Chapter 2

First, the knights warmed up by doing a series of accuracy tests, catching rings on their lances and striking shields held up by other actors. Everyone watched with bated breath, many no doubt hoping for some sort of disaster to happen. Next, the joust proper began, Wallace against Rowland and Charles against Fulke. As the bad guys, Rowland and Fulke used underhanded tactics, causing the “good” supporters to boo. Eventually a swordfight on horseback broke out between Wallace and Rowland, while Charles fought off Fulke from the ground after Fulke knocked him off his horse. Finally, Wallace and Rowland challenged each other to a duel to the death, which would take place at sundown.

As the spectators milled back to the main Faire grounds, Wes called out, “Flowers for sale! Flowers for sale!” He grinned as a group of people came over to inspect the contents of his basket. Everyone else was getting distracted by the knights who had come out to meet and greet their fans. Wes crept closer, trying to take advantage of their popularity to gain more interest in his wares

The good knights had come out first. Children holding toy swords and shields posed with them for pictures and adolescents got in close for selfies. A few girls tried to flirt with Sir Charles, and Wes didn’t blame them. Sir Wallace was much older, his hair almost completely silver and his face showing signs of wear, but Sir Charles was young and handsome with brown hair grown down to his shoulders and a cleanly shaven face.

“Sir Wallace!” Up from the arena strutted Sirs Rowland and Fulke. Rowland had a particularly smug swagger in his step. He smirked and said, “I do look forward to our duel this evening. Too bad you won’t be able to celebrate with me afterward.”

“‘Tis true,” Sir Charles interjected. “Only because he will put you down like the lame dog you are, Lord of Jackals.”

Sir Rowland snorted. “Quiet yourself, boy. You are Wallace’s second, so you’ll likely have to face me as well, and a quick tongue won’t save you then.”

“Pay him no mind,” said Sir Wallace. “As you said, he is but a lame dog, barking madly to cover for his lack of bite. Let us away, Sir Charles, and enjoy this fine festival day.”

As the two knights passed Wes, he heard Carlo drop his character, though not his English accent, to mutter to Robert, “I need to dunk my head in a bucket of cold water, and then drink it.”

Robert laughed. “You and me both, lad.”

Just the mention of water made Wes realize how thirsty he was. He grabbed his flask and downed half the contents before he came up for air. The water was getting warm, but it was still cooler than the ambient temperature, so Wes savored every drop. His throat moderately satisfied, he went back to his sales pitch.

The crowd dissipated quickly, eager to get back to the shops and out of the sun. Wes trudged along with them, mentally plotting out his route. The voice of another wandering merchant filled the air. “Pickles! Sweet, coldpickles! A perfect treat for a hot day!”

Wes headed towards the sound of the cart rattling across the ground. “What ho! Good merchant!” he exclaimed. Jared the pickle vendor had started working Faire two seasons ago, same as Wes, and the two were good friends. Wes trotted over to him with a smile. “Did I hear you say you have pickles?”

Jared smiled back, his pink cheeks dripping with sweat. “I did indeed, sir. And you strike me as the sort of man who enjoys a good pickle.” He opened the lid on his wooden cart. “Each one is crisper and colder than the last!”

Peering into the briny box, Wes said, “Hmm, I’m not sure. Those are awfully large pickles. I don’t know how I could possibly fit one in my mouth!”

“They’re very slick pickles,” Jared said. “If you open your mouth wide enough, they’ll slide right in!”

“But if they’re so slippery, won’t I lose my grip and drop it? I wouldn’t want my pickle to get dirty.”

“That’s why God made pickles with bumps and ridges, my good man.” He added in a lower voice with a wink, “Not just for your pleasure.” He continued in his normal volume, “Or I could put it on a stick for you. Surely you could handle grabbing a stick, even if it is a little stick.”

Wes bit back a snort of laughter. Even after a few years of pickle innuendos, Wes still giggled like a teenager at the right play on words. Composing himself, he said, “I’m sorry, but I must decline. What would happen if I got pickle juice on my nice flowers? No one wants sloppy flowers reeking of pickle juice.”

Jared nodded. “Ah, yes, I wouldn’t want to accidentally de-flower a flower merchant. That would be terrible business for us both! Perhaps, instead, I can interest you in a bottle of water?”

“A bottle of water?” Wes exclaimed, raising his voice so more people could hear. “By God, man, why didn’t you say you had cold water for sale? We could have skipped all this silly banter and cut right to the chase! How much for a bottle of cold water?”

“Why, only a dollar fifty, in the local currency. Even such a poorly merchant as yourself could afford one!”

“Excellent well! I shallpurchase a bottle of water! Thank you, generous vendor!” Wes adjusted his basket further up his arm so he could reach into his sporran. He had to nudge the fanny pack containing his till out of the way. Somehow in doing so he accidentally turned on his phone, which he didn’t notice until he had already pulled out his wallet. He got two dollars to give to Jared, then checked his phone surreptitiously as he put his wallet back in the pouch. It was barely past noon, and yet he had five missed calls and three new texts, all from the same person.