Before them stands a huge white marquee rising from the green field where the horses usually graze. He trots closer and sees as many men as possible needed to raise a marquee fit for a king!
They canter about the area where workers are busy hammering and fixing studs to keep this contraption in place.
“A circus may be coming to town?” He speaks absentmindedly.
Then he has another shock. A sign is standing high at the entrance to the marquee.
“Fee: One Silver Coin.” And another sign alongside with the words:
“Everyone invited to find the Princess!”
He notices Mrs Bouchée bustling about, giving orders to everyone whether they like it or not!
“There ye are, Garty, well, off ye go and get yourself dolled up for the evening, Son! It will be a grand night, with a splendid guest arriving in a few hours. Your services are not required here, Knight!”
Garty looks into her face. She is dead set determined to get her way. There is no point in arguing with such a control-driven mind!
“Okay.” Garty says as he and Brill trot back to the Maud Inn and his lonely room.
He presses the door handle and the wafting of lye soap hits his nostrils, tickling them so that he sneezes. His bath is already filled to its brim with hot water and bubbling lard that causes the niggling of his sensitive nose.
On the bed there are strewn garments he has never seen before. A velvet raven coloured jacket, with tails; black trousers and ankle length boots boasting a large gold buckles on the instep. A beautifully pressed shirt, with ruffles on the sleeves and neck lay nearby, along with a small black velvet tie.
He touches the garments as though they might disappear into space or even belong to another.
Hey, who is staying here?
Quickly he returns to reception and Ellie is bustling about cleaning the benches and talking to herself.
“Excuse me,” he hears his voice speaking to her.
“Garty, you spooked me! What is it?”
She seems annoyed that he has taken her thoughts away from her musing.
“Sorry! But can you clear this matter up please? Have I got the same room or does it belong to another?” he asks, nervously.
“’Tis in your name and I fixed it for you, at her instructions,” she explains, sighing moodily. Then her voice changes to become almost frantic.
“Get on with your bath! There is one hour left before it begins!” Ellie says, shaking her dusty cloth at him as if he is her smallest child.
Garty rushes to his room and begins his ablutions speedily. During the process he notices a pistol, loaded, laying in the drawer near the bed, and a sharp sword next to the wardrobe.
He dresses in the new clothes supplied and looks in the mirror with pleasure.
What a transformation? I look like a prince, not a knight!
He is still struggling with thoughts about what might happen this evening. And who is the special guest they have invited? He hopes it is not Axemanix himself? That would be disappointing. He grimaces at that thought!
He takes his scabbard gingerly and places his pistol out of sight near his left hip. He reuses his old belt to safely keep the sword in neat alignment with his left leg. As he ties the velvety ribbon at the Adam’s apple of his neck, he is pleased at his own transformation, and vows to enjoy the evening no matter what happens or who turns up.
What can go wrong?
He asks the question and knows the answer already.
Everything!
People are thronging around the marquee as he rides into the grounds. There are already several buggies and horses secured at temporary hitching posts, erected for the gala occasion! There is an abundance of long grass and water troughs where the beasts graze and drink happily.
“This is a big event, Brill,” Garty says as they watch the proceedings.
“Let’s face the music. You can wait here,” he adds, sliding smoothly from the beast.
It has been orchestrated well by a woman to be this succinct, he reminds himself, as he pats his faithful horse again.
I need luck tonight!
He ties Brill up on a new hitching post, safe and sound with his long lead. Brill neighs and looks around at his companions enjoying lush grass. He follows their lead.
Garty walks towards the entrance to the marquee and finds himself walking in harmony with others. As they reach the main entrance he finds a silver coin to place into the brass bucket, guarded by a local man with a twitch in his eye. He keeps one eye on the bucket and another roaming on the persons entering the venue.
“Thank you,” Garty says, bringing a smile underneath the whiskers of the man in black.
He enters the foyer of the venue and looks around as is his usual practice in an unknown situation. He notices rows of beautiful young women waiting with their hair high, curled, piled on top, low and flowing in some cases. Everyone had one thing in common, a huge white smile and a huge colourful gown.
What a bevy of beauties?
Garty is impressed.
I should find a princess here, he thinks, and then laughs to himself.
If I cannot find a princess in so many towns over almost five years, how can one evening make a difference? He jests internally.
“There you are,” the voice of Mrs Bouchée is ringing through the crowd.
He looks for her. She is dressed in her finest black gown with its pale green trims in a very flouncy number that defines her ample figure to perfection. Her flounces in black give her a more refined picture of elegance and high society ambience. She holds an elegant Spanish style fan in her hand and flicks it briskly over her emerald jewels harnessed on her neck.
They appear to be princess cut emeralds, he notes in admiration. She has good taste.
She leads him to a table that is in a pertinent position to see all the action.
“I kept this place just for you.”
Her tone is very sweet, like saccharine, Garty thinks.
He says, “Thank you!”
He relaxes on the appropriate chair, a fine oak and velvet number with a padded seat in black. The table is set with glasses and a black tablecloth that emphasises the gold on the tankards lined up for use by its patrons.
“You must dance with every contestant,” she whispers behind her fan, allowing only her eyes to appear within his view.
He leans toward her with amazement in his face. What she intends is impossible for one man!
“Madam, there are 99 females present. Should we stay all night?” he asks seriously.
“Spend one minute with each! If you spend one minute we shall be done with this tedious preliminary inquiry by perhaps 8:00 o’clock.”
“What exactly do you mean with this tedious enquiry?”
“It’s time to get this princess to confess and rise up,” she whispers after a pregnant pause.
“I see,” he replies, shaking his head. This is simply nonsense. As if the princess is hiding under the tables!
She continues her rhetoric without his intervention.
“Then the King shall enter,” she adds in a hushed tone.
Garty’s ears prick up. What did she just say?
“King Justice Swanfeather of Kallai?”
“The same,” she replies, as her head moves from left to right, craning to see the people entering and who is already present.
“Take some apple juice to while the time,” she suggests.
He is not happy by a long shot, but inhales a deep breath, pours a glass of apple juice and settles down for a fractious evening.
He takes this opportunity to check the candidates for the missing princess and finds delight in recognising someone he had been searching for recently.
“Excuse me,” he says, wiping his mouth with the supplied black napkin.
Garty rises from his place and heads across the hall towards the candidates, who are chattering like flocks of birds in a tree top.
He bows before the young lady who is also distracted and gazing around. She turns her head and a large smile spreads upon her countenance.
“Garty, how nice to see you again!” she says, in an excited voice, holding her hand towards him. He gracefully accepts her gloved hand and kisses its silkiness. His eyes lock with hers in the process and they drown deeply.
“Sit by me,” she says, lightly patting the empty space on the benches arranged for the young ladies to be seated. “It’s quite comfortable.”
He hoists the velvety tail from his jacket and sits himself down beside Joanne Weasley. In one instant, happiness rushes over him as a wave of the sea, refreshing his senses. They are together as if entwined within a bubble of charm. Her lips appear plump and pink and her eyes are blue as sapphires, he thinks. Her pretty pink cheeks become as roses while he stares into her eyes. Her hair, golden as the sun, piled high on top, falls in thick tresses onto the nape of her neck, as bell heather in the arctic, which he had only heard about. Her dusky pink dress fits perfectly across her curved breasts, separated by the perfect design of her maker.
She gazes into his translucent blue eyes and bronzed skin, with his straight white teeth and fine shaved and shining countenance.
“Dance?” He asks in a breathy voice. She has disarmed me.
She sighs and her face shines with happiness. His broad shoulders appear as rocks in the wilderness, coated in black velvet like a panther tracking its prey, gently twisting subtly to gain a better view of his prey.
She hears his heart thumping in tune with hers as they hold each other, and their desires meld together towards a fever pitch and possibly a crescendo! Together they float onto the wide and highly polished timber floor.
“How are you?” Garty asks Joanne.
He was distressed at her departure from the Etty and achieved no rest over her welfare until this moment.
“I was lingering until a light appeared by your presence,” she replies.
Her reply fascinates him.
“I had my birthday since I danced with you!” She informs him.
“Congratulations! We must celebrate when convenient,” he replies.
He wonders how old she is but dares not ask. Before he can ask this pertinent question, she gives him his answer.
“I am now of age,” she whispers. Her eyes gleam as they plummet into his soul. His heart beats as a mighty drum.
“So, your brother…”
“He is here,” she whispers as they float back and forth together, entwined in their souls as stars bursting into light.
Joanne Weasley’s eyes roll towards her brother’s whereabouts. Garty turns his head and sees him, seated on the far side of the marquee with a man dressed in black velvet, with a golden top hat that accentuates his wealth and importance.
“Axemanix is here,” he says, inadvertently in a louder voice than before.
“Shh,” Joanne whispers, drawing him towards her person. Her arms hold him close so that his demeanour might not falter.