Chapter 9: Renaissance Emergency
El could have predicted they'd arrive at the festival in advance of most everyone else. Base case, her early riser of a husband never slept in. And on a day he was expected to fight in the Battle of Shrewsbury, she wasn't surprised to be awakened when it was still pitch black outside. Not that she'd utter a word of reproach. Peter hadn't groaned once at the costumes she'd selected.
She and Janet eased his pain by claiming the outfits were designed for a Viking warrior and his wife. El was wearing a long gown in amethyst and moss-green. It was sufficiently low cut that any woman in Scandinavia would have frozen in it. Peter's look wasn't extreme. The leather jerkin and loose leggings were comfortable. He was leaving the horned helmet at home, but El already had ideas for it. Halloween was a month away. Diana had written that she and Peter wore Viking costumes for a Halloween party in Arkham. The next speakeasy party would be in late October, giving her plenty of time to plan.
But today was all about the Renaissance, and there were fringe benefits to their early arrival. She was able to snare a prime location on the bleachers to watch the battle. Peter immediately took off to join his fellow warriors, the first contingent of which had already arrived. It wasn't long before Chloe and Diana showed up in the stands with Maia and Christie in tow. The contrast was a startling one. Chloe and Diana looked like Elizabethan Amazons in their padded vests and breeches. Christie and Maia were both in long Renaissance gowns. Maia's was particularly ethereal in lavender velvet. Diana and Chloe stayed just long to drop them off before leaving to join the larpers.
"Will you provide medical help on the battleground?" El asked Christie.
"I hope that won't be required," she said with a laugh, "but I'm ready if they need it. I'm volunteering at the medical tent. When the festival organizers discovered I'm a doctor, they asked if I'd mind staffing an emergency medical service area. So now I have a little blue neon EMS light in addition to my Da Vinci diagrams and leech jars."
"Leeches? You've heard about . . ." El didn't know if she should mention it aloud. None of the papers had mentioned leech wounds.
"Diana told me," Christie assured her. "It's an odd coincidence. Bloodletting was so commonly used in the Renaissance, I felt we needed to include them, but mine are small and harmless." She turned to Maia. "Has Dean been able to find the creature he saw?"
"Not so far, but he's been patrolling every night."
"Will your sister be here today?" El asked.
Maia nodded. "She brought a selection of books about the occult to sell in the Wicca tent. Chloe and I are slated to help there, too. We intend to promote witches as a force for good. During the Early Renaissance, witches were considered healers."
"I saw your sister yesterday," El said. "She dropped in at our rehearsal for Bell, Book and Candle. She gave me tips about how to incorporate feline expressions into my performance. Electra pointed out that the heroine Gillian and her cat are much more in tune than most people realize. It's a subtle art of lounging like a cat—a slanted gaze, an arched back. Her comments were a revelation."
"I sympathize with Gillian's quandary," Maia said. "In the movie, she says witches can't love. Surely that's wrong."
"But that adds to the dramatic tension. Gillian has to become human to truly experience love." El chuckled. "Electra was funny in lamenting the sacrifice Gillian made. I must admit she made a strong case."
Maia shook her head but didn't say anything. El hoped it would work out for them. From her understanding of a hunter's life, Sam faced worse challenges than any Sir Galahad had to face.
"May I join you?"
El turned her head to see Sara approach in a stunning crimson gown.
El beckoned for her to sit beside her. "You're not fighting with Keiko and Diana?"
"I decided to sit this one out," Sara said. "I'll perform in the dance demonstration later today. This way I won't need to make any wardrobe changes."
Sara's remark was perplexing. Diana told the Arkham Round Table that Sara loved costumes. It was one reason Diana had included a Halloween dinner date in one of her stories. Wouldn't Sara have enjoyed the opportunity to wear different looks?
El introduced her to Maia, and they were soon deep into a discussion of gown designs. Janet had supplied Christie and Sara's attire. Christie was wearing a peasant look to enhance her image as a Renaissance healer. Maia said her gown came from England where she'd been an undergrad.
A flurry of drumbeats, trumpet calls, and wild cheers announced the arrival of the troops. El saw Neal and Sam standing off to one side with several other musicians. Sam was clothed as a warrior even though he wasn't fighting. With his long hair, his outfit seemed particularly authentic. Neal was wearing a tunic in shades of plum and cranberry with a full-sleeved white shirt and dark breeches. After the fanfare ended, a history professor introduced the Battle of Shrewsbury to the spectators.
"There are Sam and Neal!" Maia called out and stood up to wave. "They're coming our way."
Maia's eyes were only on Sam. A smile was on her mouth, but her eyes looked worried. El glanced at Sara and was surprised to see her studying Neal with almost the identical look of concern.
El hadn't seen Sam recently, but he looked thinner than she remembered. Neal's weight loss was even more striking. Peter had warned her about it. How could he have shed pounds so quickly?
As a member of the U-boat con, Sara had been kept informed of the cloud hanging over Neal. In retrospect, it may have been for the best that El and Henry's matchmaking efforts had gone nowhere. Now with Neal supposed to con Bianka, trying to maintain any kind of dating relationship with Sara would have been impossible. Neal had been guilty of over-protecting his former girlfriend. He might have tried to keep Sara at a distance too and this was a time he needed all his friends around him.
But if it hadn't been for his job and the curse, would he and Sara have gotten together? El's heart told her Sara's interest was more than that of a friend. She suspected Sara hadn't participated in the battle so that she could keep Neal company. Was Sara secretly pining for Neal but unable to say anything? Was she keeping her emotions hidden so he wouldn't distance himself from her?
Under the circumstances, there was nothing El could do, but her heart went out to both of them. They could feel trapped by circumstances beyond their control.
#
Although the history department had initially intended the battle to be a historical reenactment, the larpers persuaded them to lighten up. From Neal's perspective, it was just a mob of enthusiastic warriors in costumes ranging from sci-fi and fantasy to Celtic and medieval, with a few Vikings—not just Peter— thrown in as well. Everyone seemed to have immense fun as they charged around with foam swords and spears.
Neal yelled himself hoarse, too. The White Collar irregulars were on the victorious royalist side. Henry Hotspur died an ignominious death. Neal swore that Diana had the most bloodcurdling screams of any of the warriors. He even caught Dean eyeing her with admiration.
As for Neal, how could he complain? He got to sit next to the most beautiful woman at the festival instead of having to pretend to be infatuated with Bianka.
Once the battle was over, everyone split off. Sara claimed she was ravenous from watching everyone else fight so they made a beeline to the tavern where they gorged themselves on barley and beef stew in bread bowl trenchers.
Sara's dance demonstration was scheduled for early afternoon, leaving them plenty of time to peruse the market and exhibits. Mixed in with the merchant stands were educational booths prepared by various university departments. The mechanical engineers had built models on how to storm castles. The English and foreign language departments had their tents staffed with students dressed to portray authors from the period.
Later he and Sara strolled over to the music pavilion which had been set up west of the Cloisters. Angela had persuaded a few of Neal's distant Caffrey relatives to attend. They built folk instruments and performed folk music at Renaissance fairs throughout the country. Their ranks were supplemented by local instrument builders and students from the music department.
When they arrived at the pavilion, Neal noticed Sam and Maia were talking with a man by a display of harps.
"Let's go over and join them," Sara suggested.
The builder turned out to be a member of a historic instrument shop near Boston that specialized in period string instruments.
"Do you play?" Sara asked Maia.
"I learned how to play the lyre. It was often used by the Greeks to accompany poetry." Her fingers stroked the frame of a small harp on a stand. "When I was a child, I had a harp."
"This model is a Celtic lap harp," the builder said. "Would you like to try it?"
"You should," Sam urged. "I've never heard you play."
She blushed. "It's been so long. I'm sure I wouldn't be any good."
"That doesn't matter," Sara said. "But I bet it will come back to you."
Several festival visitors gathered around, eager to hear a demonstration. Maia took the harp, sat on a bench next to the builder, and began to strum it softly. The tune gradually took shape and Maia began to sing.
Neal was amazed at how good she was. When Maia went to Riffs with them, she hadn't mentioned she was a singer. Sam asked her to sing louder. The music conjured up misty moors and verdant hillsides. Neal recognized the tune as "Moon Cradle," a song his ex-girlfriend Fiona liked to perform. It was based on a poem by an Irish poet. Unlike Fiona, Maia sang it in Irish. When she ended, she appeared dumbfounded by the applause which broke out.
"You should buy that harp," Sam declared. "It was meant for you."
"Anyone who can sing that way in Irish needs a harp," Neal agreed.
She hesitated and then a smile broke out. "I think I will."
"Where did you learn the language?" Sara asked.
"I'm researching the Celtic Greek connection for my doctorate. I taught myself a few words."
She was far too modest. Neal didn't speak Irish but he'd heard it often enough to recognize the sounds, and Maia's accent sounded spot on. Sam was enthralled. Neal could picture Maia in a castle while Sam rode off to combat monsters. A Pre-Raphaelite image filled his mind, and he itched to paint it.
"Neal?" Sara's voice was tentative as she laid a hand on his arm. "Are you all right?"
"Sorry, I was thinking about a painting." Neal shook his head to free himself of artist cobwebs.
"Not of the Marquesa I hope," she murmured.
"No, at least . . . " Surely that wasn't Astrena influencing him? He gave Sara a reassuring smile. "You caught me in an art moment." He glanced at his watch. "It's almost time for Angela's play. The theater is just north of here."
They left Maia and Sam with the builder and resumed their stroll along a lane crowded with festival-goers. The assemblage of buildings making up the Cloisters was a harmonious blend of cloisters, tile roofs, and a bell tower perched on top of the hillside. It was easy to imagine they were on a pilgrimage to a medieval monastery.
As part of her doctorate program, Angela was working with a group of kids from a public elementary school. She was refining a concept she'd developed over the summer where she produced musicals based on children's stories and fables. The kids learned how to play simple folk music instruments, and educational concepts were taught through the medium of music. For the festival, the kids were performing a version of Aesop's fable about the town mouse and the country mouse.
Sara would need to leave soon for the dance demonstration so they didn't dally after the show. On their way back, they browsed through the stalls in the market. A Renaissance jewelry vendor in particular caught Sara's eye. When she fingered a pendant of a whimsical griffin holding a pearl in its claws, Neal fished for his wallet.
The symbolism of the creature, which combined the features of a lion and an eagle, was appealing. Klaus had given him the nickname of Lion Cub. Neal liked the idea of being compared to a cat but a cheetah was much more to his taste. This pendant showed the hindquarters of what could easily be a cheetah. In Diana's stories, he'd called Sara a mockingbird, and if he squinted his eyes, the bird looked a little like one.
"You need a necklace to wear with that dress," he declared. "Since I won't be dancing with you, I'm designating this fine fellow as my stand-in. He'll make sure your dance partner doesn't take liberties."
"Ah, you've heard about those licentious Elizabethan dances." She held up her hair so he could fasten the clasp. "No one better try, or I'll sic my griffin on them."
"What time should I show up for your performance?"
"The venue opens at three o'clock. We're holding a last-minute rehearsal backstage beforehand."
"Excuse me." He turned around at the unfamiliar voice to see a man and a woman with a teenage girl.
"Your costumes are beautiful," the woman said. "Are you performers?"
"Why yes, we are!" Sara replied, her eyes lighting up. She tilted her head at Neal. "Should we give them a sample?"
What did Sara have in mind? They hadn't planned anything, but he decided to wing it. "My pleasure," he said and made a sweeping bow to the girl. "My gentle lord and ladies, we are members of an acting troop, charged with reenacting Shakespeare's most famous lovers." He addressed the teen. "Would you like to make a request?"
She blushed and was tongue-tied for a response. Sara whispered something in her ear, and the girl's face brightened. "Rosalind and Orlando!"
Neal beamed. "Excellent choice!"
Sara made a deep curtsy. "This is from Act 4 of As You Like It." She stepped back from Neal and demanded, "Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humor, and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, and I were your very, very Rosalind?"
"I would kiss before I spoke." He then drew her close to make good on his words, lingering perhaps longer than Shakespeare intended, but the crowd appeared to love it. Some even asked them to repeat it so they could capture it on video.
Among the requests for an encore, someone called out, "Now do Beatrice and Benedick!"
Much Ado About Nothing was one of his favorites. Neal faced his beloved. "I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is that not strange?"
Sara replied, "As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you."
Any reply like that necessitated another prolonged kiss. When they broke off, Sara said with a laugh, "Now I really do need to run, good sir."
Neal wasn't concerned about the cameras or the spectators. This was no different than the many other times they'd playacted a scene. A few friends had come out from the Wicca tent to watch. He'd seen Chloe and Electra in the crowd.
As they took their leave, he murmured, "Someday this won't be a con."
She whispered back, "Who says I didn't mean my words?" She gave him a glance that warmed his heart and made him wish more than ever he could dance with her that afternoon. "Tonight you'll have to allow me to express my appreciation for this charming griffin. Be sure to bring your costume with you."
His imagination leaped to intriguing thoughts of Shakespeare in the boudoir as he watched Sara stroll off. The Wicca tent was selling velvet herbal charm bags, and he decided to buy one as a surprise for her.
Before he could act on the idea, a blast of ice swept over him. He clutched at a metal upright as the intensity of the cold robbed him of the ability to breathe. His surroundings blurred.
Dimly he heard a voice ask if he was okay.
No, he wasn't okay. A figure in blue ice formed in his mind. The tendrils of her long hair seized him like a thousand snakes, squeezing the life out of him. "Medic," he mumbled.
"Oh, you're a performer! You had me fooled!"
Someone clapped. "How did you achieve that effect?"
His legs buckled, his grasp slipping from the pole. "Medic tent . . ."
"Let's play along," someone urged.
He felt arms around him, supporting him and helping him stagger toward the tent before time slipped away.
#
"Neal, can you hear me?"
He opened his eyes to see Christie's face over him. She smiled when he looked at her. "That's better. Don't try to sit up."
Unnecessary advice. He felt lightheaded and weak, but he could breathe again. Had Astrena grown bored with him and was now torturing someone else?
He was lying on a gurney in the emergency service area. A blood pressure cuff was on his arm. Pillows had been propped under his legs. "Did I pass out?"
She nodded. "In quite a dramatic fashion. Two men dragged you into the tent. They were convinced you were performing and wanted to stay around for me to apply leeches to you."
When he gulped, she quickly added, "Don't worry. You're only getting modern treatment." She glanced at the dial on the cuff. "Your blood pressure was extremely low. Sixty over forty-five. That's reason enough to lose consciousness. It's coming back up now. Did you experience any other symptoms?"
Before Neal could answer, Chloe stepped into view. "You're awake! That's good news."
"How long was I out?"
"About ten minutes. I was with Christie when you arrived. Dean called Peter. He's on his way."
If he'd been feeling better, he would have been dismayed at all the fuss his collapse had caused. But as it was, he simply nodded and relaxed back into the pillows. He was freezing even though he'd been covered with a blanket. "Do you have another blanket?"
Christie unfolded one and spread it over him. "You never answered my question about your symptoms. I've already written down sensitivity to the cold."
Neal looked at Chloe. "She was inside my head."
"Astrena?" she asked, startled.
"I'm sure of it." Neal described the vision he'd had and his inability to breathe.
"Feeling cold and breathing issues are also symptoms of hypotension," Christie noted. She checked the dial on his cuff. "You're up to ninety over sixty now." She removed the pillows from under his legs. "Do you want to try to sit up?"
Neal used his arms to prop himself upright. He was grateful when Christie assisted by slipping more pillows behind his back.
"I hear we missed quite a performance."
Neal turned his head to see Peter and El standing at the entrance to the curtained-off cubicle. He appreciated that Peter kept his tone light.
"Sorry, no encores," he said, replying in kind.
"Do you need to go to the hospital?" El asked worriedly.
"No," Neal said quickly before Christie could reply for him. "Astrena's left the building. I'll be fine."
"At the rate your blood pressure's coming back, there's no need to pack you off to the hospital," Christie agreed. "I'd like you to rest here for another half hour or so and then you can go home. No more festival activities for you, I'm afraid. And tomorrow I expect both you and Sam to report for physicals. I'll have Medic Alert bracelets ready for you." She frowned for a moment. "You shouldn't stay alone in the loft."
"C'mon, Christie. That's not necessary."
El rolled her eyes. "After what just happened, yes it is. And I know June is gone this week. You'll stay with us."
"I appreciate the offer but June's staff is still there. And I . . ."—Neal took a breath—"I'll ask Mozzie to stay in the loft with me. He doesn't sleep at night anyway."
"Has Sam experienced any sudden attacks like Neal just had?" Christie asked Chloe.
"Not to my knowledge, but I'll ask Maia. She's been keeping a careful eye on him. She said he's been sleeping better this week, but his stamina isn't improving."
"I'll bring our car around," Peter offered. "By the time I return, you'll be able to leave." When Neal started to object, he raised a hand. "Never argue with a Viking. We already saw Angela's play. That was the only other event that was high on our list."
But not on Neal's. He'd hoped to see Sara dance. El probably wanted to as well. No chance of that now. It wasn't any consolation that he didn't feel strong enough. When Peter departed, Christie turned the lights off and urged him to rest. He waited till everyone left and then texted Sara. Their night of romance would have to be postponed.