Future Warnings from Midnight

Chapter Three: Drake

At the back tent of the circus sat two beings. One young man, or what appeared to be a young man, with rough clothing and a lute in his pack. Something he had recently got for free from a junkshop. His shaggy hair covered his eyes and his fresh face. His cheeks were a bit too rosy and his lips too soft to be considered a young man. More of a boy. He toughened up his glaze as he watched the other being. The boy shifted his on his beaten up shoes as he was coming to a choice. He hardly knew the right one to make. He leaned over the side as he handed over a golden ring with an elm tree on it with a small ruby in its center to the second being. He handed over the golden ring to the second being, "Alright."

"You will not regret this, young one," Answered the second. It was a tiny old hag with a parrot on her shoulder. She grinned her wrinkled and worn face. The young man was not taken aback by the lack of the hag's teeth nor by the strong smell of almonds. She paused to stare at the lute on the young man's back and pointed a cricked finger at the item as if it were offensive. The hag moved her matted brown hair out of her face and her eyes narrowed. She blinked again and smiled at the boy. She inquired, "I take it you ran into the Scarred Man and he referred you here. Am I right?"

"Indeed, Madame," The boy said.

"Aye, that man... He likes to do business his own way... Fine, lass," The hag shrugged and walked into the tent. She waved, "We have a deal you and I. One golden ring of a kingdom faraway for a turn of fortune and freedom."

"I am a boy," He answered shortly as he entered into the tent. Its scent of chamomile and sweet spices become sharp. Tightening his pack with the lute, he came into the room and sat on the chair pointed to by the hag.  It was a lowly stool even too small for the boy. The hag's tent was kept neatly of a small cot and a central table with a faded tablecloth of purple and gold stars on it. The hag sits upon the stool from the opposite side of the table. He watched as the hag shuffles the deck of cards from her pocket quickly.

The hag begun, "Lad or not. I care little. But I need your name and date of birth."

"My name, Madame?"

"Yes, magic like this requires man's name and such. No tricky now. Your name please, lad."

"My name is Drake. I was born under the first moon of autumn twelve years ago."

"Trust issues, eh?" The hag sighed, "Look... You think magic folk are going to be bitter and mean. So be it. But, highness, let us be honest with each other. You may call be Primrose. Now you call me by my real name. And I will be pleased to call you whatever you like. But I need your real name."

". . . I . . ." Drake bitterly stared at Primrose. He bite his lip and muttered, "My real name is Drake... It may be true my people and my father call me Princess Anastasia of Yuna."

"Indeed," Primrose said as she cut the cards, "But you have decided you are now Drake."

"Yes."

"No desire to be a princess?" The hag asked as she turned over three cards.

"I am a boy! I do not wish to be princess nor be told who I am by anyone else."

"Very well," Primrose shrugged. The three cards on the table showed a past of ease and grace. It was one of joy and happiness. Although it seemed cut short at some point due to a father's temper and lack of understanding. Primrose focused on the second. Of course. The Tower Card lurked in the reading. Here they were now. She silently flipped over the last card. She glazed upon the last. Death. She paused as she gazed upon the boy.

The parrot squawked, "All that glitters may not be gold."

"Are you sure, lad? About this whole affair?"

"I am," Drake said.

"So you want to join our circus?"

"Yes, why not! I rather be here then with Father! He never understands!"

Primrose nodded and then she crept her hand over to the parrot. She handed over the golden ring to the bird. She shuffled about her cards again. Just as the new cards were being put on the table, the music from the main tent was increasing and cheering was drifting into the tent. The last performance of the day was ending. Primrose dealt out her hand on the table. The new cards were in a row. The parrot flew off from her shoulder to the main tent. Primrose read about the cards.

She took out a dagger and held it up to the boy. She motioned to him to prick his fingers over the new face down cards. The boy followed as instructed. As the blood dripped onto the cards, the boy felt something tugged away from him. It was as if something in his heart had been pulled away. Primrose sat contently across the table as the blood boiled away from the cards and made them glow. She turned to the boy and studied him once again.

"Once again, what is the name everyone else calls you?"

"Princess An-" Drake could not finish his sentence.

"What was that lad?"

"They call me Princess An-"

"I do believe you said you are Drake," Primrose beamed, "And soon if I stand correct. You shall be among the clowns as you desired, lad. The ringleader is surely on her way."

"So I am free of the royal line?"

"Oh yes. Someone else will be found today as Princess Anastasia of Yuna," Primrose grinned as she slipped away the face down cards. They were for only her eyes to peer at. She nodded at her handy work. All fair cards for a deal with one of the magic folk. However, she scowled at the lute on Drake's back. At last they heard the approach of the leaving crowd of visitors and the return of the circus workers.

The ringleader stood before the entry of the tiny tent. She peered at Primrose as she held on her hand the parrot with the golden ring. A picture of beauty was the ringleader. Her leather boots were shined with care and kept dust free. Her red coat was of the finest silk. The ringleader's black voids of eyes examined Drake's features carefully and then tossed back her tamed and slicked braid. Her pale white skin seemed to glow in the twilight hours of the fall sun. She smirked to herself, "You wish to join about trope, eh?"

"Yes, Madame." Drake said shortly.

"You understand we are not just any trope, correct?"

"Yes, Madame. The Scarred Man explained the situation here."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Primrose, do you think this is to make up for the misdeeds of his assistants?"

"Fair is fair, Sweet Pea," Primrose answered.

The boy watched on in silence. The ringleader snapped her fingers and the parrot transformed into a beautiful princess. A copy of what Drake had been wearing earlier in the day. This clone was now as the Princess Anastasia of Yuna. The former parrot took a full bow and smiled. She grinned at Sweet Pea and Primrose. Her voice was much sweeter sound then Drake's, "Thank you for fulfilling our trade. I am glad to have been for service for the last sixty years. I promise to do my best on this task."

"Aye, Feathers," Primrose nodded.

Sweet Pea patted her head, "Now Feathers, we will be watching over you from afar. We will keep um, lad, what is your name?"

"Drake."

"Drake here among the clowns as he asked," Sweet Pea affectionately grinned, "Now off with you! I believe your receivers will be here soon."

The one called Feathers, now the replacement princess, bowed and ran off to join the leaving crowd. Sweet Pea turns to Drake and Primrose. She chuckled for a moment. Her eyes upon the boy in his roughed clothing and the lute. She touches the top of his head and kisses his forehead. Her black nails mess up his hair further. Her eyes turn to Primrose as she directed to the clown tent, "Show him the way, old friend. Surely if our friend the Scarred Man sent him he must have talent."