Ben and his friends arrived early, taking their place behind a line of country folk waiting to be allowed through the town gates by the wall guards. They shuffled along with the motley crowd, their eyes roving with interest over the colourful scene. Carts piled high with fruit, vegetables and rural produce jostled behind rustic smocked drovers herding cattle, sheep, goats and horses. Wagons bearing disassembled stalls of painted wood and dyed canvas trundled uphill, hauled and pushed by entire families. Ducks and geese flapped between the wheels, honking and quacking, adding to the noisy cavalcade as the fairgoers, chiding youngsters and discussing prospects, all shuffled forward, eager to be inside the gates.
As they got closer to the entrance, Ned sent a thought to Ben. “Look, people are having to pay a toll to get in.”
Ben turned to Karay and Dominic. “Looks like it’s been a waste of time coming here. We’ve got to pay the guards to get in. I don’t have any money—do either of you?”
Dominic’s face fell. “I didn’t know you had to pay admission. I haven’t got a single centime on me!”
Karay shook her head, stifling a scornful giggle. “What a pair of bumpkins! Money, huh! Who needs money to get past those gates? Leave this to me. You two just hang about and look as you do now, a real pair of yokels. I’ll do all the talking.”
Ben shrugged. “As you say, marm, we’ll follow the leader!”
The two wall guards were only ordinary town watchmen, each sporting a crested armband and a helmet that had seen better days. They carried long, antiquated pikes and barred the gates after each entrant in an overblown manner of importance.
Ben communicated an uneasy thought to his dog. “I hope she knows what she’s doing—that’s a long hill to be kicked down.”
The black Labrador nuzzled his hand. “Trust Karay, m’boy, she looks as if she’s done this before a few times!”
As the four of them approached, both guards lowered their pikes, barring the entrance. The bigger of the two held out his hand. “Two centimes each, an’ one for the dog. That’s, er . . .”
“Seven centimes,” the smaller guard said.
Karay looked puzzled. She directed her attention to the big guard, letting her hand rest on his arm. “But, Captain, didn’t our mother or father pay you?”
Being addressed as captain made the guard puff out his chest. He gazed down officiously into the pretty girl’s eyes. “I don’t know your parents, miss, and no one’s paid me extra to allow others in today!”
Karay fluttered her eyes and grasped the guard’s arm. “Oh, Captain, you surely must know them. Emile and Agnes? Our family has the pancake and honey stall. They left home hours before we did.”
The guard saw Karay’s lip quiver. He patted her hand gently. “Well, they mustn’t have arrived yet, miss. You an’ your brothers stand to one side now an’ wait for them, eh.”
Ben was amazed to see a tear spring unbidden to the girl’s eye. Karay was clinging to the guard’s arm now, gazing imploringly up at him, her voice all atremble. “Oh please, Captain, you must let us in. If our parents are not there, our stall space will be taken by someone else. I think the wheel must have come off the cart again. Father will be fixing it—they’ll be along any minute now, expecting to find us watching their stall space. We’re a poor family, Captain, but we’re honest. I’ll bring the money straight out to you, as soon as the stall is set up and we’re selling our wares.”
The guard began to soften. He murmured to his partner. “What d’you think?”
The smaller guard shrugged. “ ’Tis up to you, Giles,” he whispered.
Karay suddenly brightened up. “Giles—that’s him, isn’t it?” Ben and Dominic nodded eagerly as the girl pressed her point. “Mother said she’d pay you, Captain, she told us to ask for the tall, good-looking one. Giles, she said!”
Most of the people behind them were getting impatient and calling out for Karay to move aside so they could get in. Giles shook his pike and bellowed. “Silence, or none of you will enter the fair. I’ll say who gets in!”
Karay continued with her pleading. “I promise, Captain, I’ll bring the money out as soon as possible. I’ll bring you a pancake each, too, with butter and honey on it, piping hot!”
That settled the matter. Giles lowered his pike. “In you go, quick now! Oh, and could you manage a squeeze of lemon juice on those pancakes?”
Karay pushed Ben and Dominic in front of her through the gateway. Ned stood by her side as she replied, “I’ll make them myself, with plenty of lemon juice. See you later, Captain. Come on, boy, before our space gets taken!”
The guard watched them hurry inside and winked at his companion. “Good manners, that girl—pretty, too!”
Inside Veron’s main square there was a real bustle of festive atmosphere. Stalls were packed together so tightly that folk had to push and jostle to negotiate the narrow aisle spaces. The friends sat together on a broad flight of steps that fronted a grand manor house with a southern exposure.
Dominic chided Karay humorously. “No sign of Emile or Agnes yet. Oh dear, I wonder where Mother and Father have got to. You’re a great liar, Karay!”
The girl slapped his arm lightly. “Well, at least I got us into the fair, didn’t I, my slow-witted yokel brother.”
Ben chuckled as he ruffled Ned’s ears. “Don’t forget now, you owe those guards seven centimes and two hot pancakes.”
Ned’s thought chimed in on Ben. “Mmm, thick with butter and honey. No lemon for me, thanks.”
Karay’s eyes twinkled. “Pancakes, that’s what we need, I’m famished!”
She rose swiftly and cut off toward the stalls.
Ned pawed at Ben’s leg. “We’d best go after her. There’s no telling what that young madam will be up to next!”
“You’re right, mate.” Ben returned Ned’s thought. He pulled Dominic up from the step. “Come on, Dom, it’s a bit risky letting that little thief wander off alone.”
Karay had found herself a pancake stall where there was only a middle-aged lady attending to it. The girl stood back, watching everything closely.
“Thinking of stealing pancakes now, are we?”
She turned to see Ben, Dominic and Ned behind her. Karay hissed at them angrily. “I’m not stealing anything—she’ll give me some pancakes gladly. Now be quiet and let me study that stall. I’ll get us some food!”
Ned nudged his head against Ben’s leg. “I’d do as Karay says if I were you. Give her a chance.”
After a while Karay sauntered over to the stall, where she waited until the woman was not busy serving. Passing a forearm across her brow, the woman sighed. “Pancakes are two centimes each, three with butter, four with honey and butter, three with just salt and lemon juice. Do you want one, miss?”
The girl stared hard at the woman, letting a silence pass before she spoke. “You work very hard for a widowed lady.”
The woman wiped her butter ladle on a clean cloth. “I’ve not met you before, how d’you know I’m a widow?”
Karay closed her eyes and held up a finger. Her voice was slow and confidential, as if sharing a secret. “I know many things, Madame. The eye of my mind sees the past as well as the present and the future. That is my gift, given to me by the good Saint Veronique, whom I am named after.”
The woman crossed herself and kissed her thumbnail. “Saint Veronique! Tell me more!”
Karay’s eyes opened. She smiled sadly and shook her head. “It tires me greatly to use my skills. I have just come from Spain, where I was given five gold coins for seeing into the fortunes of a noble lady of Burgos.”
The woman’s mouth set in a tight line as she mixed pancake batter. “You’re a fortuneteller! My money is too hard-earned to spend upon such fancies and lies!”
Karay looked proudly down her nose at the pancake seller. “I already have gold coins. What do I need with your few centimes, Madame Gilbert?”
Batter slopped from the bowl as the woman stopped stirring. “How do you know my h
usband’s name?”
Karay replied offhandedly. “It was never the name of the children you did not have. Shall I see into your future?”
The woman’s face fell. “You’re right, we never had children. If you don’t want money for telling my fortune, then why did you come here? What do you want from me, miss?”
The girl smiled, sniffing dreamily at the aroma from the stall. “My grandmother used to make pancakes for me exactly like the ones you make—proper country style, eh?”
The pancake seller smiled fondly. “Ah, yes, proper country style . . . You could tell my fortune and I’d give you one.”
Karay turned her head away as if offended. “Only one?”
Shooing off a wasp and covering the honey pail, the woman spread her arms wide. “How many then, tell me.”
Karay played with her dark ringlets a moment. “Eight—no, better make it a dozen. I have a long way to travel, and the food they serve at some inns is not to my taste.”
The woman looked a bit shocked. “Twelve pancakes is a lot!”
Karay shrugged airily. “I could eat them easily, with enough honey and butter spread on them. It is a small price to pay for knowing what life and fate will bring to you, Madame.”
The woman wiped both hands on her apron. “I will pay!”
Karay came behind the planks that served as a counter. “Let me see the palm of your right hand.”
The woman proffered her outspread palm. Karay pored over it, whispering prayers for guidance from Saint Veronique loudly enough for her customer to hear. Then she began.
“Ah yes, I see Gilbert, your husband, he was a good baker. Since he has gone you have worked hard and long to set up your business. But fear not, you aren’t alone. Who is this good man who helps you?”
The woman looked up from her own palm. “You mean Monsieur Frane, the farmer?”
The girl nodded. “He is a good man, even though he has lost a partner, his wife. He comes to help you often, yes?”
The woman smiled. “From dawn to dusk, if I ask him.”
Karay smiled back at her. “He thinks a lot of you. So does his daughter.”
The pancake seller agreed. “Jeanette is a good girl, almost like a daughter to me—she visits a lot, too. Tell me more.”
Karay made a few signs over the woman’s palm. “Now for the future. Listen carefully to what I tell you. Do not go home tonight—take a room at a local inn. Stay a few days longer after the fair. Sit by the window each day and watch out for Monsieur Frane and Jeanette, they will come. You must tell him that your work is tiring you, that you no longer want to continue with it. Tell him you are thinking of selling your house and bakery and moving.”
The woman looked mystified. “But why would I do that?”
The girl silenced the woman with a wave of her hand. “Do you want me to see further into your future, Madame?”
The woman nodded, and Karay continued. “I see you happily married, a farmer’s wife, with a dear devoted daughter. The only baking you will bother with is their daily bread and cakes to eat in the evening around your farmhouse fire. Trust me, Madame, your fate will be aided by your own efforts. Saint Veronique sees you as a good person, I know this.”
Suddenly the woman threw her arms about the girl and kissed her. “Are you sure twelve pancakes will be enough, my dear?”
Back on the steps outside the manor house, two boys, a girl and a dog feasted on hot pancakes spread thick with country butter and comb honey. Ben licked his fingers, gazing at Karay in awe. “Tell us how you managed to do it. Widow, farmer, daughter, husband’s name, and who, pray, is Saint Veronique?”
Karay’s explanation made it all sound simple. “Veron is the name of this place, so I thought Veronique made it sound nice and local. I don’t know who Saint Veronique is, but she certainly helped us. The cart was a good clue. It had been painted over but I could still see the words, the name in white, beneath the last coat: ‘S. Gilbert. Baker.’ He was nowhere to be seen, the woman was working alone and she’d had the name on the cart painted over. So I guessed she was a widow, without children, too. That woman’s middle-aged; if she had children, they’d probably be about our age. If that was so, they’d be helping their mother to run the business. She leaves her house alone to travel here: someone must watch it for her—the farmer Frane. A single woman could not handle it all, so he helps her. If his wife were alive, she would not hear of such a thing. He would not be allowed to spend most of his day at a widow’s house and neglect his own. The woman was wearing a bracelet, a cheap pretty thing, not the sort she would spend money on. I guessed that a young girl had bought it for her. I was right. So, the farmer has a young daughter. They both like the pancake lady. Two people, a widow and a widower, living close to each other. The girl Jeanette likes the widow; to the widow, Jeanette is the daughter she never had. As for the rest, I was only telling that woman what the future could hold if she played her cards right. What’s wrong with her becoming a farmer’s wife and having a daughter? That’s what she wants, isn’t it? I was only telling her the best way to do it. Monsieur Frane and Jeanette would be very sad if she sold up and moved away. It’ll happen, and they’ll be happy together. Mark my words!”
Ben shook his head admiringly. “Don’t you ever guess wrongly?”
The girl licked honey from her fingers. “Sometimes, but I can always manage to talk my way out of mistakes. The whole thing is just luck, guesswork, a bit of shrewd watching, and telling the customer things they like to hear. Right, let’s set up stall here on these steps. Dominic, get your sketching stuff out. Ben, you and Ned sit here by me, try to look poor but honest. I’ll start singing to attract the customers. Come on, now, we can save some of the pancakes for later. Dominic, do another sketch of Ned.”
The dog sat by Karay’s side and winked at Ben. “You look poor, I’ll look honest!”
Karay folded her shawl in two and spread it out at her feet to catch any coins that were thrown. Dominic took up a piece of slate and his chalks. Ben sat on the other side of the girl, listening as she sang sweetly.
“Oh kind sir and madam, you good children too,
Pray stop here awhile, and I’ll sing just for you
Of mysterious places, across the wide sea,
Of distant Cathay and of old Araby,
Where caravans trail, like bright streamers of silk
To far misted mountains, with peaks white as milk,
And ships tall as temples, spread sails wide and bold,
All laden with spices, fine rubies and gold,
Fine harbours where garlanded flowers deck piers,
In the lands of great mandarins, lords and emirs,
Where beautiful maidens, with priests old and wise,
Sing songs or chant prayers ’neath forgotten blue skies.
Have your eyes not beheld them, then hark to my song,
And your heart will be there, in sweet dreams before
long.”
Gradually a few people gathered. One of them was an old fellow pushing a cart on which he had a churn of buttermilk, a ladle and some earthenware bowls. When Karay finished her song, he applauded loudly, calling out, “What a fine voice! Sing some more, young maid!”
The girl held out her hand to him. “Let me get my breath, sir. Come on up here and get your likeness sketched by a real artist. We won’t charge you much!”
The old fellow chuckled, shaking his head. “No thank ye, miss, I haven’t got money to spend on pictures. Besides, who’d want to sketch a battered old relic like me, eh?”
Ben coaxed the old man up and sat him on the top step, facing Dominic, and reassured the reluctant sitter. “We’re not talking money, sir. A bowl apiece of your buttermilk to quench our thirst would be enough. My friend is a good artist, you’ll like his picture, I’m sure. Don’t be shy. Here, I’ll let my dog sit with you, he’s a good companion.”
Some of the watchers called out encouragement to the old fellow, and he finally agreed to be sketched.
“Go on then, it’ll give my wife something to throw mud at when she’s angry with me!”
Dominic captured the spirit of the old buttermilk vendor amazingly. More folk had gathered to watch, and they viewed the likeness with astonishment.
“Oh it’s wonderful, what a nice picture!”
“Aye, very lifelike. He’s even drawn that black dog, with its paw on his knee, see!”
“Doesn’t the old man’s face look kind and jolly!”
Ned watched them admiring the picture as he contacted Ben. “A true artist, eh? He’s made me look even nobler on that sketch, and see the old man’s eyes. Every crinkle and crease is perfect. You can see by looking at them that he’s a cheery old codger with a good nature. Right, who’s next to have their picture sketched—with the noble Ned, of course. I’m getting used to being famous!”
Ben tugged his dog’s tail. “Stop boasting and drink your buttermilk, the man’s waiting on his bowls. Though he’ll have to wash that one before he serves buttermilk in it again.”
The black Labrador sniffed. “I should think so too. Peasants using the personal bowl of Ned the Noble!”
Men and women began clamouring to have their pictures sketched next, even holding out coins in their hands. Karay nudged Ben. “Haha, we’re in business now!”
Dominic looked around before choosing his next subject. He guided a young woman carrying a baby boy up to the step. She was obviously poor—her clothing was worn and frayed—but her baby looked clean and healthy.
The woman tried to avoid Dominic, her cheeks red with embarrassment as she pleaded with him. “Please, sir, I have barely enough money to feed my baby. I cannot afford your cost!”
The Facemaker of Sabada spoke gently to her. “There will be no cost, lady. For the privilege of sketching you both, I cannot pay you. But I will give you two pancakes, one for you and one for the babe. Hold him on your lap now, sit still and face me please.”