“He left about an hour ago to nail down a good spot,” I explained. “Golgothamites take their Jubilee very seriously, so it pays to stake a claim as early as possible.”
“Have you heard anything from your parents yet?” asked Vanessa.
“Not a peep,” I replied. “Normally my dad would have tried an end run around my mother by now, but he’s not going to risk crossing her when she’s this mad. I don’t need their money if the strings attached to it make me a puppet.”
“Your cat just insulted me and flew upstairs,” Adrian said, looking nonplussed.
“Don’t mind Scratch,” I laughed. “He’s under strict orders not to eat friends and family.”
Upon finishing our coffee, we grabbed up some collapsible camp chairs and headed out for the Procession, chatting among ourselves. Despite the early hour, there was already a steady stream of people, many of them outfitted with stepladders, headed in the direction of Perdition, the widest and straightest street in Golgotham. Perdition stretched all the way from the Gate of Skulls, located on Broadway, to the wharves of the East River, and during the Jubilee, festive banners and bunting were hung from every window, doorway, and lamppost, and temporary archways of red, white, and blue had been erected along the Procession route.
As we arrived at the corner of Golden Hill and Perdition, I spotted Hexe standing on the curb, talking to his childhood friend Kidron. It was one of the few times I’d seen the centaur out-of-harness, and he was dressed to the nines in a blue silk caparison decorated with small diamond-shaped mirrors, with a matching doublet and a leather helmet crested by an ostrich feather dyed to match his clothes. I couldn’t hear what they were discussing, but judging by the scowl on Hexe’s face, it was something unpleasant.
“Jubilation, Tate, to you and your friends,” Kidron said as we approached. “And I am glad to see you back on your feet, Miss Sullivan. I trust your ankle is no longer bothering you?”
“Thank you,” Vanessa smiled. “And it’s Mrs. Klein, now. But, yes, my sprain is fully healed, thanks to Hexe.”
“That is good to hear. My people take such wounds very seriously,” Kidron replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my herd.” With that he clopped across the street to join a group of centaurs, all of them tricked out in equally fancy dress.
“So why the frowny face?” I asked as Hexe kissed me hello.
“The Maladanti are putting the bite on the livery drivers,” he replied sotto voce. “They used to get ten percent. Now they’re demanding thirty, and are threatening to kneecap anyone who balks.” Upon seeing the look on my face, Hexe smiled and smoothed the hair away from my brow. “There will be other days on the calendar to worry about Boss Marz. I just want to enjoy the Jubilee with you before I end up being stuck judging who gets the blue ribbon for Best Potion for the rest of my life. Today is the Jubilee,” he said, raising his voice so that the others could hear, “a time to celebrate our freedom and the unity of our peoples!”
“Damn straight!” Vanessa agreed as she set up her camp chair.
“You certainly have some interesting neighbors here in Golgotham,” Adrian said, eyeing a clan of leprechauns as they clambered up a homemade reviewing stand constructed from a pair of ladders and a two-by-four.
“These are just the ones who come out during the day,” Hexe said with a wink. “Wait until the sun goes down and the trolls, ghouls, and goblins take to the streets!”
Adrian laughed uneasily and then checked the app on his phone that told him what time the sun would set.
Within an hour of our arrival there were thousands of parade watchers, both looky-loos and native, thronging the length of Perdition Street. As the sun rose, the early morning chill quickly gave way to clear blue skies and pleasant spring temperatures. Children—human and otherwise—ran back and forth across the broad street in mindless, kinetic tribes, shouting and playing tag. A trio of centaur foals frisked about under the watchful eye of their dams, while a couple of young satyr kids amused themselves by butting heads. A vermilion-haired Kymeran street vendor carried a long pole covered in giant hand-twisted pretzels, hawking his wares to the hungry in the crowd, closely followed by a faun with a refrigerated pushcart selling ice-cold bottles of butterscotch root beer.
Suddenly, a red rubber ball bounced into the middle of the frolicking foals. A second later a five-year-old human child came running up to reclaim it, only to stare in amazement at the little centauride turning the toy over in her hands. Her upper portion resembled a four-year-old girl, her blond hair fixed in twin pigtails, and dressed in a My Little Pony T-shirt, while from the waist down she was a knobby-kneed palomino foal. Upon espying the little boy, she smiled and shyly held the ball out to him. He returned her smile and reached out to take it, all the while unable to take his eyes off her.
Hexe reached out and took my hand in his and gave it a squeeze. I grinned and kissed him on the cheek. “Maybe things aren’t so hopeless, after all?” I said, resting my head on his shoulder.
“The problem isn’t with the kids,” he said as a woman hurried from the crowd and grabbed the young boy by the arm.
“Jaxon! What did I tell you about staying where I can keep an eye on you?”
“But I was just getting my ball back—!” the kid protested feebly.
A palomino centauress stepped out into the street, putting herself between the foal and the boy. “That’s enough horseplay for now, Wynona!” she said sternly.
“See what I mean?” Hexe sighed.
The sound of distant, rhythmic drumbeats echoed throughout the neighborhood as a couple of centaurs in PTU helmets and crowd-control gear came trotting down Perdition, clearing away the vendors and pedestrians from the street. Upon espying these outliers, the crowds lining the curb began to cheer and clap.
A minute or two later the Procession itself hove into sight. At its head were six Kymerans marching abreast of one another, each one dressed in robes the color of their respective caste: blue, yellow, red, green, orange, and purple. Their billowing garments were covered with arcane symbols picked out in silver thread and they carried between them a long pole, three to each end, from which hung a heavy satin banner embellished with the seal of Golgotham: a six-fingered right hand within a pentagram.
Behind the walkers was the Motley Fool, a masked acrobat dressed in the trademark coat of many colors that was the symbol of Kymerans in exile, and who walked on his hands and performed backflips and somersaults. The crowd laughed and cheered, tossing coins into the street, which the Motley Fool scooped up and placed in a pouch cinched about his waist.
Following the costumed tumbler were three minotaurs with crimson loincloths knotted about their muscular waists and protective caps on their horns. Strapped across their backs were drums fashioned from the shells of gigantic tortoises. Marching immediately behind them were barrel-chested, horse-legged ipotanes wielding what looked like human leg bones in place of mallets. The rhythms the drummers summoned forth resonated like thunder and quickly invaded my pulse, making my scalp tighten and the hair on my arms stand erect.
After the drum line was the royal carriage containing Lady Syra, Witch Queen of the Kymerans. She rode in a phaeton wreathed in garlands of flowers, drawn by Illuminata, her private chauffeur. The albino centauride was dressed in a shimmering silver mail tunic and a helmet topped by a snow-white ostrich plume. The doors of the carriage were set with enameled panels bearing the Seal of Arum: a golden battle-dragon with its tail in its mouth. Lady Syra, wearing a tiara fashioned from a pair of intertwined dragons atop her peacock blue hair, waved to the cheering crowds with her right hand, while holding a scepter that resembled a caduceus in her left.