As the leaders head down to the fairgrounds from the pub, Daryl falls behind to talk to Cyndie and Carol falls in place somewhere beside Rosita. "I do hope you were joking last night about hooking up with someone at the fair."
"Lieutenant Alvarado?" Rosita asks. "Of course I was. Even if Michonne was done with him, I think there's some kind of rule about friends an exes."
"I meant anyone," Carol says a bit more pointedly. "Earl? Remember? Is that not serious?" That poor man's already been through his wife cheating on him.
"Relax. I'm not planning to hook up with anyone. But, hey, by all means judge my relationships as well as my explosive skills."
"No one's judging your explosive skills," Carol insists. "I just think it would be better to control the flow of walkers."
Michonne draws up beside them now, a finger draped casually through the belt loop of her tight jeans. Carol doesn't know how she moves freely in those to slay walkers, but she manages. "What's this I hear about you hooking up with Lieutenant Alvarado?"
"It was a joke," Rosita insists. "But would you actually care? Inquiring minds want to know. I bet he wants to know."
"Carlos knows what this is," Michonne replies. "I've been very clear with him. And I don't think he wants to live in Rick's shadow anyway. But it's fun, a few times a year. If he manages to find someone in the meantime, I'll be happy for him."
"What if he hooked up with someone from Oceanside today?" Rosita asks. "It wouldn't bother you?"
"A little," Michonne admits. "Because I'm horny as hell today."
Rosita laughs. "I'm sure there are plenty of sailors who would oblige you if you didn't have access to the lieutenant."
"Yeah," Michonne flashes her bright smile, "but I like the lieutenant best."
She falls silent because now Daryl has rejoined Carol. "Think we should send Sweetheart back tomorrow 'fore we do this," he tells her. "On that speedboat, with Shannon 'n Gary, too. Garland's gonna blow a fuse if that ship don't show up when it's 'sposed to, with his wife and kid out here."
Daryl's right. Especially after that pirate attack, a delayed ship will have all of Jamestown worried. The speedboat can bring news ahead of the slow-sailing ship.
"Rachel can drive it, right?" Daryl asks. "Think her and Henry will take 'em? Cyndie says 's okay if we use it, long as we bring letters to Jamestown and bring it back in a week with mail."
"I'll ask them. I'm sure they will." If Henry accompanies them on the speedboat, he won't be able to join them to fight the horde, but she'd rather have him protecting Sweetheart. Rachel's seven month's pregnant and shouldn't be anywhere near that horde anyway. Maybe the bounce and jolt of a speedboat isn't the best idea for her, either, but she always on that fishing boat, and it will give her something to do so she doesn't feel left out of the whole adventure. Carol gets the impression Rachel needs to feel important to her community. And delivering news and children, if not exactly exciting, is certainly important. "Think Sweetheart will be afraid of the speedboat? How fast it goes?"
"Nah. Think she'll love it."
[*]
The trade fair unfolds with merriment and haggling. There are booths with wares, food, and games. Judith shows Sweetheart the "wopes," leading her to various game booths, with Carol and Daryl in amused tow to watch the toddler's excitement. Most of the games she's frankly too little to play, but Judith helps her to fish in a barrel, and she wins a rubber duck, which she carries with her like a prized possession.
Eugene is in the dunking booth. Sweetheart's toss of the ball comes nowhere near the lever, but Judith shows her how it's done, and after the older girl's second throw, Eugene splashes into the tank and comes up sputtering.
"How's Candy?" Carol asks him as he smooths back his wet hair.
"A-okay," he answers. "But she's with child, as you know, and so she's stayed in Alexandria to get a little RT on the DL."
"What?" Daryl grunts.
"I think he means rest time on the down low," Carol says.
"Precisely," Eugene agrees. "I've brought copious quantities of her own personal brand of moonshine." He points to the table not far from the dunking booth, where mason jars full of clear liquid rest. "Prices are posted, and you can leave payment in the boxes under the table. On your honor."
"We'll get a small jar," Carol assures him. "She's adjusting well to Alexandria?"
"Like a fish to water," Eugene assures her.
Daryl nudges Carol and she sees that Sweetheart has disappeared. A quick search reveals her toddling toward the fortune teller, who sits in a chair with a small table before her. The table holds a deck of tarot cards, a crystal snowball, and a sign that advertises palm reading as well. The fortune teller, an Oceanside grandmother, is draped in a purple silk robe and wears a turban of sorts on her head. Judith catches up with the toddler and holds back her hands when she tries to jerk the purple tablecloth off the table.
When Daryl and Carol catch up, the fortune teller asks Daryl if he'd like to have his daughter's palm read. "Just one round of ammo."
"Pffft. Nah."
Daryl's not much for superstition, or maybe he is, Carol thinks, because fortune tellers make him strangely uneasy.
"Yours then?" she asks Carol.
They brought a lot of ammunition for trade, but they weren't expecting to have to slay a horde tomorrow. She's being sparing in her purchases. "I don't think so."
"Coffee beans then?" the woman asks.
"Ain't payin' someone to bullshit me," Daryl mutters.
"Read me!" Judith insists, and fishes into the front pocket of her checkered button-down shirt to hand the lady a round of .357, the kind of ammo that goes with Rick's old Colt Python. The gun's too heavy for the little girl to use – too much kickback – but Michonne lets her practice holding it and dry firing it and has even let her shoot a real round a couple times at a target. The first time she tried it, Judith hit herself in the face with the gun after the kickback, and it left a mean red mark.
"Wead me!" Sweetheart echoes and bounces in place.
"How about I read you both for the price of one?" the fortune teller asks, smiling at Sweetheart as she drops the round of ammo into a metal cash box.
Daryl shifts uneasily. "She don't need a palm readin'. Ain't even two."
"That's the best time to read them," the woman insists, and takes Sweetheart's hand – the one that's not clutching the yellow rubber duck - and turns it over. She runs a finger along the lines of her flesh and Sweetheart giggles.
"Does that tickle?" Judith asks her.
"Twiggle!" Sweetheart echoes.
"This is the life line," the fortune teller says, tracing the line across Sweetheart's palm. Beside Carol, Daryl tenses. She can almost feel his muscles tightening. "And it indicates a very long life." Daryl relaxes. "This is the heart line…" The old Oceanside woman's fingertip runs over the line. "See these breaks in the line? These ruptures indicate heartache, struggle, false starts…a difficult quest for love." Daryl tenses again. Great, Carol thinks. He's already not thrilled with the idea that Sweetheart might one day date. Now he's going to be an absolute guard dog when it comes to her romantic interests.
"Just makin' shit up," Daryl mutters in Carol's ear, and he sounds like he's reassuring himself.
"But see how the heart line curves here with a happy flourish, almost back in on itself?" The palm reader asks. "After all the longing and heartbreak and uncertain starts, you will discover your true soul mate, closer at hand than you ever expected, and you will enter into a quiet love. You'll live your longest and best years together. This is the fate line. It's surprisingly shallow. This suggests you will have a great deal of influence in determining your own fa –"
Sweetheart jerks her hand back. "All gone!" That's what she says when she's done eating.
"Determinin' 'er own fate a'right," Daryl says a little proudly.
"My turn," Judith insists and turns her hand over for the woman.
The woman runs her wrinkled fingertip over Judith's lifeline, hesitates, and frowns. "You will survive into adulthood," is as much as she'll say, and Daryl tenses again. She goes to the heart line next. "You will have a great, but short-lived passion in your life."
"Like my parents?" Judith asks. She's talking about Rick and Michonne, of course, who had too little time together in this world.
"That passion will burn like a flame, and you will have to be careful not to let it consume you."
"Pfft," Judith says, and she sounds a bit like Daryl when she does. "Not a problem. No guy's that worth it."
The fortune teller smiles lightly. "This is the fate line. You will one day be a hero to your people."
"Hey, no pressure," Judith pipes with a shrug. Carol and Daryl catch eyes and snort.
"Your head line is deep and thin. This indicates you're smart, but sometimes a little too smart for your own good."
"That's what my mom tells me."
"Think yer mama's talkin' 'bout ya bein' a smart ass," Daryl tells Judith. "Shouldn't give her so much lip. Ain't nobody can be too smart, though. Don't listen to that bullshit."
The fortune teller glances at him but doesn't respond to his comment. Sweetheart turns to him and says, "Up, Dada, up!" Daryl lifts her up and settles her on his hip. She puts her mouth on the head of her rubber duck and begins to suck on it as she watches Judith finish her palm reading.
"Your head line is separated from your life line," the palm reader says, "which indicates a bold and extroverted character."
Carol raises an eyebrow. "Well, that's certainly accurate."
"Pfft," Daryl says. "Could of read that a mile away."
When the palm reading is done, they carry on with the fair. Judith splits off from them to rejoin Michonne and RJ, who are with Lieutenant Alvarado. Daryl and Carol buy Sweetheart a small cup of apple sauce as a treat, and then later a small popsicle made from freezing grape juice made with the Hilltop's grapes. Daryl and Carol eat grilled vegetables on a stick at one of Alexandria's booths and pork rinds at Jamestown's.
The kids' sack races take place after lunch. Sweetheart's too little to make sense of it, and she ends up playing peekaboo with Carol using one of the sacks as the racers hop at the whistle. To everyone's surprise – except maybe the Dixons – it's Gary who take first place, just barely overcoming Judith. Gary's the youngest child competing – younger even than RJ – but he's the most energetic by far.
[*]
Carol sits Sweetheart down on a rock on the beach when it's time to watch the crossbow competition. Daryl doesn't usually have much competition, but a young man from Alexandria is doing surprisingly well after the first round – which means he's within thirty points of Daryl. Carol's pretty sure he was just a teenager when she saw him at the Kingdom's third and final fair. He looks like a real man now.
"He's only nineteen," Michonne whispers to her. "I had to remind myself."
"Nineteen's legal," Carol says with a smirk.
"Not legal to have a real conversation with, though."
Carol glances at Lieutenant Alvarado, who, with RJ perched on his shoulders, has walked over to talk with Captain McBride on the other side of the range. Judith is off somewhere in the village with a gaggle of friends, including Hershel and Gary, still playing kids' games. "Is the lieutenant a good conversationalist?" Carol teases.
"Let's just say he makes good use of his tongue."
Carol chuckles.
Sweetheart is amusing herself by smashing her rubber duck's head into its body with her fist and then watching it slowly reformulate itself.
"Hey, watch," Carol tells her. "Daddy's about to shoot."
Sweetheart gasps, looks up from her duck at the archers, and shouts, "Dada, Suit!" The cheer must distract him, because his arrow only makes it into the second circle outside the bullseye. His next shot, however, is right in the center again.
The young man from Alexandria takes the silver. After Daryl's done collecting arrows from his target, he strolls over and shakes the young man's hand. They end up swapping and looking over each other's weapons, and Carol's pretty sure he's lost him for awhile to crossbow talk.
"Boys and their toys," Michonne says with a roll of her eyes. "By the way, I was admiring the hilt of you knife there."
"Oh, well, you should see the blade then." Carol draws her knife from its sheath.
[*]
The competitions continue, one after another. Carol takes the silver in long bow, behind Dianne. She earns the gold at knife throwing, but she wonders if she would if Daryl competed instead of watching Sweetheart. There's staff, axe throwing, javelin, sword fighting, foot races, and martial arts sparring, too. The wrestling match is accompanied by the rough cheering of sailors. After two elimination rounds, the biggest and best square off - Jerry and Captain McBride. It's a rough, messy, and near-even grapple, but McBride finally relents and settles for the silver.
Toward the end of the evening, the Dixons settle on a wool blanket on the shore to watch the last event of the day – the horse races across the beach. Sweetheart, tugging on one earlobe, curls up and lays her head on Daryl's upper leg, exhausted from the events of the day, her little rubber ducky tucked affectionately in the crook of one arm. Carol sits on the other side of Daryl and rests her head on his shoulder.
Daryl drapes his left arm around Sweetheart and his right around Carol's waist. "I got me two sleepy girls," he murmurs.
"I'm not sleepy," Carol insists. "Just comfortable."
"Take 'em down, Gunther!" Captain McBride shouts. He sits on a nearby log of driftwood, on the other side of their blanket. He's sitting very close to an Oceanside woman who isn't Cyndie. Mallory, Carol thinks her name is. The woman's mildly attractive, in her forties, maybe ten years older than McBride. Perhaps he and Cyndie have called things off, because when the woman rests a hand on the captain's thigh, he doesn't brush it off.
The horses line up for the first heat not far from Carol and Daryl's blanket. A cocky former knight of the Kingdom – one who always annoyed Carol - makes fun of Gunther's straw farmer's hat as they stand by their horses and pull on their riding gloves. "What do you think you are with that?" he asks. "A cowboy?"
Gunther looks the younger man up and down. "Well, I am a cowboy, son."
"Yeah? How so?" The knight makes a point of mounting his mare with a flourish.
Gunther mounts his own stallion in a far more business-like manner. He brought the horse at the Hilltop's request, to breed it with one of their mares. At the Annual Alliance Fair, even the horses get to have one-night stands. "I raise, breed, herd, and milk cows."
"Oh."
Gunther reaches forward and strokes the neck of his stallion. "The deputies found this poor fellow five years ago, tearing through a deserted field, fleeing walkers. They tranquilized him and brought him in, and when he woke up, I broke him. Didn't I, Baloo?"
The horse whinnies.
The knight scoffs. "You named your horse Baloo? Not very intimidating."
"Oh, I don't know," Aaron says from horseback beside him. "Pretty sure that Kipling bear could rip a man's head off."
"What's a Kipling bear?" the knight asks.
Aaron and Gunther exchange looks and chuckle. "Visit the Alexandrian library sometime," Aaron suggests.
The knight nods to Aaron's stub of an arm. Aaron hasn't bothered with a prosthetic for the horse race. He doesn't have one he can use to grip reins, anyway. Instead, his reigns are attached to a controlling device he's invented that he holds with one hand while maintaining his balance by steadily gripping his horse with his thighs. "You just race for fun, I guess?" the knight asks.
"Oh, I race to win," Aaron replies. "Just like everyone else."
Before the former knight can talk anymore trash, the whistle sounds and the horses are off. Carol is glad to see Gunther leave the knight in the dust, and even gladder to see Aaron eke him out by a nose. The two winners of each heat move onto the second round, which means the cocky knight is already out of the running.
After three heats, there are six first and second place winners ready to compete in one final race for the gold, silver, and bronze. That means Dianne and Gunther will now be squaring off for the first time this evening. Standing a few feet from Carol and Daryl's blanket, while the horses are tended to by groomsmen who give them drinks from pans and brush out their coats before the final race, Dianne takes a swig of her canteen and passes it to Gunther.
As he drinks, Dianne asks, "Care to make this interesting with a wager?"
The canteen slurps free from Gunther's mouth. "What sort of wager did you have in mind?"
Dianne shrugs. "If I lose, I have to marry you and move to Jamestown."
Gunther can't suppress his smile. "And if I lose?"
"You have to marry me and move to Oceanside."
Gunther's smile falters.
"Not a wager you're willing to make, is it?" Dianne's face forms that unreadable mask she's learned to perfect in these hard times. But her voice is more revealing. "I suppose the prize isn't worth the sacrifice of the move in your eyes?" She takes back the canteen from him and swigs a little angrily. Then she lowers it again.
Gunther reaches for the canteen and gently pries it from her hand. "I accept your wager," he says quietly as he holds her eyes and screws on the lid. He drops the canteen on the beach and then strolls over to mount his horse. Dianne, the left side of her stern mouth twitching into a smile, mounts her mare beside him.
"Bloody hell!" McBride mutters from his log. "Gunther damn well better win this race!" He glances at Carol. "If he doesn't, I won't be the one to tell Garland we lost our farm manager at the fair."
