Normally, Barclay would thrill at such a story of danger and heroism. But now he cringed, thinking of Mitzi and thegirl and everything that had happened in the Woods.
“I—I think I’ll take the history one for now.” He groaned as he picked up the gigantic book.
Mrs. Havener’s face fell in disappointment. “I thought you loved adventure stories.”
“I’m not really the adventure type,” he barely managed to squeak out.
Then he thanked Mrs. Havener and left, hoisting the massive book into his arms. He headed in the direction of the town hall, and the closer he walked, the more decorations he passed.
There was a festival in Dullshire tonight, celebrating events from not just one kingdom buttwo. Because Dullshire was so rural and insignificant, none of the neighboring kingdoms that surrounded the Woods had bothered to lay proper claim to it. Occasionally a tax collector came from one duchy or a trader visited from some far-off realm, but the people of Dullshire were quite confused by it all. So, always preferring to be safe than sorry, the town celebrated the holidays of all of its nearby kingdoms. Today marked both the coronation of Konig Gebherd of Humdrum and the birthday of Princess Katrin of Diddlystadt.
Though Master Pilzmann had given Barclay and Selby the day off to celebrate, Barclay wasn’t so sure he wanted to join the festivities. As much as he’d like to sample the food, he knew he shouldn’t be calling attention to himself in case someone discovered the Mark.
But even if it was for the best, it was hard not to stop as he passed the town square.
There was dancing—couples skipping to double-timed beats with arms linked, fiddlers and drummers playing along from the balcony of the town hall. Food stalls lined the edges of the courtyard, beckoning Barclay closer with smells of apple dumplings and potato pancakes. The decorations were dizzyingly colorful: the blue and gold streamers of the Humdrummish flag clashing with Diddlystadt’s vibrant orange, black, and green. There were no balloons, of course—balloons had been banned since that disastrous jousting match between Mr. Bielke and his goat last year—and the lawmakers had recently forbidden all tournaments of beanbags or hopscotch. But even in a town full of rules, there were still plenty of ways to have fun.
Without even meaning to, Barclay had wandered into the center of the square, still carryingThe Extensive Historyin his arms.
“Barclay?” someone said behind him, making him turn.
Selby motioned to him from a nearby table, which he was squeezed into with his many siblings. He clutched a half-eaten bratwurst on a stick in one hand, and even though it wasn’t a mushroom, he suddenly looked unhappy to be eating it.
“W-what are you doing here?” Selby asked uneasily.
Barclay glanced longingly at one of the stands, wishing he had some money. “I was just passing by.”
Beside Selby, his siblings cheered. Barclay looked to the center of the square, where a very blond, very pink man was being wheeled in circles in a cart.
“What’s going on?” Barclay asked.
“B-because of the konig’s birthday—”
“You mean the konig’s coronation,” Barclay corrected. “And the princess’s birthday.”
“R-right. They’re giving a prize to the man in Dullshire with the m-most children, and my dad won.”
Barclay wasn’t surprised, as Selby had more siblings than he could likely count. In the center of the square, a Dullshire lawmaker awarded Selby’s father with, in lieu of a trophy, an especially large ham.
“Why are you stuttering so much?” Barclay asked him. Selby only stuttered when he was nervous.
“I…” He flushed extra pink. “I’m nervous about apple smashing and hammer throwing later.” This made sense to Barclay, who was also made easily anxious when it came to sports. “The families with the most wins gets a real trophy.”
Barclay’s shoulders sagged. He’d been to enough of Dullshire’s festivals to know how these games worked—without a family to compete with, Barclay would be excluded.
“And b-because Master Pilzmann’s looking for you,” Selby blurted.
“He is?” Barclay asked fretfully. “Did he say why?”
“No.”
“Did he look angry?”
“No.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
At that, Selby took an especially large bite of his bratwurst, and promptly choked on it. After several moments of coughing—with both Barclay and one of Selby’s sister taking turns whacking his back—Selby swallowed his mouthful and managed, “I’m going to get a drink.” And then he fled.
