“KEELWICK LOOKS MUCH like it ever has,” Cat told him as they walked the streets, taking in the sights of the city. Taking in the smells as well.

  Bert was not used to either the salt smell of the sea itself nor the stink of fish guts that permeated the air. Still, it was beautiful to look at. He supposed his mood was lifted just spending some time with Cat. It was also nice to not be chased or wanted dead by a cabal of murderers who wanted a war with dragons. Yeah, things were pretty good for the moment. “What’s with all the flags, ribbons and banners? Some ceremony?”

  “Preserve Day,” Cat replied simply. “Much of the wealth and food here comes from the sea with fish and trade, but they grow food just like us. Even though it stays much warmer here near the coast, they still get a winter-of-sorts like us further inland. They celebrate this time of year, eating and drinking for seven suns and nights as they use up what would otherwise go to waste. They make sure to pickle and store in cellars what they will need for the winter first. It’s similar to our harvest festival, but they can afford to be more wasteful here.”

  Bert nodded his understanding.

  “Now that you mention it, though. It’s all…muted. Usually the party goes on all day and night. I haven’t seen a single reveler. Even the banners seem frayed at the edges and worn. Usually people compete with one another to have the finest colors hanging from their buildings. It’s a point of pride and a show of wealth to outdo one another. This all seems rushed somehow, like it’s been put up out of tradition rather than celebration.”

  Bert considered this. To his eye, everything looked incredible. Like Wyrmgate, blue was the color of choice here, but it was a darker sea blue compared to the light sky blue of the Wyrmblessed family. Looking closer, he could make out frayed edges and tears in the banners and flags. “Perhaps they had a crop failure or an early frost that cost them food and time?”

  Cat smiled and winked at him. “An astute guess, Bert. You’re getting the hang of politics. It’s possible. We’ll hint around the edges with Darian’s parents and see if they offer anything.”

  “Why not just ask them?”

  Cat chuckled. “I don’t really know. It’s just not the way of it. Even in the Royal Hall at Wyrmgate, we don’t speak openly with one another. Everything is a game played in shadows and hints. Nothing is given freely. Information is traded for information or favors. I am not sure why that’s the way of court.”

  “Perhaps it’s a way to measure trust. The more open someone is with you, the more they trust you.”

  “Or the more they need your help. But you’re once again on to something, Bert.” She smiled. “You really do have a keen mind.”

  “I am learning from a master is all,” he deflected while flushing at the praise.

  She hooked her arm in his. “Well, Master Nightsoil, we have no coin and little of value. Time to visit the Red Turkey. The owner is an old friend of the Wyrmblessed.”

  Bert smiled. “Excellent. Despite the stink from the docks, I am growing quite hungry.”

  Cat stopped briefly and looked him in the eyes. “Bert, I’m doing it again.”

  He shrugged. “What?”

  “I am playing court games, but with you. I just told you something, but held back the full truth and there’s no reason I should be doing such a thing.” She shook her head and smiled. “The owner of the Red Turkey is not an old friend. Rather, she is more than that. She is a spy that we house here in Keelwick. She feeds us information in exchange for money. There was no reason for me to hold that back from you. Forgive me?”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Bert shrugged again. “There is nothing for you to apologize for. You told me the truth after all. I have changed much since Eldritch saved me from Garrick Crowe. I imagine you have changed since that time as well. We can keep changing together.”

  She gave him her biggest smile. “Thank you, and I agree!” She took him down a few streets until they eventually reached a large open space where a puppet show was underway. There was a traveling show of actors and puppeteers who came through Wyrmgate on occasion, but this stage looked like it was set up permanently in the square. Hawkers sold all variety of food from the edges, most of it fish-based. Cat led him to a stone bench and they sat and watched a show that was already underway.

  “I will tell you one last time! You shall never have my love for your dark ceremonies!” a puppet yelled. The puppet was wearing small metal armor pieces that jingled as he moved around. It held a large sword as well—a knight of some sort.

  The puppeteer blew through a horn off to the side of the stage, indicating a monster of some sort approaching. They blocked the light from the stage, darkening it in a moment. A new puppet appeared. This one was also a man, but he had horns coming from his head and scales on his body. He held a large red sword, but was otherwise unarmored.

  “I need her blood, Storme! I need it to feed my dragon so it will continue to obey me and do my dark deeds!” the horned figure raged. He held his sword in the air and cackled evilly.

  “If you want her, you’ll need to get through me first!” Storme replied bravely.

  “I guess that’s Darian and you,” Cat whispered, chuckling. “You look strong at least. I don’t think you should get horns and scales though. Doesn’t suit your face at all.”

  “Very funny, Cat,” Bert replied. He was annoyed at being portrayed so, but he had to admit the show was very well done. A part of him was somewhat proud at being important enough to be in a show at all.

  “It’s just for fun, let’s watch a bit more,” she added quickly as the puppet-Bert and puppet-Darian battled.

  “Easy for you to say when you’re not the one with horns.”

  She chuckled and placed her finger on her lips for him to be quiet.

  The puppet-Darian swung his sword at puppet-Bert and a red ribbon was thrown into the crowd to the cheers of the children in the front row.

  Puppet-Bert was kneeling now, more red ribbon being thrown. “You’ve all but wounded me, Darian Storme. My dragon and I will be back, with more of my filth from the north at my side. This is but a wound. The one I give you and your princess will cut much deeper!” A whistle was blown off-stage and an enormous puppet of a dragon flew in, picking up puppet-Bert. The color was wrong, but the dragon looked otherwise much like Yellow.

  The crowd booed the escape and children threw the ribbon back at the stage in protest.

  “Oh, Darian!” a new puppet said. It had long braided hair and was wearing a sky-blue dress with a gold dragon imprinted on it. The puppet had enormously exaggerated breasts and ruby-red lips and exposed legs that were easily half the length of the entire puppet. “I don’t know what I would have done if you and the men from Keelwick hadn’t been here,” she added breathily, collapsing into puppet-Darian’s arms.

  “Ridiculous,” Cat stammered.

  Bert just smiled at her. “Not so funny now that it’s you, huh?” he joked.

  She rolled her eyes at him.

  “When I promised to wed, I promised to protect you and your people, Princess Catrin,” puppet-Darian said bravely. “I would sooner die than see those pagans capture you and use your virgin blood for their evil magics. The people of Keelwick and Wyrmgate will stand against them forever if we must.”

  At some urging, the audience arose and cheered.

  “Now, let us retire to your chambers. It’s not our wedding night yet, but I’m sure we can find some way to entertain each other nonetheless,” puppet-Darian said, his eyebrows rising up and down by thin strings held by the puppeteer.

  The audience laughed and cheered as puppet-Darian picked up puppet-Catrin and began to carry her as a black cloth rolled down, covering the stage. The puppeteers made kissing sounds loudly.

  The audience stood and clapped as they laughed, tossing coins onto the stage as the puppeteers came from the sides and behind the stage to take a bow.

  Bert looked at Cat, who remained sitting on the bench, looking angrily at the stage. She said nothing and didn’t look back.

  Bert sat quietly and waited as the square cleared. He had found the whole thing funny, but didn’t want to anger Cat further. Finally he could wait no longer. “At least they got the hair right!”

  She looked to him, saying nothing. A small smile broke out from the corner of her mouth after a moment. “I suppose they did at that. I might invest in some red tincture for my lips as well. I somewhat liked that look,” she laughed.

  Bert stood and offered her his hands.

  “I suppose it’s time to retire to the Red Turkey,” she smiled. “I’m sure we can find some way to entertain each other,” she added, imitating the sultry voice of the puppet. She let out a deep laugh, even allowing a small snort to escape. “I’ve seen worse shows, to be honest.” She took his hands.

  Pulling her up, he joined her laughter and the two made their way toward the inn.