Street Fair (5 page)

"Fabergé eggs! Golden goose-eggs! Stone eggs of the Ephesian Lady!" announced the fancily-dressed creature.

"The Ephesian Temple was one of the old Seven Wonders of the World, right?" Megan remarked to her friends. Art History really was the best history.

"Well, not every temple they built in that spot over the centuries," Cassia said with a shrug. "Just the one that was destroyed by H—"

"Don't you dare," Lani interrupted her. "Don't you dare say it. Don't give him the satisfaction unless you can name the architects and every member of the work crew."

"Hey, even I'm not old enough to have known any of those people, and nobody took down the names of work crews."

"Well, they
made something
. All he did was break it. And he thought that made him special, and I won't hear you make him right. He gets to be nobody. That's what he gets."

Megan wanted to give Lani's righteous civil-engineering indignation the moment it deserved, but she'd just noticed something. “Oooh.”

It was the way the vibrations rippled through the paint that did it. Or maybe it was the colors. Megan walked closer and closer to the painting, stepping past a jade statue. The painting was very much like something she'd do, but unlike any of her works, the painting was alive. The Autumn scene was full of red and orange leaves blanketing the ground and trees lining the sides of a stream with not-yet-fallen leaves in the same shades. A soft wind carried the leaves around in small eddies and shook the branches gently.

Every now and then, a bigger gust blew, sweeping up more leaves and disturbing the hiding butterflies, which drifted higher, eventually flying out of the panel, or re-settling as the wind did. Despite watching, transfixed, for several minutes, Megan couldn't see any repetition or pattern.

“Interested?” asked the jade-colored woman.

Megan nearly jumped as what she had presumed to be a statue spoke. Then she nodded. “How much? I mean...how's this?” She pulled the baseball card out of her pocket and handed it over.

The woman looked at the card. “Certainly. And would Your Highness like this delivered to your room at An Teach Deiridh?”

“Um, sure.” She couldn't take it to her house, after all. It actually took a few moments to reflect on the fact that the woman must have meant her father's room, as Megan didn't recall having a room at An Teach Deiridh. But there was no time to clarify, because as the painting was being taken from the market by a pair of trolls, Megan's eye was drawn by another shop being set up in an empty space a few lots down.

In truth, shop might be giving it too much credit. A goblin with an especially long, hooked nose rolled a rock that was larger than he was into the spot. Megan drifted closer while the goblin somehow tacked a poster, which included some writing and a picture of himself, up to the front of the rock. The next few minutes saw him dragging boxes and crates up next to the rock, and then unpacking all manner of collapsible shelves from them and lining the shelves with vials. Looking at his supplies, there was no way all of it should have fit in the relatively few containers.

She finally got close enough to read the poster. Unlike a lot of the scratches and uneven letters, this was neat, even stylized.

THE MEDICINE SHOW

Ills cured, ailments resolved, curses lifted, snakes oiled.

Satisfaction guaranteed.

“Walk right over. Step right up. Ladies, Gentlemen, and Others, my practice does not deal in generified panaceas. All treatments are specialized to the condition, whether one needs the cure for the Black Death, a black eye, a black mood, something you painted black but now want your window back—but do keep in mind, ladies and gentlemen, that 'not being romantically interested in the person others might prefer them to be' is not, in fact, an ailment. Unlike some two-bit operations, I do not insult my customers' intelligence with love potions.”

How many times, Megan wondered, had the guy had to tell someone that, to end up putting it in his sales patter? She was glad that at least, whatever Lani might randomly advise, there was no way there'd ever be any magical pressure about dating Justin—or anyone. And Lani was wrong about Justin, of course.

Lani tapped her on the shoulder.

Megan jumped. “What?”

“You wandered off going 'Ooooh.'”

“Sorry. Bought a painting, and then there was … that guy.”

“Yeah,” Lani said. “It's interesting and all. But let's go get food, okay?"

"Sure. Where's Ashling?" Megan looked at the bazaar-like area up ahead and wondered if there was the lamp exchange the pixie had mentioned.

The group started towards the bigger tents, with the promised curry. "She was with us for a little bit. Then she said she needed to check something out. I'm sure she'll be right..."

There was a loud squawking ahead, accompanied by a shout. Megan had by this point learned just enough Gaelic to wonder if Ashling even knew the target's mother.

Chapter 7: Collector

Megan's question was answered immediately as she managed to parse the next string of shrill words floating over the market, which called into question whether the target ever had a mother. When the screaming and cawing didn't stop, Megan took off alongside Lani, just behind Cassia and Justin, already running in the direction of the pixie's voice.

“That last part sounded different,” Megan called to Lani as they darted towards the outbursts.

“That's because she switched to German.”

“Well, it does make better heavy metal for a reason,” Megan conceded breathlessly before another, even harsher string of sounds followed. When Lani winced, Megan asked, “What?”

“That was really vicious in Klingon.”

“Of course you speak Klingon.”

They emerged from a row of vendors in time to see a tall, auburn-haired man shoving people out of his way as he ran. Ashling, astride the Count, was in hot pursuit from above. That was all the inspiration it took for Cassia to join in, racing after the man, knocking over a couple of people just as they were getting up. After sharing a glance, and trying to be more cautious of those around, the three teens took off after them.

The man knocked over a pot of SoUp—and its vendor with it. Some of the ingredients scrambled away on varying numbers of limbs. Recovering his balance, he evaded a dive from the crow-mounted pixie and took off running again.

When the Count next dove—and the man appeared ready to avoid the bird—Ashling leapt off the crow in flight, managing to catch on to one of the pouches at his belt. Noticing the added weight and movement, the man alternately tried grabbing for her, or shoving her away.

Ashling kept darting about and finding handholds, evading his grip. He finally caught hold of the pixie by one leg, pulling her away. Something came away from his pouch in her hands as he tried to hold on.

Cassia's war cry carrying over the crowd alerted him, and instead of holding on or wrestling for whatever it was, he flung the pixie away towards the satyress. Catching Ashling took only a moment, but it was long enough for him to reach, and duck down another row, out of Megan's sight.

Megan and Lani tried to dodge their away around the crowd enough to reach the others. They caught up with Justin first, then, a short time later, with Cassia, Ashling, and the Count trying to make their way through a dense crowd. They finally regrouped.

"I had him! I had him!" the pixie shouted. "We need to keep looking!"

"Ashling, he's gone. We're not going to find him in that crowd, with all those tents, but we'll keep an eye out. Who is that?"

“The
Butterfly Collector
,” Ashling snarled.

"You're sure?" Lani asked, horrified, and staring down the row like she might pick him out of the crowd somehow. Megan, in contrast, was trying not to stare at Ashling's sliced wings.

"I'm going to remember that face. And those hands holding cold iron. And that voice—the poxy bastard went on and on 'til the Count got to me. It's him.” Ashling was shaking as she tried to hoist herself back on the Count's back.

“Wow,” Megan said, still trying not to look right at the wings. “You don't think he brought cold iron here, do you?”

“He'd have to
really
be a moron,” said Cassia. “This crowd would tear him to pieces. Orlaith exiled her own nephew for trying to duel with cold iron once. A mortal, at the Goblin Market..." Cassia trailed off, shaking her horned head, but the implications were clear. 

“If this guy really is who Ashling says he is—” Lani began.

"He is," Ashling interjected, scowling.

“Caw.”

“You see? The Count never forgets a face—”

“Caw.”

“—or a terribly pretentious lapel pin. Seriously, a bronze and ivory bull? That is downright bull—”

“Caw.”

“Yeah.”

Lani had stood there, mouth still open, waiting to no longer be interrupted. "—then maybe we should see if there's any way to find him."

"And tear his wings off," Ashling added.

"Pretty sure he doesn't have wings,” Justin said.

Ashling's scowl just grew more intense. "Arms or legs will do fine, then. Though, really, why stop at 'or'? Let's go with 'and' instead."

“Caw.”

“You said it, Count.” Ashling's face was getting rather disturbingly gleeful.

Megan raised an eyebrow. “The Count isn't normally real thirsty for non-carrion blood.”

“You don't normally see him given cause,” Ashling said. “Nobody holds grudges like a crow. Nobody.”

A nod of a beak seemed to affirm this.

Megan blinked. “I guess I'll take your word.”

Lani interrupted, "So, yeah. Ashling's clearly got a vested interest in looking into the matter.”

Cassia handed Ashling what seemed to be a tiny pink headgear constructed out of part of a flower. Ashling accepted it, raised it to her mouth, and took a bite. She sighed loudly. “Not even eating a hat is going to calm me down.” But she had another bite anyway.

“She pulled this off of him,” Cassia said, holding up a large scrap of paper. “Had to keep her from wrapping herself up.” The paper was definitely bigger than Ashling. Lani looked at it, then showed Megan.

It appeared to be a piece of a map. There were four small brownish-red Xs—Megan again chose to assume rusty red ink was involved—impeccably printed at scattered points across the scrap of parchment. One corner of it contained part of a body of water. Beside it was a tiny footnote in Latin. Megan pointed. “What's that say?”

“'Lake shore varies depending on drainage cycle,'” Cassia said.

Megan indicated another footnote. “And this one?”

“'Swamp. Watch for wisps.'”

"Where's all this supposed to be?" Megan asked. “And what's on the other half of the map?” It certainly seemed like the place to start when looking for the owner of the map.

Lani and Cassia looked at the map over her shoulder, then glanced at one another. Then they fidgeted. “Give us a minute,” Lani finally said.

“While you take that minute,” Justin said. “I'll go pick up the cats from their... tree. I also need to get something from under the stage. I'd hoped to be pleasantly surprised and not need it, but sometimes life is just not surprising.”

Chapter 8: Glitter

Lani and Cassia were still huddled over the map, trying to decipher it. Ashling and the Count were pacing back and forth, even if the Count had to make awkward sequential hops to do so. Ashling had quickly finished the treat with which Cassia'd tried to distract her and was now determined to stay ready for ad-hoc limb amputation. Megan was pacing too. She had longer legs than they—and less of Cassia reaching over to put a hand in her way when she got too excited.

Megan's pacing took her further and further each time, and as she did, her thoughts started wandering as well. She started with the map, but didn't even know where it led. The guy Ashling had been chasing was next—the pixie had said something about a fancy lapel pin. Maybe that meant something? She would have sworn she'd seen some kind of motif like that in some of the art when she'd bought her painting. She glanced in the direction of the art dealers, and found herself staring at the hook-nosed goblin on the big rock. What he'd said about curing black moods had stuck with her. Could this be something better than the green pills with supper every night that never seemed to do enough?

"Need a cure, young lady?" asked the goblin standing on top of the boulder.

Megan startled, and glanced up. "Uhm, maybe. You can really cure anything?"

"If you can pay for the cure, certainly."

"What if it's, uhm, not for me?" Megan asked.

"That's fine," the goblin said, gesturing to the rows of vials. "What's the ailment?"

Megan hesitated, entirely unsure about this deal or the goblin. But it was a better chance than she was ever going to get elsewhere. "It's my mom. She kind of spent too much time around a sidhe. I want to sort of...reignite whatever burned out, you know?"