrong in Omz’s expression when he said these words. His dignity for the first time seemed false. Moreover his face was gray and he looked ill. Tonya silently considered him and thoughtfully turned away.
Court was convened at last and wagon and crew were returned to the fairgrounds to be tried
there. The case was conducted briskly. Omz was the first to stand before the magistrate.
“You, sir, profess to be a magician?”
“A poor one, noble sir.”
“If so, you are free to practice your trade—within reason, mind you—but surely you must have known that by embellishing a fair attraction with unauthorized magic you put the proprietor of the said attraction in danger of losing both profits and goods? Was this done with malice?”
“Oh, no, sir. Certainly not.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“I was carried away by the interest of the play—which is a most excellent one, noble sir.”
“Then, lest you get ’carried away’ in matters more serious, I hereby divest you of any right to practice magic anywhere or for any purpose from this day forward,” the magistrate said sternly. He then turned to Tonya.
“Now then, you, young woman. Stand before me and state your name and condition.”
“Tonya of Clan Sarg, sir. Unwed.”
“Clan Sarg, eh? I had occasion to know your father. A rogue, perhaps, but harmless. Why is he not here?”
“He died in last winter’s great storm, sir.”
“Hmm. I see. He left you his dolls, then. Aught else?”
“His debts, sir, as is the custom.”
“A heavy burden, no doubt. Still, I must deal with you according to the law. Did you hire this . . . this magician with a thought of increasing the attractions of your play? In particular, did you order him to do what Merchant Bothro claims was done? Let me warn you; the court will deal most severely if you lie.”
“I will not lie, sir. I employed Omz not for his magic but for his voice. Most suitable for King, sir, and even beautiful for other of my doll characters.” As she said this she looked as kindly as she was able at Omz, but the old man would not meet her eye.
“Very well. I will now question you, valet. What is your name, man?”
While the magistrate was interrogating Borg, Tonya retired to the shadow of the wagon and joined Driss and her brother, Vallo. Omz stood some distance apart. Tonya examined the old man speculatively.
