Secret of Light (19 page)

Brodie grinned. “Not really. The closest I came to wearing anything like this was at Ainslie Castle, and their chain mail was a lot rustier
and
a lot heavier, as I recall.” He bent his head close to Darrell's. “I'll try to get rid of it for this afternoon. Anyway, I wanted to tell you Kate is looking for you. She's over by the fortune teller's tent.”

“Oh yeah! I promised to help Mrs. Follett try out her skills.” Darrell stuffed the rest of the notices into Brodie's hands. “Hand one of those out to everyone you see, okay?”

She hurried off as Brodie reluctantly turned on one stirruped heel and began distributing notices to a large group of giggling serving girls setting tables in one of the food tents.

Darrell read the sign on the tent aloud. “
Madame Flora: Seer of all Things Past and Yet to Come
.”

“Great! You made it. Let's go in.” Kate wore a grey sweatshirt with a huge rip across the front and an elaborately pleated skirt.

“Elegant outfit.”

“I only had time to get half-dressed, okay? I'll get the top on later.” Kate danced impatiently from foot to
foot. “We'll only go in for a minute. I've still got a few things to get ready, but I promised we'd help out.”

Darrell rolled her eyes. “It's only Mrs. Follett, dressed up as a gypsy. We may find out when the next school newsletter will be sent home, but that's about all.”

Kate sighed with exasperation. “Look, I've only got twenty minutes before I have to go back on duty at my booth. It's just to give Madame Flora some practice.”

Darrell shrugged and slid inside the tent, Kate following close behind.

“You go first. I'll stand back here,” Kate said, and pushed Darrell toward the woman seated at a small table inside the gloomy tent.

Darrell sat down in an old wicker chair. The table was covered with a black cloth, garishly embroidered with the signs of the zodiac, moons, and stars in gold thread. A glass globe sat atop a ragged rip in the cloth, imperfectly concealing a flashlight secreted underneath. The dark interior of the tent smelled of mothballs, making Darrell's eyes water.

Madame Flora adjusted her turban, which waggled dangerously as the girls made their way into the tent. “Cross my palm with silver,” she began in a quavery voice.

Darrell rolled her eyes at Kate but managed to fish around in the leather purse she had tied at her waist to come up with a dollar.

“I think I've only got a loonie,” she said, apologetically, “and I know it's not made of silver.”

Madame Flora smiled. “I'm sure it will be fine, dear,” she said, tucking the coin into the pocket of her royal purple bathrobe.

“Wait — wait — I've got silver,” said Kate, and hurriedly stuffed an old quarter in Darrell's hand. Darrell passed the quarter to Madame Flora, who dropped it quickly into her jangling pocket.

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Follett whispered into the corner.

“Happy to help,” Kate whispered back.

Mrs. Follett resumed her role as Madame Flora and gazed meaningfully at Darrell. “Let me look into the glass and see what visions I can call forth from the future,” she intoned, her voice a full octave deeper than normal. She struggled briefly under the table until, with a click, a dim light shone from the crystal ball.

“Your future appears very bright, dear,” Mrs. Follett began, once again forgetting her gypsy persona. The flashlight flickered once and went out.

Darrell snorted. “So much for my bright future.”

“Wait a moment — wait — one — moment,” insisted Mrs. Follett, still fiddling under the tablecloth. The light would not go back on.

“I'm afraid my battery has died, dear,” she said sadly.

“Oh, Madame Flora,” Kate implored. “Can't you read tarot cards or some tea leaves or something?”

Darrell grinned. “That's all right, Madame Flora. It's time we got back to our jobs, anyway.”

“Well, dear, you
did
give me the donation. Let me read your palm, in exchange.” She looked conspiratorially at Kate. “I've just read a new book from the school library on the subject, and I'd love to give it a try.”

A vision of piercing blue eyes floated through Darrell's brain. She swallowed. “I — I'm not sure...”

Kate poked her in the back. “C'mon, Darrell. It's just for fun.”

Darrell glared at Kate, but lay her hand, palm up, on the table.

“Now let me see,” began Madame Flora, squinting though the dim light inside the tent at Darrell's palm.

“Will this help?” Kate said, and hoisted the tent flap to let in a wash of cool air and thin December sunshine.

“Thank you, dear.” Madame Flora put on her reading glasses and peered at Darrell's open hand. “Hmmmm. Well. This is certainly very strange. Well, well, well.” She looked at Darrell over the top of her reading glasses.

“Is it something really cool?” whispered Kate. “Will she marry a tall, handsome stranger with blue hair?” She broke off, dissolving in laughter.

“No, I don't see that,” said Madame Flora, and her face creased with worry. “It's your lifeline, dear. I don't recall seeing one quite like it in the book.”

“What do you mean?” asked Darrell.

“It's so — so branched. The book said broken life-lines are quite common and do not necessarily indicate a short life. But this — well, perhaps it means you will have many careers in the future. That must be it.” Madame Flora nodded firmly.

Darrell began to pull her hand away and rise, but Madame Flora, with a twinkle directed at Kate, pulled her back down into the seat. “We have to check your love life, dear. That is an essential part of having your fortune told.”

“Yeah, Darrell,” Kate chimed in. “Let's see if we can find that good-looking stranger in your future.”

Mrs. Follett smiled, and without even looking at Darrell's hand she gave a little cough and resumed the deep voice of Madame Flora. “You will find great love in your life, and — and — great...” she paused and looked down at Darrell's palm for further inspiration.

“Money?” interjected Kate, hopefully.

“No — no, dear, that's not it.” Madame Flora gazed into Darrell's palm for a moment and then, looking very flustered, pulled off her turban, instantly becoming Mrs. Follett again. She squeezed Darrell's hand and got to her feet. “I'm afraid I'm not very good at reading the future,” she said, patting her flattened hair with nervous fingers. “I think I should go help out with the apple bobbing.”

Darrell gave a forced smile. “That's okay, Mrs. Follett. I know it's all in fun, anyway.” She watched the school secretary struggling to get out of her bathrobe. “Let me help you with your sleeve.”

“Oh, thank you, dear. Yes, the apple bobbing booth is really the place for me. Much less upsetting. Come to think of it, with all the water over there I should probably be keeping this bathrobe on.”

Darrell glanced at Mrs. Follett thoughtfully. “Yes, maybe you're right about that. Um, Mrs. Follett, what did you mean by the apple bobbing being
less upsetting
?”

Kate, who was still holding the tent flap open, let it fall, and the rank, dim light of the tent swallowed them once more.

“Oh, it's all nonsense, anyway,” said Mrs. Follett, but she paused with her hand on the chair.

Darrell gave a short, forced laugh. “I know what you mean,” she agreed, “but what was the last thing you saw in my palm? You said ‘
great love and great
...'”

Mrs. Follett swallowed. “Well dear — to tell you the truth, I'm not very sure of my own ability in this area. You know,” she added with an embarrassed blink, “I only read the palmistry book through the once.”

“Oh, I won't take it seriously, Mrs. Follett. I'm just interested — for fun,” persisted Darrell.

Mrs. Follett glanced over at Kate and then back at Darrell. “Well if you must know, Darrell, I believe the interpretation would be great love and great — loss.”

Kate gave a relieved smile and lifted the tent flap again. “I think Darrell may have gone through that part already,” she said, her smile fading as she pointed at Darrell's prosthesis.

“Goes to show you may have been more right than you know,” Darrell added lightly.

“Oh, you girls are so understanding,” said Mrs. Follett, firmly pinning a “Closed” sign on the outside of the tent. “I promise to give you each a free apple bob to make up for the faulty crystal ball!” She scurried off into the late fall sunlight.

Kate grabbed Darrell's arm. “I thought for a minute she really saw something in your palm,” she whispered. Darrell shrugged and shook her head. She was about to respond when Paris came striding up dressed in full minstrel regalia, sky blue from the tip of his curled leather shoes to the short, gold-trimmed cape on his back.

“Wow! Your clothes are brighter than your hair,” Kate said, laughing.

Paris slung a mandolin over his back and shrugged. His hair, a natural blonde for once, shone in the morning sun. “Thought you'd be interested to hear who is trying out the stocks, Kate.” He grinned. “I know how disappointed you were to hear there were no dunk tanks in the Middle Ages.”

“Lily!” Kate shrieked and rabbited off, calling over her shoulder, “C'mon, Darrell, we've only got five minutes for snore revenge!”

Darrell smiled, but lagged a little behind, thinking about the startled look she had seen on Mrs. Follett's face.

The sun was high as Darrell gathered up the last of the sponges to hand over to her replacement. In the end, Darrell's responsibility turned out to be overseeing the stocks, where students who had fared poorly on a Renaissance quiz were required to spend five minutes at the mercy of those students who had scored better as they wielded wet sponges from a distance of thirty paces. The flags on the fairground poles snapped in the wind blowing in from the water.

She peeked at her watch and her stomach clenched. Nearly time to meet Kate and Brodie. She piled the sponges in a bucket.

Paris leaned on the rail and pretended to duck. “I'm on duty, not a victim!”

Darrell forced a laugh and handed him the sponges. “See you later, Paris. Have fun, okay?”

“Okay. Where are you going first? Food?”

“Oh — yeah. I've heard the taffy pull is pretty fun.”

Paris curled his lip. “I guess, if you like sticky stuff all over your fingers. I had some kind of meat pie for lunch at the booth over there with the gold and purple flags. It was pretty good.”

The last thing Darrell wanted was food. “Okay. That sounds good,” she lied. She grabbed her pack from behind the counter. “Where's your mandolin?”

Paris prepared to unlock a student from the stocks. “I gave it to Conrad. He said he'd put it up in my room. Didn't want it to get wet or stepped on.”

Darrell couldn't believe it. “Are you crazy?” she began, but Kate staggered up carrying half a barrel. Darrell took one look at her red face and grabbed the other side of the barrel.

“Whew! Thanks. I told Mrs. Follett I'd bring her another one. They're bobbing up a storm over at her booth.”

Mrs. Follett waved and walked over, still resplendent, though a trifle damp, in her purple bathrobe. “Wonderful. This will allow me to have two groups bobbing at once.” She looked around. “I asked Conrad to help me with the barrel before he left, but he seems to have wandered off.”

“He's probably putting away my mandolin,” said Paris.

“Stealing it, more likely,” muttered Darrell.

Paris laughed. “You need to lighten up on him, Darrell. If you always think the worst of people, that's what you get back from them.”

Darrell shrugged and turned to Mrs. Follett. “Did you say ‘before he left'? Left where? He should be here
helping out.” But Mrs. Follett had started back. The girls steadied their load and followed the bustling school secretary. “See you later,” Darrell called to Paris.

“Thank you so much, girls,” Mrs. Follett twittered, and waved them over. “This is such a help. I could never carry this barrel by myself.” She pointed to a spot on the brown grass.

“Where's Conrad gone?” Darrell asked. They set the barrel down with a thud.

“Oh, he's probably gone off to pack, dear,” said Mrs. Follett, directing a hose at the apple barrel. “He's been transferred to another school.”

Kate grinned. “You're kidding? That's great!”

“How did this happen?” asked Darrell slowly.

“Who cares?” said Kate. “Good riddance. You should be happy to see the last of him.”

Darrell made sure she was out of the line of fire from Mrs. Follett's hose. “I don't get it.” She paused and looked up at the school secretary. “Are you saying Conrad Kennedy is no longer a registered student in this school?”

“That's right, dear. I got a call this morning from the Youth Corrections Bureau. Apparently they have located his mother in Ontario, and Conrad has been given special permission to return to live with her.”

“That's amazing,” Kate said, grinning. “No more Conrad.”

Mrs. Follett looked disapprovingly at Kate.

“Kate, dear, I expect more of you. Conrad had a few problems, it's true, but that's all in the past. I agree, his father was not a good influence, but he will be under his mother's care now, and I'm sure things will be all right.”

She pursed her lips and looked at Darrell. “I hope he will do better with his mother. He's never really managed to settle in here. You haven't seemed to be the best of friends.”

“Friends!” Darrell shook her head bitterly. “We don't even qualify as distant acquaintances.”

“Well, now he has a chance for a brand new start.”

Darrell picked up her bag. “Thanks for letting me know, Mrs. Follett,” she muttered, and turned to leave. Struck by an idea, she turned back to the school secretary, now dropping apples into the frigid water in the barrel. “What does Professor Tooth think of this?” she asked quietly.