Page 29 of The Trials of Alaric
Elude the trap of waters still
And ne’er forget that love can kill.”
Chapter Twelve
Alaric went straightdown to the fête in the morning. The previous night, workmen had been putting up the pens for the contests involving animals, and marking off a ring in which the animals could be paraded. He needed to check those, and also the areas set aside for the other contests, some of them in tents and some out in the open.
“Mr. Redhaven, sir.” It was the stablemaster, looking grave and shifting his hat from one hand into the other.
“Good morning,” Alaric greeted him.
“It will be if we can get this judging thing sorted,” grumbled the stablemaster.
“You need Viscount Beverley, then. I haven’t seen him yet.” Alaric looked around. Several of the other suitors were down on the jousting grounds, checking the preparations, but he saw no sign of Beverley.
“Your pardon, Mr. Redhaven, but Lord Beverleyisthe problem,” the stablemaster said.
Bother the man. What has he done now?
As it turned out, quite a lot. For a start, he had given the judges a reordered schedule of contests that didn’t fit with the order Alaric had inherited, through Maddrell, from the last fête. “It makes no sense, man. Sir, I mean.” the stablemaster insisted. “What he has done is order the contests by the rank of the judges, so first up is Viscount Sugden’s lady judging bonnetsand then the viscount and his roses. Bonnets and roses don’t get stressed waiting around, sir, and they don’t need to be fed and watered, neither. Nor do they have pens that need to be mucked out, begging your pardon, sir.”
To make matters worse, several judges had been called upon to judge more than one contest, and Beverley had grouped such contests, so they fell one after the other.
“It means you’re going to have crowds tramping halfway round the fête and then back again,” the stablemaster grumbled.
Beverley had also demanded the use of a second and even a third tent so judges who were gentry could take refreshments in a separate location from those who worked for a living, and those who were in trade or the professions were apart from servants and laborers.
Beverley, in other words, had made a right royal mess of things.
Alaric was inclined to countermand all the idiot’s changes, but he’d better do things properly. “We’ll fix this, Mr. Mugtin,” he promised the stablemaster. “I’ll get together the rest of the gentlemen, and we’ll address these issues to make changes.”
Luke was the suitor closest to him. Alaric called out, “Luke!
“We need a meeting,” he said, when the other approached. “Beverley has made some changes to the contest timetable that will mess up the contests. I need the authority of the group to change things back again. Can you fetch as many of the suitors as you can find? I’ll do likewise, and we can meet…” he looked around and then pointed to a giant oak that grew on the castle side of the field, “there.”
Predictably, Beverley was not anywhere to be found on the fête grounds, so only Luke, Fairweather, Meadowsweet, and Dashwood gathered in the appointed spot. “The contestants have all been given a time by which to have their entry ready, according to the schedule, which has also been posted in variousplaces around the town and in the villages,” he explained a few minutes later. “Also, though this is a more minor matter, the prizes are laid out in order of contest. That’s apart from the issues Mugtin raised. The easiest solution is to notify the judges that we are going back to the original schedule.”
“Tell them Beverley did not tell anyone about his changes, and it is now too late,” Luke advised.
With the agreement of the others, Alaric figured that he had a majority. He could change the tent arrangement himself, but the big task would be to let the judges know the change of schedule, and it would be best if Beverley cooperated on that task.
“Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” Luke figured. Alaric was inclined to agree.
Maddrell had a copy of the lists of judges, though he warned Alaric that Beverley might have been forced to find replacements. Alaric could deal with the servants who were judges easily enough, simply by sending Colyn to find them, present his apologies, and explain the conflict.
As to those judges who were coming up from the town or in from the countryside—ah, there’s Beverley now. With Bea on his arm, more’s the pity.
“Beverley!” Alaric called. “Beverley, I need your help.”
Beverley sneered at him from a distance and would have walked away, but Bea, bless her, said something that had him reluctantly changing direction. “What is it, Redhaven? You had your job and I had mine. If you have any problems, I don’t see why I should help you.”
Alaric kept his temper with an effort. “Someone has drawn my attention to a conflict between the schedule of contests that has been circulated to the contestants, and the one you have arranged with the judges, Beverley.”
Beverley glared. “My schedule was organized to respect the most important people on the island, Redhaven. Change your own.”
Nothing will be achieved by losing your temper,Alaric scolded himself. “If only I had enough time,” he said. “But the contestants will be arriving according to the timetable that has been advertised for weeks, I’m afraid.”
“Look here, you mutton-headed chawbacon…”
