Well Met(23)

I nodded while I took mental inventory. “Food?”

“Not here.” Stacey gestured in a waaaaay over there motion. “Food vendors are that way. Typical outdoor Faire stuff.”

“Turkey legs?”

“Hell yeah turkey legs.” She grinned, and I did too. Because what was a Renaissance faire without turkey legs? Nothing, that’s what. I may have been a newbie, but even I knew that.

I put my hands on my hips and surveyed our little clearing. I tried to picture it decked out as a tavern, with the tables and bar the way Stacey described. I didn’t love the idea of working in a bar again, but at least I’d be outside in the fresh air instead of cooped up in a sweaty dark box with lots of twentysomethings wearing too much cologne.

“I like it,” I finally said. “What do we need to do? Obviously there’s nothing to paint yet.”

“Today?” She shrugged. “Nothing, really.”

“So why am I here, exactly?” I hoped my smile took the malice out of my question.

It obviously did, because Stacey answered me in kind. “Because you had to drive your niece here?” She laughed at my sigh of mock defeat. “Come on. I’ll show you where the food vendors are going to be, and then we’ll swing back over toward the front and do some painting.”

We took a path that led deeper into the woods. The trees got thicker, but it never seemed to get darker. The path stayed wide and well trod, and for a few fleeting moments I could ignore the paved part of the path and feel the time period we were going to be portraying. Even with the distant sounds of hammering and voices calling to one another, everything felt simpler out here. I took a few good deep breaths. Even the air seemed cleaner.

Stacey showed me the food vendor area—a much larger clearing than our tavern area. Beyond that was the jousting arena, a giant field at the very back of the grounds. I had to admit my inner fourteen-year-old was very excited at the prospect of seeing a real joust, on actual horses.

“Will I have time to see it at some point?”

“Oh, yeah,” Stacey said. “We won’t be chained to the tavern. The volunteers can handle things by themselves if we take off for a bit. Last year we were able to do some walking around, interacting with patrons. Watching the shows.”

She pointed down a hill to an area she called the Hollow. She explained it was our backstage area, with a couple of changing tents and some tables and chairs, away from the rest of the action, where we could do emergency repairs to costumes and snatch a break here and there.

I squinted down the hill. “And why do we call it the Hollow?” It sounded like fairies should be living there, not a bunch of weary Faire folks.

“Sounds better than ‘backstage’ if someone says it out loud, basically.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

“And then this path takes us back up to the front.” She shrugged. “It’s pretty simple.”

“Simple,” I repeated. If she left me here right now, I would die of exposure before finding my way to the front again.

“Believe me, after a weekend or two you’ll know this place blindfolded like the rest of us.”

Since part of me was still looking for an ax murderer behind a tree, I wasn’t sure how much I believed her. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“I’m going to head back up to the front and help put benches together. Why don’t you explore a little more. It might help you get a better handle on things. Then you can come find me and I’ll stick a paintbrush in your hand.”

“Thanks, I think I will.” I watched Stacey stride up the path leading to the perimeter of the grounds and tried not to panic about being left alone. Once she disappeared into the trees I took a different path, not going anywhere specific, just wandering, and the panic faded pretty quickly. There was something about the setting, the way the sun came in through the trees, the way my footsteps rustled on the path, that made me feel more content than I’d been in a long time. Tension I didn’t even know I’d been carrying melted away, and the sun warmed my soul as much as it warmed my skin. Even though it was almost July, it was still early enough that it hadn’t gotten too hot yet, and all the bullshit of the past few months felt as though it were long in the distance.

I was so intent on the trees around me that I didn’t hear the footsteps, and didn’t register someone was approaching until we almost collided. I jumped a step backward with an “Oh!”

Simon had appeared out of nowhere, from a small side path that wound deeper into the forest. He stopped short when he saw me, frowned a little, but didn’t say a word.

“Sorry,” I said. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

He squinted at me, as though my voice reminded him who I was. His eyes seemed to be rimmed with red. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sniffed. “What are you doing over here?” His voice was rough and rusty sounding, as though he hadn’t used it in a while and wasn’t quite sure how it worked.

What was his problem? Then I remembered the flask I’d seen before. Whatever he had in there must have been strong; he looked pretty rough. But his eyes were clear and he was standing straight. So, probably not drunk. Allergies, maybe? There had to be a crapload of pollen in these trees. “Just wandering around,” I finally said. “Stacey was showing me where everything’s going to be.”