We'll Always Have Parrots(10)

He stared at me, for a moment. Then he smiled.

“So all I have to do is get a medical dictionary, and flip through it for some obscure diseases, and I’ve got my genuine Amblyopian names,” he said.

“You can tell whoever complains that you went to the original source material,” I said.

“Oh, I like it,” he said. “Is there a bookstore around here?”

“Probably,” I said. “But even better—see that man in the purple turban? Ask him.”

I pointed to where Dad stalked through the corridor in his wizard’s gear, trying in vain to look dashing and sinister.

“Ask one of the fans?” Nate said, recoiling.

“He’s not a fan—he’s only pretending to be,” I said. “That’s my father—and he’s a medical doctor. He probably knows more obscure diseases than Ichabod Dilley ever heard of. I’m sure he’d love to help.”

“Fabulous,” Nate said, and darted off in pursuit of Dad.

After several wrong turns, I found the dealers’ room. A long line of fans waited outside the main entrance, so I sneaked around to a side door one of the convention organizers had shown me the previous night, when I’d come down to scout the lay of the land. Only dealers and convention staff were supposed to know that this door was unlocked. I slipped in and glanced around to get my bearings when—

“En garde, Madame!”

I looked down to find the point of a sword at my throat.





Chapter 6




“Chris, that’s not funny,” I said.

The sword point drifted away from my throat as the burly man holding it collapsed in a fit of laughter.

“Meg, if you could have seen your face,” he said, lowering the sword and offering me his arm. “Did you really think someone was trying to hurt you?”

“It’s a fan convention, Chris, remember?” I said, ignoring his attempts at chivalry. “Half the women in the hotel wish I didn’t exist, and odds are at least one of them is crazy enough to do something about it.”

“Never fear!” he said, with a flourish. “I will defend you with all the skill at my command!”

“Never mind defending me,” I said. “If you don’t get your sword peace-bonded, security’s going to take it away from you, and I just might help them.”

“All right, all right,” Chris said. “I’ll put it back on your table in a minute.”

“Chris,” I said, and then stopped, and counted to ten. Chris knew the rules about weapons at a fan convention. Attendees could wear weapons as part of their costumes, but convention security would confiscate any weapon not peace-bonded—secured in its sheath, scabbard, or holster with an electric-orange plastic binding that the guards could spot from across the ballroom. Chris’s own weapon was neatly secured, so he’d picked up one of the swords I was selling—I recognized it now.

“Chris, the point is to sell my swords, not let security babysit them till the end of the convention,” I said.

“Mercy!” he said, falling on his knees. “I come to beg you to lend your sword to my cause. Seriously,” he added, in his normal voice. “I need a favor from someone who’s reasonably good with a sword.”

“What kind of a favor?” I asked, trying not to let the flattery sway me. Chris Blair was the show’s blademaster, in charge of drilling the cast in fencing and stage combat and choreographing all the fights. I’d been learning as much as possible about sword fighting since I’d started making weapons, and fancied I was making progress, but to have Chris call me reasonably good was heady stuff.

“Can you fill in for Andrea? We’re giving a stage combat demonstration at noon, and Andrea can’t make it.”

“Will you spell me for when I need to get away from the booth?”

“No problem,” he said.

“It’s a deal,” I said. “What’s up with Andrea?”

“Long story,” he said, which, knowing Chris, meant that regardless of how long or short the story might be, it was none of my business. Not a good sign. In addition to being a member of his demonstration troupe, Andrea had been Chris’s girlfriend for the last year or so. If Andrea had been sick or had a schedule conflict, Chris would have said so. I hoped there wasn’t trouble between the two of them, but I knew better than to push it any further.

“Come on, then,” he said. “We need to rehearse.”

“Just let me touch base with Alaric Steele,” I said. “Have you seen him?”

“Alaric Steele?” Chris said. “Why do you need to check with him?”