Into the Wildewood (26 page)

They’d passed the jousting field, the food court, and the petting zoo, and were now at the back of the Faire in an area where there were lots of artisans’ booths. Sir Brine led Keelie to a very small booth, nothing more than a converted wooden barrel. A wooden sign, which was swinging from a two-by-four nailed to the barrel’s side, was carved with a dancing pickle that had big, round, googly-cartoon eyes.

“Home sweet pickle barrel.” Sir Brine surveyed his minute domain. Keelie leaned closer to get a better look at what was painted around the dancing pickle’s waist, then quickly backed away.

Gross.
The dancing pickle wore a codpiece.

She wiped her hand across her forehead. It had to be close to noon because a lot of Faire goers were sitting in the shade eating turkey legs and drinking from paper cups that dripped with condensation. She was so thirsty. After pushing the heavy cart, standing at the pickle booth in full sun would give her heatstroke if she didn’t get a break soon.

Sir Brine unlocked a door that had been cut into the barrel and pulled out a wooden contraption made of hinged and jointed wooden planks. He made a sweeping motion over it as if it were his most prized possession. “Behold the pickle chunker. I’m going to entertain the crowd, so be prepared to accept their money and give them their pickles. We always have big sales after pickle chunking.” Sir Brine pulled a rubber mallet out and did some wildly exaggerated stretching exercises.

Curious folks were already gathering around. Some smiled expectantly. It couldn’t be all bad if his past victims returned with a smile. Not knowing what to expect, Keelie examined the pickle chunker: a wooden box with a long lever attached to one end. A rope dangled from the end of the lever, with a small, pickle-sized platform attached to it.

“How does that work?” Keelie had never seen anything like it.

“So, now you’re talking to me. It’s a catapult, or sort of a catapult. I designed it myself. Might even apply for a patent for it. Couldn’t you tell it’s a catapult?”

“It doesn’t look like any catapult I’ve seen in history books.”

“History books! Don’t they teach kids ‘real’ history these days?”

Keelie shrugged. In the distance she heard the jingling of bells and people singing. She thought she recognized Jared’s voice.

Sir Brine lifted his head at the sound. He rubbed his hands together in manic glee. “Ah, this is going to be perfect, here comes Robin Hood and his Merry Men. Finch has screwed up the schedule and has everyone converging at the Maypole.”

Jared, dressed as Robin Hood, appeared riding a white Arabian horse, with Maid Marian following on a black Andalusian with silver bells tinkling from its bridle. The girl on the horse this time was one of Elia’s elf friends. The first Maid Marian must be back at the lodge, too sick to work. The Merry Men walked behind, waving at the growing crowd that jostled for the best view on both sides of the lane.

Sir Brine heaved his mallet up onto his shoulder. “I’m going to launch pickles at them. I’m hoping that Little John gets riled and comes after us. He doesn’t like you, so he should get even angrier, and the crowds love it. I worked in front of Lulu’s booth last weekend, launching pickles during her puppet show, and she went ballistic. I sold tons of pickles.”

No way was Keelie going to get Little John “riled up.” If he showed up, she was outta here. The big man had it in for her, and he was nuts.

Sir Brine pulled a pickle, squashed at one end, from a vinegary-smelling five-gallon food service bucket and placed it on the platform. “Always check your angle—you don’t want to launch the pickles over there.” He pointed to his right.

Keelie peeked around the pickle barrel at The Heart of Glass. A stained glass shop. Glass fairies, glass dragons, and other fantastical glass creatures twinkled with fairy-tale splendor from hooks hanging from the shop’s eaves. Her eyes were drawn to the shop’s centerpiece, a beautiful stained glass window of a unicorn. Silver solder outlined the milky-white glass that formed the unicorn’s body, and the iridescent glass of the mane and the horn glittered as if it had been dipped in starlight. A man with spiky, bleached-blond hair sat on a stool behind a wooden counter, watching for potential customers.

This was not good. Not good at all. Foreboding tingled over Keelie’s skin, settling at the base of her neck.

“Hear ye, hear ye,” Sir Brine shouted in a deep, booming voice. A small crowd of teenagers in jeans and T-shirts gathered. If Keelie still attended Baywood Academy, she would have classified them as geeks and wouldn’t have talked to them. Now she thought they looked interesting.

Robin Hood dismounted and walked over to Maid Marian’s mount. He held up his gloved hands, offering to help her dismount. She was riding sidesaddle, so with a little maneuvering of her right leg, she jumped into Robin Hood’s arms, her skirts swirling around them romantically. She looked thrilled. Keelie would have been too, if she’d been offered the job. Why did she get stuck as the Pickle Girl?

If Sean played Robin Hood, Keelie could be his Maid Marian, and together they would ride through the Faire enjoying the adulation of the crowd. A picture of Knot riding on the back of Keelie’s horse popped into her mind, intruding on her fantasy.

“Dilly, pay attention!” She startled at Sir Brine’s shout. Maybe Little John would go after Brine.

Over at the Maypole, the girls who played Renaissance fairies in wispy, colorful costumes and sparkly makeup danced in and around each another, unraveling yards of colorful ribbons wrapped around the pole. That looked like a fun job.

Keelie clacked the pickle tongs in time to the music and gazed through her eyelashes at Brine. He was lining his pickle projectiles in a neat row next to the catapult. This was going to end badly.

Parents congregated around the perimeter of the Maypole. Little children were getting excited. Then the flute and drum of the Maypole band were overwhelmed by pounding drums and bagpipes. It was Rigadoon, the kilted band that played toe-tapping dance tunes, on their way to one of the pubs.

The Maypole band good-naturedly played along with Rigadoon, and the fairies matched their dance to the faster beat, unraveling yards of floating ribbon as the kids clapped their hands in tune to the music. The little girl who’d seen the tree was here, hopping excitedly next to her mom. Keelie waved to them and they waved back.

One of the Rigadoons began beating on a drum with a hard-pounding rhythm. A troupe of belly dancers threaded through the crowd and gathered in the dusty circle in front of the stained glass shop, gracefully moving their hips and arms in tune to the music. The tassels on their hip belts swung back and forth. Knot would go ballistic if he saw them.

A dancer dressed in shades of red took the center spot, coins jingling merrily from her scarlet hip belt. The others stepped back as the belly dancer moved in sinuous rhythm to the music. One of the other dancers yelled, “Go, Rhiannon!”

This had to be Raven’s friend, Rhiannon Rose. Raven and Laurie had planned to catch her act, but Keelie was seeing her first. She couldn’t really enjoy the performance, though, with one ear cocked for the plinking of Elia’s harp, not to mention the imminent charge of an angry Little John.

“We will soon disrupt these Sherwood rogues. They’ll find themselves in a pickle,” Sir Brine chortled as he cranked back the lever and attached the taut rope to a hook at the base. The lever arched backward. He centered the pickle on the launching platform and readied his mallet to release the rope.

Nobody paid any attention to him.

At the Maypole, the ribbons were unwound and the Renaissance fairies motioned for the children to join them. The little kids ran to pick their favorite colors, and some of the belly dancers looked on as the others danced.

Keelie leaned against a slender pine and opened her mind, searching for any word of her father. The air around her was filled with nervous energy, and she felt the
bhata
above her and in the shrubbery that surrounded the clearing. The pipes and drumming excited them. The young pine was enjoying it too. She tried to ignore their buzzing and go farther, and finally found a thread of the unicorn’s magic amid the woody greenness of the great oaks. Just as she was about to dive into that cool greenness, she heard a single musical note—the plucked string of a harp.

Keelie came crashing back to herself just as Sir Brine smacked his mallet against the hook, releasing the rope. It made a “kathunk” sound, and the pickle flew in a long arc toward Robin Hood. Keelie watched, horrified. Brine was definitely nuts. The pickle soared up, up, up, followed by dozens of eyes on the ground. It reached the pinnacle of its trajectory, then stopped and spun left toward the Maypole. The crowd gasped, eyes on the wayward pickle missile. Sir Brine’s mouth hung open.

Keelie cried out a warning to her little fairy princess friend, hoping she’d hear and look up. But before she could reach the little girl, the white cat shot out in front of her. The pickle changed direction again, and landed on the chest of a very well-endowed woman wearing a leather corset with matching skirt. She carried a huge wooden sword over her shoulder. She glowered menacingly at Sir Brine, who now looked on in horror.

Removing the pickle from her chest, the woman squashed it under her huge boot, then unsheathed her wooden sword and swung it over her head. “Have a taste of my claymore, varlet.”

It wasn’t a real, bladed weapon, but getting smacked by the claymore would be like getting bashed with a baseball bat. Sir Brine went pale and backed up, hands in front of him as if he could ward off the angry woman.

Keelie’s little friend jumped up and down, her glittering wings bouncing on her back. “I saw the magic kitty.”

Keelie looked around quickly, but there was no sign of Knot.

Angry parents and faux fairies glared at the Pickle Man, who’d been backed up against a tree by the swordswoman. Little John emerged from the throng. The swordswoman grinned and bowed slightly to the Merry Man.

“Hurling pickles at little ones, Evil One?” The crowd cheered as Little John positioned his quarterstaff in his hands in a battle-ready stance. “You’d better run for your life, Brine.”

Sir Brine gulped and leaped to the other side of the tree. “Don’t worry about me, Dilly.” He sprinted back up the path. “Stay here and guard the pickles.”

Little John roared, quarterstaff held high, as he pursued Sir Brine. The woman with the claymore chased after them. Keelie felt sorry for Sir Brine, but she was grateful that they weren’t after her.

The crowd clapped, and some even raised their fists in the air and shouted, “Huzzah!”

Keelie was stuck on Pickle Patrol. Near the Maypole, a sweep of blue caught her eye. Elia. The elf girl scowled at Keelie and tried to make herself blend in with the Rigadoons.

Elia had to be the one trying to disrupt the Faire, to make Keelie tell her where the unicorn was. She hadn’t succeeded, but she’d almost hurt people. Keelie was sure that Sir Brine wouldn’t get away without some bruises.

She made a “V” with her fingers and pointed at her eyes and then at Elia, as Little John had done earlier, hoping that the elf girl understood what it meant:
I’m watching you
.

Elia wrinkled her nose, tossed her blonde curls over her shoulder, and joined the players.

The people walking by glared at Keelie, and no one bought pickles. One little boy booed her. Keelie hadn’t been the one who’d launched the pickle at the Maypole, but she was getting the blame. “For shame,” she heard a woman say, and another one shook her head as if she were really disappointed in her.

At least she was still employed. Her stomach rumbled. Even though she could’ve helped herself to a pickle, she never wanted to eat or smell one again.

Then she spotted Laurie, who looked beautiful. Laurie’s hair was intricately braided, and despite the heat, she wore a green velvet cloak over her Francesca outfit, fastened at the neck by a gold clasp shaped like an oak leaf.

Keelie grinned, just happy to see a friendly face. “Did you catch the show?”

“Most of it, from the other side.” Laurie waved toward the path on the other side of the Maypole.

Raven joined them, leaning against the pickle barrel in mock exhaustion. “That’s it, no more shopping for me. I want food, then we’re going to find a shady spot so I can take a nap.”

“The braids look beautiful. What else did you get?”

Laurie smiled as if she had a big secret, then lifted her skirts. On her feet were exact replicas of the boots Keelie had ordered. Keelie’s stomach sank all the way down to the ground and suddenly she wasn’t hungry anymore. Betrayal could do that to a girl.

Raven pushed at the carved pickle sign. It squeaked as it swung back and forth. “That girl can spend some cash.” Her voice was carefully neutral, but Keelie could tell she was jealous.

Laurie twirled. “I love this place. Lady Annie said these boots were just like yours. She’d cut them for someone who cancelled their order, and they just fit me. Isn’t that lucky? She gave me a great deal, and voila, here I am.”

Keelie gripped the pickle tongs very tightly. Laurie had every right to spend her money the way she chose. “Love the boots.” Her voice sounded a little creaky from the effort.

“Thanks.” Laurie smiled down at her new purchase.

Raven leaned forward. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Remember, when someone copies you, it’s a form of flattery.”

Keelie snapped the tong ends in Raven’s face. “No, it’s not. Not when I’m having to slave away to earn my boots, and she waltzes in and just buys them. No. No. No. I’m not flattered, Raven. I’m mad.”

Raven motioned for Keelie to calm down. Laurie’s eyes widened. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Keelie’s cranky because she needs lunch.” Raven looked around. “Let’s get her something that doesn’t smell like pickles.”

Laurie’s face brightened. “I’m starved, too. Let’s go to that really nice tea shop. We can sit down inside.”

“I can’t leave the pickle cart.” Keelie hoped that Laurie would keep her long skirts down. She didn’t want to see the boots again.