Philomela was standing in front of her tent, one elbow resting on the sign which said "Secrets of the future revealed - Madame Philomela shall read your fate". Without interest, she was looking at the crowd that swarmed among the glittery fair stands, carrying heaps of toys, sweets and drinks. Children howling, out-of-breath parents trying to catch up with them, cooing pairs of sweethearts who passed Philomela by, fully absorbed in each other. On the stand nearby a bottle wobbled off the shelf and crashed, earning a good home for yet another weird nickel silver pendant. A horrifically pink balloon nearly brushed at Philomela's nose. It was momentarily followed by a child of unknown gender and very dirty face.
Philomela watched the kid bump into a small teenage girl whose black braids almost shone against a dress even pinker than the balloon was. The girl squatted to chat with the child, then looked up at her companion, a man in a velvet jacket. With a radiant smile, he produced the horrid balloon from behind his back and handed it to the kid, bowing exaggeratedly. The kid skipped off. The artificial flowers in the girl's hair were aggressively tacky, but at least she knew her medieval dress. The man's clothes, however, were in late nineteen century style with velvet, a silk cravat and a mane of brown locks. Nice, she thought, mildly amused, if incongruous. He must be cooking alive in all this.
"I saw a water seller, there." The girl gestured with her pink sleeve at the crowd.
"I'll wait for you." Her companion said. His voice was quite pleasant, with traces of Merseyside accent, she thought. The man walked up to Philomela, hiding from the sun in her tent's shadow. He put his hands into his pockets before pulling them out and wringing them in front of himself. Then he gave Philomela a friendly look.
"You see the future?" He asked.
She studied him, took note of a wistful, poetic look in his eyes and nodded.
"Are you concerned with your future fate? Or possibly your daughter's?"
He blinked, then smiled slightly.
"Oh, Elaine isn't my daughter."
Philomela committed this to memory.
"My ward, maybe. Although who guards whom is not always so straightforward."
"You do not worry about her, and yet I rarely meet someone not apprehensive about future at all."
"Well, so do I."
She pushed at the entrance curtain of her tent.
"We never know what fate shall bring." She said in as mysterious a voice as she could muster. It sometimes would put people in the right state of mind.
"Some light, however, may be cast."
The man gave her another smile. "Why not?"
The inside of the tent was minimally cooler than the outside. With a flourish, Philomela showed her client one of the wickerwork chairs, taking the other one for herself.
"Remember" she said "that proper reading of the signs is not an easy matter. As they refer to you on a very personal level, they may be obscure without this context."
The man nodded. Philomela stretched her hand towards him, jingling her bracelets just enough for the right effect.
"Then relax, give me your hand and allow the vibrations to circulate freely."
"Vibrations do not circulate."
She blinked. "Pardon?"
"Vibrations" he simply said, "move in straight lines. There are, of course, standing waves, but-"
"I meant spiritual vibrations."
She saw a mischievous glint in the client's eye. No malice, surprisingly, just amusement.
"I didn't peg you for a sceptic." She muttered.
"I'm not. I'm very open-minded, you'll see." And there, another disarming smile. Philomela didn't have the heart to throw him out. Sceptic or not, he might still pay for a good show. She took hold of the man's palm, a wide and strong one, and brushed her fingers over it.
"Hmmm... shall we, then, start with your past... for past is pregnant with the present, and the present begets future..." she whispered.
The client said nothing, but Philomela felt no increase in tension and decided this was the right way. She stroked the inside of his palm.
"Years ago you left western England... mmm... difficult to say how many years..."
She paused dramatically, but the man kept his silence, so she tried to prod him a little.
"Were you not happy there?"
"In England? That's where I spent the best years of my life so far."
"Yes, yes, I can see it in the shape of your hand. However, your chained heart line indicates you were not satisfied with an ordered existence... You didn't leave for no reason..."
He shrugged slightly.
"No one does."
"Quite. Your travel lines are distinct... I can feel several, but the deepest and longest begins very close to your heart line..."
"Mhm."
"What can this mean?" Philomela mused out loud, forcing herself not to yell at the man, who remained silent. Bloody say something.
"The signs are vague... the worst may well be far behind you..." She risked a glance at his face. It was obscured with these dark hair of his, but the man seemed to be looking at their hands, lost in thought.
Suddenly he said "Maybe I just got lucky and took my chance."
Beggars can't be choosers.
"It is possible... your fate line is very visible and entagled with the heart line. It was a decision that required courage."
He chuckled.
"Or stupidity."
"You regret it."
"No. Looking back, I'm really glad I was so stupid. Irresponsible."
He looked up at her, and his eyes were blue and clear like aquamarine.
"I left everything to step on an unknown path, and I would probably have hesitated if I knew what would happen. But I would do it again."
Philomela nodded.
"Of course, I was older when I ran than you were. Maybe this made it easier. Less to lose."
She blinked.
"When you ran?" she muttered, not even bothering with the Pythia-on-acid act. He nodded.
"As you did, Philomela. From thanatos. I'm glad I did."
"I don't believe" escaped her lips, and he turned her hand in his and held it, as if he was comforting Philomela.
"The secret is to never stop."
She cleared her throat.
"Yes, well... ermmm..."
"Doctor!" a girl's voice called, muffled a little by the fabric of the tent. The client's palm slipped out of Philomela's hand. He stood up.
"I have to go."
He reached for the entrance curtain, but paused, briefly.
"Susan is a lovely name. Much nicer than Philomela."
With this, he left her, heart pounding.