Chapter 1

It was almost as if I could physically see what I was drawing, but it was actually inside my mind... or was it?

Let me back up a minute. I am a freelance artist. I draw cover art and illustrations for fantasy novels. I also do some sketching, and occasional portrait work, at renaissance fairs. I made a decent living at it, because to me, I seemed to SEE what I was drawing. It's hard to explain. I will touch a bit more on that, later.

Sketching at the fair, was easy. The subject was right there in front of me. My "nine to five job", for the book publishers, was actually done out of my home. I picked which of those jobs I wanted to do. When you're a success in your job, as I am, you can more easily set your own rules and work schedule.

I had a studio in my house with all my supplies, and when I was done with an assignment, I would usually mail it into the office of the company that commissioned it. Sometimes, not often, I would hand deliver it.

I earned in the mid to high five figures a year. That satisfied my wants and needs. It kept me in all the colored pencils, chalk, charcoals, paints, brushes, and sketch pads I needed; as well as the more mundane 'roof over my head', food, and transportation.

If I were doing portraits, I would purchase the canvas when I was given the commission.

Every once in a while, though, I would get the urge to do one of my fantasy settings in oils. That was why I had a few various sized canvases on hand, almost all the time.

I had been looking forward to the upcoming fall renaissance fair. It would be held only about thirty miles from where I lived. True, it was out in the country, but it was a sprawling thing, and needed the space. Water and concessions were shipped in from all the surrounding communities. The local motels were booked, so I was going full out this year. I had packed my tent, and other odds and ends, into my trailer.

I had my 'period tent', and a small iron 'pot-bellied' style stove. They would serve due to their style and type. Naturally, I brought bedding and clothing. I would rent a space within the fair to ply my trade. I brought out the supplies that fit into the period of the fair, and loaded everything into my trailer.

I was now ready to make the trip. I did not want to miss a single day of the two-week period that the fair ran. I had already prepaid for a good spot. I had put my confirmation that my reservation had been made, along with my receipt number for my payment in the van's 'glove box'.

The reason my tent had to be 'period', was because I was going to be set up to sleep and work out of it, for the length of the fair. The tent was to be located in the merchant's portion of the fair... specifically, in artist's row. This was where all persons stayed, who showed up to make and sell handcrafted items to the public. This meant it was my section, of course. I had reserved a good location, too.

While it was a fair that was supposed to be set in a specific time, it also had a fantasy tinge to it. A combination of the best of two worlds, if you asked me. My tent was in two parts really. The back half was for sleeping, and in it I had my bed. A very large cooler and my cot with my air mattress were to stay unseen. A small trunk with my clothing, and the propane camp stove completed my quarters.

All the 'unseen' items were protected from view by the addition of a flap that made my large tent into two rooms.

The front room was where all my paining and sketching supplies were kept. My easel was there, along with my drawing and painting supplies. I had brought special drawing paper of various sizes. I could use it instead of the regular stuff, if I wanted to, or the customer decided on an upgrade. Otherwise, they got standard paper. I did have a few small canvases with me, in case I decided to do a quick 'at the fair' portrait.

I was not pleased. I had paid big bucks for a premium spot, and they had put me in almost the very last slot in artisan's row. Only one other tent/booth was set up beyond me, and they were almost against the woods. I complained, but the guy who was in charge said I had arrived too late for the good slots, and that mine had been given away. I looked over the copy of my contract, and there was no time limit on when I had to be there. Just set up and be in place by the opening of the fair.

I wasn't the only one who this guy was screwing, either. Somehow, he had gotten the idea that since the regular person had left him in charge, he could change things to suit himself. Our complaining had no effect on him at all.

The regular assigner was absent due to an emergency of some sort, and would not be back until sometime after the fair started. I put in a call to my attorney and asked him if he could look over my contract, and explained what had happened. He said if I faxed him a copy he would get on it right away, so that's what I did.

Since there was nothing I could do until my attorney got back with me, or the regular manager showed up to settle this matter to our satisfaction, I set up and worked the first few days of the fair.

My business was slow to say the least. The crowd did not come this far. While some did, they were the few exceptions. Most of the crowd stayed around the central part of the fair, those areas that were the PREMIUM areas, for which I had paid, and which I had been denied.

Three days into the fair Marsha Starling, the coordinator and fair master, finally showed up. She was the head honcho. We learned she was there, when a runner dressed in period garb came by. He stopped and told me I was wanted in the admin trailer. I made my way as quickly as I could to the admin trailer, after I had arranged for someone to watch my area for me, while I was gone. There were several people there already.

"Ah, Mr. Farrow, I'm pleased you responded so quickly. I 'm just sorry that it is under these circumstances, though. I understand your dissatisfaction with what has occurred and I am ready and willing to refund your monies for the spot you lost. Is this satisfactory to you?" she asked me.

I pulled out my copy of the contract, and pointed out the highlighted sections. She read them and looked up at me.

"I want the spot I was guaranteed when we signed this contract, and I paid my premium. I want a refund for the days I was illegally kicked out of my slot by your high handed 'on site manager', and I want compensation for revenues lost due to my poor position."

I paused, and pulled out a copy of newspaper clippings.

"You will note you advertised I was attending this fair. My name is a 'drawing card'. While I did have visitors based on this article, I did not receive the slot I was promised, nor the traffic that such a slot would bring. I want that slot now," I said and grimly folded my arms in front of my chest.

People looked uncomfortable. It was not my fault, yet I was being made to feel the villain, here. I was a victim, the same as whoever would have to give up the place they had been given by mistake.

"I understand your anger and feelings. However, at this point it would not be fair to the person who now has the slot to have to give it up and move at this late date in the fair, don't you think?" she said, trying to lay on the guilt.

"I think this mess is due to the asshole you left in charge. I want what was promised to me. I was within contract guidelines the entire time. I can always leave, you know," I said and waited.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. I will give you my decision within the hour," she said finally.

I looked at her and felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I threw up my hands, and left to go back to my tent. I sat and fumed over this situation. This had to be the worst fair I had ever attended in my life.

They didn't even have the guts to face me. I was sent a note by way of the official fair messenger, dressed all in his period finery. The message stated that while I had been within specified contract times, since I had failed to make my dissatisfaction known earlier, I was not being moved. They would refund the premium slot money, but that was all.

They were crazy! I called my attorney and gave him the go ahead to start legal action. Since it was getting late, tonight, I would start packing tomorrow morning.

It only took me two hours to get torn down and packed up, once I started. I was approached by several people, who wanted to know why I was leaving the fair so early.

I explained what had happened, and the favoritism that was being shown to certain people. I said that I had paid for a premium spot, and they had broken their contract. I showed them my letter and my contract, and they were stunned.

Marsha Starling and another person showed up, just as I had finished packing. She had some papers in her hand.

"What's the meaning of this Mr. Farrow?" Marsha asked me, holding up a paper.

"Umm. You read the papers, and they informs you of things," I replied snidely.

"It seems to be a summons and a legal action naming me, the manager who was on duty, and the fair organizers for damages to your business and your person. It also wants me to show cause as to why this fair should not be shut down. It also appears our bank accounts are frozen.

"Mr. Farrow, I really do understand your anger and disappointment. But don't you think over-reacting like this is not going to do anyone any good? It's going to hurt all the people who put so much time and hard work into making this fair run, as well as all the people looking forward to the fair," she said with exasperation.

I honestly felt bad about it, but I was determined not to let her know just how badly I felt. I had already instructed my attorney not to fight too hard when they tried to keep the fair open, but to see if he couldn't win a stiff fine, and money for me to pay his bill.