“Goot mornink, sveethot.”
The cheerful voice from right behind him sent Lars bolting from his bed. When he landed with his hunting knife clenched in his fist, he was astonished to see one of the Jagers sitting at his table with his feet up, gnawing on a dried sausage. He was appreciatively flipping through Lars’ supposedly well-hidden collection of British “artistic” postcards.
After a long frozen moment when nothing happened, Lars gestured with the knife. “Put those down! And what are you doing here?”
The Jager glanced at him and then deliberately picked up the next card. He whistled appreciatively. The girl pictured was riding some sort of velocipede. Ognian thought she looked a bit chilly.
Lars began to feel rather ridiculous. He waved his knife around a bit more in a half-hearted manner.
“Oh, schtop dot befaw hyu hurts hyuself.” Ognian looked at the next card. This girl was obviously a soldier. She had a rifle and everything. In the Jager’s opinion, she was wearing a mighty fine looking hat. He casually tucked the card into his coat pocket. “Hy’m supposed to make shure hyu vos okay after hyu voke up.” He looked at Lars directly. “So how iz hyu?”
Lars lowered the knife. “Wait... Did I pass out? I’ve never done that before.” He then realized that the back of his head throbbed with a dull ache.
The Jager looked away furtively. “Oh, dot. Hyu gots smecked by a piece ov der bridge.” He handed a chunk of stone over to Lars. “See?”
Lars examined it. It was indeed a piece of the bridge. He turned it over. Scratched into the stone was the message: I HITT MR LARZ. (SYNED) A BRIK.
Lars stared at it for a moment and then slowly put it down on the table. “I see.”
The Jager let out a gust of breath and gave him a sharp toothed grin. “Hyu gots to vatch owt for dem leedle devils,” he confided.
Lars nodded slowly. “Right. So...” He briefly considered a plethora of questions and settled for, “How long are you staying?”
Ognian grinned again. “Forever! Ve joined hyu circus!”
Thousands of negotiations with suspicious, armed, or downright insane townspeople kept Lars from doing anything other than raising his eyebrows. “No kidding?”
The Jager looked at him with a quick flash of approval. “No keedink. Dey pracktically insisted after we’s gets hyu off dot bridge.”
Lars reviewed that particular memory and then unhesitatingly stuck out a hand. “Thank you for that.”
Ognian gave it a quick shake. “Dun tank us. Tank dot gurl vat told us to go get chu.
Lars paused. “Which girl?”
“Dot Agatha Clay? She vas vorried about hyu. Go figure.”
“You do what she says?”
The Jager shrugged. “Vouldn’t hyu?”
Before Lars could answer, a liquid sound drew his gaze out the window. There stood Agatha, a smiling Zeetha handing her a second bucket. The first had been tipped over her head, and the abbreviated training outfit clung to her like a second skin. The second bucketful only served to enhance the effect. Lars’ breath caught, and he swallowed. Casually he turned back to the Jager and shrugged. “... Maybe,” he conceded.
The door opened and Abner stuck his head in. “Knocking,” he called out cheerfully. “Is he awake?”
Lars waved. “Hey, Bunkie.”
Ognian clapped Lars on the shoulder proudly. “See he’s avake and talking and no more schtupid den he vas before!”
Abner nodded. “So I see.”
Lars let this pass without comment. The Jager scooped a few more postcards into his coat pocket, carefully placed his fez upon his head and swiped another string of sausages. “Hokay,” he announced. “Hy iz gunna go look for breakfast!” So saying, he casually slouched through doorway, eliciting several small screams from passing circus members.
Lars slumped onto his bunk. “Payne is really letting them stay?”
Abner nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. He didn’t even try to argue with them too much. I dunno how everyone else will like it...”
Lars laced his hands behind his head and relaxed.” Well, they saved my bacon, so I’ve got no—” A frown crossed his face. “What the heck—?” He felt under the coverlet and pulled out a pair of lacy pink undergarments.
He stared at them in surprise, and then a slow grin spread across his features. “Well,
A red-faced de la Scalla snatched them from his fingers. “Shut up!”
Lars looked at him slyly. “Must be mighty
Lars hadn’t thought it was possible for his friend’s face to get any redder. He was wrong. “...Maybe,” Abner admitted.
Lars leapt up and grabbed Abner’s shoulders and gave him a good shake. “Ahh! Finally! My little pal is all grown up!”
Abner swung at him, but Lars easily avoided it. “Relax, I have no doubt you surrendered your honor only after putting up every resistance. Did she at least promise to make an honest man out of you?” A business-like throwing knife smacked into the shelf next to Lars’ head. He ignored it. A thought struck him and he looked serious. “Am I going to have to move out?”
Abner paused, and thoughtfully tucked a second knife back within his vest. He shrugged. “Naw. Well... yeah... maybe.”
Lars nodded. “Thanks, that about covers it.”
“Well, it’s a big step.”
“It sure is. All my stuff is here.”
Abner smiled. “But you know? It feels right.”
Lars smiled back conspiratorially. “With Pix? I’ll bet it does.”
Abner blushed yet again. Lars was impressed that he hadn’t passed out. “Hey—I’m trying to be serious here.”
Lars swept in and got the smaller man in a headlock. “I know! That is why you need me more than ever, you poor, doomed fool!”
“All right! All right!” Abner broke away and grinned. “I can’t wait until it happens to you.”
Lars laughed and grabbed two glasses and a wine bottle. To his surprise, it was empty, as were the remaining six. He remembered the Jager and shrugged. “A sentiment expressed by the enraged fathers of a thousand towns!”
Abner smirked. “You laugh. But one day someone will ask you, ‘Who’s your girl?’ and a face will flash through your mind and it’s going to sandbag you completely.”
Lars was indeed caught by surprise, as the image of Agatha, smiling at him, filled his head. He felt his heart skip a beat and a sick realization filled him, even as Abner was saying, “It’s going to be hilarious to watch.” It would have been. It was a pity he missed it.
A gentle knock at the door, along with a melodic “Morning,” interrupted him. Abner turned to find Pix on the stoop. The two exchanged a relatively chaste kiss. “So how is Lars?”
“He seems okay.”
A shaky voice from within the wagon called out, “Actually I think I want to lie down.”
Pix nodded. “Have you eaten yet?” Abner shook his head.
“Good. We’re staying here for the day while Master Payne figures out what to do. So I found us a nice spot in the woods. Here’s a blanket—” She handed Abner a thick rolled pad, “that we can spread out, and a lovely meal we can eat together—” she hefted a large wicker basket. Then she stepped close and whispered softly into Abner’s ear, “...eventually.”
