Claire Delacroix (5 page)

’Twas not uncommon, Viviane knew, for people of means to adopt odd habits or styles of dress. Both Monty and the other occupants of Avalon Viviane had already seen certainly challenged her ideas of appropriate apparel.

This Barb had skin the hue of honey, another marvel, and her eyes were narrow and dark. Viviane had never seen such strange and exotic features, and she tried not to gape. Certain ’twas appropriate, she bowed deeply upon making Barb’s acquaintance.

Barb and Monty seemed to find this amusing.

“She’s like got this fourteenth century thing going,” Monty whispered, though his words were loud enough to be audible to all.

More than once in all her days, Viviane’s tendency to idle chatter had been her ruin. She recognized that Monty had brought her to a potential patron and bit back any reply that she might have made. She clasped her hands together, met Barb’s gaze steadily and let Monty explain.

Though it nigh killed her.

“But, you see, the real deal is she’s stranded here at this medieval fair, waiting on royalties from her publisher.”

“Without a return ticket?” Barb asked skeptically.

“Hey, I can hardly criticize poor financial planning.”

Barb rolled her eyes at that.

“And like who
wouldn’t
want to be stranded here, it’s a great place to work. You know it can take forever for publishers to ante up...”

“I’ve heard you whine about it often enough,” Barb acknowledged. “Though they don’t seem to have the same casual manner with their billing.”

“See? Capitalists! All those suits in Toronto...”

“Monty, spare us the lecture,” Barb chided softly. “What do you want?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked more like a child begging a favor than he had thus far. Clearly Barb was his superior in terms of power and influence. “Viviane needs a job. I thought you said you needed someone in the shop.”

Barb’s lips pursed and she pushed her spectacles up her nose as she looked hard at Viviane. “What do you write?”

Monty did not seem inclined to answer that one, but turned to Viviane in turn, his lean face alight with curiosity.

Viviane swallowed and tried her best to not make a muddle of matters. “Romances, tales of chivalry and knights and quests afar.” She did not trust herself to say any more, for she truly did not understand this matter of publishers.

It must be some fabrication of the realm she had entered - but surely knowledge of great tales of chivalry would win her some favor here? Viviane could only hope!

To Viviane’s relief, understanding dawned on Barb’s features. “Right! They sell really well.” She gestured to one wall, the myriad books there adorned with colorful pictures and flowing type. For the thousandth time that day, Viviane fought the urge to stare.

“All right,” Barb continued with a nod of resolve. “Look, here’s the deal. You seem like a nice enough person, a bit down on your luck, but that’s how a lot of people end up here. Since romance pretty much pays my rent -“ she smiled fleetingly “- let’s call this one good deed for another. Think you can watch the shop?”

Viviane glanced to either side. The shop did not look inclined to do anything unexpected, though one could not take appearances for granted when one mingled with sorcerors. “Aye,” she agreed cautiously.

“I can show you the cash and credit card stuff in a few minutes. Six bucks an hour is about the best I can do, but you’re free to read when it’s not busy or even work on your writing. How’s that?”

Viviane parted her lips, prepared to accept whatever terms were offered, even fall on her knees in gratitude, but Monty interjected. “Come on, Barb! Go to like at least
seven
. She’s gotta get a place to live.”

Barb folded her arms across her chest. “Off-season’s practically here. The rents will get cheap.”

“Right. And you’ll give her less hours when business slacks off.” Monty rolled his eyes. “Come on, give her a break.”

“Six is it,” Barb maintained with a resolve Viviane was already beginning to associate with her. She fixed a bright glance on Viviane that made that woman straighten. “But you can have the room over the store for two hundred dollars a month if you help me clean it out. Separate entrance.” She put out her hand. “I’ll need a deposit. One month’s rent.”

“Barb! She’s like outta cash!”

The woman looked skeptical. “I’m supposed to grant a complete strangers a room in my house
and
a job in my shop with no show of good faith on her part? I don’t think so. Maybe you ought to ease up on the homegrown, Monty.”

Viviane had no idea what she meant but her companion colored. “So, like, give her an advance on her wages.”

“On the basis of your sterling endorsement?” Barb folded her arms across her chest, her expression telling.

Monty swore – though the words were unfamiliar to Viviane, their meaning was more than clear. He dug in his pocket and came up with some brightly colored parchment. “Here’s fifty bucks. My life savings. And if I can bend a bit for Viviane, then so can you. You’re already like taking advantage of her on the wage.”

Viviane understood that this was their currency, by Monty’s manner and Barb’s attempt to take it from his hand.

But he snatched it back. “Utilities included?” Monty prompted.

“What are you, her agent?” Barb demanded more sharply than she had spoken thus far. “I’m not made of money, you know. Season’s nearly over, sales are going to go down the drain.”

“But Christmas is coming, every retailer’s dream…” Monty teased.

Barb folded her arms across her chest again and glared at Monty. “She’s not supposed to live off this wage, just be getting by until she gets paid. That’s the best I can do – otherwise I’ll just hire one of the local kids.”

“I think it is most generous,” Viviane interjected hastily, her years of trade telling her that the deal was on the verge of collapse. Goodness knew, even the most wealthy patron could become testy if their largesse was assumed to be boundless.

Monty parted with his parchment with obvious reluctance and Viviane knew she would have to repay his generosity.

“By Goddess, it’s even real,” Barb muttered.

“Thank you very much.” Monty’s manner turned haughty.

Viviane moved quickly to ensure the arrangement did not falter at this point. “I should be delighted to aid you in clearing the room above.”

Barb surveyed her appraisingly. “Hmm, well, I’ve been meaning to drag a lot of that stuff down to one of the charities. Anything you can use, feel free to make your own. You don’t seem to have a lot of baggage” – she punctuated that with a glance to Monty and fingered the parchment – “and there are some old clothes up there that might fit.”

Viviane bowed so low that her nose nearly touched her toes. “I am overwhelmed by your generosity and shall ensure that you find no disappointment with my services.”

“One of those medieval freaks, eh?” Barb mused when Viviane straightened. “Well, maybe it’ll bring in business. Check the section when you have a chance and let me know if there’s anything in particular your friends might like. Can you start today?”

“Your wish is my command,” Viviane acknowledged with another bow, her move making her miss Barb’s fleeting smile.

“But she has a dinner date,” Monty insisted, then grinned rakishly for Viviane. “I’ll meet you here at seven.”

* * *

The Gulf Islands are sprinkled between the east coast of Vancouver Island and the west coast of British Columbia. The largest of those islands, Salt Spring, has a considerable reputation as a haven from urban hassles, an enclave of artists and artisans, a destination for meandering sailboats. Although Salt Spring was originally settled because of the comparatively low price for the land – thus making settlement there an option for various Australians, ex-slaves and other adventurers – those days of economical real estate and comparative seclusion are long gone.

Viviane was not the first to believe she had discovered paradise the moment she set foot on Salt Spring’s shores. The island has been ‘discovered’ by tourism, a fact that had driven its population to an all-time high, its privacy (and water table) to an all-time low and generally created stress where once there had been virtually none. In this case, the island’s unique distinction in the Gulf Islands of having three harbors – all with regular ferry service – has proven to be its bane.

It’s just too easy, in the opinion of many, to get there.

And so, Salt Spring Island finds itself in the midst of a battle familiar to ‘discoveries’ – that of striking a balance between the soul-pleasing pleasures of privacy and the earthly delights of a robust local economy.

Ganges, Salt Spring’s main town, is a bustling haven of activity, particularly in the summer. The ferry from the B.C. mainland stops here, disgorging tourists, bicyclists and locals returning from shopping sprees in Vancouver. Ganges’ harbor for visiting and resident sailboats is the largest on the island, and thus similarly busy. Restaurants, coffee shops, bakeries and art stores abound.

One of the benefits to Viviane of this constant influx of people was that no one paid much attention to her arrival, nor even was interested in learning precisely how she had arrived. The population mix on the island, and the many eccentricities among those individuals, also ensured that no one cared about whatever Monty meant by her “fourteenth century thing”. On Salt Spring, it not only takes all kinds – most of them are already there.

Indeed, it was rather startling to discover how well she fit right in. Viviane marked this to the incredible tolerance of those wise beings deemed worthy enough to populate the mythic wonderland of Avalon.

The obvious wealth might have been surprising to another, but Viviane expected nothing short of perfection from the fabled island of which she had so often written. With each passing day, she was more convinced of her conclusion. Avalon this was and Avalon ’twould eternally be.

As Monty was teaching her to say, Viviane had lucked out.

And by the end of her first week in this island paradise, Viviane had developed a plan. Her primary objective was to do naught that might prompt questions, or even worse, lead to her expulsion back to where she had come. After all, any fool knew that powerful sorcerors and immortals could be testy and the archbishop had no plans for Viviane that she shared.

Here she would stay, or die trying.

Secondly, interaction with Barb’s clientele had made it clear that Viviane’s speech was unduly odd. She resolved to say as little as possible, lest she make a grievous error.

Viviane was not so good with silence, however; it was against everything within her to not chatter fairly incessantly. All the same, there was little choice to be had. And she did watch her speech diligently, declining to use ’twas and trying to utilize the patterns she noted here.

Viviane increasingly felt as though the words she bit back were going to spill through her skin at some future, much dreaded and quickly approaching point. It was as though they welled up inside her, like a river trapped behind a dam. Viviane supposed that even in paradise, there were prices to be paid.

If she was surprised to find Avalon so focused on mundane commercial activity, she quickly found a rationale – was it not said that idleness led to wickedness? Clearly, those powers in charge of this isle had no need of trade, but used it to provide productive activity for their occupants.

’Twas reassuring to consider that perhaps ’twas not so different in Avalon from all Viviane had known.

Viviane managed to read when business was slow and was delighted to find these romances much the manner of tales she was so accustomed to inscribing on parchment. Indeed, ’twas marvelous to learn that those who inscribed the tales were yet paid as she had been, but here, they were evidently paid ‘royally’.

Paradise indeed.

Though she labored as hard as she could, Viviane knew that she could not rely upon her patroness’ indulgence forever, nor indeed upon Monty to feed her each evening. Nay, she had to earn coin of her own, and mercifully, she could still ply her old trade. Her head was full of tales, and she had but to put them to vellum once more. ’Twould ensure that she did fit in with this markedly industrious population.

And also, that she could perhaps afford a residence more private. Then she could chatter to herself, or to the very walls, in order to let out those held-back words, and that with no fear of being overheard.

’Twas her best hop of not saying something she would regret.

So, Viviane decided that she would begin with one of her favored tales, that of Gawain and the Green Knight. She could blend in the other tales of Gawain – as always she had wanted to, but could not as a copyist – and create one fine volume of that most chivalrous and noble knight. Then she would seek out these publishers, evidently so necessary yet held in such disdain by Monty and Barb.

That decided, Viviane bought markedly fine parchment – wrought of chipped wood, of all things! – and a magical quill which never needed to be dipped in ink. Each night, when the store was closed and the town fell quiet, as the stars slowly appeared in the indigo sky and the moon rode high, Viviane wrote and wrote and wrote.

And if her Gawain bore the manner and visage of a certain kindhearted handsome knight parted from her forever by magical seas, then none but Viviane would guess the truth of it.

* * *

Chapter Three

The archbishop himself read the Mass.

The cathedral was crowded on this morn, for most had heard the tale of Niall’s pending mission in the three weeks since Viviane had vanished before his own eyes. If naught else, they were curious to see the knight who had been fooled by a witch.

’Twas not a reminder that the man in question appreciated. Niall’s ears burned when he stepped into the cathedral and the whispering began.

Niall’s patron - waiting serenely ahead - was a lean man, though his formidable will tinged the air even from this distance. The archbishop of Cantlecroft had an air of command that drew every eye to him, even when he sat back behind the altar as he did now. Indeed, the hair rose on the back of one’s neck beneath the weight of his regard.