“It’s Amblyopia!” Michael exclaimed, flinging his arms out and accidentally knocking aside the blue-and-white golf umbrella held by his minder. Since at six feet four inches he towered over her, she wasn’t having much luck holding it over his head.
“Whose idea was it to turn all these parrots loose?” I asked.
“It wasn’t anyone’s idea,” the gawky young wizard said. “When we went to bed, they were all in cages.”
Yes, I could see cages, dotted among the fake foliage overhead. Cages whose doors now hung wide open.
“Well, I suppose you could say it was the monkeys’ idea,” the diminutive Amazon said, trying to disentangle the umbrella, which had gotten caught in a philodendron.
“Monkeys?” I echoed.
“We also have monkeys,” she said, as if this were an additional feature rather than another problem. I’d heard much the same thing said about bugs in software—perhaps she had a day job at a computer company.
Just then, a ball of fur fell from a chandelier onto a baby stroller, snatched something from the hand of the child within, and scurried back up a trailing vine.
After a moment of shocked surprise, the child burst into wails, and his mother began complaining loudly to everyone within earshot. The monkey, hanging upside down by one foot and eating a stolen tangerine, watched impassively. I wondered if it was entirely an accident that the monkey dripped juice directly onto the child’s head.
“That’s a spider monkey,” the Amazon said helpfully.
“We also have a few capuchins and marmosets,” the ersatz Michael added, pointing to another corner of the lobby, where Amazon guards of assorted sizes and shapes were poking brooms and floor mops up into the overhanging vines. Nearby, a bellhop perched on a ladder, holding a half-peeled banana, in a vain attempt to lure one of the monkeys closer.
“Fascinating,” Michael said, sounding less enthusiastic this time. Or maybe he was just holding his breath. You could tell by the smell that the monkeys and parrots had been around for a while.
“Apparently the monkey-proof cages weren’t,” the young man said.
“We need to get Michael on stage,” the Amazon said.
They scurried along, clearing a path before Michael. I followed along, snapping photos and trying to be reasonably unobtrusive, since I was the last person the female fans wanted to see. I usually tried to find something else to do while Michael played Mephisto.
This weekend, when I wasn’t wielding the digital camera, I planned to sell my swords and other ironwork in the dealers’ room. Porfiria fans spent vast sums of money at these shindigs, on anything even vaguely related to the show. Surely, after they’d bought their fill of Porfiria action figures and autographed cast photos, a few would have money left to buy real, live swords. Worth a try, anyway, since the experiment would cost next to nothing. My only expense would be half the rental on the booth I’d share with another swordsmith.
I trailed along, watching the various costumed Amblyopians bow to each other and pose for pictures in front of the jungle foliage. I wondered if I had time to duck into the dealers’ room to see my booth. Maybe now would be a good time to check with Alaric Steele, the other swordsmith. But then I saw a sight I’d hoped to avoid.
A semicircle of about twenty fans were snapping pictures of two people in particularly elaborate costumes. The tall, stately blond woman wore an Amblyopian court headdress, designed to let the home viewer tell immediately how important a female guest star was by the number of purple plumes flopping around on her head. This particular headdress had denuded two average-sized ostriches, and its wearer would need someone to carry the ten foot train of her purple brocade dress. Beside her stood a short, round figure clad in the black velvet robes that marked him as a magician, carrying the snake-trimmed staff of one who specializes in the healing arts, and wearing a purple feathered turban that didn’t resemble anything I could recall seeing on the show, but did look rather striking while disguising his bald head.
I tried to disappear into the shrubbery, but the healing magician spotted me and bounded nimbly through the crowd to my hiding place.
“Meg! What do you think!” he said, twirling in front of me.
“Very nice, Dad,” I said. “I see you and Mother were serious about coming to the convention.”
Chapter 4
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Dad said, obligingly striking a pose for a passing camera. Of course not; when had any member of my family ever passed up an opportunity to wear a silly costume in public?
Mother, whose train prevented her from skipping through the crowd, turned and waved from across the room. I noticed that she’d gotten quite good at the sort of genteel wave favored by the British royal family, a barely perceptible twist of the wrist that one could keep up for the entire duration of a parade with minimal risk of repetitive motion injury. And she’d already acquired parrot protection in the form of a purple umbrella.