Unmaking Percy

Part III - III, continued (The Dizzy Tent)

"So, I'm sure we can all agree now that there's something terribly wrong with me" Tombert stated, lyre in hand.

"Something wrong? People could have drowned!" Percy burst.

Next to him, Evans climbed back up on to the deck. He shook off the lakewater and algae like a pup. But the infuriating veneer of heroism clung to him still.

"Yes, they could have drowned, but what fun" came Tombert's retort as they smoothed down their wind-teased hair.

"You're serious?"

"Surprising everyone, but perhaps most of all myself, yes, I am. Listen, they all know what happens in my concerts by now. You think they come here unawares? This, this" Tombert gestured about wildly, "is why they come. But I want no more of it. If you four can find a way to make it stop, I'll be forever in your debt. I don't yet know what that means exactly, as I've never before found myself in such a predicament, but I give you my word, I'll make those words count."

"A lot of words" Myrtle remarked, still wheezing.

"Again – I'm a bard. I'll see you tonight at the party, yes?"

They turned and strode back to the tent, their pearl earring dangling with a milky glint, leaving behind a crowd wrecked ashore by a dance.

Valeria stared, her hands still picking out leaves and algae from her drenched tunic, an unwelcome thought lingering at the threshold of her notice.

"Wait. What party?"

They soon dove back into the perfumed silks of the tent. They were shown by an attendant with long hair and an even longer face to their quarters. Like every other room in the tent, it was partitioned from the other quarters merely with coloured fabrics. Percy could not tell whether the deference the attendant showed them was due to his earlier announcement of being "of the chosen one's retinue", or whether it was due to their apparent connection with Tombert de L'Isle. They left only their blankets in the room, though Percy suspected that even the chosen one's blanket might make for prized memorabilia.

There were a few hours left before the party. The sprawling, lamp-lit interior of the tent unfurled before them like a gilded tapestry. Percy realized it was not just a tent nearly the size of a town: it was a town, with shops, taverns, baths, streets of muffled steps and uncommon sights, feather-crested dancers, revellers piled on cushions and laps, musicians tuning their instruments and poets sharpening their wits. Percy stiffened. He saw dangers everywhere: in hot baths murmuring and moaning perfumed steam, in wine-tinted faces painted with gold and jewels, in claret poured like satin on overflowing cups. There were scents he hardly dared think of, for fear they would linger on him. There was warm tobacco and resin, crushed rose petals, and the slick oil of jasmine perfume on heated skin. He wondered if he still smelt of the incense that was burned in his home.

Percy had been taught about pleasures as heroes ought to be. Enraptured expressions and loosened limbs were never simply signs of the joy of others: they were threats that sought his downfall. And this was indeed a mighty battlefield.

He could feel himself succumbing already. He was suddenly aware of how heavy his leather purse was at his waist, and he longed to lighten it. He saw all manner of things he did not need, and very much wanted: a handkerchief that was too beautifully embroidered to use, an opal ring that was too expensive to wear and risk losing. Everywhere they passed, Evans gave vendors a smile so charming that they ought to pay him, and he wondered in rapture at every piece of finery he saw; but he purchased only a pair of woollen socks, for, as he solemnly informed Percy, he had not been able to mend the hole in his. Even Valeria, on whom Percy now placed the burden of perpetual good sense, seemed captivated by an antique dealer who dazzled her with old rare books.