Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“What exactly does ‘hither yonder’ mean?” Jordan asked, twisting her braid with her gaze still locked on the paper on her knee.
“It’s supposed to be ‘yon,’ which roughly translates to ‘toward here,’ ” I whisper-sighed. “Just be grateful Winston remembered the trumpet.”
Jordan giggled, flouncing her skirts and using her notes to fan herself. “Where’s Jerry? It’s too hot for diva delays.”
Val must have overheard.
“Jerry! You’re on,” she called, face still buried in her phone.
Nothing.
“Jerry?”
“I’ll check on him.” I left my notebook on the metal chair in the elementary school auditorium before trudging the short set of stairs leading to the stage to look for Henry VIII. I mean…Jerry.
His red velvet doublet with gold braiding lay on top of a box next to a pair of stockings and a resplendent hat with feathers. But there was no sign of Jerry anywhere. I wandered backstage and called his name again.
“He’s gone,” Presley reported.
Presley was a pretty blond twentysomething Val had recruited to help out with Renaissance in the Park. Her only qualification was that she loved the theater, which made me doubtful she’d be with us after our event was over. HRS members were a special breed. We loved history and theater and the arts…all together. Presley seemed enthusiastic enough, so perhaps I was wrong.
“Where did he go?”
“He quit.”
“Quit?” I furrowed my brow. “I don’t understand.”
Her blond ponytail swung over her shoulder when she inclined her head. “He walked out. He said the costume was too hot and heavy. To be fair, he looked tapped out and sweaty. Maybe he overexerted himself.”
“But he didn’t do anything.”
Presley shrugged. “I’m just the messenger. Talk to him. You can probably catch him in the parking lot if you hurry.”
I refused to run after Henry VIII, but I did speed walk. I shielded my eyes from the afternoon sun and scanned the near-empty lot.
“Jerry! Wait!”
Jerry frowned, wiping sweat from his brow as he aimed a fob at a black pickup truck laden with peace signs and Earth First stickers. “Sorry, Holden. I’m out.”
“You’re Henry the Eighth. You can’t go.”
“Yes, I can,” he retorted. “Look, I told Glen to find another king, but he obviously didn’t take my request seriously. I can’t wear those royal robes in hundred-degree heat. I’ll expire.”
“We can work something out. What if we shorten the intervals? Maybe fifteen minutes at a time in costume,” I cajoled. “The king is one of the stars of the show, you know. Everyone will be here to see you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I have to put my health first. Last year, I nearly ended up in the hospital with heat stroke, and I won’t do that again. Besides, I’m all wrong for the part. I’m too skinny, and my hair is too blond. You only want me because I’m tall and you have a costume to fill.”
That was all…accurate.
“We need you, Jerry,” I begged. “The fair opens in August and—”
“That’s plenty of time to find someone new,” he intercepted. “It’s not my problem, anyway. And it’s really not yours either. Aren’t you a scientist or something?”
“Yes, but this is important too.”
Jerry shot me a dubious side-eye as he hopped into his truck and turned on the engine. “Is it? I was very specific about my terms, and item number one…no Henry the Eighth. Glen said this is the only significant role available, and I don’t want it.”
“But—”
“I’m not changing my mind, Holden. Find some other sucker.” And with that, he peeled out of his parking spot.
I stared at his red taillights until they disappeared from view and pondered this new dilemma.
Jerry was right. This wasn’t my problem, but I knew from experience that no one else would care. Glen, our so-called production manager, would shrug it off and say the show would have to go on without the king, and Val wouldn’t even look up from her phone. Everyone involved in HRS had important careers. Dressing up in period costumes was a lark—a welcome respite from the modern world that was becoming increasingly difficult to pull off with our current budget restraints.
But what was the point of putting on the fair at all if we didn’t at least try to do it right?
We needed a freaking Henry VIII, darn it.
Who, though?
He had to fit in the costume. We didn’t have the funds to order another one of quality. He had to be tall and robust. Even better if we could find a muscular guy with a gregarious personality who wouldn’t mind being the center of attention for a few hours at a stretch.
The only person I knew who fit that description was…
Ezra.
2
EZRA
“Marsden! Good to see you this fine Saturday.”
I glanced up from my desk and pasted a smile on my face. The death grip on the yellow highlighter in my hand would have given me away, but my boss wasn’t the type to notice details. Tag Rossman hired lackeys like me to sniff out irregularities so he could concentrate on the big picture…corporate fraud. In my opinion, Mr. Rossman relied on others a bit too much. Those details gave purpose and meaning to an argument.