The Tale of Atterberry (The Faire Pendant Series, Book 1)

  Glenna shook her head swiftly. She was just starting to rise when she heard it.

  * * *

  "Oh," the groan echoed through the tent as Roger appeared under the green awnings. "I am lost. I'm just lost without it."

  "Without what?" Glenna's mother asked as she hurried to his side.

  "Are you alright, Roger?" Her father rose from his makeshift desk quickly, concern etched on his face.

  "No, I'm not. It's gone!" Roger replied.

  "What's gone?" Glenna asked, a prickly feeling stealing over her skin. The whole situation was eerily familiar.

  "My cloak!" Roger groaned.

  "Well, where did you last leave it?" Glenna's mother asked. She peered around Roger as if she expected the cloak to be hanging on a branch behind him.

  "It's a long story...." Roger paused dramatically. When he received no further urging, he continued with a weary sigh, "I suppose I'll tell it."

  Glenna's mother and father exchanged a grin. They had expected as much and so had not pushed Roger. If they had urged him to continue, it might have meant several more minutes of drama on his part before the story finally came out.

  "I was performing my magic show and it was going splendidly. Just splendidly, I tell you. When... all of a sudden...." Roger stopped again, his blue eyes piercing and face intent as he leaned forward. His low voice promised mystery.

  Without meaning to, the three Tates huddled closer, enrapt.

  "I did my new finale. It worked perfectly this morning! Pink and green smoke filled the tent!" Roger raised his hands high, his voice booming thunderously. Glenna, her mother, and father leaned away in unison as he shouted.

  He closed his eyes. "It was glorious...."

  "Then what?" Mr. Tate asked impatiently.

  "Then... well, then... disaster struck." His voice lowered once more and a deep sadness filled it.

  "What happened?" Glenna asked breathlessly.

  Roger paused, eyes still closed. "The sprinklers went off."

  Mr. Tate snorted suddenly and his hand went to cover his mouth. Even Mrs. Tate was trying to suppress a smile. Only Glenna realized the gravity of the situation.

  "The sprinklers went off?" Mrs. Tate repeated.

  "Yes," Roger replied solemnly. His forehead wrinkled and all drama deserted him. He sounded at once honest, sincere, and practical as he continued, "I'm not sure how it happened. Even though it's a new trick, I've tested it several times. But they went off and soaked me. Imagine how embarrassing that is!" he exclaimed indignantly. "To be performing a magnificent finale and then find yourself standing in front of the crowd, soaking wet!"

  Mr. Tate snorted again and Mrs. Tate laid her hand on his arm as if to steady him.

  "Not that anyone noticed," Roger continued morosely.

  "Why didn't they notice?" Glenna asked.

  "They were all running," Roger sighed.

  At this revelation, Mr. Tate could no longer repress his laughter. He stumbled away, attempting to shield his inconsiderate response from Roger.

  "I'm sorry," Mrs. Tate apologized. "It's just...."

  "No, no," Roger said, lifting one hand to stop her. "There's no need to explain. Obviously, he is hysterical with grief, much like me."

  Mrs. Tate winced and then nodded.

  "Anyway, I was soaked when I finally got out of the pavilion, so I went back to my tent and hung up my cloak to dry on a handy branch nearby. And when I came back just now... it was gone."

  Mrs. Tate looked skeptical. "Are you sure it couldn't have just fallen off the branch or that you didn't put it somewhere else?"

  "I am absolutely positive. I wouldn't be so careless. And now... now I'm ruined."

  "Why are you ruined?" Glenna asked.

  "Because! I should think it would be perfectly obvious. I can't do magic without my cloak."

  "How do you know?"

  "It's essential. I absolutely need it. I have to have it for most of my tricks. I'm supposed to do a show in half an hour and I will not be able to without my cloak. I can't do magic without it."

  "Have you ever tried?" Glenna asked.

  "Well... no, because it's no use. It's simply no use," Roger said.

  "Roger, you're going to have to try. I'll look for your cloak, but I'm sure you can do it. I know you can."

  Roger hesitated before nodding once. "I will try to come up with something while you look for my cloak. If you don't mind that is," he added hurriedly.

  "I don't mind at all," Glenna said.

  "Just as long as you don't get in anyone's way. And don't accuse people of taking it. Come to me or your dad first," Mrs. Tate added.

  "I will," Glenna assured her.

  "I suppose I should try to get something together," Roger said as he bid them goodbye.

  His voice sounded doubtful to Glenna and caused a spark of alarm to appear in her belly. She stood still, deep in thought. Something odd was going on. In both worlds, Roger's cloak was gone. She had a feeling that it was going to be more important than it seemed.

  * * *

  When Glenna returned to the tent to retrieve her map, her father and mother were discussing Roger's predicament.

  "I don't think it was stolen. He probably just misplaced it," Glenna heard her father say.

  "I think so, too, but even if he did, I'm worried about him. It seems as if he doesn't have any confidence without it," Mrs. Tate replied.

  "That is a problem," Mr. Tate said, his voice grim.

  "Why is that a problem?" Glenna asked.

  "I didn't know you were listening," her father said with a smile as he ruffled her hair. But his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's a problem because a big part of doing magic tricks and putting on a show is having confidence. If you don't believe in yourself, no one else will."

  "But Roger can do all his tricks without the cloak. I know he can. I've seen him practice several of them. In some of the tricks he needs long sleeves, but that doesn't mean he can't do them with some other type of clothing."

  "But does Roger believe that?" Mrs. Tate asked. "It's hard to get up on stage and give a show. He's already had one mistake today with the sprinkler. Now that he is going to have to perform without his cloak, he might not feel as self-assured."

  Glenna's father hesitated before adding, "I'm not sure if he's spoken to Mr. McMillan, but I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't get an earful from him. When it comes to people he doesn't like, that man is always looking for an excuse to shut a show down or cancel upcoming gigs. And he's never been very fond of Roger."

  "Then why does he let him work at the faire?"

  Mrs. Tate shrugged. "Roger has been performing here much longer than Mr. McMillan has been in charge. People complained when he tried to take Roger off the bill last year. I remember he kept saying that Roger was getting too old."

  "Roger's not too old!" Glenna exclaimed. She thought Roger was wonderful. She had never seen a better magician and she had seen a lot.

  "We know that, but it doesn't change things as far as Mr. McMillan is concerned. Roger is already on probation. That's why he's showcasing new tricks," Mrs. Tate said.

  Glenna frowned. "Don't worry, I'm going to find Roger's cloak and he will have a fabulous show. You can depend on it."

  * * *

  As Glenna passed David's playground, she winced. She had promised David she would play with him. I don't have time now, Glenna thought. She was trying to think of a way to explain it to David when she heard a series of loud whoops and cheers.

  "David? What's going on?" Glenna asked as she peered around the tree.

  David was situated in the middle of his play area. Several sticks were stuck in the ground and a long line of thin silvery thread ran between them. A group of miniature mounted knights lined the makeshift lanes, ready to joust.

  A small boy with tousled blond hair and a wide smile was on one knee, facing David. He clutched a horse and rider in one grubby hand while adjusting one of the threads with another.

  "O
h, hi Glenna," David said, barely glancing up at her.

  "I thought you wanted me to play with you?" Glenna asked. It appeared as though a much more suitable companion had taken her place.

  David did look up at her then, alarm on his narrow face. "Oh, you can play, Glenna... if you want. But if you're busy, me and Sam can just keep playing together."

  "What are you playing?" Despite her hurry, Glenna couldn't stifle her curiosity.

  "These are our knights," Sam replied. His voice was scratchy and rough, as though he was fighting a cold. "They're jousting each other."

  "And where did you get the thread?" Glenna asked as she knelt and touched the thin strand.

  "My mom," Sam said.

  "Your mom?" Glenna asked doubtfully.

  Sam nodded eagerly. "Me and Mom and my brother, we're working at this faire. It's only her third one, but she likes it. I think we're going to start going to more."

  "That's great," Glenna grinned. She couldn't help but hope this boy and his mom would be coming to many more faires. He and David seemed to be having a ball. It will be good for David to have a friend his age, she thought.

  "Yeah, I hope we do," Sam said.

  "So we can play later, Glenna, if you want," David broke in with his offer.

  "Alright," Glenna smiled. "You two have fun. And stay out of trouble."

  "We will," the boys declared simultaneously.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mr. McMillan

  Glenna decided the best place to start looking for Roger's cloak would be where he left it. Dodging street vendors decorated with their wares and shouting prices, she finally made it to the small clearing many of the vendors and performers used for camping. It was visible to the public and they were welcome to look at it, but access was denied to anyone who wasn't working at the faire.

  Glenna knew exactly which tent belonged to Roger. His was an elaborate encampment festooned with glittering stars on the top, both inside and out, and posters of himself performing tricks. It was always easy to spot. Luckily, her family had visited with Roger late the night before and she remembered his tent was on the very edge of the clearing. Sitting outside with Roger, they had waved hello to all the people passing by on their way to their own tents. It would be easy for someone, even someone not working here, to slip into Roger's tent, she thought.

  The rope separating the camping ground from the faire ground was right next to Roger's tent and it ended at the front left side, tied to a tree. If someone was willing to leave the faire path and go around a couple of bushes, they could easily slip through the trees and end up inside the campground and behind Roger's tent, Glenna thought as she surveyed the area. She decided to test her theory and, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she was able to squeeze neatly in between two large shrubs and found herself with access to either the front or the back of Roger's tent without having to cross the extremely visible rope.

  She took a few steps around the backside of the tent. A low tree limb stretched over the ground, its leaves swaying. The sun was shining brightly on it as it reached from the confines of the dark forest into the light.

  Hanging upon it was a loose peasant shirt. A pair of socks dangled from two small twigs, dancing merrily in the breeze. There's plenty of room here for a cloak, Glenna thought. I bet this is the limb Roger was talking about.

  Glenna searched the edge of the woods and the area around the tree limb to no avail. It was as if the cloak had vanished. All she found was a coin, some litter, and a small bit of orange animal fur caught on the bark of the tree she had passed when she was sneaking around the rope to the back of the tent. She was just about to give up and was leaving the clearing when she stopped for a closer look.

  Crouching in front of the fur, Glenna realized it was a bit too high off the ground to have been from an animal, unless it was a very large one. It was almost even with her waist. She gently pulled a small bit of the fur from the tree and, clutching it in one hand, seamlessly rejoined the milling crowd.

  She went directly to the pavilion, intent on both discussing her lead with Roger and giving him a pep talk at the same time. It appeared he was going to have to perform at least one show without his cloak.

  But when she reached the pavilion, it was empty. A sign warned that it was closed temporarily due to the sprinklers going off and would be open again in one hour.

  Glenna spun in a circle, unsure of where to go.

  "I want to see the magic show," a child cried nearby. His nose was runny and he pawed unhappily at tearful eyes.

  "Alright, alright," his mother sighed. "But we'll have to hurry. It's about to begin and it's on the stage all the way across the faire."

  Oh, no, Glenna thought. She paused to read the fine print, confirming her worst fears. The magic show had been relocated. I'm going to miss it and I haven't found the cloak yet. What will Roger do? She knew she must hurry if she was going to see his show. He'll need me there to cheer for him.

  As she hurried along the path, Glenna struggled to come up with a plan. She was sure now someone had taken Roger's cloak. But who? And why? I must talk to Roger and convince him that he can do it. He'll wonder why I haven't come. She ran as fast as she could without bumping into people, but it was no use. By the time she reached the stage, Roger was performing.

  * * *

  At first, Glenna didn't believe it was Roger. The man on stage didn't even resemble her friend. Without his magnificent cloak, he looked much smaller and unsure of himself. With his confidence gone, there didn't seem to be anything magical about him.

  Glenna felt her breath catch in her throat as she lingered at the back of the room. She was too late to get a seat up front, where Roger could see her. She thought about waving to get his attention, but realized that it would probably only distract him further.

  As she watched, Roger introduced the show. His usually booming voice was muffled and a bit shaky.

  "Is this the magician?" a lady near Glenna asked her friend disgustedly.

  "I suppose it is," the friend replied, unsure.

  Glenna had to admit, it was hard for her to tell that Roger was a magician. And she knew him. Her heart began to pound in her chest as Roger attempted his first trick. She was relieved to find he had gone back to his standbys and was not trying his new material again.

  As he filled the cup with water, attempting to turn it into an ice cube, Glenna felt her palms begin to sweat. Something was off with the trick. It appeared Roger realized the same thing as a look of sick horror came over his face.

  "I will return to this trick momentarily. For now, we will move on," he announced in what Glenna thought was an attempt at a grand voice.

  The crowd shuffled and muttered to themselves, unsure of what was happening.

  "Is this part of the trick?" the lady asked her friend once more. Her friend shrugged in reply.

  "Now... now I will read this young lady's mind. Miss, will you be so kind as to assist me?" he asked a young girl in the front row.

  The girl glanced at her mother before nodding slowly. Roger began his trick, shuffling cards and asking her to pull one from the deck.

  "Show your card to the crowd and then place it back in the center," Roger instructed.

  The girl turned and held the card up, an ace of hearts. She replaced it carefully before sitting back down.

  Roger shuffled the cards and then whipped one out. "Was it... the seven of clubs?" he asked.

  The girl glanced at her mother and then looked at Roger, shaking her head slowly.

  His smile faltering, Roger pulled another card from the deck. "Was it... the queen of diamonds?" he asked.

  The crowd began to mutter as the girl shook her head once more. Glenna's heart sank as he continued to pull cards from the deck and ask her if it was the card she had chosen. As the crowds complaints grew louder, Roger wilted on stage, wincing as he drew card after card. His voice became low, shaking slightly.

  Finally, he drew the correct card and held it
before the audience. As soon as the girl nodded in agreement, Roger bowed and rushed from the stage.

  Glenna waited for Roger at the bottom of the stairs. After a few minutes, the crowd ceased their complaints and booing and began to leave. As soon as the last person left, Roger appeared from behind the curtain.

  "That was terrible, just terrible," he groaned. "I don't know that I can ever do magic again."

  "Don't say that, Roger," Glenna said as she patted his arm.

  "I'd say you might be right," a nasal voice said at her elbow. Roger's eyes widened as he attempted a greeting.

  "Hello, Mr. McMillan. I suppose... I suppose you saw my show?" Roger asked.

  "I saw you on stage. I wouldn't call it a show," Mr. McMillan replied. "I thought I would check up on you after I heard what happened this afternoon. I'm glad I did. Your performance was terrible. You didn't even look like a magician!" the short man shouted, his voice quivering with rage.

  "Well, my cloak...," Roger started to explain.

  "I don't care about your cloak," Mr. McMillan said. "What I care about is how you just represented us to our customers. I'm pulling you from my future schedules."

  Roger deflated visibly. "But... I've got several more shows lined up with your company."

  "Not anymore."

  "But what will I do?" Roger asked.

  "That's not any of my concern. Face it, Roger, you're just getting too old. You can't do these tricks anymore, not even a simple card trick. You have nothing new to offer. You need to retire and get off the festival circuit."

  Roger winced and Glenna clasped his hand in support. She was surprised to find it was trembling, but was relieved when Roger returned her squeeze with one of his own. His eyes left the livid gaze of Mr. McMillan to seek hers and she tried to communicate all the warmth, support, and trust in him that she could. She wanted him to know she believed in him.

  A hint of fire returned to his blue eyes and he squeezed her hand once more, harder this time. Straightening his shoulders, he seemed almost himself once more as he faced down Mr. McMillan. He towered over the little round man as he spoke, "And what are you going to do for the rest of my performances this weekend?"

  "I don't know. I only know that you're through."

  "I suggest you allow me to continue," Roger said.

  "And drive even more fairegoers away? No thanks," Mr. McMillan snorted.

  "I think they'll be even more upset by no performance after they've paid to see me," Roger continued. "Besides, once I'm back in the pavilion and have my cloak, I will deliver in the fashion of my former shows. Flawlessly. You don't understand how difficult it is to perform some of my tricks without my props."