Lady of the Rings
by Brandy Dewinter and Ellen Hayes
(All rights reserved)
Chapter 21 - Catching Up
Build: 7
I woke up sometime about sunrise, as usual. At first, I couldn't
figure out why I was alone, and in a hotel room. It took me until the
morning piss to remember what had happened. Until then, I was thinking
I had a really bad hangover.
Oh, my God.
I painfully went through the rest of my morning routine on auto-
pilot, trying to decide what to do next. The simple answer was to try
and catch up with the circus. Of course, now that I had the second ring,
I should start after the third. Wherever it was. On the other hand, it
might be smart to figure out what this second ring did. There wasn't
anything obvious like the enhanced perceptions I had received with the
first one.
Finally, I admitted to myself that I needed some more money before
I could do anything else, and that I might as well go back to where I was
known rather than try and pick up another job with no real ID. I'd got-
ten REAL lucky the first time - luck that had Andreas written all over
it - but I didn't think I would be as lucky again.
And I missed my friends there. I might not have been quite what
they thought I was, but I still missed them. A lot. I really missed Kim
waking up in the morning, and Sarah's smiles, and the dogs, and Tom, and
Jim who always said something nice, and, and...
Time to stop lying to yourself, kid. That's the real reason you
want to go back.
I collected what little gear I had into my bag, then went downstairs
to check out. I was hoping, REALLY HARD, that the bill would be a lot
less than I thought and I could pay for the hotel when I got there. I
didn't have THAT much money...
When I walked up to the front desk the clerk looked a combination of
bored and irritated. I guessed that he wasn't ready for people to start
bothering him yet. The computer screen behind him looked like accounting
software - he was probably doing the nightly totals.
"I'd like to check out, please; I have a bus to catch."
"Sure, what's your room number?"
I told him and he typed something into the other computer, the one I
couldn't see. "Oh," he said in an entirely different voice, "Miz
Janeway. You had something..." He bent down, and pulled out a largish
leather-bound notebook. "You must've left this in the salon yesterday,
someone found it and brought it here."
I was reflexively going to argue, but almost as quick an old proverb
about gift horses and dental examinations flashed through my mind and
instead of frantically denying it was mine, I just smiled and opened it
up.
The first thing I noticed was an ID pocket on the inside left cover
with a picture of a pretty girl- Hey, that was ME!!
And credit cards, and what looked like a chunk of cash, and-
"That it?" the clerk said.
"Oh, God, yes, I hadn't realized I'd lost it," I lied frantically,
trying to figure out where the hell THIS had come from, "thank you SO
much!" I was sounding like Kim, I realized, except I didn't sound like I
was from Georgia.
"Figured you might need it," he said, grinning. The acne scars on
his face covered up a pretty nice guy, I realized, before I realized I
was reflexively reading his aura too. "Still want to check out? And
should I leave the charge on your credit card?"
"Um." I had the means to get some kind of normal job now, I rea-
lized. On the other hand, I already had one if I could catch up to it
and it paid pretty darn decent. And I owed some people, and now I had
the means to pay them back. "Yeah, I need to get going."
"Okay, then," and in fifteen minutes I was getting in a cab.
Once I was inside, I started really looking through the notebook.
Well, notebook was the wrong word. It was one of those executive supple-
mentary brains called a DayTimer. I had a gold Visa card as well as a
Foley's store card. Hoo,boy, wonder what the limits are on these pup-
pies? I had a pilot's license! With all the right ratings. Not that it
would do much good without a logbook to back it up, but I was truly proud
of that and if felt really good to have some proof that I could fly. They
all read "Brittany Janeway" too, just like the driver's license that had
been my only ID so far. I even had a Social Security card. Heh. I
pulled the Visa out and checked the signature on the back. It looked
suspiciously like something I would do if I was trying to forge a girl's
signature.
What a coincidence.
There was enough money there to pay for airfare instead of a bus and
I didn't have the time for the scenic route.
"Um, excuse me," I called to the cabbie. "Take me to the airport
instead."
"Sure thing," he replied, then turned around. Well, I had enough
money now to make up for the wasted distance.
Some letters stuck into the pages caught my eye and I pulled the
first one out. It had already been opened, but it was new to me. The
envelope said "Brittany" in dark green calligraphy.
I pulled out the sheet inside, and read:
"Dearest Brittany," oh, shut up you old bastard.
"What?!" the cabbie asked from the front seat.
"Huh? Oh, sorry, I must've been thinking out loud. I, uh, I got
rejected for this job I was applying for."
"Man, I hate that," he mentioned.
"Me too," and I started reading the rest of it.
"You have gained the second ring and are now half way through your
apprenticeship quest. Congratulations! This book and its contents are
in the way of making things a bit easier for you in the questing to come.
Please do not go wild with the credit cards." I snorted. "By now you
should have some idea of where the third ring lies." Actually, I hadn't
even thought about it. Concentrating, though, told me it was west.
WAAAAAY west. Maybe even in California. Hopefully not in Hawaii or
Japan; that would strain my cash to the- ooh, but I had all these nifty
credit cards, didn't I? Heh heh heh...
The letter continued: "The next two will be harder still," peachy,
you old fart, "but I have every confidence that your resourcefulness will
be adequate to the task." I sure hoped so. I already had the worst
night of my life getting the last one on my finger. "As you continue,
please remember that you have already accomplished much and I am proud of
you. Good luck and Godspeed to you." The signature was another need-
lessly ornate "A" in the same green ink.
Well, hot shit.
I was in a ridiculously happy mood when I got to the airport so I
tipped the cabbie about half again as much as the trip cost and rushed in
to get a ticket on the first plane to Atlanta. I didn't want to use my
cash, so I offered the credit card for payment.
Or, at least I tried to. As I was extending it to the clerk I got
a nasty buzz from my ring and dropped the card. When I bent to pick it
up, I swear it dodged from my fingers. I finally captured it by stepping
on it, but just as soon as I tried to extend it to the woman again, I got
that damn buzz from the ring.
"I'm, um, sorry, but I think I changed my mind," I stammered. She
sighed with the resignation of those who have to put with entirely too
many idiots, but didn't say anything. I fled away from the counter and
looked around to decide what else to do.
I had been at the Delta counter; they're the big major in all the
Southeast. I didn't have enough cash to pay for their ticket and it
seemed I couldn't use the credit card. I was just about to decide to
head for the bus terminal after all, when I noticed a clerk opening up
a work station at another counter for some airline I'd never heard of.
Their posted signs showed a flight to Atlanta in half an hour, along
with a claim to be "The Economical Airline" so I walked over to try my
luck there. Maybe I had enough cash to cover the fare.
"Excuse me, how much is the fare to Atlanta? And, can I get a seat
on the next plane?"
"How old are you?" she asked.
"Nineteen," like what difference does it make?
"If you'll go standby, I can get you on the plane for $99," she
claimed. "Student discount."
"Sounds like a deal to me," I agreed. On a hunch, I offered her the
credit card. This time, no trouble. I hadn't been paying attention to
the Delta fare but I figured it was a lot higher. So, Andreas had a way
to control charges against the credit card. Well, better than nothing.
In a few minutes I was boarding the plane. It wasn't very crowded
at that time of the day. Better still, it was a twin-turboprop commuter
made by Beech, and they didn't close the door to the pilot's compartment.
I watched them work through the checklist and get things going, wishing
I were in one of their seats instead of mine.
Once we got going, I spent the flight going through the DayTimer,
page by page. There was a lot in there.
There were a few pictures. One was of me, me-Bree, in a - oh,
my god - PROM dress. I'd better never EVER let Kim or Sarah see this.
Another one was of a little Grumman Yankee, with me looking sporty next
to the open canopy. A note on the back claimed that it was me after my
first solo flight. Oh my. I paged through and found the other pilot
documents; proof of recent aviation medical and so forth. No logbook,
though. I couldn't use the license alone to get a job flying, but I
could use it to rent a plane if I needed.
The other letters had also been opened, but instead of more notes
from Andreas, these were from my mother! And they read like we had
been corresponding all along. You know the sort, "so happy to hear in
your last letter that you found a job. You must enjoy being a research
assistant. I'm not sure I know exactly what a 'pre-Newtonian physicist'
does, but it sounds like something that would appeal to you."
"Pre-Newtonian physicist?" What was that?
Then it hit me, of course. That was Andreas' little joke. He was
always talking about how ancient the methodologies behind his "works"
were. And for all that Mother could discourse with the best experts on
contemporary French literature, she'd never recognize that pre-Newtonian
means it wasn't physics at all, at least, not as modern science uses the
term. Alchemy, maybe, but not physics.
Then something else occurred to me. The handwriting was Mother's,
but nowhere in the letters did she actually refer to me by name. That was
wrong. I was too soon past adolescence to be comfortable with lots of
"darlings" and "dears" so I had made a point of getting her always to call
me Steve, or Steven. However, in the letters, it was "Darling" or
"Sweetie". Even if someone else found the letters, there was no hint of
my previous identity. Still, they read like my mother wrote, aside from
that. The handwriting matched, too, though that wasn't proof of anything
with Andreas in the picture. It seemed that Andreas had been forging a
shadow correspondence with my mother, assuring her that I was okay. He
must have changed the incoming letters just enough to protect my new
identity.
I couldn't believe how much those few letters from home, three in
all, touched me. My parents were all right, as parents go. I hadn't
always agreed with them. But they had put up with a lot from me and
always let me know that no matter how stupid they thought I had been,
(or I thought THEY had been) that they always loved me. Somehow, I
knew that if I showed up on their doorstep, even as I was now, they'd
accept me and love me and that I'd have a family no matter what.
I was so absorbed in reading and rereading the notes that I didn't
realize I was tearing up until the first drops hit the letter I was
holding. It's a good thing there weren't any other passengers close by,
or they'd have seen a blubbering girl too emotional to avoid a public
scene. I glanced around to see if someone was watching, then wiped
my eyes and went on to the rest of the stuff in the DayTimer.
There were also a lot of what looked like journal entries, all in
the same handwriting I'd been using (I tried it out, copying a passage,
and it was the same), going back half a year. It was full of really
interesting things, a few of which I memorized. I figured I'd save my
imagination for different lies. I also put down some bare notes about
what I'd done since I ended up in Florida in the first place.
Thinking all the way back to the beginning of this quest triggered
an urge to take inventory again. I had three outfits on me - one rather
elegant - some makeup, a few pieces of nice costume jewelry, a pair of
shoes which I would rather not wear unless I had to, hiking boots, my G-
shock watch, a backpack, my flute, and a fresh new DayTimer that didn't
look new. I also had a driver's license, Social Security card, two
credit cards, a pilot's license, and almost five hundred dollars in cash
(which happened to be, not coincidentally I thought, about the amount the
last forty-eight hours had cost me).
When we got to Atlanta I caught another cab and told him to head for
where the circus was setting up. He was about to drive right up to the
entrance, but when I saw some of the trucks I decided to walk part of the
way. Another idea seemed too good to pass up, so I pulled my flute out,
fitted it together, and started to play a nice Scottish bagpipe marching
tune, though I could not for the life of me remember the name. I thought
it would make an impression.
I was right. Some of the carnival people I recognized saw or heard
me coming and pointed me out to other people. When I finally walked the
quarter mile or so into the group there was a lot of applause. I ended
it with a riff just in time, because Kim pushed her way through the
crowd and when she saw me she shrieked, "BreennaaY!" adding some kind of
weird vowel to the end of my name. She leapt on me like she'd thought I
was dead or something. If I'd still been playing, I think the flute
would have gone halfway up her nose before either of us could stop.
"How did it go what did you do did he-" and then she must've rea-
lized we were in a crowd because she took my arm and dragged me bodily
off to a corner where there wasn't anyone else visible. "Sit down, tell
me about- no, wait," she interrupted herself, and yanked me back up and
dragged me through the chaos again until we got to Sarah's trailer. I
sighed, but it was inevitable.
Not to my surprise, Kim dragged me up the stairs, pounded on the
door, and then flung it open, yelling, "Look who's back!"
Sarah mumbled something as she made her way through the racks and
boxes, but when she saw me she stopped cold. "Brinny?" she asked, as
if she couldn't believe it either.
"That's what all the paperwork says," I retorted, but everyone else
missed that and I was soon stuck in a chair with a drink, being
interrogated. There was no way I was going to take this sitting down,
though; I'd been through far too much of that already.
"So tell us what happened?" Kim begged, with a prurient gleam in her
eye.
"We just had a nice dinner," I said.
"Oh, come on, did he kiss you?"
My blush was answer enough.
Sarah, smiling, asked, "Come on, Bree, tell us the details. Where
did he take you?"
I sighed and thought about it, then recounted the details of the
evening, minus stealing a small magical ring from a frieze in the office.
And the aftereffects of putting it on later. I don't think they would
have been impressed to learn that I didn't get to digest my dinner from
my first real date.
"So he *did* kiss you," Kim crowed with triumph.
"Well, um, yeah, sure," I said with a lot more nonchalance than I
really felt. Or, at least an attempt at nonchalance.
"Was he a good kisser?" Kim persisted.
I was about to give her some snappy answer about respecting my
privacy, but the memory of the heat my lips had felt after his kiss just
leapt from my mind and I felt them curving into a introspective smile
while I tried to decide what to say. Even Sarah thought that was
amusing.
"Well, Kimmy, I guess that's your answer," Sarah laughed.
Then she got a bit introspective herself, and asked, "So, Bree, is
that the end of your quest?"
I just shook my head.
"Where do you go next?"
"I'm not sure, exactly," I answered. "I'll have to figure that
out."
Sarah nodded, then stood abruptly.
"Well, girl, I've been covering for you long enough. Take your
things to the trailer and get to work."
Kim used that as her own excuse as well and left with me. She had
picked up on Sarah's question though it took her a few minutes to bring
the topic up again.
"You told Sarah your quest isn't over yet," she quietly reminded me.
I just nodded.
"How long can you stay with the circus?"
"I don't really know that either. I think I'll have to get some
things together before I leave, and I can certainly use the money."
She took this as good news, at least for now, and her obstinately
cheery disposition wouldn't let her be down for long. With the bright
smile I had come to treasure, she gave me a quick hug and left to her
own duties.
Jim had the carousel well along, but there was plenty to do and I
got pretty involved pretty quickly. Which meant I was anything but
pretty when we called it quits. The Colonel's ambitious plan had us
opening for the crowd that very evening, and I barely had time to get
cleaned up before our show. My show costume was just as brief as ever,
but my time wearing the short skirt on my fancy dress made the scantiness
of my show costume seem almost reasonable.
Until the first time one of the Cairns patted my fanny that is.
If anything, the crowd was even more loudly appreciative of my
minor part in the performance. Maybe I was just relaxing a bit more.
I know that with my second ring in hand I was certainly feeling more
cheerful, not to mention those lovely credit cards.
Still, it was a very long day and a very long evening before I
could finally get to sleep. As I was putting the rollers in my hair,
I promised myself that one of my first new acquisitions was going to
be a set of hot rollers.
The next day, Saturday, dawned entirely too early for me. I had
intended to sleep in, but some internal alarm clock reminded me that it
had been several days since I had really worked out. First my injuries
limited me, and then I just got caught up in getting the second ring.
In any event, about 5:00 AM I woke up with that feeling that told me I
wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. Slipping quietly out of the
trailer, I grabbed my trusty broom handle and went looking for some
soft ground to do a few overdue katas.
The circus grounds in Atlanta were not very compatible with my
desire for exercise. All the outside area was paved with asphalt.
Apparently the Colonel had obtained permission to punch some holes in
the surface for the guy wires and support poles. The only soft dirt
I found was already well fertilized by the stabled horses. Then an
idea came to me and I went inside the convention center itself.
One of the rings was filled with sawdust to a depth of an inch or
so. We had used this ring with our dog act, and I knew the horses used
it, too. At this hour of the morning, the big building was deserted and
I just walked into the empty ring for my practice.
Then I lost myself for a while. It had always been a curious thing
to me that the more I concentrated on my katas, the less I seemed to be
thinking at all. The moves flowed through my body almost by themselves,
but I didn't feel distracted or bored or even particularly involved. It
was as though I were dreaming again, though this was a more pleasant
dream than any from the nighttime.
I had just finished a stick kata with a fairly high-speed flourish
when I heard the sound of a single pair of hands clapping with respectful
applause.
The Colonel himself stepped into the lights of the ring from the
nearby shadows.
"That was as much dancing as fighting," he observed.
"Um, well, thank you," I stammered.
"Have you ever considered working up some sort of act with that?"
"No," I denied, quickly. Squash that idea right now!
"Well, I'll think about it," he promised, like I wanted that. Then
he continued, "I heard that you were some sort of martial arts expert."
I thought about asking him where he heard that, but it would have
been fairly pointless. He always knew about everything going on in his
circus.
"Hardly an expert," I said.
"That's not what the police said," he disagreed.
"Police?" I gulped.
"Yes," he confirmed. "After those young men were beaten up back in
Pensacola, they came and asked if anyone from the circus had been
involved."
"What did you tell them?" I asked, knowing that he knew, and that my
face would have made denial useless even if he had not.
"I told them that I didn't know anything about it, of course," he
said. "Brittany, you should know by now that we look after out own. Or
did you just think I let Sarah get all my workers a day off whenever they
wanted one?"
The last was said with a twinkle in his eyes that made it clear he
had been talking with Sarah, and that he had really been the one to make
all the arrangements she had claimed. Yet it also made it clear that he
was not angry. With his last statement, he smiled and stepped back into
the shadows, vanishing as silently as he had appeared. Goodness, if I
were paranoid at all, I'd start looking over my shoulder all the time.
The rest of the day was almost comforting in its sameness. Almost,
but not quite. Atlanta seemed just as hot as Pensacola, maybe worse. I
was sweating like a pig before noon, and it just got hotter after that.
The princess costume was bad enough, but poor Jim in his armor must have
been truly miserable. What really surprised me, though, was that I
actually found myself feeling sorry for Amber in her mouse outfit. If
things were that bad, I had to do something.
I saw the Colonel talking to someone I vaguely remembered as some
sort of city or convention center official and decided I'd see if his
morning comments gave me any sort of privilege of access. I moved that
way while I waited for them to finish their conversation. Unfortunately,
I timed it wrong and I ended up close enough to hover before they were
through talking. While I waited, I stalled by sweating, patting at my
hair, smoothing my skirt, sweating, fidgeting with my ring, and sweating.
"So, Brittany, what can I do for you" the Colonel asked.
"Um, well, uh, it's these costumes. They're pretty hot. Do we
really have to wear them?"
"You look lovely, Brittany, and the guests love them."
"Well, yes, I know, but, well, they are pretty hot."
Wow, was I ever an eloquent speaker.
Instead of just patting me on the head and sending me on my way,
though, the Colonel got this vacant look in his eyes for a moment, then
nodded.
"I suppose you're right," he surprisingly agreed. "I'll let every-
one wear whichever costume is cooler. Would that be okay?"
"Um, sure," I agreed. Then I realized what I had agreed to. My
cooler costume was my show costume. Me and my big mouth!
But when I changed into it, I decided it might just be better at
that. Maybe wearing the short dress had given me a better acceptance of
showing my legs, or something. In any event, the blessed coolness of it,
even with those tights, made me grateful for at least the choice.
Over the next several days, I noticed that wearing the show costume
most of the time instead of the princess get-up had more effects than
just keeping me cooler. There were a lot fewer screams from five-year-
old girls about the princess, and a lot fewer squats to talk with a wide-
eyed child face to face. On the other hand, there were a LOT of
requests to stand with a family for a picture. Requests that were likely
to come from the husband or son instead of a little girl.
I was posing for yet another family photo when I heard a scream
that didn't sound like the pretend anxiety of someone on one of the more
thrilling midway rides.
(
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