The wagon jolted over a rut, nearly pitching Joseph from his seat. He caught the sideboard, laughing as the parrot on his shoulder dug in its claws and squawked, 'Idiot! Idiot!'
The troupe howled. A week of rain and mud had dulled their spirits, but the bird's insults never failed to draw fresh laughter.
'Best watch yourself, Joseph,' called Rik the fiddler from the back. His bow never faltered, rasping out a tune in time with the wagon's lurches, the feather in his cap bobbing like a drunk sailor. 'One day Pietje will tell the truth about you.'
'Ugly truth,' boomed Joos, the broad-shouldered actor, wiping his nose on his sleeve. His laugh shook the wagon harder than the road. 'And who'd pay for that?'
'And yet truth is the poet's trade,' murmured Sander, pale and thin as a reed, scribbling on a scrap of paper with a stump of charcoal. The others laughed but he didn't look up.
Joseph grinned, stroking Pietje's feathers. 'He already speaks the truth.'
The walls of Antwerp rose before them, banners streaming from the towers, drums and trumpets carrying on the air — the thrum of a city ready to burst with Carnival.
Beside him, Isabelle was counting coins in her palm, lips tight. 'Three coppers. And a button.' She flicked the button at him. 'That's your share. At this rate we'll starve before Lent.'
Joseph shrugged. 'Carnival will change that.'
'Carnival will eat us alive if we don't earn for food and a bed.' She tucked the coins into her bodice, then nodded toward the gate. 'Smile, little brother. Guards look kinder on fools than beggars.'
When their turn came, a guard stepped forward, bayonet across their way. His gaze skimmed their patched motley.
'And you lot?' he asked.
'Players, sir,' Isabelle purred, dipping a curtsy. 'Come to delight Antwerp with harmless mirth.'
Pietje screeched, 'Ugly man! Ugly man!'
The troupe roared. Even the guard's stern mouth twitched before he waved them through.
'Keep it clean,' he warned. 'Burgermeister's no stomach for scandal.'
Relief swept the wagon as they rattled inside. Joseph craned his neck to the spire of the Cathedral, stone spearing the sky. The streets teemed already — jugglers, drummers, painted girls handing out ribbons. The smells tangled thick: chestnuts roasting, sweat, horse dung.
'Antwerp,' Joseph breathed. 'We'll be rich by nightfall.'
'Rich in blisters,' Isabelle muttered.
They drew up at a broad-beamed inn near the Grote Markt, where the bells of the stadhuis clanged and banners shimmered across the square. Antwerp had turned herself out like a queen: silks draped from pavilions, evergreen wound through stalls, painted arches straddling the cobbles. Even the stones seemed scrubbed.
The troupe stood staring, mouths slack.
Rik whistled low. 'Sweet Mary. This an't no marketplace. It's a purse-paradise.'
'A paradise for us to pluck,' Isabelle murmured, eyes already quick with schemes.
Joseph grinned, though even he felt small before the grandeur. This wasn't a village fairground. Antwerp expected to dazzle — and they were ready to play along.
Inside, the inn was a riot: merchants toasting deals, apprentices bawling orders, a fiddler scraping away in the corner. The air was thick with onions, ale, and meat fat.
Behind the counter loomed a ruddy man, flour dusted, apron stained. Younger than his girth suggested, his eyes were quick and weighing.
'Actors, by God!' he boomed. 'Antwerp fattens on laughter this time of year. What'll it be
'Ale? Bread? Both — if your purses are heavier than your bellies?'
'Ale,' Isabelle said smoothly, laying a coin down with her painted nail. 'Your finest.'
'Finest?' The man's belly shook. 'For one copper you'll get the brew pigs won't touch, and thank me.' He poured anyway, thumping the mugs down.
Pietje bobbed and shrieked, 'Thief! Thief!'
The room roared. The innkeeper's grin widened. 'That bird'll earn you more than your fiddler. Antwerp likes a creature with a tongue.'
'And the man who runs this fine house?' Isabelle asked, head tilting slyly.
'Willem,' he said, pride checked by a touch of shyness. 'Willem Smekens. My ale, my roof. Remember it when you're rich and famous.'
Joseph lifted his mug. 'Then Willem, you'll be the first man we thank when Antwerp crowns us kings.'
Willem chuckled, eyeing Joseph's quick grin and Isabelle's sharper one. Dreamers, scrappers. He'd seen their kind, and they filled benches well.
'Kings, eh? I'll settle for fools who make my customers thirsty. But plain — if you can't draw a crowd, I've no room for dead weight.'
Isabelle's glance at Joseph was sharp and amused. For the first time that day, hope felt more than a jest.
Joseph drained his mug in two gulps. 'Ale fit for a king.'
'Or a fool,' Isabelle said, sipping hers.
Willem laughed again. 'You're half an act already. New to Antwerp?'
'First Carnival here,' Joseph admitted.
'Then mind you — Antwerp's generous, but she bites. And by the looks, you've coin for ale but not beds.'
Isabelle's mouth tightened.
'I thought so,' Willem said, not unkindly. 'I've a barn out back. Dry, warmer than the street. Fill my benches, and your straw is free.'
Joseph blinked. 'That's more than fair.'
'Fair?' Willem chuckled. 'It's business. Laughter makes thirst, thirst makes me rich. But…' his voice softened, 'I like the look of you. There's fortune in you both, if you can weather Antwerp.'
Pietje flapped, screeching, 'Good fortune! Fool fortune!'
The room roared again.
Joseph raised his mug. 'Then it's a deal. To Antwerp, to Carnival, and to Willem Smekens.'
'To fools, kings, and parrots!' Willem grinned. 'God help us all.'
⸻
The barn smelled of hay and horse, but the straw was fresh. Rik fiddled until his strings sagged, Joos spun bawdy tales, Sander scribbled until his charcoal snapped.
Joseph lay back on the straw, staring at the crack of sky above, the bells tolling from the Cathedral, laughter of Carnival drifting close.
'Antwerp,' he whispered. 'Our fortune waits.'
Across the barn Isabelle snorted. 'Fortune's a fickle mistress. Don't count her kisses till she's in your lap.'
Joseph smiled into the dark. Pietje muttered on his perch above. Tomorrow Carnival would begin, and Antwerp would see them.