Page 25 of The Trials of Alaric
“May I haveyour attention?” Lord Claddach said to the family and house guests, all of whom were gathered in the drawing room. Colyn had found Alaric and alerted him of the time to be here. He assumed the others had all received such invitations.
“My lords, my ladies, and gentlemen, the next trial I wish to announce is a charity fête in two days. The fête will be held in the grounds of the castle and will be open to anyone who wishes to come.”
He looked directly at the younger gentlemen. “The role of the suitors will be to take over the organization and run the event.You are not starting from the beginning. Mr. Maddrell has a list of merchants, peddlers, and entertainers who have agreed to participate in the fête, and Mr. Whittington has a list of local parishes and other groups who will also have stalls or assist in other ways with the fête’s events. A schedule has been posted. You will have plenty to do, but it should be possible in the time.”
His smile was somewhat predatory. “You have forty-eight hours, gentlemen. The fête starts at two in the afternoon on the day after tomorrow. I suggest starting you repair to the green parlor and get started.”
Was Alaric ever going to have time to think about the latest clue? But then, did the others? He supposed he wasn’t the only one whose time to think and explore was compromised by this current task. Perhaps time management was one of the trials. He shrugged and left with the others.
The first few minutes of the meeting were a waste of time. Beverley insisted that he would be in charge, as he had the highest rank. Luke scoffed and asked whether he had ever organized a fête, which Alaric thought was a good point. “A ball? A Venetian breakfast? Any event more complex than a drunken night in a wine cellar?”
Beverley, who had been admiring his reflection in the window, turned at that and drew himself up, lifting his chin. “I’ll have you know I was born to command,” he insisted. “I shall be an earl one day.”
What a pillock Beverley was.
Luke pointedly ignored him and turned to look at the rest of the group. Beverley scowled, probably put out that no one was admiring him in the window—or out of it—either. “Has anyone any actual experience of organizing a fête? Or anything to do with a fête?” Luke asked.
Fairweather put up a tentative hand. “I run the children’s races each year at my father’s harvest fête,” he offered.
“Make a note of that, Maddrell,” said Luke. Maddrell, predictably, had chosen a seat at a writing desk and had access to paper and quill. As Lord Claddach’s secretary, he was the obvious choice of notetaker in Alaric’s opinion, though the grumbles moving swiftly around the group argued otherwise.
“Who put you in charge, Versey?” demanded Beverley.
“Yes, Versey,” agreed Dashwood. “Who?” And Howard nodded his agreement.
Alaric had had enough. “Gentlemen, please remember that the earl said our role is to organize and run the event. The suitors. Collectively. No one is in charge. We work as a team. The only way for us to win this trial is together. The only way to lose is to refuse to contribute.”
He let his gaze move from one person to another.
“See, Versey?” Dashwood said, smugly.
“To get all the work done in the time available,” Alaric pointed out, “we shall each need to take charge of a particular aspect. Luke has made a start on chairing this meeting, and an excellent start. I propose he continues to do so. Please indicate by raising your hand if you agree.”
Only Beverley and Dashwood refused to raise their hands. Even Howard agreed, after a cautious look around the room at the others.
“Right,” said Luke. “Motion carried. And I would like Maddrell to make notes. If you don’t mind, Maddrell.”
“Not at all,” said the secretary, with a shallow bow.
“Who normally organizes your father’s fête?” Luke asked Fairweather.
“My mother and my sisters,” Fairweather replied.
“The same with ours,” Luke said. “We do one at midsummer, but Mother is in charge. I’m usually a marshal, managing all the carts and carriages so nobody is blocked in, and escorting important guests to Mother or Father.”
Alaric commented, “Another important thing to remember. Make a note of that, please, Maddrell. Gentlemen, we have two lists to consider, as I understand it. Shall we try to organize those in some way, and then see what the gaps are?”
“Good,” Luke agreed. “At our fair, we have the charity stalls mixed up with the local merchants and the traveling peddlers. You, Fairweather?”
“The same,” Fairweather agreed. “Oh. That reminds me. Put security on the list of things to do. I don’t know how many thieves and pickpockets there are on Claddach, but they’ll all be at the fête.”
“They all have to come through the gates in the outer walls,” Maddrell offered. He explained that the fête was to be held in the jousting grounds—a long flat patch of land outside the inner walls that enclosed the castle at the top of the bluff, but within the outer wall. “Security on the gates, and a few people patrolling the wall should be enough.”
After two hours, they had a set of lists, and everyone had taken responsibility for a particular aspect of the fête. Even Beverley had volunteered. It would be his task to find and look after the judges for the competitions that were a feature of Mr. Whittington’s lists—best jam, largest bull, fastest runner, strongest man, and the like.
Alaric was running the actual contests. His job was to make sure the contest spaces were pegged out and set up, that contestants found the right space at the right time, that the contests were run fairly, that the prizes were on hand for the judges to hand out after they’d selected the winner, and that he’d arranged everything else required for things to run smoothly.
It came as a relief to him, and no doubt to everyone else, that they were only expected to organize and oversee. And even most of the organization was already done. The army of servants and volunteers who would act under their direction had already beenworking on this for months. Alaric would make sure to ask for their advice at every turn.
