Jankin danced, letting his hair down because that always made an impression, especially in a place like this, where blonde hair would inevitably stand out. He spun and kicked and swayed, twisted and twirled and worked his hips the best he knew how, until the crowd around them had more than tripled in size and the baskets set out for coins were full.
By the time he stopped, he was sweaty and exhausted, but filled with the rush of attention and a job well done.
"You're no idle dancer," the woman who'd invited him to dance said, sitting down and handing him a cup of water.
"I travel a lot, always seeking to learn and improve."
She laughed. "Not sure how much improving you have left to do. Why are you here in the market when you should be dancing in the palace?"
"I'm hoping for that opportunity."
"I'd say you're certainly on your way to finding it. I wish I could help, but I'm still trying to get noticed by a professional troupe."
Jankin finished his water and returned the cup. "Dance alone. Your friends are good, but they aren't even close to you. Eyes look over the group and keep going. Dance alone. That will draw the eyes you need. If your friends have the same ambitions, they'll work harder for them."
The woman nodded. "I will. Thank you."
"Thank you for letting me dance. I should be on my way, mill with this crowd, see what that gets me."
"Your earnings!"
Jankin waved her off. "Keep the money. I wouldn't have gotten the attention without your kindness. Consider it payment for the service."
"As you wish. Best of luck to you, pretty boy."
He waved farewell and then slipped into the crowd, answering questions and accepting compliments, even the few coins that people insisted on giving directly to him. A few offered him wine, and he was more than happy to enjoy that.
Eventually, the crowd thinned enough he could slip away.
Almost, anyway, as a voice called, "Rittu!"
He whipped around in the direction of the voice, eyes landing on a small, slender man with the look of a scholar about him. "Sir?"
"That worked, marvelous!" the man said cheerfully, bowing slightly as he reached Jankin. "I was wondering… I have a friend who visited Petch a few months ago. He came back with tales of a beautiful Rittuen dancer who traveled the world, a man with long gold hair and eyes the very color of peacock feathers. That would not be you, by chance, would it?"
Jankin laughed in delight. "That is indeed me. Would your friend happen to be Lord Afsun Khoroushi?"
"That is him!" the man said, his laughter joining Jankin's. "Would you like to come to the palace? I'm sure he would love to see you again, and the whole court would love to see you dance, my new friend. Skill like yours does not come along every day, and deserves better than a corner of the market right by the old vegetables."
"I would need to collect my things from my room," Jankin said, "but I would be honored to dance for the royal court. I am Jankin Allard, at your service, my lord."
"Naheed Toor-Ali." He beckoned to someone—a servant, by the look. "Now, where are you staying?" Jankin told him, and the man sent the servant off running. "He'll bring your things.Come, come." He slung an arm across Jankin's shoulders and guided him away.
His plan had worked even better than he'd dared hope. Usually it took him a few days to secure an invitation even half as good. Thrumming with excitement, and maybe a little bit of wine, he happily let Lord Naheed escort him to the palace.
Upon arrival, he was swept off to meet more people than he could easily keep track of, putting his poor Tavamaran to the test. To judge by a few looks and chuckles, he still needed a great deal of practice. Food and alcohol—lots of alcohol—were pushed on him, and by the time he was led away to a room, he felt like he was floating.
The room was small, about the same size as his inn room had been, and beautifully appointed. He had seldom come across such a lovely guest room. Normally people like him were just slotted with the servants, and that was that.
Stripping off his clothes, he climbed into bed and fell quickly asleep.
Too soon, far too soon, he was woken by gentle shaking. Peeling his eyes open, he stared blearily at the unfamiliar face over him. "Hmm?"
"Master Jankin?"
"That's me."
"Lord Toor-Ali requests your presence."
