“With it?” Grandfather asked. “Or with them? Let me see yours.” He gave Nigel’s goblet to Michael, who was at his elbow now. Then Grandfather held out his hand, and Terence obediently handed over his goblet. Grandfather sniffed it, and looked thoughtful.
“Curious. Not poison, this. But still—it has the stink of magic about it. I must take these back to my laboratory and study them.”
“I’ll fetch more mead for our toast,” Terence said.
“No!” We all whirled to see Rose Noire standing at the edge of the circle with her arms thrust skyward, holding a crystal ball in one hand and a flowering branch in the other. “You must not toast this union today. The stars are completely unfavorable. If you value their lives—and your own—you must shun the company of your fiancée and her father until the danger is past!”
Normally Rose Noire looked about as menacing as a week-old kitten. But clearly she’d gotten into her part as the sorceress uttering dire prophecies and was channeling Circe, Medea, and Macbeth’s three weird sisters. Her hair was twice as frizzy as usual and surrounded her face like a truncated halo. And her eyes glowed with a fierce passion normally only seen when people pooh-poohed the medicinal effectiveness of essential oils.
Terence was momentarily taken aback. Then he recovered and gave a laugh that wasn’t quite convincing.
“Nonsense,” he said. “I do not fear the stars! If—”
“Sir Terence.”
Cordelia had arrived, and her tone of quiet command had stilled Terence. In fact, it had stilled the entire crowd. Michael hastily made an elaborate, low bow. I made the deepest possible curtsey. The entire crowd followed our example, actors and tourists alike. Terence’s bow was especially protracted, as if he welcomed the chance to avoid her eyes.
“Will someone tell us what is afoot in our kingdom now?” Cordelia asked.
Nigel’s jaw set and he favored Terence with a dark look. Terence assumed a look of innocent curiosity.
Michael stepped forward.
“Your Majesty, Sir Terence just announced the news of his betrothal to Lady Dianne—news I assume you already know, since it is customary for you to be consulted on any such proposed alliance between your nobles.”
I wanted to call out “Well improvised!” But now was not the time, so I merely put my hand over my mouth to hide my sudden grin.
Cordelia didn’t even try to hide her smile, though she did manage to make it seem rather menacing.
“Indeed.” She turned her eyes on Terence and studied him for a few moments with much the same expression you’d expect to see if she’d found a slug in her salad.
“His Grace the Duke of Waterston makes an excellent point,” she said. “We always take the keenest interest in the matrimonial plans of our nobles. And we do not recall being consulted on this proposed alliance.”
Terence winced slightly at her emphasis on “proposed.”
“Your Majesty,” he began.
“We will let you know our pleasure in the matter once we have had ample opportunity to consider it.” Cordelia stared at him and he dropped into another obsequiously deep bow. “Sir Nigel, you will send your daughter to us, that we may know her mind.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Nigel said.
“Your—” Terence began.
“You have our leave to go.” She stared at him until he got the message and bowed, murmuring apologies. Cordelia watched Terence slink away, then turned on her heel and stalked away in her most imperious manner.
I noticed that Grandfather was looking discontented—no doubt he felt Cordelia had stolen his thunder.
“Well done, Magister Blake,” I called out. “If not for your quick action, Sir Nigel might be dead by now.”
“Yes, well done!” Michael echoed. We led a round of applause for Grandfather, and then one for Rose Noire, who dropped a curtsey and hurried back to her booth.
“And I will inform Her Majesty what I learn from studying the contents of these goblets,” Grandfather announced. “Come! To my laboratory!”
Chapter 12
While the tourists applauded—a few even cheered—Grandfather came over and handed Terence’s goblet to Michael.
“Just where is my laboratory, anyway?” he asked, sotto voce.
“How about Dad’s first aid tent?” I suggested.
“As good as anyplace. At least I think I know where that is. Bring the mead.” He strode off—luckily in the right direction—and Michael and I trailed along.
Dad had never been entirely happy with the somewhat anachronistic banner flying above his tent, which bore a red cross on a white field and the words Ye First Aide Pavilion.
“You do realize that the Red Cross symbol wasn’t even invented until 1864, don’t you?” he’d protested.
But after resigning himself to Cordelia’s ruling—“we have to give people some clue where to go for medical emergencies”—he’d consoled himself by hanging an articulated skeleton to the left of the entrance and a flea-bitten stuffed badger to the right. And at least the banner made it easy to spot the first aid tent from afar.
When we reached it, I lifted the tent flap and peered inside before we entered, in case Dad had an actual patient. But the only person there was Rose Noire, who seemed to be filling him in on the recent contretemps.
“And I have no idea what he was about to do when—Here they are!” Rose Noire turned and beamed at us.
“I hear you and Rose Noire saved the day,” Dad said to Grandfather.
“Couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.” Grandfather preened slightly at the praise.
“Just how did you know to show up?” I asked Rose Noire.
“Dianne ran in and asked if she could hide in my tent,” she said. “And when I heard what was happening, I sent Josh to fetch your grandmother and went to see if I could help.”
“Is she still in your tent?” Michael asked.
Rose Noire nodded.
“Let’s let her stay there for a while,” I said. “I’ll let Cordelia know where she is.”
“Just what were those Latin incantations you made over the goblets?” Michael asked Grandfather, before he could start feeling neglected.
“Danaus plexippus. Quercus stellata. Microstegium vimineum!” he repeated. “The scientific names for the monarch butterfly, the post oak, and Japanese stilt grass.”
“Ingenious!” Dad exclaimed. “Using your knowledge of Linnaean taxonomy to play your part as the alchemist.”
“It seemed to do the trick. Cheers.” Grandfather had reclaimed one of the goblets Michael had been carrying. He lifted the goblet and took a healthy sip of mead. “Ah! Good stuff.”
“But not something Nigel should be consuming,” Dad said. “Even if it’s done under duress, breaking a long, successful period of sobriety could have serious physical and psychological effects.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” I said. “Michael and I saw what happened with Nigel a year or so ago, when someone talked him into joining a champagne toast. But if you want to go and try getting Terence to understand what a heinous thing he was doing, be my guest.”
“I’m going to put him on probation,” Michael said. “I’ll go and clear it with Cordelia, to make sure she’s okay with it—”
“I can’t imagine that she wouldn’t be,” I said. “But good to present a united front when he complains.”
“And if he does anything else to threaten Nigel’s well-being, he’s out on his ear,” Michael went on.
“Or if he bothers Dianne again,” Rose Noire put in. “From what she told me, he hasn’t exactly done anything that crossed the line into something reportable, but…”
“But I bet he’s always hanging out just on the safe side of that line,” I put in. “So the accumulated effect is that she feels harassed.”
Rose Noire nodded.
“Staying away from Dianne should be part of his probation,” I said.
“I’ll go find Cordelia.” Michael strode out.
“Can I go back to Dianne?” Rose Noire asked. “She’s upset. I don’t want to leave her alone for long.”
“Of course,” I said. “Fill her in on what’s happening. And reassure her that the Game can limp along just fine without her until we settle Terence’s hash.”
Jacks burst into the tent, her normally cheerful, ruddy face looking stormy.
“Where is she?”
“If you mean Dianne, she’s hiding next door in my tent,” Rose Noire said. “I’ll go check on her.” She slipped out through the side entrance that led to her tent.
“I should never have left her alone,” Jacks said.
“Has Terence’s behavior been so bad that she needed that kind of protection?” I asked. “Because if that’s the case, we need to hear about it. Michael and Cordelia and I, that is—so we can deal with it.” For that matter, if it had gotten that bad, why hadn’t we heard about it already?
“Well. If you ask me—” Jacks frowned and thought for a moment before continuing. “By my standards, nothing I’ve seen was that bad—but I’m a tough old bird. I came up in times when nobody even paid lip service to a woman’s right not to be harassed. Terence’s behavior seems to have come as a shock to her. I don’t know what he might have gotten up to when I wasn’t around. Even if all he’s done is what I’ve seen, I expect the cumulative effect has been pretty awful.”
Michael appeared in the tent’s entrance.
“Her Majesty,” he announced, then stepped aside and bowed. Cordelia strode in. We all bowed or curtseyed for the benefit of the large crowd of tourists who were trailing along behind Cordelia—well, all except Grandfather, but even he waved his raven-headed staff in what could be interpreted as a salute. Then Michael dropped the tent flap closed and we all returned to the twenty-first century.
“Michael says he wants to put Terence on probation,” she said. “Is there any reason we can’t just fire him?”
“Hell, no,” Grandfather said. “I say can him immediately. Escort him off the mountain and tell him he’ll be arrested for trespassing if he so much as sets foot here again.”
He took a generous swig of mead and sat back, arms folded, satisfied that he’d given his opinion, and it was up to us lesser mortals to execute his idea.
Cordelia looked puzzled, as if unsure whether to resent his presumption or marvel at finding herself, however briefly, in harmony with his point of view.
“We can probably fire him,” Michael said. “But if we did it immediately, without giving him a chance to clean up his act—or even tell his side of the story—I’d be afraid he’d come back and try to sue us for wrongful termination.”
“I don’t think he’d win,” Cordelia said.
“No, he probably wouldn’t,” Michael agreed. “But even losing, he could cost us a lot of time and money. So let’s put him on probation. Maybe he’ll shape up. In case he doesn’t, let’s talk to a lawyer as soon as possible about exactly what we need to do to fire him without causing ourselves problems.”
“Pretty sure we have at least one lawyer in the family who specializes in employment law.” I pulled out my phone. “Let me see if Mother can round one up who can call you for a quick consultation.”
“I like that idea.” Cordelia’s fierce smile was back. I began typing a text to Mother. “Though Michael seems to have a rather good idea how we should proceed.”
“Unfortunately, being part of the Drama Department’s management team has given me a lot of experience with employment law,” Michael said. “It would have been nice if we’d formally reprimanded him for a few of his past offenses—”
“Reprimanding Terence has become one of my main summer pastimes,” Cordelia said. “Of course, I did it privately, so as not to cause him undue embarrassment.”
“Did you happen to document any of those reprimands?” Michael sounded guardedly optimistic. “In writing, I mean.”
“Yes, with a memo to his personnel file,” she said. “And gave him a copy of each of the memos. At least five of them, if memory serves—one on refraining from inappropriate conduct with or in the presence of tourists, two on things he did to Dianne, and two on stuff he did to poor George. I know George always says it’s all fine and he doesn’t want to make waves, but there’s a limit.”
“Excellent,” Michael said. “Then we can do a formal probation memo and cite however many previous reprimands you have on file.”
“God, I hate bureaucracy.” Grandfather sounded slightly hollow, since he still had his nose in the mead goblet.
“And part of Terence’s probation is that he doesn’t go anywhere near Dianne or Nigel,” Michael said. “We can work around it in the Game.”
“Yes,” I said. “He needs to behave as if both of them have a restraining order against him. Odds are life has already acquainted him with how those work, but if it hasn’t, Horace can explain it to him.”
“Hell, I’ll ask Chief Heedles to come up and explain it to him,” Cordelia said. “I’ve seen her put the fear of God into a trio of intoxicated biker dudes. Remind me, where’s he sleeping?”
“Down in Camp Anachronism,” Jacks said. “Most of us players are down there—including Dianne.”
“Camp Anachronism?” Grandfather echoed.
“The regular camping grounds,” I explained. “Where you can let your hair down and revel in the modern amenities you’ve been doing without all day.”
“Where we set up your tent,” Dad added.
“Ah.” Grandfather nodded. “Are there other camping grounds? Ones where you stay in character and do everything authentically?”
“Yes, but they’re full up,” I said quickly. Clearly Grandfather was getting way too enthusiastic about Ren Faire living.
“In fact, there’s a waiting list for them,” Cordelia added. “Maybe we should move Terence up here to the house.”
“Wouldn’t that be rewarding him for his misbehavior?” Jacks asked. “Why not move Dianne up here?”
“Because the only free room we have is a storage room that housed a scullery maid in less enlightened times,” Cordelia said. “I could see stuffing Terence into it, but I wouldn’t inflict it on Dianne. It’s dank, windowless, badly ventilated, and smaller than most modern prison cells.”
“And infested with camel crickets,” I reminded her. “Hundreds of them.”
“I withdraw the suggestion.” Jacks shuddered.
“We could have another go at cleaning out the crickets,” Cordelia said. “If anyone feels like bothering.”
“We could,” I said. “I seem to remember that it usually takes a day or two before they come back in any real numbers. And if I’m wrong about that—well, he won’t be lonely.”
“May I just say ‘ick’?” Jacks shuddered.
“We’ll consider that an option, depending on what he has to say for himself.” Cordelia reached into one of her hidden—and probably anachronistic—pockets and pulled out her gold pocket watch. “First I’ll talk to Dianne. And I’d like to deal with Terence before I preside over the jousting at four. Can someone find him and drag him up to my office?”
“I’m on it,” Michael said.
“Me too,” I said. “And I’ll enlist the palace guard.”
“If I see him and can restrain the urge to throttle him, I’ll deliver him,” Jacks said.
“I’ll go out and look for him.” Grandfather drained his goblet and stood. “If he refuses to come with me, I’ll threaten to turn him into a toad.”
“You have your missions,” Cordelia said. “Make it so!”
Chapter 13
We fanned out through the fairgrounds, enlisting other actors and staff as we encountered them, so within a quarter of an hour, nearly everyone who wasn’t a tourist was looking for Terence. To my surprise, it was Grandfather who succeeded in rounding him up—while making a sweep past the porta-potties, I ran into Terence marching along at the point of Grandfather’s staff. Terence laughed and waved his own staff when he saw me.
&n
bsp; “Seems I’ve been taken captive by this rather intimidating character.” Terence sounded amused.
“Keep walking.” Grandfather tapped him in the back with the staff, not all that gently.
“Good,” I said. “Cordelia is eager to see you.”
“Cordelia?” Suddenly Terence looked a lot less cheerful, and glanced around as if thinking of bolting.
“Yes. Cordelia.” I took his arm in what I hoped was a casual manner. But escaping from a blacksmith’s grip isn’t that easy, and if he thought Grandfather was a helpless old dodderer—or that he would be afraid to use the staff—he was badly mistaken.
And besides, Terence had an image to maintain. He recovered his composure and continued nodding and smiling at the tourists until we were safely inside the house.
Someone must have called ahead to warn Cordelia. She was waiting for us in the Great Hall.
“Mr. Cox.” She sounded cool and calm. I knew that was a sign of how very angry she was. “We have a few things to discuss. In my office, please.”
She turned on her heel and marched off. Assuming he’d follow? Or maybe trusting that Grandfather and I could deliver him. Probably the latter. We followed them downstairs and along the hall. Grandfather kept the staff pressed into the small of Terence’s back until he was on the threshold of Cordelia’s office. I tagged along at the end of the procession and watched as the door shut behind the two of them—though not before Cordelia glanced at me in what I knew was a wordless request to stick around in case she needed me.
“Well, that’s taken care of.” Grandfather nodded in satisfaction. “I think we should celebrate his capture. Do they sell that excellent mead at all of the taverns?”
“They do,” I said. “But I’ll take a rain check. I’m going to wait here to see if Cordelia has anything that needs doing after she talks to Terence.”
“Like escorting him off the mountain.” He nodded. “Call me if you need backup.”
He stumped off, whacking his staff against the floor with every other step.
Peace and quiet descended over the corridor. I could hear the music coming from the Faire—something with bagpipes—but very faintly. Down the hall, from the half-open door of the jewelry studio, I could hear the clicking of Tad’s computer keys and the occasional squeak as he got up and walked over that loose floorboard. I scribbled an item in my notebook to ask Cordelia’s handyman if there was anything he could do to fix it. The laundry rooms were silent—had the crew finished for the day or were they just taking a meal break?
The Falcon Always Wings Twice Page 8
