‘You are going to hurt, Black,’ he said, calmly.
‘I know,’ Luke said. ‘But don’t worry about me. It’s just a headache and a few bruises. I’ll be right, Mr Holt, but thanks for your concern.’
A camp on the outskirts of Pantelimon, Bucharest, Romania
Samantha, Shofranka and Mirela draped the battered fold-up tables in cloths of crimson, gold and turquoise. Samantha bent to the grass for the stack of plates she’d carried down from Milosh’s truck. It was cooler under the trees, and despite the knot in her stomach she was very much looking forward to lunch. She understood that the anxiety she felt was just the floating fear from Lala and Esmeralda. She knew that the king wasn’t actually coming. No, they’d all just enjoy a lavish lunch without the men, and with the added bonus of Tamas.
I’d like him for dessert, she thought, watching him striding across the paddock from the campsite carrying a huge platter of food. He wore a dark blue singlet now, which thankfully did not cover those muscular shoulders.
At the last possible moment, before she could look like a dumbstruck idiot, she turned away to scan the horizon.
Milosh and Besnik had done well in choosing this place to spend a few weeks. It was just far enough from Pantelimon to be out of the noise and rush, but close enough to visit whenever they wanted. She remembered they’d stayed here several summers before. Even then, aged ten or eleven, she’d been in love with Tamas, watching him and his big brother Luca and Mirela’s older brother Hanzi at the river swinging from a rope with some local kids.
She offered a quick prayer to Goddess Gaia that she wouldn’t have a client this afternoon. It was a perfect day for a swim, and because it was a school day they’d have the river all to themselves without the Gaje kids.
Shofranka set the good glasses out alongside the plates. The ruby, sapphire and emerald-coloured glass never showed the chips. Sam mentally chose her place at the table and swapped her red glass for green. She conjured a picture of Tamas sitting beside her, laughing at all the funny things she imagined herself saying over lunch.
‘So, where do you reckon we should seat the king?’ said Mirela.
‘Um, we’ll just wait for Tamas to carry down the throne, and then we’ll decide,’ said Sam.
‘We don’t have a throne,’ said Shofranka, blinking behind her dark-framed spectacles. Although she was only twelve, and still wearing pigtails, the glasses always made her seem sensible, serious. Which she mostly was.
‘Oh, well, that’s a relief, Sho,’ said Samantha. ‘On account of how there’ll be no king to sit in it.’
‘You really don’t think he is coming?’ said Shofranka.
‘Puh-lease,’ said Samantha.
‘Don’t be so certain, little witch.’ Tamas had reached the table. He set down his foil-covered platter and turned to her. He reached out a finger and stroked it once, slowly, down her nose. ‘I’d leave my palace in the city to come and find you.’
Samantha stopped breathing. She wondered whether she’d ever be able to start again. He did
Mirela giggled and Tamas winked at her, grinning, before turning away.
‘So you think he really is coming, Tamas?’ said Shofranka, her face upturned eagerly towards him.
‘Hell no,’ Tamas laughed.
‘Well, what do you reckon that is, then?’ said Mirela, pointing out along the dusty road that led into the camp.
Sam held a hand up to her face, more because she couldn’t believe what she was seeing than to shade her eyes. The sun was directly overhead now and it beamed down upon the weirdest vehicle she had ever seen.
‘What
At her fingertips and in her stomach Samantha could
‘It must be the gypsy king,’ Shofranka almost whispered.
‘And he’s driving an
Sam had never heard of an Excalibur, but the car that was approaching their camp looked both old-fashioned and brand new, like a fairytale chariot tricked out by Mercedes-Benz. It was the colour of rich custard, with black windows and gleaming silver chrome, every part of the car glinting and sparkling in the sunlight. It sat low to the ground on fat black tyres that flashed with silver, kicking out dust behind them like plumes of smoke, as though the car ignited the road as it moved. Pumping from inside the midnight-black windows, a low boom of bass grew louder as it approached.
Of course, the dogs went crazy.
As Samantha stared, Mirela and Shofranka bolted across the paddock to meet the car. Bo was already there, running barefoot on the unsealed road in front of it, his hanky-stick-flag held high in the air. Oody and two other camp dogs flanked the vehicle, shouting their greetings, and Sam could just make out Hero dashing in and out around the shining front wheel, trying to take on the invading beast.
‘Looks like the king has come to take the princess home,’ said Tamas. The corners of his dark eyes creased in a scowl and he radiated hostility. Sam felt suddenly edgy.
‘Just be careful,’ he said. ‘Try not to say a lot. I know they call this dude the gypsy king, but he gave himself that name. Besnik told me that he started out as an underground criminal from Craiova.’
They slowly made their way up to where everyone else waited, wearing huge, warm smiles for their new visitor. Sam felt a fog of worry settling over her family. Nuri grinned toothlessly, juggling the baby on her hip. Lala appeared delighted, but she had a firm hold on Bo’s shoulder as he hopped from foot to foot. Esmeralda beamed, her lips blood-red; Shofranka pressed in close to her skirts, only one pigtail and the rim of her spectacles visible; Mirela stared boldly at the newcomers.
Samantha could see through the darkened windscreen that there were two people in the vehicle. As she and Tamas reached the others, a door opened and the gold-tipped boots of the driver stepped into the dirt. Is that purple snakeskin? thought Sam, incredulous. Who would wear that? Black leather-clad legs followed, and then the driver swung himself out. He wore a leather sleeveless vest to match the pants, each garment straining over a huge beer belly. A belt with a big gold buckle held the belly up valiantly, cinched low and tight around the driver’s waist.
Tamas stepped forward, Esmeralda by his side.
‘Welcome,’ Esmeralda said. ‘What a beautiful day!’
Tamas scowled.
The driver said nothing. He reached back into the car and pulled out a large black cowboy hat. He put it on and that was the last Samantha ever saw of his eyes. He stuck a toothpick between his teeth and moved around the front of the vehicle. She spotted the handle of a pistol strapped into a holster belted around his chest.
The bonnet of the car was pretty awe-inspiring, Sam had to admit; she figured that was the effect the owner was going for. A rearing silver dragon, wings spread, was perched at the precipice, guarding a chrome grill resembling gnashing metal teeth. She took a second look at the licence plate. One word:
The driver stopped at the other side of the car and cracked the passenger door. Sam had heard rumours about the gypsy king – hell, every Romani she’d ever met had something to tell – and she wondered how exaggerated the tales would be. But when he finally made it out of the car, she realised that, if anything, they’d downplayed his appearance. It wasn’t so much the fur-trimmed purple robes that fell from his shoulders and swept the ground. It wasn’t the gold walking stick topped with the head of a dragon. And it wasn’t even that when the king finally smiled all his visible teeth were gold. No, what made her lips part and her jaw drop was his size. Hugely fat were the first words that came to mind. Grotesque walking circus tent were the next.
Esmeralda rushed forward and bowed low, her earrings swinging wildly.
‘Welcome, your Grace, to our humble camp,’ she said. ‘We are so delighted that you have come to visit us. I am
