Page 4 of The Starling and the Hatter

“Of course. I wouldn’t waste your time if I could not pay you.” I’d been viciously guarding the money I’d stolen from my brothers for just this purpose, which was why I hadn’t bought any additional food. I pulled the coins from my pocket, leaving only three bits in my stash, and put the rest on the desk beside him, my hand trembling as I pulled it away. “I can pay you this much.” I stepped back, my heart in my throat, hoping it was enough.

He looked over the coins, then gave a nod. “Very well. We can make that work.” His mouth twisted to the side as he studied me further. “Might I suggest a starling?”

“A starling?”

He nodded as though excited by the idea. “Yes, they are not as popular a choice as the nightingale, but also not as drab as a warbler. Black plumage with purple or green mixed in. Liberally dotted with white. It could be quite striking.”

I marveled at how easily he threw out the suggestion. “That sounds perfect, but as I said, I’d need something right away. The festival has already started,” I said, looking out at the people mingling together. “It will be here the entire week, will it not?”

He had turned to walk off before I finished my sentence. I followed him into the rows of fabrics and ready-made pieces, watching as he pulled a black cape from the depths of the tent before moving on to a braided basket filled with feathers. He dug into it, and as he pulled the feathers out, I realized they were all attached to different pieces of fabric of various shapes and sizes. He found two thin strips, one covered with dark green feathers, the other with small white feathers.

“No purple?” I asked as I followed him to another corner of the tent.

“Green will complement your coloring better.”

He returned to the bench where I’d found him and pulled some thread from a spool.

“The festival will be here the whole week, right?” I asked again, willing him to say yes. I needed this clearing to be packed with crowds for as many days as possible. I needed this costume so that I could perform for those crowds, so that I could start making money. If I could make money.

“Yes, it will be going through Sunday.”

I sighed in relief. “Good. I’m not familiar with the usual times for festivals up here,” I said to explain my worry.

“Most of the sellers and performers came either on Sunday or yesterday.” He cut his eyes over to me. “You’re new at this?”

“Yes. Well, I’m new to performing by myself at least.”

He nodded, his dark-brown hair falling over his forehead as he bent over his task. I pulled up a seat and watched him work for a few minutes, curious how he would do it. The way he handled and manipulated the fabric and feathers spoke to years of experience. He was at peace as he worked, and I wondered if he was a traveler or a local. His ease in this festival spoke of time on the road, but he didn’t seem to have the restlessness that most of us carried.

“What will you do after this festival ends?” I asked, hoping he was familiar with the northern circuit and could tell me more about it.

“I’ll be heading to Stormbrook next, and then Lorta will be our last stop.”

I frowned in confusion. “What about Winhaven?” Winhaven was the capital of Winberg, the seat of the sovereign duke and duchess. Surely they had a spectacular festival there.

He nodded. “We’ll take that route next year. The northern mountain prevents us from traveling to all four cities, so each year we either go east to Stormbrook and Lorta, or we go north, around the west side of the mountain all the way to Faehurst and then across to Winhaven.”

“You’re a festival rat?” I asked.

His mouth quirked up at my question. “I suppose so. Though the fact that my father has an established home and shop here makes us somewhat of an oddity. This is our home, but my father and I travel during the festival season.”

I nodded. “A festival mouse.”

He turned to me, one eyebrow raising as though unsure if he should be insulted or not. “What?”

I blushed. I hadn’t meant to offend, so all I could do was explain. “That’s what we call you behind your back. Or, people like you. Your kind aren’t as fierce as those of us who grew up on the roads.”

His forehead wrinkled, and I could tell he took umbrage at my words. “Having a home makes me weak?”

I shrugged. “Just different.”

He dropped his eyes to the cape and made several more stitches before reaching into a pouch on his belt to pull out a small pair of scissors. He cut the thread, then looked up at me. “Do you enjoy constantly being on the road?” he asked. “I’ve always had a home to come back to, so…”

My heart burned with jealousy at the thought. “Hmm.”

He tilted his head, questioning my hummed response. “What?”

“It’s a nice idea,” I said while my chest tightened with wanting. My mother had been my only real home. “An actual home combined with the freedom to travel.” I gave a little shrug. “That would be nice.”