CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

So Winsor, the only other suspect I could find, was at the circus. As my feet automatically drew me toward the outside of town, with its towering circus tent and the cries of the crowd, my mind was trying to figure out what sort of connection the Avalons had to the sorcerers in Blythe. They were usually amiable, being part of the very small Enchanted caste, but Osoro was coming across more like a baby sitter than a warrior. I thought of his patient lecture to Mallow. His scolding of Bernard, which was triggering severe déja vu. And then the reported consoling of that Winsor kid, who he didn't even like. If that wasn't behaving in a parental way, tolerating brats you couldn't stand in the most civilized manner, I didn't know what was.

The city smelled better outside the walls. The summer breeze caught the wildflowers that grew in the surrounding fields and their scent overpowered the small farms scattered around. I thought back to the first day Mallow and I had entered the city. It had all smelled good back then. Blythe's sewage tunnels probably were having trouble keeping up with all of the waste the festival was creating, whether or not Osoro could control the weather.

There was no line to get into the circus tent, which surprised me, since the chatter I'd been overhearing had implied everyone had stopped by at least once. As I got close to the gate keeper, I noticed there was a second exit flap for the tent. The Potioneer came out of it, holding the hand of frail woman about his age. They were both laughing about something.

"Ah, hello sir," the admissions guard said. "Go on in, I like your sash."

He paused. His eyes fell from my scarlet colored sash, one of my finds at an estate sale, to my bare feet.

"Are... you're not a sorcerer's Assistant, are you?" he asked.

"Sure I am, how much is it to get in to see the show?" I asked. The admissions guy shook his head.

"Sorry sir, only sorcerers, Avalons, and their Assistants today. Come back tomorrow."

"Oh, I'm the Assistant of Fushon of Merode. Perhaps you've heard of him?" I asked, leaning forward.

"Afraid I haven't."

"I need to get in to see him, so I'll just go..."

"You're no Assistant barefoot like that. No sorcerer would let you walk around so. Even if you were, you've obviously been disgraced now." The admissions guy said. "Please leave."

"But—" I began.

"The call was fair and just." The shout came from behind me, the accent heavy.

Four plump women stood, paired off and glowering at each other. They were sweaty. They had exited the circus tent, and it made their hair cling to their faces in the most fetching way. They were wearing the peek-a-boo dresses, fashionable even when contorted by confrontation.

"It was complete nonsense, Wishid Fatima. They had no right to take that territory from Mysti Henry." The paler woman retorted. She was local with brown hair and green eyes. Next to her stood a woman whose clothes had no jewelry on them. She was also pale, but scowled silently, hands crossed over her chest wordlessly.

"Former Mysti Henry hadn't paid his tribute in two years. What was the Cosmotic Demicanter of Tributary supposed to do, keep ignoring it?" the woman, Wishid Fatima, who had started all of this replied. She was stunningly gorgeous, with sun-kissed tan skin and dark ringlets of blacker than charcoal hair that spilled across the peek-a-boo spot on her loose fitting dress drawing attention to her large chest. I assessed at a glance that most of the stones that pinned together her outfit were semi-precious, but who needed diamonds with curves like that...

The women next to her was much less interesting. She had Mallow-like muscle, short hair yanked back in a ponytail, a small sword hanging from her side in an exotically patterned scabbard. Wait, that sword WAS interesting.

"He wasn't hurting anything."

"Shician Victoria, if we let your brother get away with not paying tribute, then we'd have to let everyone get away with it. Speaking of which, I know you have the small farming estate and don't owe much, but please don't miss again this year. I'm going to get in trouble at my job if I file another extension for you. Just because we went to summer retreat together doesn't mean you can take advantage of our friendship like this."

Shician Victoria made eye contact with her friend, who nodded without saying a word. Friend, or...? Her clothes were less dramatic, more practical.

"Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe none of us out here in the ... North." Her chin flexed as if the word strung her when spoken. "...should. We're basically doing everything ourselves out here."

"You don't see it because you live way out here in the middle of nowhere," Wishid Fatima urged, not mincing words, "but if you spent more time in Majikast you'd see how many wars are prevented, sicknesses stymied, and innovations made because the Cosmotics keep everything organized. They can only do that if everyone pays their tributes, and those that don't, like your brother former Mysti Henry, are punished. I'm a copyist, and each day I see so many ideas..."

Shician Victoria gave a sharp, short wail. Now quite a crowd was gathering. She hid her face behind her arm, while her shoulders shook with emotion.

"How could you sit there and not stop them from taking his lands? Why didn't you warn us?" Victoria shouted, now lowering her arm to her side with a curled fist. "If you knew he didn't pay his tribute, then you must have seen the papers that were being prepared... I had to scramble to find an estate to settle... I had to live in... in... a cottage!"

Victoria broke down into tears, and her friend held her in her arms while glowering at Fatima and her companion. Like shadows, I saw one of the BROS lurking in their distinctive dark tunics in the crowd.

"We went to summer retreat together," Victoria repeated between sobs. Wishid Fatima threw her hands up in exasperation.

"I am sorry you suffered, though in my defense at least you rank now. Before you were a Whimsight's sister.... augh, listen... It doesn't matter. To speak of official Tributary business like that without the permission of the Charmster above me could have gotten me in trouble," Fatima said, anger growing as people stared.

"Your job matters more than Victoria and Henry?" the friend holding Victoria said.

"Don't you talk to me that way you mere Assistant." Fatima spat. "And of course it does if Victoria and Henry insist on breaking the law! If you weren't so savage out here, the CMA wouldn't have to take drastic actions like that," Fatima said.

"Fatima is against me. Make the ground all she can see." Victoria cast, and Fatima fell to the grass with a small shout, her forehead parting the blades. She sputtered from the dirt that was forced in her mouth mid-word by the fall.

Fatima's friend lunged forward. She kicked both Victoria and her Assistant across the face in one smooth motion. Before the sorceress even hit the ground, the woman drew a long lilting sash from her waist and drew it tight around the sorceress's face. As she cried out, the fabric formed pockets against her mouths. Fatima lifted herself from the ground.

"Wait, don't!"

Fatima's servant loosened her grip on the fabric. Victoria rose up.

"What is going on here?" The two scarlet dressed figures from earlier, Agents Goldwynn and Quarzimi, approached. They had their masks on this time. The women all regarded each other nervously. The magic stopped. The fight was as good as over. I took this opportunity to slip away and head back into the city. I heard the Arcana Enforcement Agents questioning Fatima and Victoria, much more delicately than they had my Mallow.

I had to appear presentable before the attendant would let me in. I didn't have much gold on me, but with so many sorcerers in town, perhaps I could break one of my usual vows and steal an outfit or pair of shoes. I generally detested stealing. It wasn't a game like conning was. The other person didn't even know they were playing. And yet, in the name of a great cause like securing my Mallow's safety, it was the only good option.

I noticed a pair in dark black tunics before anything else. Certainly one of those uniforms would get me into the circus no problem.

I didn't sneak or skulk as I followed them into the bathhouse, its muggy air wafting out around the surrounding block. They weren't huge bathhouses, the structure could hold maybe a dozen, including the walking areas... though they weren't entirely provincial either. They had two separate entrances for men and women. Thessa had been right. I did like them.

In the changing rooms, the BROS removed their tunics and placed them into wicker baskets, which were then tucked into small wooden compartments along the walls. Once they'd walked into the next room to start their bath, I crept out and emptied one of the baskets.

I stole an outfit, put it on, including a pair of boots, and deposited mine in a basket across the room. I was aware of the justified irony that would be if someone decided to snatch my clothes, but I couldn't really go back to the circus carrying my own garments under my arm.

This time, the admission guy to the circus didn't even look at me twice, except to emit a small 'oh.' Apparently the BROS uniform was reading louder than my recognizable face.

I was basically invisible in the BROS uniform. No one bothered me. In fact, people parted with every step I took, shooting back glances with trepidation. I stopped smiling as I realized smiling wasn't something that the BROS did regularly. It made me worried. I thought I had nabbed a toady's uniform. If these guys were actually bad news, though, I might indeed be in trouble for stealing this man's uniform from the bathhouse. I kept my eyes peeled for any other black uniforms, knowing one had been here earlier during the sorceress versus sorceress showdown.

I slipped past one of the flaps, into the area in between the tents. It was amazing that they had set all of this up this week. Crates and carts were everywhere, some mostly depleted and others spilling over with supplies.

"Oh, sir..." A young man wearing the color-coordinated uniform of the circus workers bowed his head. I realized with a shock that they were addressing me after noticing no one was behind me. I swung back around and scowled at him, trying not to break character. "You've just missed them."

"Oh?"

"Yes, your Master, Divinis Reglar, and his son Winsor, they had to leave the show a moment ago on account of Winsor's... Uh..." He paused for a moment. His face contorted. He was thinking he had said too much, I bet, but didn't know how to backtrack.

"Winsor's...?"

"His... He was crying again sir. Apparently he's upset because no one would sit by him at a restaurant? Or a play? I'm not sure. His words were hard to make out." The man knitted his hands together anxiously. "So they're over there." He pointed to a corner hidden by a curtain. "If you're seeking them."

"Thank you. Could you get me something to eat while I wait for them to finish speaking? It would be inappropriate to interrupt my master and his son at such a sensitive moment." I folded my arms behind my back. It added another inch onto my height, proper posture like this.

"Surely, sir!" the man said. He hurried off, stumbling over a rope draped on the ground, before regaining his balance. I drifted toward the area where the man had pointed. I glanced down, noticing my boots were silent on the ground. I lifted my foot and slammed it down on the grass, listening for a solid thud. Nothing. I did it again. Not a sound. Were these boots enchanted?

Curiosity of the little drama unfolding gripped me, and I hurried over to the side of the tent. Winsor and the Divinis stood with another man in a white tunic. His eyes were politely averted. Winsor covered his face and his shoulders shook. The Divinis's back was all I could see of him. Winsor sure was sensitive; he was always crying.

"Winsor... calm yourself. A ruler can't be seen in this state." Winsor's father rested a hand on Winsor's shoulder. All I could see was his silvering brown hair swept back from his head. It was thin, like Winsor's, if lighter.

Winsor sniffed miserably.

"I know, I know, don't you think I know that?" he whimpered. "If I could stop I would!"

"Winsor..."

"I ... it can't... this is my celebration," Winsor said, he stomped a foot into the soft ground. His boot did make a sound. "But it doesn't change anything. I might not be a kid anymore, but Bernard will always treat me like garbage, and all the other sorcerers our age will always hate me! I don't know why I ever leave my room."

"They don't hate you, son," the Divinis said. "They ... this is how it is to be a ruler. People test you; they test you constantly."

"Was it a test when his friends used to gag me so I couldn't defend myself and put hexes on me—" Winsor crossed his arms and shuddered. "I think I spent most of the first eight years of life as a girl, and the other half with my arms switched with my legs, because of that stupid prank..."

"But you grew skillful at avoiding being silenced though. You were the only one who passed the mob and gag test at the summer retreat that year..." the Divinis said. I didn't know sorcerers took tests. It would make sense they would have to travel for it though, them all being so far spread out. I realized that there were probably more sorcerers in Blythe than anywhere else in the world right now, except Majikast.

Refusing to be soothed by the logic, Winsor continued. "-or that time they cursed me to talk entirely in palindromes—"

"Your mother figured out what was going on after a few hours. It was all right...."

"Except not, because they did it on Azeria's birthday, and she thought I was tormenting her on purpose! She didn't even open my present because she thought I was teasing her." Winsor sank lower. He had stopped crying, and was now fuming bitterly. "I'd spent all year figuring out how to transfer starlight into an apple for her. It was rotten by the time I talked to her again and she opened it!"

The Divinis was quiet for a moment.

"You were asking for trouble by outdoing your brother's present. He was her fiancée then."

"It's my responsibility to under appreciate her because Bernard's a dolt who couldn't see what she is worth?"

"I didn't say that. And don't take that tone with me," Divinis Wenrick said.

"Sorry Father... it's ...I have trouble believing that. When Bernard made fun of me for attending my own party and humiliated me in front of that cute girl, that was a test?" Winsor's voice dripped with doubt as he said it.

"A cute girl?" Wenrick's voice grew cheery. "You're considering other girls besides Azeria now?" Winsor face reddened.

"Oh, ah, she's not... not like that. She's not bride material," Winsor said.

"It's all right if she's ungifted son," the Divinis said quickly. He took Winsor by both shoulders and moved his reluctant son to get a good view of his face. "If you fall in love, it'll make it easier for you to treat a sorceress right. It isn't fair that women can marry whomever and we must bear children with a sorceress, but that doesn't mean you can't experience young love. Maybe she'll become an Avalon like your mother did. Then... while I won't say it'll be easy, it can work." He nudged Winsor's shoulder playfully.

"Father," Winsor whined. "She's too tall."

"Oh son, nobody cares about that. Your mother is three inches taller than me."

"More than three inches..." Winsor whispered.

"Even if it's a height difference, you levitate everywhere anyway, wear longer robes—"

"Father! She can't be a bride! Because she's... much, much taller. Beyond human or elven reach."

I felt my stomach tighten. He was talking about Mallow wasn't he?

"What?"

"She's that Moon Giantess," Winsor said. "She's beautiful though. I... I mean, I know it doesn't matter, but I hated being embarrassed like that. And it's never going to end. And I guess, I thought... when I was an adult, people would respect me finally... The idea of going through fifty more years of teasing and testing... I wanted my life to be easy like yours."

"A good start is not falling for Moon Giants, my son."

"Oh you know what I mean."

"And I know you're wrong..." the Divinis said. "My life isn't easy. Remember, I had to found this entire city on my own, because like you I was a second born." The Divinis prodded Winsor's chest with a finger. "I was a second born, and I was teased and had nothing given to me. And I ended up ten times the ruler my older brother is because of it. He has my hometown, true, but wash away the nostalgia and he is still only a Whimsight, while I am a Divinis. It's really a charm; it makes you strong, and it makes you clever."

"I guess..." Winsor shifted. "I guess my magic is pretty powerful."

"And you're focused on practicing it every day..." the Divinis's body language loosened up as Winsor gave a tentative smile. "Now, I commissioned this circus for you since you said you liked the one you went to a few years ago."

"It doesn't make much sense for me to stay here missing it," Winsor conceded.

"I would have bought you an elephant outright, but they apparently don't do well in the winter."

"I know you would have. Though I can't wait to see what you actually got me."

"Oh, you'll love it," the Divinis said. His hand resting on Winsor's shoulder, he guided him back toward the tent. "Trust me. You haven't been unclear about communicating what you want; it's one of your best qualities."

I watched them depart, Winsor, Father, and the man in white far behind. Crisis averted, maybe? I felt a mingling of feelings toward Bernard. On one hand, I was grateful that he had prevented Winsor from making a good impression. On the other hand, I was annoyed because hearing Winsor's sniffling somehow triggered my parental defense instincts. I more or less wanted to go beat Bernard senseless for tormenting Winsor. For making someone smaller than him cry.

I followed them back into the circus, with the meal that the attendant had given me, and watched the show from a few rows behind. My mind was gnawing on what had happened, growing doubts consuming my thoughts. Why would Winsor be upset about making a bad impression in front of Mallow if he had captured her? It didn't really add up. And yet... who else could it be?

The show hit an interval, and Winsor's father stepped away to talk to some sorcerers from out of town with shouts and hugs and laughter. Winsor shuffled uncomfortably for about five minutes while his father carried on with the strangers, and then they came over, remarked on how quickly he'd grown, and devolved into telling affectionate but embarrassing stories about Winsor as a young child. After about fifteen more minutes, he asked to be pardoned, and then left on his own to go back to the manor. He got permission and left.

I realized to keep up with him, I couldn't be in this BROS uniform. The circus admissions guy was probably from out of town, so he wouldn't know that I wasn't one of the BROS, but Winsor knew them well and would spot me immediately.

I made a stop at the baths and dropped the clothes off in a cubby hole across the room from where the outfit had been originally left. I figured if they'd already left, one of them missing their clothes, the clothes being here would make it seem like the BROS had been forgetful rather than that someone had stolen them. It wasn't the perfect plan, but it was the best I could think of. Knowing the detour had made me lose Winsor already, I was tempted to catch a quick bath, but hearing the voices bouncing off the tiled walls in the next room changed my mind. I got dressed, and already missing my black stealth boots, walked to the stone streets of Blythe.

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