The Juggler of Red Walls

A juggler-magician watches the market of Red Walls for trouble, hoping he won’t find any.

  • Excerpt

    Then three lads I’ve not seen before join the crowd. No, not lads. When young men elbow their way to the front like these do, when they have matching red rags tied round their upper arms, when they smirk and give me—and my case, with its dusting of copper and silver—appraising looks, they’re not lads anymore. One of the three tries to snatch one of my balls from their weave, but I jerk it away from his hand and call another from the rack at my feet to strike the inquisitive hand. Lightly. Just a suggestion. He staggers back, balls his fists.