The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3)

The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3) Page 170

The mummer’s irritation shows beneath his bearded smile. “You are a maiden fair on the precipice of death! The fearsome dragon’s flaming breath mere inches from your red-gold curls! You shall burn like tinder! Scream! Scream for your life!”

It seems a simple request, and yet, I’m far too mortified by it all to utter a sound. The crowd waits restlessly. I might remind them that I did not volunteer for this role. A soul-splitting screech rings out, loud and true. It sends shivers running through me. It’s Ann. Hand to forehead, she screams, playing the part like Lily Trimble herself.

The mummers cheer. “Ah, there is our princess!”

They bring forth Ann and place the crown upon her head. I am ushered back to the other girls with nary a thank-you for my efforts.

“I wasn’t as bad as all that,” I grumble when I am by Felicity’s side.

Fee pats my arm. The pat says, Indeed you were.

I cannot remain churlish for long, for Ann is magnificent. Watching her, I forget that she is Ann. She truly is a princess in danger of being devoured. With the mummers securing her wrists, she thrashes and begs for mercy. She screams as the paper dragon draws near.

“Will no one save this lady? Will she face death?” the mummer pleads with glee.

An injured bugle is blown. It sounds less a call to arms than a dying cow. Saint George arrives in his plumed helmet.

“Ah! But who is this? Be he friend or be he foe? Can anyone tell me true?”

“’Tis Saint George!” a girl cries out.

The mummer pretends not to have heard. “I pray you, who is it?”

“Saint George!” we yell merrily.

“And be he hero…or villain?”

“Hero!” For who would dare name the patron saint of England as anything but a hero?

“Oh, who will save me?” Ann cries mournfully. She really is quite good, but the mummer does not care to be upstaged. He places a firm hand round her arm.

“The princess, so overcome by terror, faints dead away,” he says pointedly.

Annoyance shows itself in Ann’s sideways glance, but as requested, and with a dramatic sigh, she closes her eyes and allows her body to go limp in the paper chains. Saint George faces the dragon.

“But what is this? Our hero hesitates. Doubt hath found a path to his heart.”

A mummer whose face is painted with two different expressions—a smile and a frown—sidles up to the actor playing Saint George. “The maid cannot be saved. Why sacrifice yourself for her?”

We greet this with a chorus of boos.

The actor with the painted face turns the smile side toward us. “This is how it has always been, the sacrifice of a maiden to soothe the beast. Would you dare to challenge it?”

“Doubt troubles our fair hero,” the tall mummer booms. “He will need assistance from such fair and good ladies as are assembled here to find his heart and win the day. Will you cheer him on?”

“Yes!” we shout.

Saint George pretends to deliberate as the paper dragon weaves nearer to Ann with a feeble growl. We give another loud cheer, and he draws his sword with purpose. A fierce battle ensues. The dragon is defeated, but Saint George is injured. Clutching his side, he falls to the ground and we go silent.

“What is this?” the mummer says, wide-eyed. “Our hero has been dealt a blow! Is there a doctor?” Nothing happens, and the mummer, clearly irritated, repeats, “I say, is there a doctor?”

“That’s me.” The three-toothed mummer beside us remembers his part. He rushes forward, holding his hat on his head, a glass vial raised high in his other hand. “I am the good doctah. And I’ve a magic potion that shall restore him to his former health. But for its magic to spark, every one of us must believe—believe and take hold.”

With great solemnity, the good doctor passes the glass vial from girl to girl and asks her to add her wish to it. The vial is rushed to the fallen Saint George and put to his lips. He springs to his feet to our roaring approval.

“Our hero has recovered! Your magic hath restored his former vigor! And now, to the princess fair.”

Saint George rushes to Ann’s side. He seems ready to kiss her cheek, but a loud throat-clearing from Mrs. Nightwing changes his mind. He gives a peck to her hand instead.

“The princess is saved!”

Ann comes alive with a smile. Again we cheer. The mummers in charge of the paper dragon pop up and join with Ann and Saint George, moving so that it appears as if the brave knight and the fair maiden ride the beast. They wave happily. The dragon meows, making us laugh. It is a very happy ending, which, I suppose, is what we expected. The mummers bow and we clap for them. The lead mummer places his cap upon the ground, inviting us to make a donation, “no matter how small.” We toss our coins, much to Mrs. Nightwing’s dismay.