„Certainly!“ Dad said, taking Spike's leash and leading him into the tent. I followed, ignoring the muted cheers for Benson from the two reclining patients.
I looked around. Dad had been improving on the decor inside, too. I'd already seen the ramshackle operating table, the side tables piled with reproductions of period jars and bottles and flasks, and the artistic arrangement of scary-looking metal instruments. The skeleton dangling from the top of the tent was new. And he'd brought in several jars of leeches. His booth was probably the only one in the fair that the Anachronism Police hadn't complained to me about. I wondered if they were impressed by its authenticity or just too horrified to come in.
„Isn't it grand!“ he exclaimed, seeing me look around.
„Lovely,“ I said, glancing down at the sawdust coating the ground around the operating table. „Please tell me those aren't real bloodstains.“
„Of course they are,“ he said. „Real chicken blood.“
„I should have guessed,“ I said, dragging Spike back from some blood-soaked sawdust that he'd decided looked tasty.
„Let's get the patient on the examination table, shall we?“ Dad said, moving several glittering surgical knives aside to make room.
„We?“ I said. „You mean you're going to help me pick him up?“
„Well, maybe you should do it,“ he said. „I don't want to alarm him.“
Didn't want to get bitten, more likely. Because I'd once saved Spike's life, he'd developed an inexplicable and unrequited fondness for me, which meant that my odds of getting bitten were much lower than most people's. Although trying to hold him while Dad performed his examination would normally have leveled out the odds again.
Fortunately, Spike was too busy trying to spit out the blood-soaked sawdust to bite, though keeping him still was a lost cause.
„I can't check his heartbeat unless you can get him to stop growling,“ Dad said.
„Fat chance,“ I said. „Besides, it's his ribs I'm worried about, not his evil little heart.“
„Doesn't seem to be anything wrong with his ribs,“ Dad said. „I don't think he's injured at all – just mad as hell.“
Which was normal for Spike. If he'd begun acting angelic, I'd have told Dad to check for a concussion. After a little more poking and prodding, Dad gave Spike a clean bill of health and I took him back to my booth where, to my astonishment, Rob eventually showed up to claim him.
„What a horrible day,“ Rob said, „and more to come. I'd better take Spike back to Mrs. Waterston's house and feed him.“
„Fine,“ I said. „You didn't leave Mr. Benson alone, did you?“
„He went back to his motel,“ Rob said, sounding tired.
„Are you sure?“
„I watched him drive off.“
„Good riddance,“ I said. „I hope that's the last we see of him.“
„Well, actually, I think he's coming to Mrs. Waterston's party,“ Rob said.
„Are you sure?“
„He rented a costume,“ Rob said, with a shrug.
„Oh, great,“ I said, as Rob ambled off with Spike. „That should be a laugh a minute.“
I sighed, plopped my haversack on the ground, and sat down, feeling suddenly tired.
Two members of the Anachronism Police came in, carrying a birdbath, accompanied by a potter, presumably its maker. I wasn't in the mood, but I closed my eyes, counted to ten, then opened them again, and smiled as sweetly as I could manage.
„Can I help you?“ I asked.
„Oh, no,“ one watchman said, starting to back away.
„It's not really important,“ the other said. He tripped over an andiron in his haste to leave, sending the dish of the bird-bath sailing. The potter leaped up and caught it as if it were an oversized ceramic Frisbee, then followed them out of my booth. I could hear the three of them bickering as they scurried down the lane. Apparently I'd just blown the Miss Congeniality award. I closed my eyes again and massaged my temples.
„Long day,“ Amanda said, coming up and leaning against my table.
„The longest,“ I agreed. „And not over yet. We still have the party.“
„You make that sound like as much fun as a firing squad,“ Amanda said. „What's wrong with the party?“
„I just want to put on my jeans and relax, not keep wearing these damned skirts,“ I said, shaking the hem of my dress and raising a small cloud of dust. „And Michael's mother will be having conniption fits at every real or imaginary thing that goes wrong.“
„Well, tell her not to get her panniers in a twist,“ Amanda said, smiling. „The tall, dark, and handsome Michael will be there, of course.“