Page 112 of Give Me a Shot

While Brian and Keith loudly expressed their disagreement to gain the crowd’s attention, Jess drew back again and fired, piercing the balloon tacked to the top of the left target. The crowd cheered. She fired again, puncturing the matching balloon at the right target. The crowd cheered even louder.

“My good men,” Doug said to Brian and Keith. “Verily, if we are to crown the best archer in the land, Her Majesty requires that we take all comers.” He gestured and bowed to Wendy, in garb fit for her station, seated in the middle of the stage. Jess mimed lifting skirts as she curtsied to the queen. Wendy nodded at her, barely concealing a smirk.

“A curse on your bow,” Keith shouted at Jess as she stood straight. He aimed and landed his arrow in the ring outside Jess’s in the left bull’s-eye.

“A pox on your arrow,” Brian shouted. His arrow landed on the other side of hers.

“My good masters, wherefore such malice?” Jess cried out, turning so the crowd could hear her. She drew another arrow. “Methinks you fear defeat at the hands of a woman!” She released, and the arrow landed just on the inside of Keith’s. The crowd roared while she fired again, grazing along Brian’s as itpierced the target. Jess took a few steps forward and bowed wth a flourish to each side of the audience. They were so loud, Jess almost broke character. She’d never heard as much cheering in all her years competing.

Once Jess had returned to the firing line, Doug raised his hands.

“My good people,” he called out. “My good people, what say we test the mettle of our competitors?”

While the crowd was cheering, two Rennies dressed as squires came running onto the field carrying baskets of bean bags. Brian, Keith, and Jess lined up. This next part was technically more difficult, but it would be hard for the crowd to keep track if they got it right. The squires got into position.

“The archer who doth collect the most quarry shall be champion,” Doug shouted. “Shall it be our Good Archer Green?”

Keith took a few steps forward and stretched his arms wide to his side of the arena. There were shouts of encouragement and applause. He returned to the line.

“Our Good Archer Blue?”

Brian did the same.

“Or…Mistress Archer Red?”

The crowd roared again, but rather than step out for her applause, Jess drew back her bow, as Brian and Keith had. The crowd’s reaction was the cue for the squires. They began tossing the bags high into the air and Brian, Keith, and Jess fired again and again. What the crowd didn’t know was that Brian and Keith were purposefully missing every other shot they took. Jess was trying to hit each one. As planned, the squire on the right threw the last bag high into the air. Its trajectory was different because it had a lot fewer beans. Brian and Keith shot low intentionally, but Jess pierced it as it flew into the middle of the arena. It exploded, confetti flying everywhere. The crowd was on its feet.

The squires ran onto the field, collecting the pierced bags strewn all over. They built up the anticipation, counting them slowly. Then one stood straight, pulling a red scarf out of his pocket and waving it in the air. The crowd went wild.

—

Brian clapped her on the shoulder as they left the arena after she’d bowed and waved to the audience on both sides.

“Excellent job,” he said. “Especially for your first time. You’re a natural at this. Why aren’t you a Rennie already?”

“I—” Jess felt her smile fall, her throat closing up. In a small way, she had been a reluctant Rennie in the past. Encouraged along by the sweetest, kindest Rennie there had ever been. The buzz, the energy from the crowd was still running through her, wrapped around her—like an impossible hug from her sister. She realized tears were on their way, so she shook her head and shrugged.

“Jess, that was great,” Keith said, jogging up to join them as they walked back to the stand.

“Thanks,” she squeaked out. She needed to get a drink, something, to get herself under control. She cleared her throat. “Listen, I need a drink. Can you guys take my tack?”

“Sure, take a long break, we got the stand,” Brian said, taking the things she shoved at him. “Is everything—”

“Be back,” she said, walking away from them as quickly as her legs could carry her.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Mo

Thankfully, Rick had given Mo very little resistance about maintaining the role of lead blacksmith that morning. Mo had already been in a battle with his discomfort before the gates opened. The arrival of this sensory nightmare of an event was bad enough. Knowing Jess was around but that he couldn’t reach out was sandpaper on his skin. When he’d arrived at the tented, temporary smithy where Rick was lighting the forges, his frustration must have been all over his face. Rick had jumped when he saw him.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Rick had said.

Mo had only been able to scowl in return.

Now, hours and a steadily growing number of patrons later, Mo felt somewhat better, calmed by his hobby. The heat from the forges was tolerable due to the breeze passing through overlaps in the tent fabric and the open-frame doorways on each side. There was just enough light for the patrons to watch as he, Rick, and one of their students worked. Mo had made a good number of brooches for purchase, and having shifted to blacksmith’s knives, his mind had gone blessedly quiet. But a boy had taken a spot directly in front of him on the benches that had been installed for patrons to sit and watch. The boy was staring with an unnerving intensity. And he’d been sitting there for a very long time. A woman Mo guessed to be the boy’s mother had tugged on his sleeve several times, to no avail. He was about Maddie’s age, but from the way he was ignoring his mother, it seemed he was a lotmore stubborn. Mo was starting to get annoyed at the kid’s lack of respect, between the staring and the ignoring, until he realized that the boy wasn’t staring athim,but at his hands.

Mo turned to switch knives, returning the one whose blade he’d just flattened to the forge and using a pair of tongs to pick up the one he had been reheating. As he submerged it into a tub of oil hidden inside a period-style wooden bucket, the boy shot to his feet and leaned forward, looking inside.

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