Mystique by Amanda Quick Page B

hooves sent a tremor through the ground.
    “But, Sir Hugh, I just told you that I do not wish to watch the jousts—” Alice broke off in disgust when she realized she was speaking to the war-stallion’s retreating hindquarters.
    For the first time she experienced some qualms about the bargain she had made with Hugh. It was obvious that her new business associate did not fully comprehend the true meaning of what it meant to be equal partners.

T he rosy-cheeked pie-seller handed Alice a crusty pastry stuffed with minced, honeyed chicken. “Aye, there be a number of troubadours about. Don’t think I noticed one wearing a yellow and orange tunic, though.” The woman took Alice’s coin and popped it into her belt pouch. “Now, then, will there be anythin’ else, m’lady?”
    “Nay.”
    The pie-seller brushed crumbs from her hands and turned to deal with the next customer. “‘Ere, me good lad, what’ll ye have? I’ve got excellent fruit pies and tasty lamb, too. Take yer choice.”
    Alice eyed her pie with distaste as she walked away from the stall. It was the fourth one she had bought in the last hour. She was not at all certain that she could manage to eat it.
    She had thought to conduct her search for Gilbert in a systematic fashion but the task was proving difficult. Thus far she had covered only a third of the fairgrounds. Finding one particular troubadour in this crowded place was a slow process.
    She had attempted to start several casual conversationsat various stalls and tents but she had soon discovered that no one was willing to waste time in idle chatter. Having ascertained that peddlers, pie-sellers, and merchants were far more prone to indulge her carefully worded questions if they thought that she was going to spend good coin, Alice had reluctantly begun to do just that. To her dismay, she had already gone through most of the contents of her purse and had learned nothing. Along the way she had been obliged to consume three pies and two mugs of cider.
    She hesitated at the end of a row of brightly striped peddlers’ tents, wondering what to do with her newest pie. She hated to throw it aside. Waste of any sort offended her sensibilities.
    “Psst. Fine lady. Over here.”
    Alice glanced up from the pie and saw a youth of about sixteen years hovering in the shadow of a nearby awning. He gave her a grimy-faced grin.
    “Excellent bargains, m’lady. Come and see.” The young man glanced hurriedly over his shoulder and then whipped a small dagger out from beneath his dirt-stained tunic.
    Alice gasped and took a step back. Thieves and pickpockets were a constant threat at fairs. She clutched her skirts and made to run.
    “Nay, nay, do not fear, fine lady.” The youth’s dark eyes filled with alarm. “I mean you no harm. I am called Fulk. I offer this beautiful dagger for sale. See? ‘Tis fashioned of the best Spanish steel.”
    Alice relaxed. “Aye, ‘tis a pretty little dagger but I have no use for such.”
    “Mayhap you could give it to yer lord as a gift?” Fulk suggested with a determined gleam in his eye. “A man can always use a good dagger.”
    “Sir Hugh has arms enough as it is,” Alice retorted. She was still fuming over the fact that Hugh had elected to fritter away the afternoon on the jousting field.
    “No man has enough good steel. Come closer, m’lady, and examine the workmanship.”
    Alice studied the dagger with little interest. “Where did you get this?”
    “My father sells daggers and knives in a stall on the other side of the fairgrounds,” Fulk said smoothly. “I assist him by mingling with the crowd to search out customers.”
    “Try another tale, lad.”
    “Very well.” Fulk groaned. “If ye must know the truth, I found it lying by the side of the road. A shame, is it not? I believe it to be the property of some passing traveler. It must have been dropped by accident.”
    “More likely it was filched from a knife-seller’s stall.”
    “Nay, nay, m’lady.