Welcoming a New Face to Court In which Simon is made known to Tom, Alice, and Rebecca

Siege des Anges
Just across from the Ainigton Grade School, this little square has been kept as greenery since the old days of the town. A low brick wall, four feet high, surrounds the square, through which paths enter on west and south sides, forming semi-circles which intersect a circle, paved with an irregular pattern of tight-fitting white and black slabs of stones. Trees overshadow the paths and line the edges of this square, all but hiding the center square, in which four benches look onto a bronze statue of an angel facing east, hand drawing (or sheathing, some argue) a sword. Houses border the north and east side, some of a colonial style, others built where older buildings once stood.

It is mid-afternoon, and the school's bell, which sits in an ivy-wreathed tower atop the flat roof of the school, rang some ten minutes ago. Most of the kids have gone to participate in sports events or have begun walking home. Some with more doting parents have gone to spend their allowance on an ice cream soda at Foxworthy's, and an unlucky few have been asked to stay behind in detention, where they smolder under the watchful gaze of a teacher. But not all are quite gone as yet.

In the shadows of angels walks a young girl well known to the people that frequent this place. She carries a adult sized purse held against her chest, which somewhat dwarfs the not-yet-adult-sized Alice, her hands folded neatly over it. The strap of the handbag settles neatly on her shoulder under her wind-stirred hair, straight and golden as wheat in the summer and kept in check only by a blue ribbon that matches the color of her floral pattern dress, and that of her eyes.

As the girl of but one past ten years of age strolls down the sidewalk, she notes all her favorite figures. They're all different. Each angel has its own unique pose and arrangement on the roof, and she has come to memorize them all. Though she hasn't ever been up on the roof of the school before -- It's much too dangerous, says the janitor -- she is quite happy to admire them from the ground. But one angel does not stand aloof high above her, and that angel stands in the center of the Siege des Anges. She has been told that if it ever did draw its sword that it would be the sign of the "apo-cow-lips" -- whatever that might be. She considers asking a grown-up what an "apo-cow-lips" is as she turns to make her way along the sidewalk towards that center angel.

The branches begin to rustle in the large oak nestled behind the western bench. Shadows betray some moment, then a male child, probably around fourteen, comes into view from behind some leaves. He moves along one of the lower branches carefully, heading toward a higher branch. He's dressed in rather old and faded blue-jeans and a white tee-shirt. Upon his head rests a tattered military beret and his black hair spikes out all around it. Quickly, he shifts the small backpack that rests over his shoulder and reaches upward for the next branch, grinning as if terribly amused. Cut off the lower branches? Some challenge that was. This is easy, he thinks to himself. Typical behavior for him, really, as well most the townspeople have come to know.

A cry attracts the attention of both Tom and Alice. An older, surly-looking kid dressed in a "muscle top" and jeans, with brown hair flopping over his eyes, stands over a smaller kid with a brown page-boy haircut and a backpack weighing him down -- presently sprawled on the ground and in the path of the larger youth. It's hard to tell for certain from this distance, but it looks as if the older kid is "making a Federal case" of something.

The smaller kid's name is Simon, someone that Tom and Alice remember as being a year older than Alice, several younger than Tom, and a shy and mousy sort who likes to read and is always picked last in sporting events. The larger kid Alice doesn't know, but Tom does: last year he was the star athlete of the school, and this year Boris would have started classes in Ainigton High.

The girl pauses, taking a moment to place the cry as she gazes around with the expression of one disturbed from their happy reverie. She blinks a little as she finds the source of the sound, and lifts her left hand to cover mouth in the motion of covering an unspoken "oh my".

Tom halts in the action of reaching for the next branch and turns his head, peering down the street. His eyes catch Boris and Simon. He shakes his head and mumbles, "That Boris. Better see if I can calm him down before he makes a mud pie out of poor Simon." Tom crouches down slowly, then grips the branch he was standing on, feeling fortunate that he had just started climbing. Carefully, he lowers himself down carefully until his toes just touch the soil, then lets go.

Boris moves forward threateningly, causing the smaller kid, Simon, to scramble back on his feet. At this time of the day, there are no grown-ups to be seen, though possibly there are some inside the school, doing the usual things that grown-ups do.

Alice continues to watch the spectacle with an increasing frown. When she finally does look away to try and get help, though she can't find an adult, she finds Tom -- the next best thing. "Toooommmmmy!" she calls out to the boy, waving the hand that covered her mouth a moment ago.

Tom shifts his backpack again and starts heading toward the slight scuffle. He reaches up and removes his hat, tucking it away into a pocket. Unfortunately, this just causes his hair to spike out even more. His mouth opens as if he's about to shout to Boris, then turns and glances toward Alice. He smiles and waves to her, then points back toward Simon and Boris, and nods. He grins and signals an "OK" with his hand and winks. Seems he's probably got one of his crazy ideas that he intends to try to use.

The girl returns the sign of the boy's intent with a skeptical pout, and not wanting to shout at him again lest she mess up his plan, she scurries after him. Alice isn't very athletically inclined, really. She doesn't like to rough house, but she has always been willing to tag along when the others want to go do such things -- and, to be around afterwards when they need her "trained medical attention", which usually involves a whole lot of band-aids. She also isn't very fast as people well know. Running in dresses and carrying her oversized purse is just so very difficult, as she will attest to, and frequently does when teased on the matter.

Tom grins slightly and shakes his head. "That Alice," he mutters. He heads down toward the retaining wall. Once he reaches it, he starts to walk along it slowly, trailing his fingertips over the rough surface. "Yo, Boris, dude!" he shouts out, "Is that you?"

As luck would have it, it seems that while Tom was walking down, Simon decided to exercise the better part of valor ... and ran. Boris followed suit pretty quickly, and both are crossing Dickinson Street toward the southwest corner of the square. The little kid has turned out to be quite a sprinter -- who would have guessed? He's pulling ahead of Boris, though there's no telling how long he can keep that pace up.

Boris looks up and then calls to Tom, "Grab that little squirt!"

It takes the younger and shorter Alice a bit more time to get close to round the corner than it does for the more athletic Tom. When she gets there, she finds that both boys have run off, with the mean older boy casing after little Simon. "Run away, Simon!" she calls out encouragingly.

Tom takes off running toward the southwestern corner, abandoning his leisurely walk. He heads right toward Simon, then starts to shift to the side slightly as if he's going to grab him. As Simon gets close, Tom simply passes him by and moves slightly, positioning himself in front of the larger kid. "Aw, come on, Boris, he's not worth the time," he says, "Let him go. With all this noise, someone's bound to come out soon and then you'll both get in trouble. Is it worth it?"

Simon throws Alice a surprised, thankful look, and changes direction on the sidewalk to head toward Tom and Alice. "I didn't mean to bump into him, it was --" His words are lost in a frenzied gasp as Tom looks about to get close, and he darts into the park proper, heading along the path to the center.

Boris stops at the entrance to the square and slugs Tom on the arm, which actually hurts despite looking more playful than punitive on the older boy's part. "Hey, you shoulda stopped him! The li'l runt got in my face!" he accuses.

Alice beams a worried smile towards Simon as he notices her, and when he turns to run in to the park, she tries to follow. Her eyes trail towards the entrance to the park and the bully that blocks it now. She frowns at him as she nears and moves to walk past him into the park after the smaller boy, saying, "You're very mean."

Tom rubs his shoulder and shrugs, trying to play off the pain. "I'm sure he didn't mean to, Boris. I mean, look at him go, he's terrified of you. How could a kid like that intentionally try and get in your face? C'mon, you were the star athlete last year. He probably was just surprised to run into you and didn't know what to do. After all, lots of kids in school look up to you. Let him go, okay?" says Tom.

The older kid's face goes through some interesting expressions as he is first chided by Alice -- maybe he was looking forward to a scrap, and embarrassment flickers for a moment, followed by something dark -- but Tom's words seem to have had a positive effect. As Boris's brows unfurrow, he glances after the fleeing Simon. "Yeah, you're right, Whiskbroom. He's too small to be worth anything in a fight, anyway. I'm gonna head home."

As Boris talks with Tom, the girl keeps after the escaping younger boy as best she is able. Her fast walk isn't much compared to the thin -- and surprisingly fast -- Simon, but she does what she can to catch up to him. "It's all right, Simon!" she tells him as she goes. "That mean ol' Boris isn't going to hurt you. Are you hurt?"

Tom's jaw clenches tight briefly, then he decides to let the comment go. "Yeah," he says, glancing back in the direction Simon went, "He's not. Anyway, see ya around." He waves slightly and moves away from Boris and back into the main part of the park.

Boris saunters off, walking back to the sidewalk along Carroll Street. He glances back at the park as if trying to spot Simon, then continues on.

As Alice chases after the fleeing boy, he turns his head around to see who still pursues him. He appears to be trying to process the girl's words, legs still pumping away on autopilot, when he charges into a young teen gesturing dramatically at the statue. His newest victim stumbles forward at the impact, yelping, but the luckless Simon tumbles to the ground, scraping his knees and palms as he tries to break his fall and apologize at the same time.

Tom watches Simon take yet another tumble. He raises his hands upward slightly and shakes his head and says, "Simon, man, what did you do, run into a gypsy the other day?" Thomas takes off in a light jog toward the statue and Alice.

Alice stops just long enough to gasp. "Oh no," she whispers to herself, before picking up her pace and trying to move to Simon's side.

The young woman recovers her balance and turns around, saying sharply, "Watch where--" to the boy on the ground. She bites off on her angry retort as she sees the child is hurt. She tosses her mane of red hair in annoyance, but bends to help him just the same, as Alice reaches them.

The younger boy winces at the pain shooting through his hands and knees as he starts to struggle back up with the red-haired girl's help, unleashing a flood of apologies and explanations. "I'm sorry, really sorry. That big bruiser was after me and I guess I panicked and..." Scrawny and small for his age, he's dressed in a flannel shirt and fraying jeans, and his pose has a habitual cringe to it, as if he were used to being berated by older kids.

Tom stops jogging, resuming a steady walk toward Simon. "Hey, Simon, you okay?" he calls out, "Hope Boris didn't hurt you. I got him to leave you alone."

"Huh? Oh! Thanks, I owe you my life, I think," Simon says, looking horribly embarrassed that his latest fall is drawing such an audience.

The younger girl stops when she reaches Simon and the older girl. "Oh! Simon, you're hurt," she observes. Quickly she pulls her adult-sized purse around in front of her and digs through it for a moment before she abandons the search so that she can carefully kneel beside the boy, and resume searching her assortment of medical supplies. Usually the "injuries" she treats are just pretend. It's not all that often she has real wounds to tend after all. As she searches, she adds, "Simon is really a good boy, honest, he's just unlucky."

Dusting off the boy's back with an exasperated sigh, the red-haired girl says, "That's okay," in a voice which sounds like it really isn't. She settles back her shoulders as she notices the other two children, and her demeanor softens further. "Hi, Angel, Tom. Is this some friend of yours?"

Simon starts to blush -- well, redden more, at any rate. "It's okay," he says, half-heartedly trying to fend off Alice's band-aiding, but a look at his hands suggests it wouldn't be a bad idea to wash them off at least.

Alice peers up at the red-headed girl, and looks a bit uncertain as to how to respond. She fiddles with a small bottle of bactine as she thinks how to respond. "Well ... " She looks back down to the bottle as she removes the cap and moves to fetch some cotton balls. " ... sure! He's our friend. Right Simon?"

As Thomas gets closer, he notices Simon's injuries. Tom says, "Simon, you're having one heck of an unlucky streak going. What happened back there? Boris claimed you were in his face." He then grins and mutters under his breath about how no one would want to get into a face like that. He then waves to the red-head and grins a bit impishly. "Well, we're trying to keep him alive long enough to find out, anyway."

Simon looks quizzically at Alice's well-preparedness. This does explain why she carries such a large purse, at any rate. "Friend for life, at least as long as Mister 'Do You Know Who I Am' is in town," he avers. Grinning sheepishly, he adds, "I'm not usually that clumsy, but I feel like I've been hexed or something."

"Good luck," the older girl says, wrinkling her nose at Simon, "especially if he's already on Boris's bad side." She takes a seat on an adjacent bench, resting an elbow against one skirt-covered knee, and her chin against her hand. "Hexed?" she repeats, eyes glinting at the word.

Thomas reaches the two. He stands over them, watching as he digs out his ratty beret and returns it to the top of his head. "Yeah, I think Simon has the new kid curse. You moved here recently, didn't you?" he asks, then glances back up toward the red-head and comments, "And who isn't on Boris' bad side at least once?"

"Let me see your hands, c'mon," asks Alice. Armed with a bactine-laden cotton ball, she reaches for Simon's scraped arm, peering at it in an earnest attempt at how a nurse might examine a wound.

"It's something witches do," Simon explains. "They put a little bag made out of mouse skin and filled with all sorts of icky things under your bed, or they draw some kind of magic diagram somewhere close to you, but out of sight, and it brings down bad luck." He wrinkles his nose as he holds his hands out, and evidently seems to be trying to see if he feels hexed.

"I know what a hex is," the redhead remarks archly, "Probably better than you do." She watches Alice minister to the boy with a smirk on her face. "Though, maybe not. Honestly, it seems like the Siege used to be a lot quieter after school. What're you all doing hanging about? Well, except you, Alice. I know what you were doing."

Tom simply points over toward the large oak on the western side. "Climbing that tree, of course," he says and grins. He then arches an eyebrow and says, "And what do you know about hexes? You didn't place one on Simon, did ya?"

The mousy kid looks surprised to the redhead. "You do?" He glances over to Tom, and then raises his eyebrows. "You did?"

Alice takes Simon's hand and administers careful dabs of antiseptic to the boy's wounds, treating them for infection as her mother taught her to do. "You wouldn't wanna get an inflection," she tells him, quite seriously. Her face breaks into a smile as the red-head speaks of knowing why she's here, and just about everyone does, but she finds herself happy to hear it anyway. For the moment the young girl contents herself with cleaning wounds and doesn't speak much beyond her "official commentary" on wound treating.

Tom dusts his fingernails on his shirt and grins, "Sure did. Well, started to anyway. There isn't a tree around I won't try to climb. Well, unless it has prickles all over it. Those aren't fun at all."

"If I did, I surely would not tell you," the older girl says, tossing her hair again. She seems to be trying to look ominous, but in a full green skirt and white blouse, with freckles sprinkled over her cherubic face, she hardly manages it.

"And why are you here, hmm?" Thomas asks, rocking into his toes slightly.

"Practicing," the redhead answers coolly, sitting straight on the bench and studying her own fingernails with a nonchalant expression.

Simon laughs, and then wiggles his fingers as if to test that they still work. "Thanks. Alice, isn't it? And Tom? My name's Simon," he says to the red-headed girl. "And if I find a hex, well, maybe I'll have to return the favor." In a more dire voice, he intones, "Fear ... the Creeping Red Spots!" and then grins abashedly.

The teen-aged female just looks at Simon, past her lifted hand. She raises one eyebrow pointedly.

"Practicing what?" Thomas inquires. He then glances toward Simon and grins. "That's right, Tom. Well, Thomas, but most people seem to call me Tom." He then grimaces and says, "Except Boris. He likes to call me 'Whiskbroom'."

The younger switches from wound cleaning to bandaging, the used cotton balls stuffed in a brown paper bag that was crammed just moments ago in her vast and seemingly limitless purse of stuff. She begins pulling out bandages, removing the strips from them, and applying them to all the boy's significant scrapes -- and to quite a few that probably could do without. "Yep!" she answers him, "I'm Alice Westfield."

Simon wilts. "Okay, I got over chicken pox years ago," he admits. "I really am sorry I ran over you, ..." He tries to remember if he was ever introduced to the red-headed female.

Rising from her seat, the redhead sweeps toward Simon, her skirts swaying. "I am ... Rebecca," she says, with dramatic emphasis. She drops one hand to the top of the boy's head as he still kneels next to Alice. "And you ... would make a fine addition to court, I think." She smiles privately, glancing to the other two children to see their reactions.

"Uh, milady Rebecca, please consider me at your service," Simon offers, glancing sideways as well.

"Oh!" exclaims Alice. "You think so, Rebec- ... " the younger girl seems to pause at her name, having the impulsive desire to shorten everyone's name to something "nicer", " ... Rebecca?" She has found over the years that Rebecca really doesn't appreciate having her name shortened to something cuter. It took some time to get Alice to call her Rebecca, and often in a past she was a foil to the "mysterious" older girl's drama.

Tom wanders over to the nearest bench. He hops up onto it and carefully walks along the edge of the seat, watching the small group. He turns, then hops back off and walks back. "I'm sure he would; you should have seen him run. He could be quite the messenger. But, be easy on him, M'lady. As you can see, he's had a rough day," Thomas says, playing along.

"Of course!" Rebecca answers Alice. She tilts her head back and laughs, not quite naturally. "But I have another role in mind for him, Thomas." She runs her fingers through the boy's dark hair for a moment, speculatively. "After all ... every court needs a jester!"

Tom grins. "A jester? Oh, yes. After Bammy ate the last one, I suppose the court does need a replacement." He nudges Simon and grins. "Just don't tell any dragon jokes and you'll be fiiiine."

Simon looks surprised and then winces, but manages to smile. "At your service, milady Rebecca. Pratfalls and juggling are my specialties, and maybe some other year I'll work out my vanishing act!" He bows over Rebecca's hand and then thinks better of it and does another, a comically huge bow with much waving of his hands before his chest. "Might I beg an introduction to your court? You of course, could be no other than a mighty sorceress who rules out of wisdom and the fairness of her heart."

By now, Alice has applied quite more bandaging than is necessary to Simon's injuries, from her seemingly endless supply of gauze. (One might suppose that if she continues at this rate, Simon might end up looking like a mummy.) "But your ... your ... your Grace," Alice stammers as she screws her face up in a look of concentration, "Oh, all right." Her voice hints at concern, perhaps worried that the boy wouldn't have liked the position, but his favorable reaction dismisses Alice's concern quickly.

"You see with a clarity that befits a fool, jester," the female replies, her eyes narrowed slightly. "I am the Lady Sorceress Nymuae of the Lake." She dips her head and bends one knee in a slight courtesy to the younger boy.

Tom does a sweeping bow, taking his beret off as he does so. "And I would be Thomas, late of the explorers known as The Golden Hawks. I serve the court by traveling far and wide, uncovering new lands of adventure and excitement for the court to rule. Sometimes I am the scout, the one daring enough to go into dark parts unknown that the court may find," Thomas explains. He then adds, "Please pardon me if I seem a bit uncivilized at times, but my home is normally the forests and the meadows, not the shining cities of Man."

"And this," the Sorceress Nymuae says, gesturing to the blond child, "is the Princess Angela of Mirari, Healer of the Sick, Benefactress to the Weak." With introductions complete, Nymuae turns from them all to face the statue. "I have come to this place, my companions, seeking the Key. I am sure that it is something ... close at hand, especially as Lord Thomas's searches, far and wide, have thus far not yielded it."

"Well, fools rush in where wise men fear to tread, so they must see something others don't," Simon says with a grin, starting to ease into the position. He glances at his arm and then double-takes, realizing someone has gotten quite carried away. "I can tell you, ah ... must love your work, Princess Angela." Simon starts to try and undo some of the bandaging, casting a pleading look to Thomas for help.

Alice just nods her head a little as Rebecca introduces her, but does add a meek correction. "Princess /Angel/," she clarifies. She beams a smile at Simon ... until she notices him trying to remove the bandages. "Oh yes! I very much do, ye- ... Oh no! You mustn't remove those. You'll get an inflection and your arm will turn yucky colors!"

"Or perhaps the 'wise men' stay behind, too afraid to uncover the unknown and become wiser? Once you know something, there is no more reason to fear," says Thomas as he helps un-bandage Simon a bit so he can at least move. "Lady Angela, you should be more sparing with your supplies. You never know if we may need them later," Thomas explains, "In addition, he does need to be able to move, if he is going to be the new jester."

"But ..." protests the young Princess Angela, also known as Princess Angel. She gives Tom another pouting look, then folds her arms around her large purse. "Oh ... okay, but ... if it hurts, you tell me, okay Simon? I can get lots more band-aids."

Nymuae takes another step toward the statue, resting two fingers against her cheek, lips pursed in thought. "Were I you, good Jester, I would heed the Princess's warnings," she says, without turning to look at them. "But then again, I am not the Fool, am I?" She reaches with one hand as if to touch the stone angel, but does not.

Thomas nods. "M'lady speaks the truth. I have indeed searched far and while and have yet to find the Key." He points back over to the tree. "Even from a vantage point, I found no clues ... save the unusual markings in this place. Alas, I could not get high enough to fully see them."

Simon whews as Tom helps him to remove the majority of the unnecessary bandages, which leaves just his hands free. He un-slings his backpack to fetch a pair of balls. As if testing that they still work, he starts to juggle them in one hand. "Ah, mummy imitation may be all the rage in Cairo, but I feel our Lady Sorceress Nymuae will be quickly bored of such, surely? What is this Key of which you speak, miladies, milord?"

Alice unfolds her arms long enough to collect her supplies and put them back in her "bottomless" purse, then stands up, folding her over the adult sized handbag. "Rebecca?" she asks, stepping closer to the statue to look at it. "What's a 'apo-cow-lips'? Is that the key?"

"'Tis the answer," the sorceress says quickly, before any of the others can reply. "The Key to where our missing King has gone, and how we may retrieve him." She glances sharply at the princess, looking irked.

The princess just smiles brightly at the sorceress, apparently not noticing the older girl's displeasure at her question -- or else maybe just very used to being looked at that way by Rebecca. "A nice man told me when Mr. Sword-Angel draws his sword, there will be an apo-cow-lips," she tells her, trying to be helpful.

"Have you been able to uncover just what the Key looks like, Lady Nymuae? I had thought that such an item to find the King would've been obvious, but my travels have been failures," says Thomas as he paces around some. "The Key is surely magical and that is your realm," he explains.

"Alpo-cow-lips are when the cow's been at the dog's food," Simon quips. "The King is missing, eh? Who mislaid him, and where did they mislay him? Perhaps a search of the royal treasury might be in order. He might be counting the gold and that could take a very long time."

Alice turns around and beams at Simon. "Wow! That's ... very weird, I didn't know!" she tells him. The girl giggles, reaching up to cover her mouth as she tries to visualize a cow eating dog food.

The young woman shakes her head, soberly. "No. I am certain that its true shape has been disguised by the King's enemies, and cleverly so." Her eyes go to the statue's sheathed sword. "An apocalypse, indeed. Perhaps that is what they would like us to think." She smiles slightly at Simon's jest, then turns from the statue with a sweep of her full skirt, and looks at Thomas. "Lord Explorer, you mentioned noting certain markings here. What sort, and where?"

"When a cow's at the dog's food, it's surely a sign the world is about to end," Simon stage-whispers to Alice. "So be wary!"

Tom hops up onto a bench and waves his arms outwardly. "All around us, Lady Nymuae. The very place on which we stand is covered in symbols. From that tree, I could partially see circles laying one over another on the ground." He turns and points toward the statue, "That stature lies at the center of one, but I don't think it's where they all intersect."

"I will! Very wary," Alice says, nodding and letting her hand drop. She turns back to regard the angel and watches it in a wide-eyed awe -- the same sort of awe she regards every angel statue with of course. "Maybe Lord Mel knows!" she exclaims, and begins digging into her purse again.

The recently appointed Court Jester switches to juggling three balls in two hands. These balls are a soft plastic, and would probably bounce excessive distances against a hard surface, so it's probably just as well he seems good enough not to drop them too quickly. "Circles, within circles, within circles again-- for some reason, I feel like we're standing on a bull's eye! Who could have marked our good King to go missing?"

A frown forms on the sorceress's brow, and she glances around them at the pathways of the park. "I ... I see what you mean, Lord Explorer," she answers, formally. She traces the lay of the paths with her gaze, then moves to stand a little southwest of the statue. "Two of them would meet here, if they were drawn complete," she pronounces. "And they both intersect, separately, with the sole intact circle, there." She gestures further southwest. "But nowhere would all three touch at once." She frowns again. "An odd sort of target, and a good question, Fool. Though he was a good King ... he was not without enemies."

The ground around the statue is made up of a large number of interlocking slabs of stones, similar to those that make up the paths. They fit together tightly: while it's not out of the question that with a great amount of physical strength and a sufficiently thin lever, they could be pried apart, it would probably cause great distress to the town gardener who maintains the various greeneries about Ainigton.

"This is Lord Mel, knight protector and rescuer of princesses -- well, just me, really," she explains quietly. "Lord Mel" is in fact a small stuffed black unicorn with a red mane, and he might look somewhat fearsome if he wasn't rather tiny and plush. She sets him on the statue's base and consults him silently for a moment. "Lord Mel thinks maybe the shadows of the angels might help, or ... maybe the benches would help?"

The jester gives Lord Mel a courtly bow with a flourish, nearly dropping the balls before he catches them two in one hand and one in the other, and starts putting them away. "An honor, milord," he manages.

Tom hops off the bench and gazes over the park. "Perhaps the key doesn't reside here, but a clue does." He points out toward the location where the three circles overlap, separating out a small area. "How about there, Lady Nymuae? The circles close off a small area. Do not enclosed circles ward off magic? Perhaps this place was laid out to defeat your powers and help hide the Key."

Lord Mel regards the jester with a formal silence. That is, he just sits there.

Nymuae nods to the man. "It is as you say." She walks to the pole and circles it thoughtfully. "This banner-post marks the central juncture of the circle." She sights with one hand to the statue. "Though the angel's shadow does not fall upon it now ... perhaps it would at morn, as Lord Mel advises."

Tom walks away from the statue and stands in the grass between the three intersecting circles. "Perhaps it would, perhaps it would," Thomas says as he squints and examines the statue from his vantage point.

Alice folds her arms again and nods, as if in silent communication with the ever-stoic Lord Mel. "Mmmhmm," she agrees to words unspoken. "I see, yep, okay." She then turns around and reaches for her neck, drawing forth her angel pendant and aligning it to the statue as if trying to gauge what the shadow might look like from behind the larger stone angel, which would be too big for her to look around easily.

Simon shoulders his backpack and follows the others to inspect the pole. "Why, perhaps I am Simple Simon, but it appears to me if we rely on shadow to lead our way, why not also look to the wind to guide us? Perhaps when the shadow strikes the pole, the wind blows southerly, and I will be able to tell a hawk from a handsaw." He looks up at the U.S. flag which flies from the top and grins crookedly.

Another small smile lights the sorceress's freckled face. "And how is a raven like a writing desk?" she murmurs. She taps her fingers against the pole in contemplation, then pushes the toe of one shoe against the grass around its base.

Tom grins slightly. "Both have quills, M'lady?" He turns away from the statue and walks around the base of the flagpole slowly. He takes his hat off and scratches the top of his head.

After taking a moment to try and visualize how the shadows might fall, the young Princess Angela puts her pendant away and walks over to accept the arm of Lord Mel. Being his "arm" is about as large as a small candy bar, Alice has much more arm to place and is able to wrap her own arm around his entire body. She carries him like this, tucked under her shoulder, as she walks after the others. "Maybe ... we could draw?" she offers. "If we had some crayons we could make a map and shadows and things."

The sorceress makes a face at the blond child. "Crayons? Oh, honestly, Alice," she says. "You simply must make an effort to get into the mood of things. Crayons? You ought to at least say 'charcoal' or 'quills' or something appropriate."

Alice looks faintly hurt. "I'm sorry Sorceress Nynuae," she apologizes. The girl fidgets with her hands, offering, "We could ... maybe ... fetch the inks of an octo-push and ... scribe a most worthy, um, parch ... parchment?"

Simon grins sheepishly. "Well, I could try and make a map -- uh, if milady will allow, Simple Simon will do his humble best. Uh, and maybe we should try the shadow thing in the morning, when the sun'll be at the right angle. Seems to me like it has to be a certain time of the year for it to hit just right, too, otherwise it'll be too far or too short or at the wrong angle."

Stifling a pained look, Rebecca manages to nod encouragingly. "An excellent idea, Princess Angela. A talented scribe could help us determine the precise center of this unusual geometric formation." Turning to Simon, she continues, "It seems you shall have a chance to test your skills, Jester."

Tom leans on the flagpole. "I am sorry, Lady Nymuae, but these magicks make my mind hurt. Why must the King's enemies resort to such? They should honor the laws of nature, not change them." He then nods to Simon. "Ah, had I hand my supplies from my days with the Hawks, I could chart this place. Perhaps if we drew it, it would make more sense. If you have such tools, friend Jester, please, draw this place as Lady Nymuae asks."

Alice looks between the statue and the flag pole for a moment, then shakes her head. "Oh ... fooey, I just don't remember what time the shadow touches the flag pole. I thought that'd be helpful but ... no," she tells the others.

"Were they honorable people, Lord Explorer, we would not be in this predicament." Nymuae folds her arms across her chest and looks at the statue. "We understand, your highness," she says, not unsympathetically, to Alice. "I shall return in the morning to study this further. For now, I must repair to my home, as a myriad of tasks await my attention."

"Uh, well, I'll just run down to the-- er, I would be most pleased to carry out your assignment forthwith," Simon says. "I shall seek out Ye Royal Librarian and commandeer a map, that it might show the kingdom of Ainigton, and allow us to trace the path that the Angel would show us." He bows in a courtly flourish, and then grins to the other kids. "This should be fun," he stage-whispers.

Tom bows to Rebecca, then turns to Simon. "Ah, a good plan, sir. Shall I accompany you? I would be most curious to see what maps the royal archives might have on hand. Perhaps there is a secret place that may come to light." He then grins and nods to Simon. "Yeah, it should be!"

After a bit of thought, Simon whispers to Tom, "You do know where Ye Royal Library is, right?"

"Aha!" shouts Thomas, "You've asked just the right person. Follow me, wayward Jester, and I shall lead you to the Royal Archives." As the two start to wander off, Thomas adds, "And never fear, I never get lost. Well, almost never. There was that one time in Borneo where I misled the caravan and they were all eaten by cannibals, but that was just a fluke, honest."

The younger girl seems to brighten at Simon's stage-whisper, and seems on the verge of commenting to him, but stops. Her face wrinkles a little in a look of concentration as she thinks. "And ... I shall consult with yonder angels that they might impart ce- ... celestial wisdom and useful ... um ... " She turns towards Rebecca and asks, "what's the word for things you learn, again? I am ... in need of your council. Lord Mel doesn't know either."

True to form, Lord Mel does not speak of his failings in the matter of language. He remains ever the young princess's silent guardian, however.

Nymuae, who had been walking off with a flourish, though perhaps with a bit more speed than is entirely seemly for a great sorceress, pauses at the inquiry. "Information, my child?" she offers. "Erudition?"

"Erudition!" repeats Alice, beaming. "Yes, with most stately and wise eruditions I shall remain here, and hence observe most stonily angelic counsel." She places Lord Mel back on the statue and gestures around, and turns her attentions to the angel. "Keep vigil, Lord Mel."

And, of course, Lord Mel does as his princess requests: steadfastly watching over the princess with unshakeable -- and inanimate -- plush devotion.

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This site serves as a chronicle of sessions in an online roleplaying campaign moderated by Conrad "Lynx" Wong and May "Rowan" Wasserman. The contents of this site are (c) 2001, 2002 by Conrad Wong and May Wasserman except where stated otherwise. Despite the "children's fantasy" theme of this campaign, this site is not intended for young readership, due to mild language and violence.