How to Juggle Ballads & Blades

Chapter 1

Chicot stood in the blazing June sun, her hand just above her brow as she watched the group of pirates performing from backstage.

She tipped her head back to drink her water, the hood of her unitard tugging awkwardly as she did.

Her eyes were locked on the pirates moving about the stage.

Their soft linen clothing made Chicot all the more aware of the tight spandex wrapping her entire body, sweat pooling in awkward places from lack of anywhere to go.

The Pirates Three: Big, Middle, and Wee were a mainstay show at the Albion Renaissance Faire and had been for about seven or eight years now.

It showed in every lift and trick built into their performance; their movements were clean and quick, their acrobatics impressive, and even the basic stunts were stunning.

They did just what they needed to for an untrained eye to see a spectacular show, while a trained eye would see a clever one.

Chicot wasn’t sure how she was going to live up to that sort of thing.

She and Elijah were well practiced, but the pirates were on a level that came with experience that they lacked.

It was a reminder that Chicot was still rather new to this, even if she and Elijah had started creating and testing their act over a year ago.

The sword fight on stage was coming to a climax; the smallest of the three pirates careened off a high ledge on the stage, hanging onto nothing but a rope as she exchanged swords with the largest. They pretended this was a surprise, shock coming over them as they turned their weapons against each other again, the third pirate getting in the middle of the fray and making a quip about everyone being on the same crew.

These rehearsals were chances for new performers, like Chicot, and nonperforming workers to get to know the shows so they could better recommend them to guests once the season started.

She was currently failing at that assignment, and she didn’t have any memories of this act to fall back on.

The Pirates Three had become a mainstay shortly after Chicot had graduated high school, but the last time she’d visited Albion was in middle school.

So, she had no familiarity with it like she did with some of the older shows, like Sunnie the Spectacular and The Dirt Men.

As she took a sip from her water bottle, Chicot realized she had missed too much of the plot, but the pirates were now all agreeing to work together, which meant doing a precarious lift so the smallest among them could clamber her way up her friends to reach a flag hanging above the stage.

Just as she got it, a small cheer rang through the crowd of crew members.

Brewhilda sat in the exact middle of the crowd, her pointy hat the only reason Chicot recognized her.

Chicot still hadn’t learned her real name, but she did know one important piece of information about her.

The day before, official stage assignments revealed Chicot and Elijah were sharing the Castlerock Stage with the pirates, taking her time slots from previous seasons.

Brewhilda had taken that to mean that Chicot and Elijah were now her mortal enemies.

So, Chicot wasn’t surprised to see her sitting there, arms crossed, head back, clapping for the pirates, and scowling.

Chicot squeezed the leather handles of her juggling knives, running her thumb over the cool metal pommel.

“You nervous?” Elijah sounded eerily calm, with his lute in hand and a cowbell around his neck.

He wore similarly colored clothes to Chicot’s, only his were the same loose linen as the pirates’.

Bright red, marigold, and light blue accents stood out nicely against his umber skin.

They’d gone with a color palette that suited his complexion since Chicot’s costume concealed her entirely for their performance.

Now, as he grinned at her, all of his slightly crooked teeth showing, Chicot’s shoulders gently relaxed.

“Always.” Chicot set down her water bottle and adjusted her hood, the bells at each point on her hat jingling quietly.

She looked down at her wrists, adjusting her cuffs and gloves before she gently nudged her ruffled collar in place.

It was easier on her to wear it now, the unitard and bodice with billowy sleeves and brightly colored checkers running down her body.

They’d adjusted it over the past several months and it fit Chicot perfectly now, and most importantly, she felt safe in it.

Elijah chuckled, his voice warm and dark as he stuck out his pointy chin.

“I know,” he said. “But don’t worry so much. We’ll be wonderful.”

“I’ll try.” Chicot’s shoulders drooped, and she sighed dramatically, Elijah rolling his eyes at her.

She picked up her mask and secured it to the magnets around her face, her vision darkening as she adjusted it.

Once she felt like she had it in the right spot, she had Elijah double-check it before slinging his lute strap over one shoulder and bracing himself against the wooden crate to push it onto the stage.

Chicot followed, three blades in hand as she carried a small table for their props.

The Castlerock was located on the far side of the faire, near the large sand field used for the joust. Made of well-worn wood, it had a house-shaped structure at the back and several old trees coming up through the floor.

Either side had a series of three platforms accessed by a ladder, all leading up to a treehouse-like balcony at the top, just below the lowest branches of an old oak tree.

It also had a set of stairs at the back, separated by a curtain that Chicot had never seen when she’d just been a guest.

Their act only used the main portion of the stage, Elijah shoving the crate into position and slapping it briefly as he made a joke to the crowd full of other performers and workers. Chicot laid out the last of her juggling implements, in order of use, and turned to the crowd.

Brewhilda stared at her, the only person that Chicot could pick out.

She knew that she had to have met some of the people there, but between her usual face blindness and her nerves, distinguishing anyone else was a losing battle.

She had to use clothes or other distinguishing features, and right now, the only people besides Brewhilda she recognized were the three sitting next to her.

They still wore their pirate costumes, which meant Chicot was able to confidently say they were The Pirates Three.

As her gaze lingered on the pirates, Chicot found herself following the strong line of the middle one’s shoulders.

She hadn’t noticed her before, and now that Chicot could see her clearly, she couldn’t help but admire her physique.

She was happy no one could tell who had caught Chicot’s eye; the doll-like mask she wore suddenly seemed completely worth it.

Chicot shook her head slightly. She had to focus, to live up to this amazing opportunity they’d gotten.

Her chest expanded, and she held her breath, counted to three, and then let it go.

She just needed to do what she did best—be silly and make people laugh.

She and Elijah had earned this spot at Albion fair and square over Brewhilda, and to them, the chance meant everything.

Elijah met Chicot’s eyes briefly to confirm he was ready.

Chicot straightened her back and set her hands on the box as Elijah began his intro to the crowd, a series of charismatic Shakespearean quips.

Chicot listened closely as she hopped up onto the crate, quickly rolling onto her hands to do a handstand.

Just as she did, Elijah hit his first mark at the front of the stage, turning a dramatic glare on Chicot, just as they’d practiced.

She smiled to herself. Elijah had one hand holding the neck of his lute while his other rested on a popped hip, his mouth bent into an annoyed scowl with his jaw jutting toward her.

“And that’s why we don’t let her talk anymore!” Elijah grinned as he held up his hand towards Chicot. She responded with a dramatic head flick, feigning annoyance, not saying a word. The crowd laughed as Elijah recoiled and rolled his eyes, his movements exaggerated, theatrical.

This was how their show worked; it was the formula.

Elijah did all the speaking and played the music, while Chicot took on the persona of the silent jester, begrudgingly performing the acrobatics with timed comedic sass.

Something about it just seemed to make people laugh; their sibling-like antics made them relatable.

The best thing about this? Chicot had no lines.

All she needed to do was time her tricks right, do goofy dances when she was supposed to, and maybe pantomime.

Which was how she’d found herself atop a crate at the Albion Renaissance Faire on their second largest stage, hip thrusting to a semi-raunchy pop song while her best friend rang a cowbell and encouraged the crowd to sing along.

“Wha—What are you doing?” Elijah clutched a string of imaginary pearls around his neck. “There are children here!”

Chicot set her hands on her hips, wiggling her shoulders and shaking her head as she put her lips on the mouthpiece inside her mask.

When she did, she exhaled hard, causing a balloon she’d tucked into the hole in the mouth to expand.

This part of the show worried her the most, since sometimes the balloon didn’t inflate properly.

This time, it did, quickly growing to the size of a baseball as Elijah rolled his eyes and sagged his shoulders.

“Don’t throw a temper tantrum now.” Elijah strolled across the stage, strumming a silly melody as the balloon became the size of a cantaloupe. “You heard me. Stop that!”