“Greetings, everyone, to Augstadt’s first Grand Bazaar!”

Her voice had a humble joy to it as it crossed the crowded square and reached the temporary box seats that now lined the edges, each sitting in their respective place. With a horn to help, she had no need to scream, simply projecting her voice. Of course, it didn’t matter if not everyone heard. This was the kind of event where many were simply there to boast about attending afterwards.

There were no peasants here, the crowd made up of those comfortably in the middle-class—or who wanted to appear as such. A seat in the boxes, however, wasn’t something money could buy. Something necessary for her to attract those with real money who would not be happy to have the wrong company.

As for her speech, it had been written and refined and practised. The sort of speech that touched on only the parts she thought essential and had suitable spaces for cheers and claps, which certain people in the audience knew about and so could suitably lead the way when those spaces came up.

“Of course, one thing that has been much discussed since the event was announced is the ambitious goal. Four-thousand Thalers is not a small sum. However, I know well just how generous our people are—and I would not exclude myself from that. My mother had a deep appreciation for charity and her absence has been sorely felt. So I would honour her with a personal contribution of a thousand Thalers, which I shall be looking to spend these coming days.”

She paused there for just a second.

“Well, is three-thousand Thalers a more reasonable goal?”

Right on cue, the first enthusiastic claps sounded out, which were quickly picked up by the rest of the crowd. She didn’t let them go on too long, though.

“Last of all, I would remind us what it is we are working towards: a kinder future for the less-fortunate children. With that said, allow me to declare the Grand Bazaar”—she raised a hand—“open!”

For a moment, polite clapping and hushed chattering filled the space, then a distant clap of thunder rang out. Many looked up to the sky to see if poor weather was coming—in time to witness something spectacular as a second, louder clap went off.

There, hanging high up in the air, looked to be a cloud of fire and smoke; the fire faded fast while the wind soon blew away the smoke.

“Pray do not miss the closing show. I promise, it is to be something quite spectacular.”

With her performance finally over, she retreated off the stage with a wave to those who had a mind to still be watching her at this time.

Three people were awaiting her off-stage and none of them had been privy to her surprise. So, as she led them off to her “room”, they all had questions, yet only one dared speak at this time.

“My Lady, if I may ask, since when did we arrange for fireworks?” the mayor asked.

“A week after I formally began planning. That was when the first letters went out,” she replied.

He couldn’t argue with that answer. Or rather, he knew he couldn’t win an argument with her—unless she wanted him to win. “I see….”

“It should be said that what we saw was not quite a firework, though,” she said, her tone light.

He let out a long sigh.

The opening of the bazaar was far from the end of her work. Truly, even the end of the bazaar was not the end of her work either. This much she knew. For others, perhaps it would have been too much, perhaps they would feel burnt out by this time.

However, not her.

A charity bazaar was a most queer event. While men often liked to stick their noses in, these bazaars were often run by women at almost every level. Women arranged them, women produced the novelty goods for sale, women acted as sellers for the stalls. While this particular bazaar was aimed at the wealthiest of Augstadt, usually bazaars had a less wealthy audience and featured a certain amount of mixing between the classes. The poorest still struggled to participate, lacking both money and time to contribute, but those who were modestly poor could perhaps find an opportunity to partake.

She did not particularly deviate from any of this. Through her socialising, she had established a committee of suitable ladies to oversee most things. The Nelli family had a wide tree of talented daughters whom were only to happy to help with more practical matters, such as leading of sub-committees and running stalls. That was before she began to involve her own contacts.

Once the organisation had been established, she simply needed to assign the appropriate responsibilities. It was not that the others had no say in how the bazaar would be ran, simply that, if they wished to deviate from her plans, they still had to meet her requirements and have the deviation approved by the top committee.

Her role, then, was to handle the things which could not be delegated, and to be the face of the organisation.

Of course, she was not one to be shallow with her work. To the world, it was a bazaar; to her, it was a test of many unrelated things. How well or poorly the various arrangements of committees performed, the construction ability of the city, to say nothing of the “fireworks” that had been developed. Wherever possible, she drew in something else to test or measure or check.

Even her guest list was not spared this.

Outside the city walls, she sat in another box that had been assembled for the purpose of giving the nobles a place away from the peasants. While there was a good amount of company with her, it was a certain guest’s arrival that sparked her interest.

She stood up and greeted him with a curtsey. “Prince Friedrich! I am most glad Sir could attend.”

“Please, Lady Augstadt, I could not miss such an interesting event,” he said, tipping his hat.

Hand over her mouth, she giggled and waved him off. “Pray do not flatter me. Lord Styria and his cohort should be arriving soon, that I believe they have been delayed by a particularly persuasive barmaid.”

“My Lady is quite well informed?” he said, humour in his voice.

“They are not a subtle group,” she replied, matching his tone.

He laughed. “No, I suppose not.”

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“Until they should find their way here, please, do make yourself comfortable,” she said and gestured at the seats.

Her words were not intended for him alone and, as they’d spoken, a space had opened up for the eventual arrival of the others. For now, that left him to sit by himself and her a couple seats down.

“While I have Sir here…” she said.

With a smile, he said, “What is it My Lady would like to ask?”

“Rather, I hope Sir did not mind my use of Lord Styria. It felt improper to discuss these things directly. So, when I learned Sir and My Lord spent some of their education together, it seemed natural to ask for his assistance.”

He waved her off. “Of course I would not mind,” he said.

“Then pray accept my thanks. It was Sir’s advice about sports that gave me this idea and I am grateful that Sir helped devise such simple, yet interesting, rules,” she said.

Chuckling, he looked out at the field. “I am quite intrigued to see how they shall play out. Rather than thank me, I should be the one grateful for My Lady’s efforts in assembling quite the tournament.”

A large area had been marked out on the grass. Inside, two teams, each with a dozen men, ran around. One team was denoted by pale shirts, now stained with dirt and dried blood, while the other had dark shirts. There was no strict colour, simply dark or light. As for what they were running around for, it was a leather ball.

The rules the countess and prince had settled on were something of a code of chivalry more than the explicit rules a game of cards used. These were supposedly men showing their prowess, not wild animals wrestling to the death. So the ball could be picked up or kicked at will, but elbows were to stay away from faces. Of course, some violence was tolerated—as long as it was within the spirit of obtaining the ball.

Yes, both of them had understood the appeal of the sport to the common man was that it was not a gentleman’s game.

Which was why this event was not one with any such gentlemen in it. Half the teams were made up of the militia, who had also been the ones to test the rules as they had evolved and come to quite like the game; the other half were commoners who had pulled together enough players, often places of employment.

Each match simply played from one toll of the cathedral’s bell to the next. With so many teams, this first day saw two matches going on every hour. By the last day, there would be one left and that team would be rewarded with a feast for them and their families. When it came to free food, family was quite a vague term that brought in quite a lot of people, but she didn’t much care for splitting hairs. As she often had to remind the mayor, she could easily afford to feed the entire city—a few extras sneaking in to the winner’s feast would not bankrupt her.

For now, a good meal was quite the motivator.

Before the other guests arrived, she did have one more thing to discuss with him. “Sir, if I may so gently touch upon a matter of politics, I am looking to work on the road from the city to the southern border next year. Would Sir be interested in continuing those efforts through his land?”

He gave a laugh, but it was not as genuine as his ones earlier. “That would rather be something to discuss with my father.”

“Of course, my apologies,” she said, bowing her head.

Silence followed between them for a while. Although he watched the games, he glanced over a few times at her, seeing her sit there with her hands on her lap and a kind of smallness he couldn’t quite place. He tried to ignore the feeling of having wronged her, only to eventually give in.

“I suppose I could bring the matter to him.”

“Truly? I would be so grateful,” she said.

Feeling like he had been tricked, rather than upset, her cheery tone cut through his frustration. With his upbringing, one had to have a flexible kind of pride.

Still, he wished to admonish her, so began to think of a suitable reply. It was just that she spoke again before he had come up with something.

“If Sir would like an interesting question to pass the time, I do have one,” she said.

Oh he hated that, how she would make him beg, which made him love her all the more. If only he could unleash this woman on his closest friends. “Pray tell,” he said, his neutral tone hiding his feelings.

“Would Sir rather a victory where the entire enemy is routed, at the cost of half Sir’s army; or would Sir rather a victory where half the enemy is routed, at the cost of a quarter of Sir’s army?”

He listened to it, he thought about it, but, in the end, he could only shake his head. “Such an abstract question, I would not deign to give an answer. At least tell me if it is to be a defensive war or otherwise.”

She smiled, yet said nothing. He soon turned to her to see if she had only asked that to laugh at him, but, before he could comment, she said, “I believe Sir’s friends have arrived.”

A moment later, he felt a heavy clap on his shoulder.

“My good Prince, have we kept you waiting?” Lord Styria asked.

While the men fell into their rowdy chatter with half an eye on the games, she soon after slipped away. There was still much to do.

Across the whole bazaar, there were the stalls, there was the tournament, there were religious plays, there was a daily auction. While the bazaar only occupied a few places, it engulfed the city. A light that shone so bright even those outside found themselves bathed in its bright hues.

It was, in her eyes, something on the verge of being humorous. If everyone would trust her to assign them work, she knew herself capable of having everyone be happy. People spoke of such things as if an impossible task. However, she knew better. A comfortable home, good food, and a feeling of safety: that was enough. Some luxuries could still be produced that had a good ratio of work to enjoyment. Books, for example, even if copied by hand, could go on to give countless people enjoyment.

Instead of trusting her, though, people trusted coin. Silver didn’t lie or cheat. Besides, as she had pointed out to the mayor, people had a strange relationship with charity. Many would rather starve than live in housing provided by her or the city for free.

Well, that was not something important for her to consider at this time.

One day rolled into the next and soon came the last. True to her word, she had spent her allowance. Of course, it had been more of an investment than an expense, most of it going towards the auctions as she made sure no one was getting a good deal. However, she spent a little here and there at the various stalls over the days.

This included a certain stall with a few pots of melted cheese. It seemed that a Swiss delegation had come through in the past, the recipe for it from the mountains. She had been quite intrigued upon learning more of it. Rather than simply heated cheese, it was a blend of both cheeses and alcohols, with some spices for good measure. One pot was rather fragrant with its use of fine wine, another more mellow with beer; the last was quite plain, but cheap, and the most popular one as parents would buy it for their children.

Her knight and her maid seemed to quite enjoy the treat too.

Mind always turning, she considered having her chefs experiment with leftover cheeses. It was something quite expensive to otherwise waste….

With night falling, heralding the end of the bazaar, she attended the closing play. Unlike the other stage events, this one took place on the field outside of town and was open to everyone. Those with tickets could watch from the box seats or the stands, away from the masses who crowded the field.

It was also a very different play. While the others had been religious in content, this one was one of war. However, it was a script that spoke of neither glory nor suffering, but hardship.

Tragedy and triumph were fleeting things. Between them, the soldiers trained and marched, the parents awaited news of their sons and the children news of their fathers. People had to pack up their lives and move, no promise of better days, but anything was better than dead.

Now and then, when the script called for it, fire and smoke filled the evening sky. As distant as it was, the thunder roared and the ground rumbled and down drifted the scent of gunpowder. That even far-off wars were felt closer to home.

After the first of the explosions in the sky, the mayor once more found his nerve. “Pray tell, if it is not a firework, what is it?”

Her gaze did not flicker, perfectly aware of those around them. Well, the neighbouring prince and his cohorts had preferred the view from the field, surely not because that was where beer flowed freely; so it was that the box had a spaciousness to it that afforded some privacy.

“Did you see a trail of smoke left behind?” she asked.

He adjusted his cap. “I suppose not,” he said.

“It is not propelling itself into the air. That is, they are like an eggshell filled with gunpowder, which are then launched into the air and detonated by a fuse that is lit upon their launch,” she said.

“I see…. Is there such a need for this over a traditional firework?” he asked.

Her lips curled. “Mr Mayor, I assure you that what you are witnessing is the prelude to death the likes of which one cannot fathom. It is something too ambitious for even my father to have considered. However, I have considered it.”

Whatever warmth he had dissipated at her words. He had no reason to doubt her.

So the bazaar came to an end—with a bang.