Through Antwerp's crowded streets the wagon lurched, axles creaking at every turn. The city spilled around them in a riot of noise: the tramp of guildsmen's boots, drums booming, trumpets blaring, cathedral bells clamouring overhead. The procession marched in stately order, banners high, silks snapping in the wind. But whenever it slowed, gaps yawned wide — and into those gaps darted players and fools, capering for the crowds pressed against the wooden barriers.
Joseph braced himself against the cart, grinning despite the ache in his legs. Pietje shifted on his shoulder, feathers fluffed, head bobbing like a drunkard.
'Here!' Joos whooped, stabbing a finger at the bend where the crowd was jammed shoulder to shoulder, necks craned. The wagon lurched and stopped. Joos tumbled down with a flourish, his long-nosed mask — garish red — already strapped on. Throwing his arms wide, he bellowed, 'Are you ready to be bamboozled, bedazzled, and thoroughly befuddled?' Rik's fiddle squealed into a wild tune that set the onlookers laughing.
Sander stepped forward, battered cap in hand, mischief in his eyes. He raised his voice above the racket:
'Good masters, fair dames, we bring no gold,
but merriment enough to make hearts bold.
A tune, a tumble, a jest for a coin —
and a parrot, the wisest fool you'll join!'
Pietje squawked on cue: 'Pretty fool! Pretty fool!'
The crowd cheered, coins already ringing into Sander's cap.
A boy whistled. Someone flung a crust of bread that smacked Joos square on the head. He reeled, then collapsed in mock agony.
'Dead already,' Isabelle called, sweeping down from the cart with a dancer's grace. She planted fists on her hips, voice sharp as a whip. 'Antwerp, shame on you! Here lies Joos, finest fool between here and Ghent, felled by stale bread!'
'Finer fools in Ghent!' came a shout.
'Name one!' she shot back. The crowd howled.
Joseph vaulted down, boots thudding on cobbles. Pietje shrieked, wings flapping: 'Pretty fool! Pretty fool!' The bird nearly toppled from his shoulder, which only stoked the laughter.
'See? Even the bird agrees!' Rik cried, bow flying across the strings.
Joos staggered upright, wobbling like a drunkard. 'A miracle! Revived by insult!' He flourished his mask toward the crowd, bowing low as pennies and silvers alike began to fly.
Isabelle darted through the scatter, her cap flashing as she caught them.
Sander slipped back into rhyme, chanting over the racket:
'See the nimble clown who cannot stand,
yet accepts your coin with his clumsy hand!'
Joseph claimed his turn, springing onto the wagon's edge with Pietje perched like a crown.
'Good people of Antwerp!' he cried. 'Here is truth on two legs and two wings: man and beast, fool and bird! Who speaks more sense? Place your bets now!'
'The bird!' roared the crowd.
Pietje bobbed so hard Joseph had to steady him, shrieking, 'Pretty fool! Pretty fool!' The crowd stamped and clapped, waving their caps in delight.
Joseph laughed, bowing, playing it up — but his gaze betrayed him. It slipped upward, drawn to the reserved stands where Antwerp's wealthy sat.
A young woman. Finely dressed, dark braid catching the pale light, a fur-lined cloak drawn close. She was laughing — not at Pietje, not at Joos, but at him.
Something jolted in his chest, sharp as claws.
'Joseph!' Isabelle hissed, shoving his arm. 'Don't gawk — perform!'
He blinked, just in time to stumble as Joos tumbled into his legs. They went sprawling, Pietje shrieking outrage while the crowd roared. Joseph rolled clear, sprang up, and shoved Joos off with a flourish that won another round of cheers.
But still, his gaze flickered upward. And still, she hadn't looked away.
Isabelle noticed. Of course she noticed. Coins rattled into her cap as her mouth pinched tight, a promise of words later.
'Eyes down, brother,' she muttered, sharp and low. 'Crowds are full of faces, not just one.'
Joseph barely heard.
Sander caught it, though. With a sly glance he spun his rhyme:
'A player's eyes should wander wide,
not fix on jewels he can't abide.'
The crowd laughed, thinking it part of the act.
The girl coloured, lowering her eyes. Joseph flushed, tugging Pietje close as though the bird might shield him.
Still, the pull held. He didn't know her name, didn't know her place — only that, in a sea of faces, hers burned bright as flame. He was no stranger to women's laughter, to glances thrown at a player for an afternoon's amusement. But this was different. Her gaze was steady, curious, unflinching — and it set him trembling in a way no tavern flirt ever had. She sat among silks and fur, a world apart from his dust and feathers. And yet, in that instant, it seemed she saw only him.