Nancy Atherton (33 page)

allow it. And
I
certainly won’t.”

“I’m sorry, Cal.” Jinks’s manic grin vanished as he locked eyes

with Calvin. Then he let himself fall.

Calvin lunged forward and caught Jinks around the knees with

Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon

217

both arms. Jinks struggled wildly to break free, but with the strength

of a sumo wrestler, Calvin heaved him onto the roof, pulled him

upright, and punched him in the face. Jinks crumpled into an unconscious heap at Calvin’s feet.

Calvin looked down at him for a moment, breathing heavily,

then leaned over the battlement and threw the keys to Bill.

“Be a good chap and pop up here,” he said. “I’ll need help getting the poor fellow down.”

Twenty-three

T he bonfire crackled and snapped in the cool night air. I

sipped from my flagon of hot chocolate and listened to

the sounds of the drowsing encampment—the indistinct

murmur of voices, sudden outbreaks of laughter, the gentle notes of

a harp. Beside me, Bill gazed reflectively at the star-fi lled sky. Unbeknownst to me, he’d arranged for Will, Rob, and Stanley to

spend the night at Anscombe Manor, so we were allowed to stay

out late.

Bill had attained celebrity status among the Rennies. He’d received so many salutes, bows, curtsys, and admiring looks as we

crossed the encampment that Calvin had half jokingly off ered to

share the throne with him. Bill had politely rejected the off er, saying

that he’d already found his Camelot.

Randy Jack had been given a somewhat less favorable reception

when he’d crept back to his pavilion after the fight. The foot soldiers,

as it turned out, took a dim view of the mistreatment of civilians.

Their code of honor did not allow a knight to kick a handyman in

the ribs.

The men had communicated their dis

pleasure to the Dragon

Knight, who’d promptly packed his bags, loaded Lucifer in his trailer,

and taken off for parts unknown. Calvin was serenely untroubled by

Sir Jacques’ defection. He’d intended to sack the bounder anyway, he

told us over dinner at the farmhouse, and replace him with a chap

who didn’t take the bad guy role quite so seriously.

A log fell on the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the air.

Horace Malvern refilled his flagon, then passed the pitcher of ale to

Sir James, who handed it off to Lord Llewellyn. Lord Belvedere

was drinking mead. The hectic hours we’d spent giving statements

Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon

219

at the police station in Upper Deeping were behind us. It was

pleasant to sit peacefully around a bonfire, sipping our chosen beverages and reviewing the remarkable events that had brought us

together.

“The fair is very much like a village,” Bill continued, lowering

his head and looking from Calvin’s face to mine. “And nothing goes

unnoticed in a village. Two food vendors saw Jinks near the quintain, with a knife in his hand, after the morning practice session on

opening day. They didn’t think twice about it, because . . . well,

because he’s Jinks.”

I nodded. “That morning, when I heard the sound of the saw—I

remember noticing how quiet it was on the other side of the stile. I

thought Jinks was still asleep in his camper.”

“He wasn’t asleep,” said Sir James. “He was up on the gatehouse, making fine cuts in the parapet’s supports. A builder noticed him, but didn’t ask him what he was doing. He assumed that

it had something to do with the opening ceremony.”

“A ticket wench saw Jinks come out of the motor home with the

crown,” said Lord Belvedere. “She assumed that he intended to

wear it during one of his routines.” He gazed into his mead. “We

found it in his caravan, hanging next to his jester’s cap.”

“Mistress Farseeing, the crystal-ball vendor, saw him near the

cannon,” said Lord Llewellyn, “and the rocks in the brook near his

picnic spot had definitely been disturbed.”

“It’s a moot point, in any case,” said Lord Belvedere. “He’s confessed to everything.”

“I haven’t read his confession,” I said, “and I can’t read your

minds, so I’m still in the dark about a few things. Would someone

please explain to me how he poisoned the king
after
he’d left for

Cheltenham? I mean, did he ever go to Cheltenham, or did he lie

about that, too?”

“He went there.” Bill took a swig of ale, then placed his flagon

on the ground and clasped his hands loosely around his knees. “But

before he left, he presented Calvin with a bottle of Riesling, which

220 Nancy Atherton

he’d spiked with a tincture of aconite—also known as monkshood.”

“We found monkshood growing wild near his picnic spot,” Lord

Llewellyn put in.

I recalled the pretty flowers dotting the sylvan glade and shivered.

“We had the wine bottle analyzed after Calvin became ill,” said

Lord Belvedere. “The dose of aconite in it was too low to kill anyone, but it would have incapacitated Calvin for several days, had he

drunk the entire bottle himself.”

“Fortunately, Calvin has a generous nature,” Sir James went on.

“He shared the bottle with me and three of the courtiers, thus

sparing himself the full effects of the aconite.”

“Okay,” I said. “I understand how he managed the poisoning,

but I’m still not clear about the stampede. Where did Jinks get the

dog?”

“Liebling belongs to a gentleman who lives in a flat on Montpellier Terrace in Cheltenham,” said Lord Belvedere.

“Jinks’s friend?” I asked.

“They were at school together,” said Lord Belvedere. “I followed Jinks to Cheltenham. I saw him put Liebling in his caravan.

If I hadn’t lost him in traffic, I might have prevented the stampede.

However, I did lose him traffic, and he was able to travel back to

Fivefold Farm and set Liebling loose on the herd in the south paddock.”

“After he’d opened the gates between the paddock and the

horse pasture,” Mr. Malvern interjected. “Liebling’s a fine, friendly

dog, by the way. He’d just never seen a cow before, so he got overexcited.”

A young woman emerged from the darkness beyond the pool of

bonfi re light and walked over to Calvin. I recognized her immediately as the tallest madrigal singer.

“Sorry to bother you, Cal,” she said, “but I thought you’d want to

Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon

221

know that Mirabel and Edmond are back from hospital. Edmond’s

ribs are bruised, not broken. He should be up and about in a couple

of days. Mirabel’s going to nurse him back to health.”

“Of course she is,” said Calvin, smiling. “Thanks, Kay. That’s wonderful news, indeed.”

“Mirabel also asked me to ask you if you would marry them on

the last day of the fair,” said the young woman.

“Tell her that I will be honored to preside at the ceremony,” said

Calvin. “It will be an idyllic conclusion to their romantic summer. Now,

off to bed with you. I expect you to be in fine voice on Saturday.”

The young woman bent to kiss the top of his head and he blew a

kiss to her as she departed. I sat up straight and stared after her as a

number of ideas began to spin rapidly in my mind.

“Calvin,” I said slowly. “Who was that?”

“Kay Jorgensen,” he replied. “My cousin.”

“If you spot her in the crowd during the pro cession,” I said, “do

you blow a kiss to her?”

“I do, as a matter of fact.” He laughed. “It’s a family tradition. I’ve

blown kisses to her ever since she was a small girl.”

I felt the color rise in my face and hastily lowered my gaze to my

flagon. I would never admit it to the men sitting around the bonfire

with me, but I’d just solved another mystery. Mirabel hadn’t been

responding to King Wilfred when she’d curtsied during the procession. She’d been flirting with Sir Jacques, who’d been walking

beside the king. King Wilfred’s kiss had been aimed well over Mirabel’s head, at Kay Jorgensen, his cousin, who’d reacted with composure because it was a family tradition, not a come-on. My mistake

had been in assigning Calvin characteristics he simply didn’t possess.

Aunt Dimity had been right about him. Calvin was no lothario.

“Cal,” Mr. Malvern said gruffly, “I wish you’d change your mind.”

“You can go on wishing, then,” said Calvin, with unaccustomed

severity. “I’m not going to press charges against Jinks. He’s spending

the night at the station because the police insisted on it, but he’ll be

222

Nancy Atherton

a free man tomorrow morning. The poor chap’s had a breakdown.

He needs to be looked after, not thrown in prison.”

“He could have killed you,” Sir James pointed out.

“Yes, but he didn’t, did he?” Calvin retorted irritably. “And he

never meant to kill me, so I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“He duped you into giving him control of your finances,” said

Lord Belvedere.

“I
want
him to control my finances,” Calvin shot back. “He’s done

a bang-up job so far, and I expect he will again, once he’s recovered

himself. We’ll make the arrangement all legal and aboveboard, naturally, but I’m going to ensure that he has his fair share of my

money. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have so much of it.” Calvin

peered at us in exasperation. “Can’t any of you imagine what he’s

been going through? The poor fellow’s been worried sick about ending up penniless, crippled, and alone. Is it any wonder he’s a bit

doolally?”

Mr. Malvern, Sir James, and the two lords shook their heads in

bewilderment, but I caught Calvin’s eye and nodded. I found it extremely easy to imagine what Jinks had been going through. It was,

however, nearly impossible for me to imagine someone with a heart

bigger than Calvin’s.

“Once he stops fretting about his future,” Calvin continued,

“he’ll settle down and be his old self again. When he’s released

from jail in the morning, I’m going to see to it that he has the

very best of care.” He raised his hand, palm outward, in a gesture

signaling finality. “Let there be no more discussion. My mind is

made up.”

A period of silence followed his pronouncement. Finally, Calvin cleared his throat.

“I think you should have a knighthood for your valorous work

on my behalf, Bill,” he said. “What say you?”

“I’m sorry,” said Bill, “but I can’t accept. I’ve already sworn an

oath of fealty to my family, so I can’t swear one to you. My sons, on

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223

the other hand, are ready and willing to become knights of your

realm.”

“We’ll have a horseback ceremony for them,” Calvin proposed,

warming to the idea. “We’ll do it in the arena, before the joust.

The more pageantry, the better, I say.”

“They’ll love it,” I said. “It might be a good idea to knight Thunder and Storm as well.”

“An excellent idea,” said Calvin. “We’ll have to start thinking

about Edmond and Mirabel’s wedding, too. I want it to be a day

they’ll never forget.”

“Leave it to Lori,” said Bill. “She’s good at weddings.”

“Would you consider arranging it?” Calvin asked me.

“Would I consider arranging a full-out medieval, prince-andprincess,

happily-ever-after, fairy-tale wedding?” I said in one

breath. “Yeah. I think I might be willing to give it a go.”

“Try stopping her,” said Bill, grinning. “Are you allowed to

marry people, Calvin?”

“Oh, yes,” Calvin replied. “I got my minister’s license online last

year. It’s perfectly legal.” He sighed. “The wedding will be my last

official ceremony at King Wilfred’s Faire.”

“Until next year,” I said.

“I’m afraid there won’t be a next year,” he said. “At the end of

the summer, I will close King Wilfred’s Faire permanently.”

For a split second we simply gaped at him. Then came the reactions.

“What?”
said Mr. Malvern.

“Huh?”
said Lord Llewellyn.

“I beg your pardon?”
said Sir James.

“Close the fair?”
said Bill.

“Permanently?”
I said.

“Why?”
said Lord Belvedere.

“I don’t much like being king,” Calvin replied thoughtfully. “Nor

do I enjoy managing such a large enterprise. I’ll see it out to the end

224 Nancy Atherton

of the run, of course, but when it’s over—and when Jinks is well

enough to come with me—I’m going back to America. I’ll work as

a town crier or a lord mayor or a peasant.” He chuckled. “Perhaps

I’ll sell turkey legs again. Anything to spare myself the dreadful

burden of all this blasted responsibility.”

“Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,” said Bill.

“Truer words were never spoken,” said Calvin. “Clever chap,

Shakespeare. Knew a thing or two. My head’s so uneasy that I’ve

decided to demote myself to the rank of duke for the rest of the

summer. I’ve hired a new king. He’ll start on Saturday.”

I stared at him in utter disbelief. “You mean . . . King Wilfred

is
dead
?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Calvin. “But a new King Wilfred will be born the day after tomorrow.”

The men observed him solemnly for a moment, then got to their

feet and raised their flagons. I hastily followed suit.

“The king is dead,” said Bill. “Long live the king!”