I gritted my teeth as Veronica unbuckled her belt pouch. “You take plastic?”
Marc smiled a wolfish smile. “Lady Visa and Master of Card are welcome here.”
Veronica flashed him her platinum card as I had one last attempt to make her see reason. I’d been trying since the previous evening, when I offered myself up as a sacrifice (Saint Pepper—has a nice ring to it) in order to find out whether she was the one behind the attempts on the Three Dog Knights.
“You know, just because Walker says I’m not bad at jousting doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into competition. When I said I’d be your alternate, I had no idea that you intended for me to compete. Just the thought of it is ludicrous—I’ve only been jousting for a little over a week! There’s got to be someone else who can replace Jill.”
Veronica gave Marc a couple more instructions, tucking her credit card away as she swept Moth and me forward, out of the armorer’s cramped quarters and into the heavy stream of Faire-goers who were strolling the vendors’ row. “We’ve been all over this, Pepper. Jill has a hairline fracture in her wrist. It’s not safe for her to continue jousting. Since this is individual, not team competition, your inexperience won’t harm the team’s standing.”
“I guess I don’t quite understand why you need an alternate for the individual competition,” I said, feeling more than a little overwhelmed with the enormity of what I was doing.
“The jousting organization has rules regarding the number of team members who must compete in both team and individual combat. It’s to prevent teams from using their best jousters for just one competition, and not the other. All we need is a warm body to replace Jill—your skill, or lack thereof, will affect only your own standing.”
“Ah. That makes sense. I’m not planning on doing this again, so it doesn’t matter how badly I do so long as I’m on your team.”
“Just so.” She paused for a moment as we made our way past the busy vendors, clearly waiting for me to say something more, something she expected to hear.
“Obviously any team who can come in second in the team competition as yours did is very talented,” I dutifully said. “It’s a shame Farrell’s team beat yours, but you can take pride in the fact that it was only by a few points.”
She snorted and continued forward. “Pride, schmide, he stole first place from us, but it won’t happen again. Regardless of that, you replacing Jill will be a very good experience for you. It will give you a taste of real competition without negative repercussions on the image of the Palm Springs Jousting Guild.”
And that image, I had quickly learned, was a god to Veronica. Pride in your team I understood, but Veronica’s “image is everything” attitude went even beyond Farrell’s recognized shallowness.
Veronica was speaking but was too far ahead of me to hear. Moth lunged toward a chicken-on-a-stick vendor who was grilling kebabs, throwing himself on the counter where an innocent patron had set his kebab down for a second.
“I’m so sorry; he’s always a bit peckish in the morning. . . . Sir? Could you get this man another one? Two dollars? Thanks.”
I picked up the cat and his gnawed-upon kebab, running to catch up to Veronica.
“. . . have to agree it’s for the best.” She stopped and gave me an unhappy look. “Pepper, I appreciate the fact that you feel responsible for the cat, but must it accompany us everywhere?”
“Yes,” I said, hoisting Moth higher on my hip. He sank his claws into the back of my hand until I waggled the kebab where he could tear bits of chicken off the stick. “He must. I’m sorry; I missed what you were saying.”
She sighed, then turned and wove her way through the crowd until we were free of the worst of it, walking quickly toward the cream-and-green tents at the boundary of the tent city. “I said that now you’ve joined the guild, it’s only right you should take your instruction from me, and not your lover.”
I ignored the emphasis she put on the last word. If she had issues with Walker and me, that was just tough. They’d been divorced for almost five years, certainly long enough for her to work it all out. “Uh . . . Walker is the man who taught you, so isn’t it just kind of cutting out the middle man to have him continue to train me?”
She froze for a second before slowly turning to face me. Moth ate the last of the chicken and started gnawing on my thumb knuckle, watching Veronica with slitted yellow eyes. “One of the few requirements I have of my team members is that they have the utmost belief and confidence in their team members, myself included.”
Whoopsie, stepped on her toes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound rude. It’s just that if you learned how to joust from Walker, I don’t see why—”
“You’re on my team now, not his,” she said calmly, but there was a note of steel in her voice that convinced me that Fenice and the others were right about her having an overly proprietary nature.
I wanted to tell her what she could do with her team, but I wasn’t there for my own pleasure. I had a job to do, and do it I would. “Right. Sorry. You’re the boss.”
“It would be best if you kept that fact uppermost in your mind,” she agreed pleasantly, then continued toward her tent, towing Moth and me along by the sheer force of her personality.
I met the remaining nine members of the team, (Veronica could get by with fewer members, but insisted on the full team) had a bit of a skirmish with her when she insisted I wear the guild uniform rather than my Wench wear (we compromised with me wearing the tights and tunic, but my Wench pin and accompanying favors, etc.), and sat down for an hour-long pep talk and general indoctrination into the ways of the Palm Springs Jousting Guild.
“How was it?” CJ asked two hours later after I had made a temporary escape from Veronica Land.
“Let’s just say that if Martha Stewart ever decides to take up jousting, she’ll have a ready-made team,” I answered with an exaggerated shiver.
“Ew.” Her nose wrinkled at the thought.
“You said it.”
She eyed me before turning back to the suitcase she’d left in our tent. “I see she was quick enough to brand you. I take it your new friends won’t let you Promenade with us lowly Wenches?”
I turned my back on Moth as he strolled toward his litter box, plopping myself down onto the folded sleeping bag. Moth and I had taken to sleeping with Walker in his tent, using this one as more or less a changing room and feline potty stop. Likewise CJ spent her time in Butcher’s tent. I sighed a particularly martyred sigh as she shook out a royal-blue chemise and added it to a stack of garb. “Not you, too. Walker is going to be bad enough when he hears about my signing up with Veronica, but at least you understand why I’m doing it.”
“Because you plan on infiltrating Veronica’s group in hopes of finding proof she’s behind the attacks,” CJ said in an irritatingly neutral voice.
“Yes, and you don’t have to say it in that tone—you know full well that it’s the only way to find out what’s going on.”
“Do I? Hmm.” She stripped off the chemise she was wearing and donned the blue one. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I think you made a mistake going behind Walker’s back.”
“I’m not going behind his back, per se. If I told him what I was going to do, he’d stomp around and forbid it, and then we’d have a big argument about him going alpha on me. I’ll tell him later this afternoon. It’s too late for him to do anything but rail at me now, anyway.”
She slid me an odd look. “I would think a woman who cared so much for a man wouldn’t want to do anything that made him mad. I know you want to find the person responsible for the sabotage, but I just don’t understand why you are so eager to join Veronica’s team to do it.”
She had me there. I couldn’t tell her about my secret longing to be more than just a temporary bit of fun for Walker. I’d seen how solid the bond of friendship within the Three Dog Knights was, and I badly wanted to be a part of something so wonderful. I shrugged, making light of her question. “Someone
has to do the dirty work.”
“Hrmph.” She didn’t look like she believed me. “I think the truth is that you’re taking the easy path again.”
I picked a bit of dried grass off my tights. “Easy path? Are you insane? What on earth is easy about jousting when you’ve been doing it for just a hair over a week?”
“Not easy physically, stupid.” CJ shot me a chastising glance before slipping her arms through a gold and purple bodice, turning her back to me. “Tighten the back lace, would you? I meant easy as in avoiding that whole success issue with Walker.”
“You are insane. I have no issues with Walker. I talked to all of Veronica’s team today, and unfortunately, none of them sounds like they have the slightest interest in Three Dog Knights other than the normal competitive concerns. And every time I brought up the subject of Walker with Veronica, she shrugged it off. She knows he and I are . . . you know . . . and doesn’t seem to mind that, either, so it’s not like she’s going after him because of me. So what’s her motive?”
CJ shrugged and turned around so I could finish tightening her laces. “Maybe she just wants to win.”
“Everyone wants to win, but they don’t try to hurt other people in order to do it. No, if she has a motive, it has to be compelling enough for her to take such extreme chances, and I just don’t see that in her. In fact, I think she’s just the opposite—very cautious, and doesn’t like to leave things to chance.”
“Anal, you mean,” CJ said as I tied the laces in a knotted bow.
“Well, yeah, that too.”
CJ grumbled as she adjusted first her bodice, then her hair, quickly tying on a blue-and-purple metallic snood. “If you had any brains in your head you’d let the guys deal with it and instead practice your jousting. You’re going to need practice if you intend to join the competition.”
“Trust me, it’s not what I want to be doing,” I said with a sigh, realizing that lunch was over and I’d have to go watch the afternoon’s competition. Not that it was a pain—as serious as the jousting was, the skill games were sheer fun, ones the knights participated in for amusement as well as for monetary reward. What bothered me was that I hadn’t clued Walker or any of his team in to the fact that I had signed on with Veronica, and I dreaded having to explain my reasoning to him. “He’s so damn stubborn about things.”
“Walker?” CJ examined herself in a tiny mirror propped up against the back of the suitcase, decided she was good, and stopped primping.
“Yes.” I stood up and snapped the leash onto Moth’s harness. “You saw him yesterday, Mr. ‘I am in charge of this team, and I will investigate the matter’ just as if no one else has a stake in it.”
CJ pulled the cloth door open, zipping it up behind us as Moth and I started toward the arena where the afternoon’s events were held. “He’s always been that way. He takes his role as team captain very seriously. But don’t worry; Butcher will be helping Walker make sure no other accidents happen to the team. Everything will turn out all right.”
“Mmm.” I wasn’t convinced.
“So what are you doing later this afternoon? The Wenches are hosting a Drink Till You Spew ale tasting, and your company is requested.”
I took a deep breath and tried to block out the mental image of Walker’s face when he found out what I was up to. “Much as I hate to miss a good spewing, I won’t be able to. I asked Farrell for a little help with the quintain. He said he’d be happy to show me whatever I wanted, and yes, the innuendo that you imagine present really was there.”
She sucked in her breath as we skirted two huge bay Percherons who were waiting outside the arena. “You asked Farrell for help? Walker isn’t going to like that.”
That was the understatement of the year. “Can you think of a better way to get close to Farrell without him thinking I have the hots for him?”
“Why on earth do you want to get close to—Oooh, look, there’s Butcher! Lamby-kins! You go!”
I froze for a second, doing a “deer in the headlights” sort of horrified statue thing when Walker, mounted on Marley in front of Butcher and Vandal, turned his head to look back at us. He wasn’t wearing a helm, since there was little chance of injury, thus I could see when the slight smile that curved his lips disappeared as he noticed the tunic I was wearing. Even at the distance of forty-some feet I could see the pain in his eyes before he swung around to face forward.
“Dammit, I knew this was going to happen. Walker!”
“Shhh,” CJ said, grabbing my arm and hauling me and Moth toward the bleachers. “Listen, they’re announcing him. Don’t make a scene.”
“I’m not going to make a scene, but you saw the look on his face. I have to explain—”
“You made your bed; now you can lie in it,” she said callously.
“CJ!”
“Oh, stop giving me that look. You can talk to him later. Now sit down and do the girlfriend thing.”
“What girlfriend thing?” I asked, my eyes on the man in the black armor as he rode into the ring, the crowd applauding him. Why hadn’t I explained to him what I’d done earlier in the day, when I would have had a chance to make him understand my reasoning? Now Walker would be tormented by the thought that I had abandoned him, sold out to a more financially successful team. No doubt his already lackluster performance would take a nosedive with the blow to his ego.
“Smile and act like nothing’s wrong. Yay, Three Dog Knights!” CJ stood and shouted out her support as Walker and Butcher were announced to the crowd.
At least everyone in the arena was cheering for them, but I knew with a twist of my gut that Walker wouldn’t care about the public’s support. “The poor, darling man. Please just don’t let him do anything crazy,” I prayed in a whisper that was lost in the rumble of the crowd and the tinny voice of the announcer.
“Welcome back to the Knight’s Bane World Jousting Grand Championship and Renaissance Faire skill games! This event consists of five games—the quintain, which you can see at the south side of the ring, running the rings, the Saracen’s head, spearing the boar, and the gauntlet. Points are awarded to each knight for successful targeting count in the final total for tourney champion, so be sure to cheer on your favorite.”
“I would, but my favorite would probably plant his spear in me rather than that bale of hay that’s representing the boar,” I said, sinking into a great big pit of self-pity.
“I warned you, didn’t I?”
“There you are! Mind if I sit with you? Bos and Geoff have been sucked into the Norwegian contingent to wager on who’ll do better at the Saracen’s head. . . . Good god!” Fenice stopped in midstep over a bleacher, her eyes huge as she stared at me. “Why on earth are you wearing that? Does Walker know? He’ll be furious! You have to get out of here quickly, before he sees you and goes ballistic!”
I slid my cousin a glance. She looked smug.
“Pepper? Why are you wearing it?” Fenice asked in a whisper as she sat down next to me. She frowned, giving me a look as if she’d never really seen me before.
My heart sank. How on earth was I going to get someone as temperamental and touchy as Walker to understand my plan when happy-go-lucky Fenice obviously viewed me as a borderline traitor, not to mention CJ predicting doom and gloom?
With no hope for it, I started to explain my plan to infiltrate Veronica’s team, but the announcer cut me off as he explained to the audience the goals of each of the five games. I told Fenice I’d fill her in later and sat back to watch, trying to push down the worry about Walker, but every time I glanced at him, it surfaced.
Walker kept Marley at a muscle-warming trot at the opposite end of the ring, but he never once looked my way, a fact that had my stomach wadded into a minuscule ball.
“Just look at Walker the Wild go!” the announcer crowed a few minutes later as everyone in the arena surged to their feet, yelling and screaming as Walker sent Marley into a full gallop, racing down a staggered line of melons atop six-foot-tall poles. Half the
melons wore painted happy faces, indicating friendly foot soldiers; the other half bore frowny faces and snarling mouths—those were the Saracens, the foe to be struck down. Points were given for each foe whose head was demolished by the sword-wielding knight, and taken away for each friend who was accidentally “slaugh-tered.” The one with the most amount of points in the least amount of time won the event.
I was on my feet with the rest of the audience, watching in amazement as Walker and Marley raced through the field of melons, Walker’s sword flashing in the overhead lights.
CJ turned to me with a grin as the crowd erupted into cheers.
“God, it’s good to see him back,” Fenice cheered, jumping in excitment. “Yes! The wild man is back!”
“Lovely,” I said, sinking to the bench, so confused I didn’t know what to think. I stayed that way for the next few minutes while Walker challenged the quintains, getting a respectable ten revolutions on the quintain, and blasting the shock quintain onto its back. He gored the boar (stabbed the hay in its painted heart), was the fastest running the gauntlet, and by the time he and Butcher had gone to the opposite ends of the arena for the running-the-rings race, I was more or less numb with shock. The man on Marley’s back wasn’t Walker, not my Walker, not the careful man who was haunted by the demons of his past—the man out there was a manic crazy-man facsimile of Walker.
“It’s a wonder he lasted eight years before he came to grief,” I said in a quiet voice to CJ. She nodded, her attention on the men, her voice hoarse from cheering nonstop. She was now yelling for Butcher as he and Walker were poised to race around the arena starting at opposite ends, each with the goal of snatching as many rings as possible from the brave squires who stood along the perimeter holding out four-inch straw rings.
“Allez!” the judge in the center of the floor yelled, and once again the entire audience of the arena leaped to its collective feet to scream for their favorites, me right along with them.
Walker flattened himself to Marley’s neck, his long fifty-inch sword a silver streak as it danced in front of the squires, each one successfully coming away with a straw ring. Three of the squires were evidently more than a little intimidated by the sight of Marley and Walker thundering down on them, for they all fell backward as soon as Walker snatched the ring at sword tip. On the other side of the arena Butcher was doing the same, but his horse wasn’t flying as Marley was. By the time the fifty seconds allowed for the race were up, Walker had lapped Butcher.