storage areas, and dumpsters, a scaly monster lurched into the sky, flapping broad wings as large as billboards. The dragon—named Alice—had a long barbed tail and a sinuous neck, as seen on all the posters. Her eyes flared scarlet fire as she swooped over the Renaissance fair and then dive-bombed, letting out a roar as she streaked over the heads of the cheering spectators.
Alvina laughed. Sheyenne drifted close to me, and I could feel her thrumming spectral presence.
“We’re safe,” Robin reassured us. “The dragon may be powerful, but city ordinance limits her destructive activities.”
Alice did a cartwheel in the air to more cheers, then cocked back her neck and opened her jaws wide. I thought she was going to breathe fire, but instead she released only a series of humorous smoke rings. After a five-minute performance, the dragon glided overhead, tipping her outstretched wings as if in a bow, and circled back to her large tent the size of an aircraft hangar, where she reportedly kept her treasure hoard.
“Can we have a dragon, Dan?” Alvina asked.
“We don’t have the room in our apartment,” I said, though I hated to disappoint the kid.
“Please? I’ll take care of it, I promise!”
“It would be too big, honey,” Sheyenne explained.
“Let’s just get a little one. Hatched from an egg. If we go to the Humane Society . . .”
“Little dragons grow into big dragons,” Robin said.
“Let’s start out with a salamander,” I suggested. “Maybe we can work our way up.”
That satisfied the girl, and we went off to find the jousting field.
As we went around back of Ye Olde Blood Bar, a golem waiter with a tray—Jim, according to the name on his forehead—was delivering dirty tankards to another golem, Don, who was wearing an apron and yellow dishwashing gloves. Standing at a large barrel of sudsy water, he sloshed the tankards in the soapy water to remove the bloodstains, then dunked them in a separate rinse barrel.
Since we were away from the crowds, I paused to do some detective work. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Are you aware that last night another golem was found murdered in the parking area? His chest had been pulled open, and he was empty inside. His name was Joe.”
“Oh . . . Joe,” the golem said, sounding sad. “Joe was a good guy.”
“What about your working conditions here at the fair?” Robin asked. “Why would someone murder golems?”
“We just do our work,” said Don, the golem with yellow dishwashing gloves. He dunked a tankard in the soapy water and swished it in the rinse barrel before setting it on a wooden drying shelf. “Whenever a master hires us, we’re just putty in his hands.”
I remembered the hollowed-out clay corpse. “What’s inside a golem? Why would anyone want to take it?”
Both Jim and Don answered in unison. “We have a heart of clay.” They each brought a hand up to their chests. “And Art has the heart of a lion. Art will save us all.”
“Who’s Art?” I asked.
Alvina tugged on my hand. “We have to get to the jousting.”
“Just a minute, honey.”
“Art is Art,” said the golems. “He will free us.”
“Is Art another golem?” Robin asked. “How do we find him?”
“You will find him,” said Don and Jim.
When Alvina kept tugging, I realized that we really did need to go or we would miss the beginning of the joust.
Thankfully, it was a cloudy, gloomy day, so all types of unnaturals could enjoy the spectacle outside. Golem ushers herded the crowd to bleachers on the edge of the jousting field. On opposite ends, two armored knights sat on black stallions that pawed at the ground with sharp hooves. The knights wore full regalia, visored helmets, and doublets that should have borne the insignia of noble houses but instead sported corporate logos, the sponsors of the jousting teams. Each jouster held a long wooden lance.
On a raised reviewing stand beside the bleachers stood a man with curly golden locks, wearing a jewel-studded crown and impressive black velvet robes. The black velvet