Of Fairies, Witches, Gypsies, My nourrice sang to me, Sua Gypsies, Fairies, Witches, I alsua synge to thee

I have been tinkering (pun intended--don't worry, you'll get it in a second) for quite a while with the idea of writing a series of books populated by gypsies. Except that every time I start, the research swallows me whole. There is both a dearth and a lack of information. Or, more accurately put, there is all the misinformation you could ever dream of and a lot of question marks for accurate information about gypsies throughout history.


I can't even find an a list of Gypsie names. They had private names in their own tongue, and then names they would adopt for the country the lived in or traveled to. Names that were normal for that time period in place. For example, if they came to America today, they would choose John or Jack or Matt or Will. Actually, I suppose that it would have been similar in the past as well. But no one outside the traveling people ever seems to be trusted with their privates names. Or, perhaps, they were just very accurate in choosing who they told. Because no one wrote it down anywhere, apparently. 


All that to say, this is the beginning and I have done research, but compared to how much research I will have to do in order to actually write the series, it's just a drop in the ocean. Future installments subject to changes in name, occupation, and a host of other things. Comments and criticism welcome. Though if you're really going to rip it to shreds, maybe just e-mail it to me. 


Enjoy!

Although he comes and cuts me down,

    I'll grow next spring, 'tis plain,

But if a virgin wreath should fade,

    'Twill never bloom again.

"What does a tinker whore know?"

She'd been nervous, scared even, from the moment he'd walked into her wagon. The incense that was supposed to lend an authentic mysterious ambiance had clawed at her flared nostrils and made her eyes water. The cool, enigmatic dark had transformed into shadows concealing antagonistic intent. But now her senses closed and what she felt was...not anger. No, that would come later. But strength. It built within her, warming her thin limbs, stilling her imperceptible tremors, clearing her eyes. 

She lifted her chin and met his gaze evenly for the first time. His head snapped back. She let the silence grow, filling it with her strength, allowing the warmth brimming in her core to spill between them. 

"Whether you believe or not is not my responsibility, gadje. I have done what you paid me to do. Now go."

His arm twitched, as if he might slap her. She let the full measure of her disdain to enter her eyes, so thick in her aura even a gadje like him must sense it. He grabbed his hat, crushing the expensive velvet between thick strangler's fingers, and left.

A heartbeat, two more, and then a giant crash as the table hit the plank floor. Tarot cards fluttered, fell, and flailed in every direction. It wasn't enough noise to satisfy the angry god inside her. She rained down expletives on the cards, on the city, on their cursed, greedy leader.

"Hazle?"

She whirled, fists clenched. "What?"

The tent flap was opened a bare inch. Sunlight came into her tent, but that was all.

"D-did that man...? W-what d-did that man--"

She sighed loudly and slumped onto a pillow. Elek's stutter had melted her anger and left in its wake a niggling impatience, as it always did. 

"It was nothing. A bad reading." For a dangerous man, she thought but kept to herself. The caravan had to leave, that was clear, but a story about a scary man wouldn't convince Ursa. Not in such a profitable city. Not when things were finally getting better. Not when it was her, an untried fortuneteller, who was doing the telling. Only Momma D believe she had "the gift"--possibly because she was the only one, including Hazel, who still believed in such things. 

A curly brown head appeared in the sunlight. "Y-you're okay?"

She smiled wanly and then returned to rubbing her forehead, badgering herself to think of a way to get Ursa to move the troupe without exposing herself to censure for giving the bad reading. She had been desperate to prove her worth, to contribute and pull her own weight. Always she had felt beholden. And now, with Eamus sniffing around her skirts, she especially didn't want to feel as if she owed anyone anything to the troupe who had taken her in as an orphan. Momma D had had to harangue Ursa for a full year before he would allow it, and only then because the troupe was so hard up for money. Her first week of telling fortunes and already she had screwed up. Why had she told him what she'd seen, and why had she seen it?

A cry made her jump, her nerves taught as violin strings.

Elek stood sucking his finger, a few cards in his other hand. Hazel sighed again. "Leave it. I'll clean up my own mess. Momma D would say it's only what I deserve after making it in the first place."