Cody took a long breath. “Right. Well, we got a show to put on. Better get to’t.”
The four of them made their way from the show enclosure into the town, following the guidance of one of Giselle’s sylphs. They attracted curious glances from the townsfolk, since all four of them were wearing their best. Cody was resplendent in his white, fringed doeskin outfit, with a matching hat. Leading Fox was equally resplendent in a costume Giselle had never seen him in before: a beaded buckskin version of Cody’s costume, with a colorful blanket, his hair adorned with eagle feathers. Kellermann looked plain by comparison in his sober best suit.
And she—well, she had been torn. Whether to keep up the illusion that she was the American Rio Ellie, or wear the loden-green hunting costume that Tante Gretchen had given her. . . .
In the end, she decided that the illusion was more important as far as the townsfolk were concerned. And as for Rosamund herself, well, wearing her Western gear would make it clear where Giselle’s alliances lay.
The sylph that guided them was a night-sylph, an odd one, actually, since this one was fully clothed. She had midnight-blue wings like lacework, a long, flowing midnight-blue gown, and raven hair that streamed behind her as she flew, looking back over her shoulder to be certain they were following. Only she and Fox could see her, of course.
The townspeople did not pretend that they were not startled and pleased to see the quartet, although Kellermann was largely ignored. There was no effort at being polite, either; there was a great deal of pointing and whispering.
Leading Fox ignored it, striding after the sylph, full of dignity. Cody, however, went into his arena persona: smiling broadly, waving, even pulling off his hat and bowing deeply to particularly pretty women.
The particularly pretty women generally blushed, smiled back, and giggled. The men with them were not nearly so amused, though they took some pains to hide their displeasure.
Fortunately, Cody didn’t follow through on any of his flirtatious bows, just kept moving.
The sylph brought them down cobblestoned streets of black-beamed, white-plastered houses and shops. Giselle tried not to look longingly at the shops . . . now that she actually had a little money to spend . . .
No, I must be good. I must save for winter.
They turned a corner, and there, about halfway down the street, was a hanging sign with a yellow sheep painted on it. And painted on the white plaster of the walls were garlands and flowers, and pictures of people eating and drinking.
The sylph flew up and away, no longer needed. Captain Cody eyed the sign, then regarded the painted drinkers with approval. “I think I’m likin’ our choice pretty well,” he drawled, smiling.
“Just remember,” Kellermann cautioned. “You’ll probably have to pay for what you drink.”
“Killjoy,” Cody muttered, as Kellermann waved at her to go inside first.
Inside, Giselle sniffed the air, then took a deeper breath with approval. She had seen rather too many . . . poorly kept inns. This one, however, would have met with even Mother’s approval.
The common room was spacious and clean, with wooden floors, wooden ceilings, and plastered walls with more paintings of happy people on them. The paintings looked old, much older than the ones outside; they were much more stylized, more like the illuminated letters in old manuscripts. Or actually . . . now that she came to think about it, the decorations were almost exactly the sort of thing you saw on elaborate beer steins! Then again, the ones outside were subject to the wind and weather, and presumably every so often had to be repainted. These probably dated from when the inn became an inn. There was a huge fireplace in one wall, which probably held enormous fires in the winter. And there was a counter across the back, with big ornamental steins on it and three barrels beneath it.
The furnishings were simple: wooden benches and wooden tables with candles stuck in their own wax in the middle. Many were already occupied with people smoking, eating and drinking. Two pretty young women, both blond and looking like sisters in their black dirndls, white blouses, and red aprons, bustled among the tables laden with heavy wooden trays holding food and drink.
As they stood in the doorway, one of the girls unloaded her tray at a table and turned toward them. “You’re expected!” she said cheerfully. “Come this way!”