and towns hereabouts to stagger their Maifests all through the month so that she could take advantage of as many shooting contests as possible.
When Mother had died, suddenly, leaving her with no idea of where the money had been coming from that had kept them supplied with the things they could not grow for themselves all these years, she realized she had taken all that for granted. Mother had merely gone off with the horse and empty cart and returned with everything they needed several times a year. Nor had Pieter and Joachim any notion of where that money had come from. When they’d all sat down together to discuss Giselle’s future, both the old men had scratched their heads at the question.
“Obviously she was well enough off to buy that house and then just give it to your family,” Joachim had said, doubtfully. “But where that money came from, where she hid it, and what you’re to do now, I haven’t a notion.”
“You could come move to the Lodge and join us,” Pieter had offered.
But she had shaken her head vehemently at that. She’d visited there enough times to know that living in the old, tree-shadowed building, with its many tiny, dark rooms and small windows, would quickly drive her mad. She needed air and light, and plenty of both. The Lodge of the Bruderschaft der Förster was not for her.
“Then we must think of a way for you to have some money,” Joachim had said firmly. And although they did not think of it then, they did hit upon it fairly soon.
Although not all Air Masters were expert marksmen, all Air Masters could be—in a way. The flight of an arrow or a bullet to its target was easily influenced by movements of the air, and that, after all, was what an Air Master was in control of. With sufficient cooperation from one’s Air Elemental allies, even a poor natural marksman could hit marks that experts would have difficulty with.
And a good one, as Giselle was—well, she could be unbeatable. And so far this month, that was exactly what she was.
Joachim had opined that if she was careful, and never worked the same festivals at the same towns without at least a year between, she could continue to carry off the crowns and the prizes. He cautioned her that, at the largest contests, she must take care never to take first prize too often—and the largest contests provided very, very generous prizes for second and third place. And she had two opportunities a year to do so: Maifest and Oktoberfest. For Oktoberfest she might even venture into one of the big cities and take the shooting prizes there; they were substantial, and second or third place would more than suffice.
Right now, though, well, the crowds in their colorful festival clothing—the loden green wool of hunting costume, the bright dirndls and embroidered aprons, the lederhosen and embroidered bracers, and Sunday best suits—were making her uncomfortable and claustrophobic. If she hadn’t been constrained by custom, she probably would have gone straight to the inn, claimed her horse and ridden off. But she couldn’t do that. No, part of the prize for winning the shooting contest was a full barrel of Maibock. And the winner was expected to share it with all of the other contestants.
So Giselle was making her way to the open field where all the tables and benches had been set up for eating and drinking, heading for the section near the beer stall of the barrel’s donor. The Maypole was in the center of the field; a group of children were unbraiding the ribbons so they could have a dance, and there was a little brass band tuning up to provide the music for it. There were appetizing aromas coming from all over the field, and once again, she reminded herself that she needed to keep as much of her prize money in her pocket as possible. After all, beer is food, right? It’s made from grains . . .
As Giselle approached, her fellow contestants got up and greeted her with congratulations and backslaps. They were a mix of all sorts, about two dozen all told, from young men in their late teens to grizzled old fellows with ancient, tarnished hunting badges on their wool hats. She accepted both congratulations and backslaps with modest thanks and veiled relief; although it hadn’t happened yet, there was always the potential for someone who took losing badly. She took her