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somehow like the appropriate thing to do.
Oh, Maureen ...
He choked on a sob; remembered he wasn't alone, and held it in. All of it.
Stillness, unbroken by so much as the fall of a leaf. Then a single word.
"Oh."
Then someone's hands gently rolled him onto his back, removing the rocks and sharper
branches from beneath him, piling leaves to create a comfortable bed for him. He tried to
open his eyes and thank the stranger, and couldn't manage either.
"Rest now. Forget a little. I will find you later, when your heart is not in such pain."
Eric smiled as an unseen hand brushed the stray locks of his hair from his face. In the
alcohol-confused haze of his mind, the gentle hand could only have belonged to one person.
Mmmm, Maureen, that's nice, feels good . . .
The last he heard was quiet footsteps, crunching through the dry oak leaves as the stranger
walked away. When he awoke several hours later, the sun already fading from the leafy
branches above him, Eric was alone in the grove.
" 5 "
The Unfortunate Kake
Eric managed to pry one of his eyes open, and looked around blearily. God, I feel awful This
is getting to be a habit.
He pried open the other eye, and his head reacted with a predictable stab of pain.
Maybe I'd better think about changing my habits.
He sat up. Slowly.
Was there somebody here earlier, or did I dream that?
He succeeded in getting into a sitting position and realized that he'd been nestled in a snug
little bed of leaves. I sure didn't have the sense to do that. No, he was real. Guess he went
back to Fairesite. His stomach lurched, and he lay back down before it could turn rebellious
on him.
Wonder who the guy was? I didn't recognize the voice.
He looked up at the darkening sky through oak branches above him. Sun's setting. I must
have been here for hours.
All right, Eric. Time to return to Reality. Or, at least, the Fairesite. He made a second
attempt at mobility, a successful one this time, and staggered to his feet, wincing as he bent
down to pick up his abandoned gig bag. Gods, I ache all over, just like I've been
 drunk all weekend.
Yeah.
Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time . . .
He beat the dust out of his breeches, and walked-carefully back towards the main grounds
of the Faire. I wonder how badly I've managed to screw up. I did make my show before I
went facedown in the bean dip. I didn't get drunk in a public place. But I wasn't making the
rounds. He sighed. Oh well. The worst they can do is fire me. Then I will have a reason to
head north.
He entered the Faire grounds cautiously. The boothies were packing up, carrying boxes to
the cars and pickups parked in the narrow streets.
Andrea and Tom were loading up the last of their hand-made costumes into Andrea's
Honda as Eric walked by. "See you guys next weekend," he called to them. Andrea called
out a good-bye to him; it got lost in the noise of one of the water trucks passing by, liberally
soaking everything in its path with fire retardant. Andrea's Honda joined the line of cars on
the dirt road leading out of Fairesite, kicking up a small cloud of dust as it chugged up the
hill.
Eric walked past a small covey of actors carrying their props, ungainly stuffed hobbyhorses
embroidered in bright colors, then he saw Judy, struggling to carry her large hammer
dulcimer.
"Need a hand?" he asked, catching up with her.
She flashed him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Eric. You're a sweetheart."
He took the dulcimer stand and her costume bag from her hands, knowing she'd rather carry
the musical instrument herself. "So . . . did you have a good weekend?"
She sighed. "If you don't count that drunken idiot who tripped over my Pass-the-Hat bowl,
then threw up almost on my feet."
Eric winced.
Judy gave him a very direct look. "But that was the only bad spot in an otherwise terrific
weekend. I heard you weren't so lucky."
He shook his head ruefully. "Damn, but bad news travels fast around here."
"A lot of people were really concerned about you, Eric. I remember what happened out at
Texas Faire a couple years back ..."
He stiffened slightly. "Well, this is different. I'm handling it just fine."
Just fine, half the weekend drunk off my ass, barely managed to do my shows, didn't even
play street at all.
Yeah, that's really handling it, Eric.
Judy set down the dulcimer on a haybale outside the Turkish coffeehouse. "I'm meeting
some folks here before heading out. Maybe play a few last tunes before returning to
Mundania. Want to join us?"
Eric propped the dulcimer stand against the haybale, the costume bag next to it. "No, I think
I'm going to wander for a. little longer, see who's still hanging around the 'site. I'll probably
see you on my way out, though."
He headed back into the main area of the Faire, not certain what he was looking for, or who.
Looks like everyone's packing it up for the weekend. I probably should, too.
Two of the Scotsmen were lifting up stacks of pikes, lashing them down in the bed of a
faded Dodge pickup.
Hope they tie those down good. I sure wouldn't want to be driving on the freeway behind
them and suddenly see a dozen pikes flying point-first toward my windshield.
I can see the headlines now: Man Skewered by Runaway Medieval Arsenal? Killer Scottish
Pike Strike Massacre?
Spear Today, Cone Tomorrow?
But I bet Maureen's land-tank is tough enough to handle a pike assault. I'll wager on a
Chrysler any day against a Scottish brigade . . .
Oh, damn. Maureen's car she was going to give me a lift home. I'm sure she isn't coming
back to get me. I'm stranded out here. Terrific. One last lousy touch on a truly wretched
weekend.
Maybe if I can catch up to Judy . . .
He hurried back to the coffeehouse. As he approached, he heard the faint sounds of
hammered dulcimer, bodhran, and fiddle. Well, that's a break. I probably can talk Judy into
giving me a lift home.
He recognized the tune "The Butterfly," one of his favorites. Eric quickly pulled his flute
case from the gig bag, and was playing along with the melody by the time he reached the
jam session at the coffeehouse.
Judy was intent upon her dulcimer, hammers dancing lightly across the strings, but the four
other minstrels smiled in welcome as Eric joined them.
The four Northerners, that's right. Damn, but they're really together, really tight. I'd bet my flute
that they've done a lot of gigs together. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]