"Yes, I know about those hiding places. I saw you go into one."

He was swung face-first into a smacking regret. Why had he even mentioned anything? He blamed it on past wine that made him presently foolish. He decided his only recourse was to brave it out with full audacity.

"So... did you?" he insisted.

The words "it's none of your business" seemed right at the tip of her tongue. But instead, she chose to savour other words.

"Yes, I did" she smiled. "But we didn't go there. We went somewhere else. And you? Did you have fun?"

He did not dare to answer. If he opened his mouth, the quicksand would get him for good. Valeria had drowned him with her eyes closed.

Just then, the fabric partition flapped open, revealing Myrtle victorious. It immediately fell back on her face with a thwomp, but she was not the kind of weak creature to allow such a thing to dampen her triumph.

"I never thought I could get so many people to sign up in a single night" she beamed, flopping down on the floor next to Percy. She grabbed her knitting needles with a vigour that would have made him run for the hills, were her good humour not so apparent. "Turns out, people can really be motivated to move their arse and do something about the shit conditions they're in, if only someone reminds them that they are shit conditions."

"Did you manage to win over that flutist?" Percy asked.

"He signed up, but he said he meant it ironically, and that the others were all sheep. I said he probably I thought I was a bit of a bitch, and that I myself think he's an ass, so between all of us we can build ourselves a neat little farm. I've almost finished your scarf."

Percy exchanged a glance with Valeria. Myrtle was never gentle on worn-out minds.

"Where's Evans?" she asked, nearly stabbing herself with her needle in her bewildered enthusiasm.

Barely a moment later, Evans arrived. He smiled a greeting as he lifted the fabric flap, though there was something sheepish about it, Percy thought; a smile on tiptoes.

"Had fun?" Valeria asked him.

"I did" he answered in his usual threadbare simplicity as he sat beside her.

The Percy of one hour ago might have noted, with a disapproving sniff, how Valeria did not ask Evans whether he had found anything worthwhile, but merely if he had "fun". But present Percy had left a good deal of his energy back in the nook with Leo, along with a stain on the carpet.

"Did anyone find anything useful?" he asked.

He was busy tucking himself behind a wall of cushions. He wasn't sure why. Perhaps he hoped to protect himself from the shame that would come to claim him soon.

"Nothing" Evans shook his head. "Which is curious, in and of itself. When a curse is placed, you always find people to tell you how it affected them, or who saw it happen, or who witnessed an enchanter claim they did it. But here... nothing. Everyone but Tombert seems pleased with how things are. And that no one bragged about placing this curse – that's stranger still. Something this size, with so many under its charm... any fae would want to claim credit for it. Unless they were hiding for some reason. It's only be known to have happened... once, perhaps twice."

Evans added those words hastily, casting a swift glance at Valeria. Percy hugged a beaded pillow against his chest once he had finished stacking cushions around him – now, he was invincible. But he still couldn't help a nagging feeling that he'd been a little useless. He too had been having "fun" instead of foraging for clues. None of his interactions in the past hours were of any use whatsoever.

Unless – his mind anchored itself to his exchange on the balcony with the page-turner. There had been something there; he had simply been too busy wading out of his pleasure and shame to notice it at the time. Tombert is special, the man said. Not like the others. No one could deny it. A shooting star leaving a burning trail; an unfurling of scintillating, gold-trimmed velvet. They were different. Percy knew they were different, though he did not even know what he was comparing them to.

"I have a thought" he said slowly.

"Just one? It's our lucky day" Valeria smirked.

"Could one even... be fae, and have powers, and not know it?" he asked, painfully aware he did not know what he was talking about. "I only ask because... well, there seems to be no actual curse. But there is something, whatever it is. And Tombert is... a little different, I suppose. What if it's them casting some kind of magic and not even realizing it?"

He was at once cornered by three pairs of eyes, and he was glad for his strategic feather-stuffed line of defence. It took him but a tragically quick moment to convince himself he was an idiot, and that, should he wish to conceal that truth from others, he ought to stick to silence. With enough luck, it might come across as thoughtful and kingly.

"It's... not impossible" Evans conceded. "I believe there are documented cases of such things happening – of fae not realizing their own powers. At least, as far as such things are documented, which is not much."

"So... it could simply be Tombert themselves causing all of it, all this time, without being aware of it?" Myrtle frowned.

"It would certainly explain a lot."

"Will you look at that" she chuckled. "I have to bend over backwards to convince people to do something, and Tombert can just sing a little ditty, and they won't even notice. Inequality pisses on me once again. Imagine what I could do if I had that gift."

"I don't think the world is quite ready for that" Valeria decreed in age-old wisdom.

"That's alright. We can all adapt. I'll practice my shawm. By the time I'm anywhere near good enough to make anyone dance to its tune, I'm sure the world will have had time to grow used to the idea."

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"Which brings us" Percy interrupted, "to the matter of Tombert. I suppose the best way to find out if we're right is to speak to them."

"Couldn't agree more" Valeria nodded. "When will you do it?"

"When will I – why is it always me who has to do it?!"

Sure as a rising sun, Evans propelled himself forward as a volunteer. It never failed to strike Percy as one of the most exasperating and wondrous things he had ever witnessed. And it disgusted him to no end, how quick he was himself to go back on his objections and agree to the task after all. It made sense in this case, he supposed; people kept saying Tombert liked him, which could only help.

"Fine, I'll go, I'll go" he muttered into a pillow, enjoying his martyrdom just a little.

They were all too worn out to keep talking for long. The four of them squirmed and wriggled in the tight space as they wrung themselves out of tabards and trousers. Even Percy's own iron-clad modesty was forced to concede by sheer, bone-grinding exhaustion. In any case, given the cosiness of their quarters, he was certain he would wake up the next morning with Myrtle's foot on his stomach and Valeria's elbow on his face.

As he stripped down to his tunic, he heard Valeria blurt out in surprise. The sound was so unusual it made him turn right away.

"Evans, dearest, what's that?"

Evans was facing away from them, kneeling upright as he undressed. Staining the back of his white tunic was a red hue Percy had seen before.

"Oh, don't worry about it, it's not blood. I'm sure it will wash off easy enough" he smiled, running an innocent hand over the tinted fabric.

And then, with a contented sigh, in his every look and gesture seemingly at peace with the world, he settled down on the thick carpet, curled up like a cat, and went to sleep.

Percy did not sleep well. He consumed himself with thought after thought until he was nothing but thin ground dust, ready to disappear at the slightest shift in the wind.

His mind seesawed between a certainty and its opposite. The chosen one wouldn't. Evans had no doubt got that stain in an entirely different way: by leaning back as he listened to someone's troubles and nodded sagely, or as he told someone of his current quest. But that wouldn't have made him sweat; and no one would call it "fun". Valeria had asked him if he'd had "fun". Percy himself could do as he pleased; he was not the chosen one anymore. Not ever, said a distant voice. But the chosen one wouldn't.

He decided he would not care. Yet every time he tried to veer away from the image of his body unknowingly resting against Evans' back, still he returned to it, wearing himself out in the grooves of that thought. And when he pictured Evans like that, there, a nameless tyrant came upon him. The worst of it was not that it choked him, that it bore down on his chest, that it heated his mind into a daze; the worst was that it made him glad for how his throat ached, how hard it became to breathe, how it scattered him into nothing.

Evans had not looked in the least troubled when Valeria pointed out the stain on his back; had not in the least seemed to think, as Percy had for himself, that it was a stain on his character; had not referred to a higher moral authority than a laundress to have it cleaned. But that meant nothing. Percy had seen Evans bear a garden-party smile even through ordeals that made Percy envious of burrowing worms. It was entirely possible that it had been Evans on the other side of that red fabric, that steady, ember-warm back that Percy had leaned against. And it was also possible that Evans did not think it a matter to blush and stutter when Valeria came dangerously close to the truth.

And so Percy tossed himself about on his bedroll, blaming his sleepless night on Evans; on his infuriating ability to swim peacefully, effortlessly, through waters that were to Percy rushing rapids or mud-still swamps.

V

The next morning – or rather, for Percy, the next hour of a very long night – he made his way to Tombert's chambers with an ashen face and a mind like old soaked wood. The gilded velvet that separated the bard's quarters from the areas reserved to mere mortals was jealously guarded by a pack of admirers. They were so eager to be admitted into Tombert's sanctum that they growled and gnashed at any others who attempted to do the same. Percy had not yet had any breakfast, but there was some sustenance to be had in the glares he received when Tombert personally came to greet him and take him to their room.

The loose purple robe they wore was, as ever, parted just wide enough to reveal the line that glided gracefully from their collarbone to their navel. Their mussed-up, silver-tinted hair bore witness to a night of partying that they had not yet fully recovered from. Still they greeted Percy with a fresh smile that would have made half the admirers gathered outside faint, and the other half die.

"Did you have fun last night?" Tombert asked, pouring him a glass of lemon juice with honey.

"Yes, I had – fun, a lot of fun" he hurried to say.

"And why are you here?"

It would have sounded like an accusation were it not for Tombert's smile as they spoke. They sashayed through social interactions without the crutches of niceties other resorted to – "what brings you here", "what can I do for you". It increasingly convinced Percy that Tombert was not like the others.

"Well, I was talking to my... friends, last night."

He still tripped at times on the word "friends", as one was wont to do when attempting a dance step that wasn't yet sufficiently practiced.

"You know how... no one came forth to claim they had cursed you? It's very unusual, apparently. But there is something going on, no one can deny that. And, hear me out..."

"Oh, that always bodes well."

"Do you think that maybe you... without realizing, of course, or doing it on purpose... might be the one who..."

His voice trailed off. Tombert went very still. It was not a relaxed stillness.

"I see" came their voice at last, dark and starless. "You're asking me whether I'm not in fact some kind of fae myself, bringing masses of people under my charm. And I either know it and don't care, or don't even know it at all. Let's be frank, neither are very flattering."

"That's... I don't think that's a very productive way of looking at it – "

"Percival, I'm sure the people to whom such things happen must have their fair share of doubts and crisis. Well, let me put you at ease: I do not. Questions like 'who am I' and 'what is my place in the world' are about as useful to me as a mop in a lagoon. I'm sure some would find a use for it, but not me. I know enough of myself and my place in the world to have enjoyed the time I've spent in it so far, and, I'll dare say, to have brought some enjoyment to others as well. What else would you have me say?"

Tombert paced about the room now, their steps long and solemn, as though each foot fell on undiscovered land.

"But of course" they went on, their hands wild in the air, "I look different and act different, and yet I'm not hiding under a rock, so I must be fae or something, something other than the others. Damn it, Percy! I thought you of all people would understand."

Percy stared, mouth gaping, choking on silence.

"Me? Why... me?"

"Because when I met you, I realized that you don't fit into what people expect of you either. Except you wear it like a ball and chain. I wear it like a fucking kite that shits pearls."

Percy stood trapped in silence and ache. He watched Tombert as they ripped a pair of linen trousers out of a chest and put them on. He had not even realized Tombert had no trousers until now, so well did they wear their absence.

"Oh, and for your information" the bard seethed after taking a last swig from the jar of lemon juice, "if you would like to witness me doing all sort of evil to a crowd while not even being aware of what I'm doing, I'm giving another concert tonight. It will be a big one – lots of folks coming from all over, I hear. Think of all the mischief I'll get up to!"

"I didn't... oh, come on, I didn't mean it like that!"

"No?"

"No!"

"No?"

"Well..."

"Right."

And Tombert stomped off in a storm of flouncing purple and whipping fabric.

Percy returned to the others. He felt like a dog put through the wringer of life and left to dry. His sorry state was perhaps a little too evident to Valeria, who greeted him with her usual ruthlessness.

"Gods, son, you look more sour than curdled milk. Are you no longer the bard's favourite?"