Page 83 of The Sun King's Noon

The circus departed at first light. Richard woke to shouts from outside and was surprised to find the other two bedrolls empty. By the time he ducked out of Flint’s wagon, the camp had already begun to dissolve—tents folded, washing lines wound, cookfires smothered with dirt. Trying to comb his hair with his fingers, Richard searched for Kaelen and found him helping Boris hitch the wagons. Kaelen was mid-chatter but smiled on meeting Richard’s eyes.

The road they took led east, away from Hollowmere’s mossy roofs and into open country. It was far from an orderly procession. A company of near forty, Richard reckoned, once the performers, labourers, cooks and beast-handlers were counted alongside the animals. The wagons rolled at a leisurely pace, their wheels rattling over the worn stones, while some ambled beside them and others perched atop the roofs with their legs dangling. A dog had stolen a loaf of bread and was being pursued through the grass by an angry cook. At the rear, the black bear lumbered beside its handler—a lithe young woman.

Richard walked by Kaelen in the middle of the procession and felt absurdly light. It mattered not that the fields flanking the road were a muted greenish-yellow—a far cry from Ardenia’slush greens and thick hedgerows. It mattered not that this land was drier, touched by more sun, with coarser grass and leaner trees of olive and cypress. No, the morning air was crisp, the crowd was lively, and the boiled egg Kaelen had passed him was delicious.

Further ahead, a clown attempted to walk on a spinning barrel while juggling three balls. She made it six steps before pitching sideways into a ditch with such a bewildered yelp that Richard let out a peal of laughter.

A glance at Kaelen stopped the laughter at once. The knight walked with an easy stride, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and bow slung over his back. He was smiling at Richard, and something about his intent gaze made Richard’s cheeks burn.

“What?” he snapped.

Kaelen’s smile widened. “Nothing.”

“I have long enjoyed the antics of clowns.”

“Yes,” Kaelen said. “I am learning it is childlike fancies that pull at you so.”

Richard cast him a startled frown. Was that an insult?

Kaelen chuckled. “I think it sweet.”

Richard’s flush deepened, and he noticed Flint with some relief.

The bandit strolled near the procession’s front, beside the tattooed woman from last night, cards dancing through his fingers. Every half-mile or so, he would fall into step beside a new victim and allow them to pick a card. With the women, he pressed kisses to their knuckles. With the men, he flashed a crooked grin and leaned in close enough to turn their ears pink. Once, the lyre-player swatted him on the shoulder for some scandalous remark, and Flint clutched his heart, prompting chuckles from those around him.

“He fits in well,” Richard observed.

The smile left Kaelen’s face. “He is trouble.”

“Yes,” Richard said. “But I do confess myself curious.” He squinted in Flint’s direction. “He is a strange man, and I believe his magic may prove to be stranger still. I should like to grow closer to him and learn more. He is interesting company, at the very least, and perhaps if I were to win his trust, he may tell me more of this grudge he wields against the crown—” His words faltered on catching the steadily rising thunder clear on Kaelen’s face. “What?”

Kaelen scowled, muttered something under his breath and went to help with some horses nearby. Richard gaped, almost walking into the contortionist in front of him. What in all the gods?—

Execution?A voice from the back of Richard’s mind piped up. For a knight to scowl at his king was utterly preposterous. The disrespect. The audacity?—

At least he looks handsome while doing so, Richard reasoned with the voice.And so I shall grant him a pass. In any case, Kaelen does not scowl at many, so it is, in a manner, a special thing.

The more Richard mulled on it, the more such logic made sense, and he found himself humming for the rest of the hour.

* * *

When the processionstopped for breakfast, Richard met his new charges. Master Clemens led him to the back of a yellow wagon, where five children gathered, eyes still creased from sleep. The eldest—a girl perhaps a couple of years older than Briony—glared. Her skin was the same warm brown as Kaelen’s—likely a child of Naradeshi travellers—her hair cropped short, and her right arm was missing, its empty sleeve fluttering in the breeze. Her left hand, however, rested on a hip in open challenge.

Clustered around her were three identical boys with brown curls and snub noses. Triplets of perhaps nine years old, and they grinned already at Richard with a malicious anticipation.

The final child could be no older than six. She sat apart from the boys, on a folded blanket, eating bread. Her face was round, with ginger hair tied in pigtails, and the upward tilt of her eyes and the single crease across her palms reminded Richard vaguely of a condition he’d once seen illustrated in the Lord Physic’s books. Unlike the others, she beamed at him, honey smearing her mouth.

“This is Jeya.” Master Clemens jabbed his spoon at the oldest girl. “Fourteen. Her mothers were backstage helpers, but died two years back, bless their souls.” He nodded at the triplets. “Pip, Puck, and Penn. Though they switch names just to plague us. They’re orphans too—parents did the tightropes, and fell a few years back. Nasty accident. And the little lass is Daisy—her parents steer the horses, so can’t be keeping their eyes on her.” Master Clemens wagged his finger at the children. “This man’s in charge of you now. Richard’s his name.”

The eldest girl snorted. “Like the king? Well, tell him to go back to the castle. We don’t need no minder.”

Master Clemens turned to Richard, dragging a hand down his face wearily. “Last week, this lot wandered off when we made camp. Three hours, I had the whole troupe out beating bushes for them. Finally found them at the bottom of a gully, cornered by a bauk—great horned slavering thing, teeth as long as my forearm. Would have eaten them clean if Boris hadn’t come down and broken its skull with a hammer.”

“It weren’t gonna eat us.” Jeya stuck up her chin. “I’d my sword. I’d have kept the little ‘uns safe.”

Richard studied the wooden sword at Jeya’s hip. It was crudely carved, no more than a toy, not fit to do damage.

“You were near death, girl,” Master Clemens blustered. “Now, stop your squabbling and mind you don’t make Richard’s life difficult. You answer to me otherwise.”