The kid had moxie, I’ll give him that, or guts, or was just as weird as we were. Or innocent and stupid. I was like that, around his age. I mean, who’d choose to hang with us? Wasn’t he afraid? No? Instead he said, “Well, I can sing and play and dance, and then we would be the Cockathrees!” I think he’d resigned himself to staying in our company; but, then, he’d probably rather swim across the straights than go home as he felt now. “But I don’t have my flute.”
“Can you play a drum?” James asked. He was so good with this kid.
“Sure,” the kid lied. Hell, I didn’t care; mischief was afoot anyway, what harm could a bad drummer add? Maybe we should dress like court jesters and really ham it up. I mean, a drum, bagpipes, and my lute or mandolin; how bad could it be?
Well, I found out. We went
