A wild burst of laughter drew her attention from the merchandise. With Jason in tow this time, she fought her way into a crowd that circled a troupe of ropedancers. “Look, Jase!”
Indeed, she didn’t know where to look first. One man was performing on a low rope, another on a slack rope that looked mighty dangerous, and a third was scaling a daunting slope. A fourth man danced upon a rope with a wheelbarrow in front of him, two children and a dog perched inside. A duck on his head was singing to the crowd and causing much of the laughter.
At the absurd sight, Caithren joined in, laughing even harder when the man executed a silly little bow, nearly tumbling from his rope in the process. The duck squawked in alarm, but of course it was all just part of the show.
“I never thought to hear you laugh,” Jason said wonderingly beside her.
She turned to see a strange look in his eyes. A look that, if she hadn’t known better, she might interpret to mean he liked her.
“I’ve had nothing to laugh at lately,” she said gravely, the moment of light, unburdened hilarity lost.
“No, you haven’t,” he agreed. “Let’s see what else I can find to amuse you.”
With a light touch on the small of her back, he guided her through the throng and across a trampled field. Ahead loomed another enthralled crowd. “Ah, a mountebank,” he said.
“A what?”
“A man who calls himself a doctor.”
“Calls himself? Is he a doctor, or nay?”
He looked down at her, flashing an enigmatic grin. “You decide.” And he pulled her into the cluster of onlookers.
“Is that the mountebank?” she asked, indicating a rather rumpled looking fellow in a velvet suit that looked much too hot for the summer afternoon.
“Hush,” Jason said. “Listen.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man called out, “do ever you suffer from distempers and ails of the digestion? Why suffer when you can take Dr. Miracle’s Universal Healing Potion? My tonic is made from a secret recipe sent down through the ages from the sages of Rome. Along with healing herbs, it contains miraculous powdered bones from the relics of the saints.”
“Powdered bones won’t cure anybody,” Caithren scoffed under her breath.
“Rubbish!” bellowed a stout gentleman standing beside her.
“Ah! We’ve a disbeliever here, ladies and gentleman. Well, sir, what must I do to prove my miracle cure?” The mountebank put one dirty finger to his chin and tapped it three times. Then his eyes lit up. “Aha! I shall poison someone, then cure him!” With a smarmy smile, he reached into a black bag at his feet and pulled out a squirming green creature that croaked. Cait jumped.
Chuckling, Jason put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
Dr. Miracle raised the small, warty thing for all to see. “I have here a toad, the most poisonous creature known to mankind.” His calculating eyes scanned the gathering. “If a fellow swallowed this animal, it would lead to almost certain death, would it not?”
The crowd murmured its agreement.
“But!” He raised a grimy hand. “I will have it be known that my Universal Healing Potion will cure even this toad’s mighty poison. Now…” He paced in a slow circle. “Who will volunteer to swallow this creature? Who among you be brave enough?”
Around and around the mountebank went, while the crowd backed away, until suddenly he stopped right before the man who had shouted “Rubbish!” He strode forward and thrust the toad in the man’s face, which was too close to her own for Cait’s comfort. She leapt back, right into Jason.
Warm arms came around to steady her. “Watch,” he whispered in her ear.
“Are you brave enough, my man?” the mountebank asked. “Will you swallow the toad and take the cure?”
With a huff, the man turned and elbowed his way out through the crowd.
Dr. Miracle smirked as the mass of people parted, then closed in where the man had been. “Very well, then, I shall pay someone six pence if he will offer to swallow this poisonous toad, then be cured by my tonic.” He walked slowly around the interior of the circle. “Will no one volunteer? Ten pence, anyone?” The toad sat docilely on his open palm, though Caithren could see its fat little sides heaving. “Hmm…I’ll make that a whole shilling and include a free bottle of Dr. Miracle’s Universal Healing Potion, worth another shilling. Now, who will volunteer?”
“I’ll swallow it for a shilling.” A ragged young man stepped into the open center. He looked like he could use a shilling.
The mountebank puffed out his chest. “Ladies and gentleman, may we have a round of applause for this brave fellow?”
Everyone clapped, and some hollered and whistled. More fairgoers came to see what the commotion was about, pressing Cait closer to the center of the circle.
Dr. Miracle handed the young man the toad, then reached into his black bag and drew forth a dusty brown bottle. He tugged out the stopper. “Worry not,” he assured the man. “My healing tonic will revive you—even should you be dead.”
The volunteer looked alarmed at that pronouncement. He swallowed hard and gripped the toad harder. It croaked in protest.
“A whole shilling,” the mountebank reminded the man. “Just for swallowing this fat little creature.”
The young man scrunched up his face and squeezed his eyes tight before opening his mouth and stuffing the toad inside. With a gulp that could be heard to the back of the circle, he swallowed. Gasps and muttering ran through the crowd as they waited for something to happen.
After a tense minute, the man doubled over and let loose a pathetic moan. His head went back, and his eyes rolled up in his skull. “Cure me now!” He fell to his knees. “I’m dying!”
Dr. Miracle raised the brown bottle high into the air. He turned
