Free Magic and Loss: A Novel of Golgotham by Nancy A. Collins

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.
    Directly behind the royal carriage was the Mayor’s coach, which was as ornately carved and heavily gilded as a circus wagon, pulled by a team of four centaurs. Banners proclaiming REELECT MAYOR LASH
were draped on either side while the Mayor enthusiastically hurled fists full of wrapped sweets at the crowds.
    “Yay! Free candy!” Adrian exclaimed, eagerly scooping up one of the treats. Before I could warn him, he opened it and popped it in his mouth. A second later he spat it back out, a horrified look on his face. “Holy hell! What
is
that shit? It tastes like black licorice mixed with salt and ammonia!”
    “It’s called salt licorice,” I explained. “It’s something of an acquired taste. Kymerans love it.”
    “
Agggh!
My tongue’s gone numb!”
    “Yeah, it’ll do that,” Hexe conceded.
    As Adrian staggered off in search of something to wash the taste of free candy out of his mouth and restore sensation to his tongue, I returned my attention to the Procession. Directly behind the Mayor’s coach was a phalanx of twelve centaur stallions outfitted in ceremonial barding, with elaborately detailed bronze pectorals protecting their lower equine chests, leather and brass croupiers shielding their haunches, and helmets with hinged cheek plates.
    Suddenly there was a sound like a hundred beehives being overturned, and twenty-five leprechauns playing scaled-down Irish war pipes marched into view, followed by an equal number playing toy-sized hand drums. Both pipers and drummers alike wore the traditional leprechaun dress of bright green breeches, jackets, and broad-brimmed hats, with shiny golden buckles on their hatbands and shoes. All fifty were redheaded, though only the older ones had any facial hair, and none of them stood any taller than a three-year-old human child.
    The Wee Folks