Ernesto hadn?t been born to the wagons. Ernesto wasn?t even his true name. Wanderlust and adventure were not gifted to him at birth as they were to the traveling people of the north, whose caravans he and the other children of the villages used to watch with longing imaginations. His village ? Laemeli, it was called ? was a modest one, no different from any of the other hamlets and clusters of farms that peppered the lands ranging along the mountains that stretched the length of the continent a thousand mysterious kilometers northeast of Rhydin City.

His particular village, a gathering of thirty-two souls altogether, was more of a clan-hold than a town. The technological wonders that spilled from the Nexus and the Stars End district to bloom like blowflowers over the hub of the metropolis never made it to the remote region cradling his little village. While the bards that wafted in and out of the district on the winds of the seasons told marvelous stories about the things to be had in the City, most of the good folk of the northlands would never see such miracles. Not once. Not once in their entire lives.

Then the Haiteman warriors came, and painted the mountainsides in blood and fire.

"Wutcha doing?" the dark-haired woman asked him, as he was sitting on the steps of the wagon after their noon performance. He was threading a new string through the bridge of his guitar, and wishing he had something cold to drink. It was hot as the sands of the Wastes, today, and on their second day back in Rhydin City, they'd only managed to collect a handful of coins, mostly coppers.

He squinted at her, and wiped the sweat dripping into his eyes from his forehead with the dity elbow of his shirt. "Fixing my guitar string. It broke on the last song."

"I liked your singing," she said with a crinkle of a smile that sent freckles dancing across her nose. It made him stop and really look at her, that did. "You looked like you were thinking far-away," she commented astutely, sitting herself right down on the bottom step, by his knee, as if she'd been invited. Not that he minded; the view from above her was far pleasanter than the scene that had been about to play out in his head.

"I was thinking about the day I joined the wagons," he got the loose end of the string seated and started winding the tuning peg, casting surrepticious glances down the front of her white blouse as he did. She was fresh as a mountain daisy, this girl.

"Was you excited?" she asked.

"No, I was scared spitless." He stopped twisting the peg before he broke another string, the long end dangling out at an angle, waiting to be cut.

"How come?"

"Because raiders came and burned down my village," he replied as he rubbed the back of his head, wondering why he was telling her all of this. "Because I ran away like a coward while they --"

"I'm sorry bad men burned your house. Is that why your new house has wheels? So they can't catch you?" The expression turned up to him was utterly guileless.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's why my new house has wheels." Ernesto set the guitar beside the steps and rubbed his big palms on his knees, staring at her. "What's yer name?"

"Missie," she said cheerfully. "What's yours?"

Bailar, he almost answered her. "Ernesto," he replied.

"She's a good draw," Julio commented one night a couple weeks later, as they watched her running through the marketplace for the High Bridge.

"Yep," Ernesto stretched his legs out and leaned back on the steps. The first stars were starting to twinkle where the blue deepened on the horizon, and he exhaled a plume of smoke toward one as he thought about the situation.

She'd never told them where she lived, and they hadn't asked. No one ever came to watch her perform. No irate brothers, fathers, mothers to call down the Watch. No concerned neighbors.

"I tell you, I want a piece of that," Julio continued. "She could put that sweet little mouth ar--"

"She's like a kid!" Ernesto protested, shifting uneasily.

"Kid, hell. She's slow, but she knows what she's doing. You've seen her dance? You've seen her wagging those hips when she sings?" Julio jeered at him. "I've seen you watching her arse. You can't tell me you haven't thought about it."

Another drag of the cigarette bought Ernesto a minute to think. "She says she's married."

"Married my arse. You seen a husband around here? The only thing keeping her out of an asylum is she can dress herself."

"I dunno."

"Look, you want her or not? Because if you're stepping aside --" Julio leaned forward expectantly.

"No! No." Ernesto surged to his feet, took a few paces. "No, I want her."

"How badly?

Ernesto recognized Julio's tone. He turned slowly toward him. "What are you saying?"

"Just a friendly little wager, brother..."

?Good morning, Missie,? he ground out the stub of the cigarette was was smoking as he watched her approach a few days later. The tambourine jangled, its ribbons fluttering, as she scarpered toward the wagon. ?Can you come inside for a minute, bebe? I want to show you something.?

?Morning, Ernesto! Isn?t it a pretty day? The trees are putting on their party clothes!? She spun in a wide circle, her skirt billowing around her legs, and the ribbons in her hair and on the tambourine dancing with her. Leaves on the ground skirled around her feet, chased by a gust of breeze. Summer was giving way to autumn, sure enough. Why hadn?t he noticed until she pointed it out? He was still watching her legs when she asked him something he missed.

?What?? dragging himself back into the conversation.

?I said,? she was all childish exasperation, grinning at him. ?What do you want to show me??

?Oh, it?s ??

?And do you have coffee? I want some coffee, but only if you have milk. Oh!? her eyes lit up, ?Ali gived me monies to buy croissants today. I get to shop in the bread store. Those sound so good, I might eat them all up on the way home, though.? Missie tilted her head to peer up at him like an owl might, wise and wide-eyed. ?Are you gonna show me whatever it is, or not??

He found himself stammering incoherently at her. It had all seemed so simple when he?d thought about it before she?d arrived. Julio?d been out all night wenching, so Ernesto had the wagon to himself and all that span of nighttime to plan. He?d give her the instrument, then tell her his sad story about missing his ?family? and the caravans. She?d feel so sorry for him that he was sure she?d agree to help him find them. Now that she was standing there, he couldn?t recall any of it. The way she looked at him made it hard for him to think.

?I, uh. Y-yeah, sure. Come in, come in,? he got up to give her room on the steps, and shooed her toward the flap of canvas that served as their door.

?You?re so silly.? She patted his arm consolingly as she passed him and ducked inside the wagon. He glanced quickly around the market square before climbing in after her.

?Is it this?? She held up an embroidered pillow covered in scarlet silk, then dropped it and picked up a pair of Julio?s pants that had been wadded up in a corner of the cluttered interior.

?No, that?s not ??

She flung the pants over her shoulder, hitting some pans and utensils hanging from hooks that dangled from the wagon hoops. They jangled like the tambourine. ?Is it this?? Thrusting aloft the long crop they used to drive the horses with. Her gaze went knowing and sharp as a raven?s. ?Do you spank Julio?? The thought got her to giggling even before he could answer.

?No! Missie, stop touching things. I want to show you ??

?Yer not gonna show me yer woohoo, are you?? grinning sunnily. ??cause I dun wanna see it.?

?No one wants to see his woohoo, Missie,? Julio replied cheerfully as he chose that moment to return. The smug bastard stepped into the wagon behind Ernesto and shouldered him out of the way. ?It?s tiny and shaped like a radish.?

?Nuh-uh!? her exclamation was a conglomeration of disbelief, shock, and laughter.

?As I live,? Julio replied with a solemn gesture of sincerity. They both laughed at that, while Ernesto cast a withering stare from one to the other.

?So what did you want to show me?? she asked when the giggles had subsided.

Julio favored him with a speculative study. ?Yes, ?Nesto, what were you going to show our Missie this morning, all alone in the wagon??

He had to fight the urge to snarl a response. Damn! Damn! Damn! Why did things never turn out as he planned? Muttering suggestions aimed at the other gypsy under his breath, he dug into a pack, pulling out a shiny brass trumpet. Julio?s left eyebrow reached for the canvas overhead.

?It?s ? you?ve been doing so good with the singing and the tambourine, Missie, that I thought you might want to try this. It?s ? it?s a very important job in the act, blowing a trumpet to let people know that the show is about to start. We haven?t been doing it here because we didn?t have anyone working with us who we knew would do it justice.?

?For me?? Gone was the laughter, an awed whisper taking its place. ?I gets to have it, and play it every day??

?That?s right, bebe. It?s a very important job,? Ernesto answered over what sounded suspiciously like a snort from Julio, who had flopped down onto his bedroll and was watching the conversation with plain amusement.

?Julio!? she seemed not to notice, bursting with pride. ?I gots me a blowing job!?

?I?ll give you a sucking job,? Julio muttered softly. Ernesto scowled openly at him.

?Huh?? Missie was taken aback.

?Nothing, Missie, he ??

?I?m just saying, ?Nesto has it all wrong. You don?t get the best sounds out of that thing by blowing on it. You have to learn to suck.?

?Julio!? Ernesto was turning a truly alarming shade.

?Fine, fine,? he cut Ernesto a mocking glance, and turned his attentions back to Missie. ?I tell you what. You go home and practice today, and then come tomorrow and tell us which way works best, okay?? He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

?We isn?t going to sing today?? she asked, confused. That got him a surprised grunt from Ernesto, too.

?Not today. I?m tired.? He didn?t open his eyes. Ernesto growled in exasperation and threw up his hands.

?Okay! Then I am going to the bread store to buy croissants, an? then I am gonna go to see if I can find Ali, an? maybe I can practice for him!? And before either of them could utter another word, she was scrambling past Ernesto and out of the wagon.

?Arse,? he snarled at Julio.

?That?s two,? Julio smirked, holding two fingers up. ?You?re running out of chances with her, boy.?

"Go to hell," he muttered.

"Nope," he smiled fiercely. "I'm going to heaven."

(Continued in Good Morning, Ali's House - 18+)