Page 31 of The Sorcerer's Thief
That will do for now. “Fine, and if you win? What would you claim from me?”
“Another magic lesson.”
“If I choose the topic.”
“But I want to learn?—”
“You set the perimeters of my request, so I shall set the perimeters of yours.”
He deflates. What would he have requested?
“Deal?” I extend my hand.
“Deal.” He clasps my wrist, offering a little half smile.
We proceed to cheer like crazed loons for our champions until both of them lose to a teenager no wider than a string bean but tall as a giraffe. Afterward, we watch the same type of contest, only for children, and make bets on them as well.
Turns out it’s quite good that neither of us is much for gambling because we’re terrible at picking winners. In the end, we settle for a tie, declaring us both the winner and due to collect our prizes from each other, so we’re both happy and cheerful.
Cricket is still laughing as we leave the hay bale tossing and find our way directly to a pie-eating contest.
“Still looking for competitors,” barks an old man with a round tummy and no hair to speak of, his bald head shining in the sunlight. “Who among you thinks he can eat more pies than his fellow man? Who seeks to win my title for themselves?”
Cricket elbows me in the side. “You should enter.”
I elbow him right back. “Why me? You enter.”
His hand shoots up like a bird taking flight. “Us! We’ll enter!”
“Hey, don’t volunteer me. I didn’t agree to?—”
“Done,” says the old man. “Up here, young lads, and take a seat.”
Young lad, my rear end. I’m older than his mother. Just who does he think he’s calling me?—
Cricket grabs my arm and drags me to a long table filled with contestants on stools, ready to eat their hearts out.
I guess I’m entering a pie-eating contest, then.
“What type of pie is it?” asks Cricket.
“Pumpkin or apple, but choose the pumpkin,” says the lady seated next to him. “My grandma’s recipe. You’ll love it.”
“Can you eat either of those?” asks Cricket
Probably not. “No doubt the crusts are full of eggs and milk.”
His shoulders slump, but the lady has overheard. “We just eat the fillin’s. More fun that way. Goes faster too.”
Curses. And I thought I was off the hook.
Cricket flashes a wicked grin. “I may not win, but I’m going to beat you.”
“Is that so?”
“It sure is.”
One thing I hate more than appearing cowardly is actually losing. “You’re on.”
