Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
I t was peaceful inside the tent. Usually Simeon quite fancied the crowds and noise of the carnival, but occasionally it became a bit much and he needed a spot of solitude. Some time and space to settle his head. He shared a caravan with a bloke named Pete, and Pete was a nice enough sort, but it meant that Simeon wasn’t generally alone there either.
This afternoon Mr. Ame had sent him to fetch Madame Persephone and said that Simeon could take a break in her tent until she came back. Perfect. So now he draped one of her colorful silk scarves over his hair and stared at the table at the back of the tent, considering whether to acquaint himself with her deck of cards.
A sound came from the entrance and Simeon whirled around, dislodging the scarf in the process.
It was a boy. A young man, really, in frayed jeans and a faded red T-shirt. He was tall and gawky, not yet filled out in proportion to his height, and very handsome. His pale hair was the type that went almost white in the summer, and his eyes were icy-blue pools. He was a bit too young for Simeon to seduce—but not too young for a bit of flirting.
“S-sorry,” the boy stammered, blushing.
Simeon laughed, scooped the scarf from the floor and settled it on the back of a chair. “No need to be sorry. I was the one doing something he oughtn’t.”
“I… I….”
“She’ll be back in a bit. You can wait here if you fancy.” Simeon waved toward the other chair, which like the scarf-draped one, faced a table covered with a piece of bright cloth.
The boy took a step backward. “It’s okay. I don’t….”
“It’s fine. The boss just wanted a brief natter. She won’t be gone long. You don’t want to miss out on a reading with her—she’s the best. Have a seat and I’ll keep you company while you wait.”
Since the boy hesitated, Simeon flashed his widest smile, the one that had charmed men and women on multiple continents over multiple centuries. Surely this youth wouldn’t be immune. Suddenly solitude no longer appealed to Simeon; it would be pleasant to pass some time in this boy’s company.
As the youth continued to dither, an image of a black-feathered bird flashed through Simeon’s mind, as bright and sharp as a photograph. “A crow?” he said out loud, surprised.
The boy froze, scowling. “How do you know my name? Is this some kind of con?”
“What?”
“You said my name.”
Simeon crossed his arms. “I did no such thing.”
“You know what? Never mind. This was a dumb idea.” The boy spun around and marched out of the tent before Simeon could respond.
It felt as if someone had ripped out one of Simeon’s vital organs. The pain was so intense that he looked down, expecting to see his white shirt gone red with blood. But of course it hadn’t, and he couldn’t understand the source of his distress. A farm boy came into the tent, argued with him about something stupid, and left. Why should Simeon care?
But he did.
Just as he was considering whether to chase after the boy, the flap lifted again. Simeon straightened expectantly, hoping to see the boy returned, repentant. But this was someone else entirely: a man in his early twenties with dark hair and eyes. His clothing would have blended in with the crowds of Simeon’s old London neighborhood. It didn’t fit this place and time at all.
There was something familiar about the bloke, although Simeon couldn’t place him.
“I found you!” the man exclaimed.
“Who are you?”
The man’s shoulders slumped. “You don’t know me, do you?” Like Simeon, he had an English accent, although his was more refined. “My name is Bran Frugis.”
“Never heard of you.” Almost a lie. Frugis . That meant something, dammit, but what?
“I’m… well, never mind. Good Lord, this is difficult. I need your assistance. I’m trying to change things, you see, but it’s not going at all right. Every time I make an attempt, it fails to work. If anything, matters become worse. And I’m… I don’t know how to explain it. I feel myself lessening .”
“Are you drunk?” Sometimes the carnival sold alcohol, although Simeon had never seen anyone drink enough to become unreasonable.
“No! I’m— Please, just come with me. We’ll go somewhere private and discuss my predicament.”
Although Simeon’s curiosity was piqued, so was his caution. Just looking at this Frugis fellow made his spine feel icy. “I have to return to work now,” he announced .
As he tried to walk past, Frugis grabbed his arm. Simeon gave a shove, hard enough to send Frugis onto his arse, then rushed out of the tent. This sort of unpleasantness never happened in the carnival. He’d thought it was impossible. He would find Mr. Ame, or maybe Rafe, and tell them about the nutter in Miss Persephone’s tent, and they would