Ledas was finishing his preparation for his part of the show in the cold stables. Props were in place over his whole body. He took out a locket, opening it and a mirror showed his face. It was pale, a bit too pale, marked slightly with blue veins his eyes crystal blue. His last performance wasn’t as well received, so he was slightly anxious. It was hard to perform at the same place for three months in a row. Half of this part of the town probably saw his tricks already, but winter was too snowy and cold for the troupe to change their location.
He focused on his hand, bringing his index and middle fingers together by crossing them. The golden tattoos on the proximal phalanges of each finger connected to form a complete magical circle. Flame slowly appeared in his palm, whirling and spinning until it formed a perfect sphere of fire.
Here came the most uncomfortable part of the routine: submerging the tips of his fingers into the flame. “Ugh…” He clenched his teeth as the fire slowly entered his veins through the fingertips. In the small mirror in the pendant, he saw his complexion slowly becoming more warm and lively. His eyes returned to their natural green color.
He no longer resembled someone who was terminally ill, a vampire, or an aberration. That was good. He combed the ashen hair that no longer looked menacing. One had to appear good, especially when performing.
The Vishap's Belly Inn had no empty seats on Saturday night as the vagabond troupe captivated the crowd. The room was warm on this early spring night, filled with the smells of stew, beer, and sweat from all the patrons. Ledas in his long navy coat and white gloves began his show moving his hands in the air mesmerizing the audience.
He started with his main course of tricks.
He almost seemed like a mage, though no incantations were spoken, nor visible effects seen. With a graceful gesture, cards began to fly from one hand to the other, as he scanned the audience, picking out those most likely to be enthralled by his finale.
"Girl, Focus!" he beckoned to a wide-eyed girl at the front, a grin spreading across his face. With a dramatic flourish, it was time for his part of the show to end. But what is the best way but classics? He plucked a silver drahm from the girl's ear, much to her amusement and that of a few people in the crowd. Yet, such a trick was ancient; it needed a twist to impress the ones who had seen other magicians act before. He snapped his fingers holding the silver coin, which burst into colorful confetti, raining down on the impressed onlookers.
"But where did it go?" He pretended to look for the coin in a comedic manner and produced a deck of cards back into his hands; the audience hadn't noticed the moment he put it away. The crowd still had some sour faces, so he moved towards a still dour-looking old woman.
"Ma'am, I sense your doubt in my magic, but watch - it can read minds," he teased, offering her a card from the deck. As she drew one, Ledas stepped back and spun in place looking at the crowd. He stirred the deck of cards and took one from inside. "The queen of spades, is this your card?" he asked.
The woman blinked a few times in confusion, looking at the card she had thought she held in her now empty hand was now inexplicably with the magician, while the crowd filled the room with cheers and woos.
"Nine hells, how?" the woman muttered to herself in confusion. Nearby, the troupe's twin mimes made their rounds, collecting the bronze splits and sometimes even whole bronze coins in their cylindrical hats as the magician made a deep bow and went towards his fellow vagabonds.
As the tightrope dancer began his act above, dodging occasional food projectiles, Ledas sat beside Olaf: the troupe's robust leader, and the strongman.
"Nice job, Ledas. You look spent, though," Olaf noted, clapping him on the back.
"I'd say otherwise, but indeed, I'm nearly done for the night," Ledas replied, taking a loud sip of beer provided by a thankful patron. "I'm gone after this mug." Finishing the sentence, he inhaled the beer froth with pleasure.
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"Was the last trick just sleight of hand?" Olaf whispered, eyeing him curiously.
"It's more about directing attention," Ledas admitted with a sly grin, proud of his craft.
"Well, that one looked like magic for sure. Maybe if I watch it closely next time I'll be able to see what you did there." A long pause ensued as the crowd became louder. "Still keeping your talents under wraps, eh? Well, never mind, I am happy to have you around, sly bastard."
"We are not starving, stash money for a rainy day, the beer tastes nice, and the audience is happy. It's a fine life where we travel around the world and are free to decide the destination. If I wanted riches, I would have taken a shady path, and get ridiculously rich by cleaning some dry." Ledas said, despite being tired and pale, he looked fulfilled as he laid his head back, looking at the tightrope dancer performing on the rope.
"Not a chance you would become a thief; you like to show off too much. Go rest, we have a harsh morning tomorrow," Olaf patted Ledas's head, ruffling the neatly combed hair.
As Arty concluded his tightrope act, Ledas retreated to the stables, his makeshift bed of hay and a plaid blanket awaiting. Ensuring privacy, he pulled a small pendant from beneath his shirt. A mirror inside revealed his pale, almost spectral reflection. "I shouldn't have drunk the cold beer. No, it's fine, I'm just overthinking; I just look pale, nothing else."
He approached their personal belongings in the corner, grabbed a tin cup, and threw a dried daisy inside. Moving his finger gently on the brim of the cup, he crossed his index and middle fingers moving them against each other. Hot water slowly started to appear inside as Ledas whispered an incantation, with his fingers starting to glow with golden runes, forming patterns every few movements of his hands.
After warming up from the tea, Ledas checked his face in the mirror again - much better. The daisy hid the eerie taste of conjured water and helped wash away the tiredness as he fell asleep under a huge plaid blanket on the hay.
Back in the tavern, Olaf was performing his tricks: lifting a bench with 3-4 people sitting on it and offering townsfolk a chance to arm-wrestle him.
"Put one copper to win one silver! Easy as that. Who's up for the challenge tonight?" A group of four guards from the nearest gate, regulars both in the tavern and for the challenge, were eager.
No one in this town had won yet, but the guards were betting among themselves on which of them could withstand Olaf's pressure the longest. After losing, one guard didn't back down.
"Let's try again! I am not taking no for an answer!" His face was slightly red from the alcohol, but he put the copper piece on the table.
"Sure, why not." Olaf smiled as repeat attempts were easier, and he slammed the guard's hand on the table, making his colleagues giggle in the background, hurting his pride. The guard stood up, his face red, yelling.
"I could easily take you one on one, wanna go outside, hic!?" As if forgetting that he was someone who had to uphold the law, not create trouble.
At the bar table, an older man wearing officer's pauldrons and the city's tabard stood up to get to his subordinate. Other guards were bursting out laughing, hindering their ability to calm down their drunk friend.
It wasn't the first time this had happened with Olaf, so he knew the best way to diffuse situations like this.
"Of course, you could, master warrior. I am but a strong laborer, not a skilled warrior like yourself."
"Yeah, right, I am a strong warrior and I need another drink!" His friends gently moved him away from the potential conflict and from the inn.
"You look strong," the man in the officer's uniform said, sitting in front of the arm-wrestling table. His hair was graying and his face adorned with a couple of scars, but he made Olaf feel weak in comparison.
"Strong, calm, and humble when needed. Town guard's required qualities. In a week, we are conducting recruiting at the central base. I suggest you go there." He put a coin into the small pile on the table. Without waiting for a response, he stood up and left the inn.
Arty was adjusting the hay and putting blankets for the crew members finishing up in the inn. Ledas had again forgotten to take off his shoes and had thrown away the blanket in his sleep. He was twitching, nightmares again. Arty sat next to his lying friend and did what he had seen his late mother do when he was a small boy. He gently petted his friend's head, humming a soft tune. "Shhh, no monsters are under the bed. Sweet dreams," he whispered, staying beside Ledas until his friend's breathing steadied and the twitching ceased.