The woman crossed herself and kissed her thumbnail. 'Saint Veronique! Tell me more!'
Karay's eyes opened. She smiled sadly and shook her head. 'It tires me greatly to use my
skills. I have just come from Spain, where I was given five gold coins for seeing into the
fortunes of a noble lady of Burgos.'
The woman's mouth set in a tight line as she mixed pancake batter. 'You're a fortuneteller!
My money is too hard-earned to spend upon such fancies and lies!'
Karay looked proudly down her nose at the pancake seller. 'I already have gold coins. What
do I need with your few centimes, Madame Gilbert?'
Batter slopped from the bowl as the woman stopped stirring. 'How do you know my
husband's name?'
Karay replied offhandedly. 'It was never the name of the children you did not have. Shall I
see into your future?'
The woman's face fell. 'You're right, we never had children. If you don't want money for
telling my fortune, then why did you come here? What do you want from me, miss?'
The girl smiled, sniffing dreamily at the aroma from the stall. 'My grandmother used to make
pancakes for me exactly like the ones you make—proper country style, eh?'
The pancake seller smiled fondly. 'Ah, yes, proper country style . . . You could tell my
fortune and I'd give you one.'
Karay turned her head away as if offended. 'Only one?'
Shooing off a wasp and covering the honey pail, the woman spread her arms wide. 'How
many then, tell me.'
Karay played with her dark ringlets a moment. 'Eight—no, better make it a dozen. I have a
long way to travel, and the food they serve at some inns is not to my taste.'
The woman looked a bit shocked. 'Twelve pancakes is a lot!'
Karay shrugged airily. 'I could eat them easily, with enough honey and butter spread on them.
It is a small price to pay for knowing what life and fate will bring to you, Madame.'
The woman wiped both hands on her apron. 'I will pay!'
Karay came behind the planks that served as a counter. 'Let me see the palm of your right
hand.'
The woman proffered her outspread palm. Karay pored over it, whispering prayers for
guidance from Saint Veronique loudly enough for her customer to hear. Then she began.
'Ah yes, I see Gilbert, your husband, he was a good baker. Since he has gone you have
worked hard and long to set up your business. But fear not, you aren't alone. Who is this good
man who helps you?'
The woman looked up from her own palm. 'You mean Monsieur Frane, the farmer?'
The girl nodded. 'He is a good man, even though he has lost a partner, his wife. He comes to
help you often, yes?'
The woman smiled. 'From dawn to dusk, if I ask him.'
Karay smiled back at her. 'He thinks a lot of you. So does his daughter.'
The pancake seller agreed. 'Jeanette is a good girl, almost like a daughter to me—she visits a
lot, too. Tell me more.'
Karay made a few signs over the woman's palm. 'Now for the future. Listen carefully to what
I tell you. Do not go home tonight—take a room at a local inn. Stay a few days longer after
the fair. Sit by the window each day and watch out for Monsieur Frane and Jeanette, they will
come. You must tell him that your work is tiring you, that you no longer want to continue with
it. Tell him you are thinking of selling your house and bakery and moving.'
The woman looked mystified. 'But why would I do that?'
The girl silenced the woman with a wave of her hand. 'Do you want me to see further into
your future, Madame?'
The woman nodded, and Karay continued. 'I see you happily married, a farmer's wife, with a
dear devoted daughter. The only baking you will bother with is their daily bread and cakes to
eat in the evening around your farmhouse fire. Trust me, Madame, your fate will be aided by
your own efforts. Saint Veronique sees you as a good person, I know this.'
Suddenly the woman threw her arms about the girl and kissed her. 'Are you sure twelve
pancakes will be enough, my dear?'
Back on the steps outside the manor house, two boys, a girl and a dog feasted on hot pancakes
spread thick with country butter and comb honey. Ben licked his fingers, gazing at Karay in
awe. 'Tell us how you managed to do it. Widow, farmer, daughter, husband's name, and who,
pray, is Saint Veronique?'
Karay's explanation made it all sound simple. 'Veron is the name of this place, so I thought
Veronique made it sound nice and local. I don't know who Saint Veronique is, but she
certainly helped us. The cart was a good clue. It had been painted over but I could still see the
words, the name in white, beneath the last coat: 'S. Gilbert. Baker.' He was nowhere to be
seen, the woman was working alone and she'd had the name on the cart painted over. So I
guessed she was a widow, without children, too. That woman's middle-aged; if she had
children, they'd probably be about our age. If that was so, they'd be helping their mother to
run the business. She leaves her house alone to travel here: someone must watch it for her—
the farmer Frane. A single woman could not handle it all, so he helps her. If his wife were
alive, she would not hear of such a thing. He would not be allowed to spend most of his day
at a widow's house and neglect his own. The woman was wearing a bracelet, a cheap pretty
thing, not the sort she would spend money on. I guessed that a young girl had bought it for
her. I was right. So, the farmer has a young daughter. They both like the pancake lady. Two
people, a widow and a widower, living close to each other. The girl Jeanette likes the widow;
to the widow, Jeanette is the daughter she never had. As for the rest, I was only telling that
woman what the future could hold if she played her cards right. What's wrong with her
becoming a farmer's wife and having a daughter? That's what she wants, isn't it? I was only
telling her the best way to do it. Monsieur Frane and Jeanette would be very sad if she sold up
and moved away. It'll happen, and they'll be happy together. Mark my words!'
Ben shook his head admiringly. 'Don't you ever guess wrongly?'
The girl licked honey from her fingers. 'Sometimes, but I can always manage to talk my way
out of mistakes. The whole thing is just luck, guesswork, a bit of shrewd watching, and telling
the customer things they like to hear. Right, let's set up stall here on these steps. Dominic, get
your sketching stuff out. Ben, you and Ned sit here by me, try to look poor but honest. I'll
start singing to attract the customers. Come on, now, we can save some of the pancakes for
later. Dominic, do another sketch of Ned.'
The dog sat by Karay's side and winked at Ben. 'You look poor, I'll look honest!'
Karay folded her shawl in two and spread it out at her feet to catch any coins that were
thrown. Dominic took up a piece of slate and his chalks. Ben sat on the other side of the girl,
listening as she sang sweetly.
'Oh kind sir and madam, you good children too,
Pray stop here awhile, and I'll sing just for you
Of mysterious places, across the wide sea,
Of distant Cathay and of old Araby,
Where caravans trail, like bright streamers of silk
To far misted mountains, with peaks white as milk,
And ships tall as temples, spread sails wide and bold,
All laden with spices, fine rubies and gold,
Fine harbours where garlanded flowers deck piers,
In the lands of great mandarins, lords and emirs,
