Renhya chapter 4
By Heck
She's getting stronger all the time, guys.

In this chapter, we enjoy Brenhya's introduction to the Travelling 
Show, and meet some of her new friends, one of which [surprise, 
surprise] just happens to be a strong woman.

Comments to heck@euphony.net

CHAPTER FOUR.

  Zendos the Magnificent, proprietor, owner, and absolute ruler of 
Zendos' Magnificent Travelling Show and Carnival, sat back in the 
leather captain's chair at the big desk in his opulent wagon and smiled. 
Business had been good, this trip. There would be enough to pay all the 
back-wages, get the necessary repairs done, and pay for the winter 
quarters. And, he thought with a satisfied grin, enough for him to spend 
the winter in the flamboyant manner to which he would like to become 
accustomed. 
  He was a big, swarthy, corpulent man, with a rich, dark brown voice, 
cultivated from years as a Barker before he took control of the entire 
show upon the passing of his father, twenty years ago. He was still 
wearing the bright red tailed coat, white pants, and ruffled white shirt 
that he habitually wore in public, and as he sat at his desk he stroked 
a hand over his long shiny black hair, so black it was almost blue, and 
his neat, sculpted beard. He never allowed them to show the merest hint 
of grey. 
  He poured himself a drink, the golden spirit swirling in the bottom of 
a fine crystal shot glass. 
  His surroundings suited the larger-than-life persona he projected. It 
was, of course, the show's biggest wagon, richly appointed in plush 
velvet and brocade. On almost every surface were the mementos of past 
performances, memorable performers, and significant places visited. But 
on closer examination, the signs of affluence were tinged by just the 
merest hint of shabbiness. Small patches of wear showed in the deep pile 
carpet, the deep upholstered sofa just slightly threadbare at the 
corners, the heavy curtains looking just a little moth eaten. A fine 
patina of dust. The trappings of opulence beginning to show signs of 
age. 
  'Just like their owner', Zendos thought as he drained his glass. 
  His musings were interrupted by a knock at the door. 
  'Come!' 
  The narrow door was opened by the Fool, daft hat clutched in hand, the 
bells on his gaudy jacket tinkling merrily as he entered. He was closely 
followed by the dwarf, Brannagh Ironheart, and a strikingly beautiful 
red haired young girl. Zendos immediately noticed her breadth of 
shoulder and length of limb, and the first beginnings of a womanly 
shape. "She'll be a scorcher, in a year or two", he thought. 
  'A'ternoon, Boss', greeted Ironheart. 
  'Hey, Zendos', from the Fool. 
  'Yes, yes', said Zendos, gruffly. 'What is it?' 
  'Boss, this'n's Brenhya', said the dwarf, pushing her forward. 
  'Good afternoon, sir', said Brenhya in her most polite manner. 
  'What? Hmm? Oh. Good afternoon.' He fixed the Fool with a gimlet eye. 
'Well?' 
  While Brannagh Ironheart was deferential and nearly subservient, as 
far as a dwarf could ever be said to be subservient, the Fool was very 
familiar with him. 
  'As B.I said, this lovely lady is Brenhya'. 
   Brenhya blushed at being called a "lovely lady". 
  'She is on the road to Brandwick', Fool went on. 'She's travelling 
alone, and I thought, seeing as we're going the same way, you could give 
her a job and she could come along with us'. One of Zendos' bushy black 
eyebrows shot up to his hairline. 
  'Oh, you did, did you? Insolent whelp. Did you ever think you might 
presume too much?' Brenhya thought Zendos looked very fierce, but Fool 
just smiled his lopsided grin at him. 
  'No', he stated calmly. 
  'Hmph. Yes. Well'. Zendos blew out his cheeks. He looked at the 
nervous girl, fixing her with a stare. 'Brenhya, eh? Well, what can you 
do, Brenhya?' 
  'Not very much, sir', she replied. 'But I can work hard. And I'm a 
fast learner. And I know a lot about horses. And I'm very strong. For my 
age'. 
  'Boys, is 'er ever', muttered Brannagh. 
  'Hmm. Are you, now. And what would you be wanting in return?' 
  'Nothing, sir'. 
  'For gods' sake, girl. Nobody does anything for nothing. And stop with 
the "sirs" already'. 
  'Yes, si.. Mr Zendos. I meant I would work for just my keep'. 
  Zendos got up from his chair and walked round Brenhya, examining her 
as if she were a horse he was thinking about buying. He stopped in front 
of her and looked down from his impressive height. Not too far down, he 
noticed. 
  'You say you're "very strong for your age". What is that, exactly?' 
  'Excuse me?' 
  'Your age, girl, your age. How old are you?' 
  'Nine, si.. Mr Zendos'. 
  'Nine?', he exploded, glaring at Fool and Ironheart. 'Nine? You bring 
me a nine-year-old girl, and tell me she wants a job? We can't have a 
nine-year-old running around here! You know what they'll say. They'll 
say we've kidnapped her! Go home to your parents, child. This is no 
place for you'. 
  Fool was about to speak up for her, but Brenhya was quite capable of 
speaking up for herself when, as her mother used to say, "she got her 
dander up". She stared the showman right in the eye. 
  'Excuse me, Mr Zendos', she said firmly. 'I have no parents. I 
wouldn't be here if I had. I am going to Brandwick, to see the Sisters 
of Themyra. This is going to happen. With or without your help. If you 
want to help me, want to give me a job, fine. I'll work hard for you. 
But if not, that's fine, too. I'll be on my way'. 
  Red-faced, Zendos glared at her for a long minute. Brenhya thought he 
was about to lose his temper, and prepared herself for flight or fight. 
She physically started, as did the others, when he erupted in a 
monstrous bellow of laughter. He was the only person she had ever met 
whose laugh could actually be written down as "Ho-ho-ho'. 
  'Ho-ho-ho!', he roared. 'Gods, you've got some pluck! It's a long time 
since anybody stood up to me like that. Except for this impudent young 
pup', he added, indicating the Fool. 'Where did you find her, you two?' 
  The Fool told him how he had met her at the gates of Kelstion. She had 
been asking the guard how she might find work for a night's board and 
lodging, and he had brought her to the Show for that purpose. 
  'I left her with B.I to come and find you. And then I heard all this 
kerfuffle ...' 
  'Yus, Boss', interrupted the dwarf, taking up the tale. 'Yer shoulds 
'ave seens 'er'. He told the tale of how the youth had stolen his purse, 
and how Brenhya had taken off after him. He described the chase through 
the midway and into the Big Tent, and as he got more involved with the 
narrative, he began to put actions to his words, ducking and dodging 
this way and that. 
  '...an' then', he concluded, climbing onto the sofa and leaping into 
the air. '...'er jumps up, grabs the rope, an' swings down on 'un. 'E's 
runnin' across the ring likes a rabbit, an' 'er grabs 'is collar in one 
'and, jus' like that, an' 'oicks 'un right up into the air. 'E is well 
'mazed, I can tell yer! An' then 'er drops down  atop on 'un, gives me 
back me purse', he panted, 'an' that's that'.       Brenhya and Zendos 
had watched his antics open mouthed. Fool was laughing openly. 
  'B.I', he laughed. 'You're more out of breath from the telling than 
Brenhya was from the doing!' He turned to Zendos. 'But that's more or 
less the way it was. I saw the end part, myself. You can see that, when 
she says she is strong for her age, she's not kidding. Right, Brenhya?' 
  Brenhya just smiled at him. Zendos sat back down in his captain's 
chair and swivelled to face her. For a long moment, he just stared at 
her, and Brenhya began to feel like a prize specimen. Finally, he spoke. 
  'It seems I owe you a debt, young lady', he said, his voice more 
kindly than previously. He took her by the shoulders, secretly impressed 
by the well-toned deltoids he found there, and looked her squarely in 
the eyes, just a little disturbed by the lack of emotion he saw therein. 
  'Thank you', he said. 'Thank you very much. Help with the horses. Do 
general chores. Bed and full board until we get to Brandwick, and then, 
if there's anything left after these vultures have cleaned me out, I'll 
see about giving you a wage. How's that?' 
  'Thank you, Mr Zendos. That would be lovely'. 
  'Good. Good.' He got to his feet, and his stern demeanour returned. He 
spoke to the two men.      'Now, you two. Get out of here, first house 
is about to start. Don't you dare be late!' 
  The Fool turned to follow the Dwarf out. He took the girl's hand. 
  'Come on, Brenhya. You're gonna love this'. 

  Brenhya and the Fool jogged along behind the wagons to the back of the 
big tent. Bringing up the rear, Ironheart's stubby legs were a blur. 
Fool led the way to a canvas tunnel within the rear entrance and stopped 
just inside the folds of canvas that led to the arena. Around them eight 
big, magnificent greys stood patiently, despite the fact that they were 
not harnessed and no-one seemed to be in charge of them. A man and two 
women, dressed in identical sheer costumes, stretched and bounced on 
their toes, warming up. Brenhya, who had never seen anything like it, 
did not know where to look first, her eyes wide and round. 
  'Now', instructed Fool. 'You stand here, and watch the show through 
this gap. Try not to get in the way, but enjoy it.' 
  'Where will you be?' Brenhya wanted to know. 
  'B.I and I will be in and out through the whole performance. We won't 
be far'. 
  Brenhya stole a look through the gap. The whole arena was lit by 
strong oil lamps, their glow intensified and reflected back by a cunning 
arrangement of mirrors. The tiers of seats were filling up with more 
people than the country girl had seen in her young life, and men and 
women in green smocks moved among them with trays of nuts and candies. 
The main lights dimmed, leaving the ring bathed in a pool of light. A 
hush of anticipation fell on the crowd. 
  A looming presence became apparent at her side, and Brenhya looked to 
see Zendos standing at the entrance, doing his last-minute preening. A 
crashing chord rang out, and Zendos' face was split by a professional 
smile. Two hands pulled aside the flaps and he strode forward, arms held 
wide in a gesture of welcome. 
  'Squires, Goodwives, children of all ages!', he boomed. 'Welcome to 
Zendos' Magnificent Travelling Show and Carnival!' 
  He stepped aside, gesturing toward the entrance. The eight greys 
trotted forward, apparently of their own volition, and began to canter 
around the ring, circling the flamboyant man in the centre. Without any 
apparent instruction, they pranced and wheeled about him, performed 
pirouettes and reared on their hind legs, all in perfect unison. 
  At a gesture from Zendos, the horses wheeled and left the ring in 
single file, to the accompaniment of tumultuous applause. 
  Brenhya was left breathless by the performance, but better was yet to 
come. The women and man that had been in the tunnel with her performed a 
stunning aerial act: there were tumblers and jugglers, and a man with a 
performing bear; a hand-balancing act, a contortionist, and a magician 
who appeared to produce doves from every orifice. Between each act, 
while the hands were preparing the ring for the next, Brannagh Ironheart 
and the Fool sported and cavorted in the ring and among the audience, 
taking pratfalls and drenching each other and, incidentally, some 
members of the public, with water and flour paste. Amazingly, each time 
they reappeared, they were clean and dry. 
  As the evening went on, as the performance drew to a climax, Brenhya 
watched the hands dragging heavy equipment into the ring and wondered 
what could possibly top what she had seen before. The Fool and the dwarf 
ran from the ring, dripping with goo as usual, and Zendos stepped 
forward once more. 
  'Squires and Goodwives! It is indeed an honour an a privilege to be 
able to bring you the finest, the most unusual, the most stupendous act 
you will ever see!' 
  As his superlatives continued, Brenhya was aware of a new presence in 
the tunnel, a tall woman with a high plume atop her piled-up pale blonde 
hair, which gave her even more height, and dressed in a floor length 
midnight blue cloak that completely covered her body. She looked at 
Brenhya and smiled a warm smile that seemed to illuminate the quite dark 
tunnel. 
  In the ring, Zendos was building to a crescendo. 
  'We are proud to present, for your amazement, the strongest woman in 
the world ...', he paused for effect. '... The Mighty Deavon!' 
  The crowd went wild as the tall woman stepped out into the circle. She 
carried herself with grace and power as the long cloak swirled about 
her. She stepped into the light and bowed, before handing the tall plume 
to Zendos. He helped her to remove her cloak, bowed low to her, and 
retreated from the ring. Deavon stood revealed in all her splendour, and 
Brenhya thought she had never seen anything so beautiful. Her breath was 
literally taken away. 
  Deavon was wearing a silver, sparkling halter and brief pants cut high 
on the thigh to accentuate her length of leg. Spike heeled silver 
sandals showed her calves to advantage, and strings of faux pearls were 
entwined in her hair. Probably approaching forty, yet her face was 
unlined and lovely, with flashing blue eyes and gleaming white smile. 
  But it was her body that grabbed everybody's attention. 
  To begin her act, Deavon performed a short posing routine. In those 
parts and times such things were unheard of, and the crowd gasped as she 
flexed her arms to show a pair of rounded biceps bigger than a big man's 
fist, and the strap-like cords of her powerful forearms. Thick trapezius 
muscles sloped down to wide shoulders that were capped by round 
deltoids. Perfect breasts were carried high, and strained against her 
halter as she contracted the slabs of muscle that formed her pectorals, 
and her broad chest narrowed into a tiny waist. Superbly and deeply 
defined, her abdominal wall was segregated into six equal sections which 
she flexed into peaks and valleys. Her flared thighs looked capable of 
stopping a charging bull; particularly well developed were the teardrop 
shaped muscles just above the knee, and she made them dance with her 
flexes. Calves as hard as the diamonds their shape resembled were thrown 
into relief by her high heels. Yet her joints were small in proportion 
and in spite of, or because of, her muscular development, she remained 
totally and beautifully feminine. 
  Brenhya had never seen her mother unclothed. If she had, she would 
have been struck by the similarity. Although a little more defined, this 
woman's body was almost an exact copy of Galliane's. 
  If the audience were impressed by her display, they were to be 
completely awestruck when she began her act proper. 
  The Fool entered the ring to act as her assistant. He took a deck of 
playing cards, and showed them to the audience to confirm they were 
genuine. He handed them to Deavon, who took them in her strong hands 
and, with seeming little effort, ripped the deck in half to great 
applause. 
  She shook her finger at the audience as if to say "that was nothing", 
and then proceeded to tear two decks in halves. 
  Three large shot balls lay on the mat. The Fool carried them singly to 
her, making a great show of staggering under their weight [although in 
reality each of them was about as much as he could handle with both 
hands]. He tossed them to her, and she caught each with one hand. As he 
tossed the third, she threw one ball high in the air, caught the third, 
and began to juggle with the heavy iron. High above her head they flew, 
the muscles of her arms and shoulders coiling and uncoiling as she 
played catch and toss, the audience cheering loudly. 
  Deavon hit some more poses while Fool went into the audience. He 
returned shortly with four volunteers in tow. They were local men, 
chosen for their size, all over six feet, and apparent strength. Fool 
fetched a long metal pole, about eight feet in length, with broad 
leather loops at each end forming two wide W's. He positioned the 
volunteers two at each end facing in opposite directions, and placed the 
loops under their buttocks. 
  Deavon took her position in the centre, half crouched with the pole 
braced across her shoulders. She straightened her powerful legs, and the 
four big men found themselves easily lifted clear of the ground. The 
enthusiasm of the crowd reached another level as she began to spin, 
slowly at first but then with increasing speed, her four passengers 
clinging tightly to the pole to avoid being thrown clear. 
  Eventually, she slowed her rotation and brought the whirling 
volunteers to a halt. Fool motioned to them to remain still. Slowly, 
with teeth clenched for effect, she pushed the pole upwards. The 
audience gave a collective gasp as her astounding arm musculature 
pressed the pole, with it's load of four burly men, high above her head, 
holding them there while she treated the crowd to her most brilliant 
smile. 
  The four men, breathless and quite dizzy, were asked to sit at 
ringside to recover from their "flight", and enjoy the rest of the act. 
There would be more for them to do, the Fool informed them. 
  The remainder of the act consisted of Deavon lifting several heavy 
weights in various ways, and bending a thick iron bar. Then it was time 
for her finale. 
  Fool called for four more volunteers from the audience. There were now 
eight men in the ring, and he divided them into two teams, evenly 
distributing the weight and apparent strength. He gave each team a long 
rope with a leather-bound handle at the loose end. Deavon stepped 
between the teams, took a handle in each hand, and braced herself as, at 
Fool's command, the men took up the strain. Then, on the command 
"pull!", all the muscles of her amazing body sprang into prominence as 
the two teams, knowing by now that they did not have to go easy, flung 
their whole weight into the modified tug of war. 
  The crowd was on it's feet by now as Deavon stood like a column of 
pure energy, as unmoveable as an ancient oak, holding the two teams 
trying to pull her apart immobile. They went wild with excitement 
shortly, when they noticed her two arms, biceps standing out like 
boulders, start to bend at the elbow and gradually begin to pull the 
teams inward, inch by inch. The great tendons in her neck stood out like 
the guy ropes of the huge tent itself as she heaved the octet together. 
Fool capered about, yelling encouragement to the men. 
  'Prithee, nuncle, put thy back into it!' 
  Finally, the competition was over when the strongwoman brought her 
hands together and crossed them in front of her. The audience were 
clapping, stamping and cheering like wild things. Fool motioned to the 
teams to keep pulling, and asked the audience for silence. Eventually, 
they settled down to watch what would happen next. Deavon still stood 
with arms crossed, looking like a tower of sheer strength, holding the 
teams in their tracks. 
  A drum roll sounded. The audience held it's breath. Deavon extended 
her arms in front of her, the muscles standing out like wound cables. 
Then, very deliberately so it could be seen exactly what she was doing, 
she transferred both handles to her right hand, so that she was 
restraining the pulling power of eight men with one hand! 
  Try as they might, they could not open her mighty fist. For what 
seemed a long time, she held them like that, breathing on her nails and 
pretending to polish them on her halter. Finally, giving the teams a 
dazzling smile, letting them know she could have held them for much 
longer had she wanted, she opened her hand. Both teams collapsed in a 
heap, falling on top of one another to gales of laughter from the 
audience. 
  Deavon helped each man to his feet, shook his hand, and thanked him 
personally for his assistance. The applause and cheers reached a new 
crescendo, and the audience gave her a standing ovation as she took her 
bows in the centre of the ring. The roar continued as she skipped 
lightly off. 

  In the tunnel, Brenhya sucked in a great lungful of air as she 
realised she had been holding her breath, more or less continually 
throughout the act. She was still clapping and almost jumping up and 
down with excitement as the strongwoman, very slightly out of breath and 
glowing from exertion, stepped through the flyes. Brenhya could not help 
herself. She walked right up to her. 
  'Excuse me, er, Miss Deavon', she said. 'I just have to tell you, you 
were wonderful. That was the most amazing thing I have ever seen!' 
  'Why, thank you'. The voice was soft and friendly. 'But you seem to 
have the advantage of me. You are ...?' 
  Stepping up to the two females, Fool came to Brenhya's rescue. 
  'Vonnie', he said, using a personal nickname; Fool had a nickname for 
everyone, except Zendos himself. 'May I introduce Brenhya? Brenhya, this 
is Deavon'. Deavon inclined her blonde head and smiled. 
  'Pleased to meet you, Brenhya'. 
  'Likewise, Miss Deavon'. 
  'Oh, just Deavon, please. "Miss" makes me sound like a school teacher, 
or an old spinster. I can assure you, I am neither'. Before Brenhya 
could ask her what a school teacher or a spinster were, she turned to 
the Fool. 'What a lovely child. Where did she pop up from?' 
  Fool told her the story of how he had found Brenhya, and the incident 
with the young ruffian. 
  'So Zendos said she could work for us 'til we get to Brandwick', he 
concluded. 'Of course' he added, looking at the strongwoman with 
spaniel's eyes, 'she'll need somewhere to sleep...' 
  Since hearing about Brenhya's exploit, Deavon had been regarding her 
with a professional eye. 
  'Of course', she said, distractedly, 'she'll stay with me. That's a 
given. Just stand still a minute, Brenhya'. 
  Brenhya did as she was told and stood there in her shapeless clothes 
as the woman walked around her, looking her up and down. 
 'Nine years old', she mused, as she probed the girl's shoulders with 
her fingers and ran her hands down the upper arms, examining the firm 
young muscles. She clamped her hand firmly, but not too tightly, around 
Brenhya's biceps, and took hold of her wrist with her other hand. 
  'Pull my hand up to your shoulder', she instructed. 
  Brenhya did so, and Deavon allowed her hand to be pulled up, giving 
just enough resistance to make it difficult but not impossible for the 
girl to comply. She was impressed by the amount of resistance she had to 
exert, and smiled knowingly as she felt the hard young muscle swell to 
fill her hand. 
  'Hmm'. She seemed to come to a decision. 
  'You', she said at length, 'have the makings of a fine strongwoman 
yourself, young Brenhya. She's more developed than I was at her age'. 
This in an aside to the Fool. 'How would you like me to teach you?' 
  Brenhya jumped at the chance. 
  'Oh, yes please! I think you're wonderful! I'd love to be just like 
you!' 
  'You'll have to work hard, mind. No shirking. And you'll still have to 
do whatever chores our "lord and master" sees fit to give you. OK?' 
Brenhya nodded her agreement. 
  'I can work hard', she replied. 'I'll do whatever it takes to be like 
you. And I don't mind the chores'. 
  'Very well. Now, go and explore the Midway. Fool, would you give her 
some money?' 
  'I haven't got any on me', the Fool said. 'Go find B.I', he told the 
girl. 'Tell him I said to give you some spends'. 
  Brenhya thanked them politely and skipped off. Deavon, holding her 
chin thoughtfully, watched her go. 
  'Thanks a million, Vonnie', Fool said as he turned to go. 'I knew I 
could count on you. See you later'. 
  For the second time that day, he felt himself stopped by a strong 
hand. 'This is getting to be a habit', he thought. 
  'Hang on a minute', the big woman said. 'Have you noticed something 
about that girl?' 
  'Like what?' 
  'It's hard to put my finger on it. There's something about her eyes. 
She's a very pretty little girl ..., she has a lovely smile, and she 
laughs readily enough, but I don't know ...' 
  '... But her eyes are dead', Fool finished for her. 'No emotion. Yes, 
I noticed that'. 
  'Yes. That's it exactly. Such a shame, for one so young. What could 
have caused that?' 
  Zendos, standing a little way off, had overheard. 
  'I've seen it before', he offered. 'In soldiers, coming back from the 
wars. They've seen so much horror, so much death and destruction, it 
overwhelms their senses. They can laugh, and carry on as normal, but 
they never really feel anything any more'. 
  'I'm sure she feels things', countered Deavon. 'I felt the warmth in 
her myself, and there's no doubt that she is pleased to be here. But I'm 
sure you're right, in theory. She must have been through a lot'. 
  The Fool sighed. 
  'What could happen', he asked, 'in such a short life, to have that 
effect on her?' 
  'I can't imagine', replied the proprietor. 'And, unless she decides to 
tell us, we may never know'. 

  For the time being, at least, Brenhya's thoughts were far from death 
and destruction. 
  She had found Brannagh Ironheart without too much difficulty, and he 
had grumbled and muttered under his breath about 'bleedin' kids' as he 
gave her a handful of coins. Brenhya had by now realised that this was 
just his way, and took no notice. 
   And now, she was enjoying the attractions of the Midway. She had 
bought herself a candy apple on a stick, and was joining in with an 
open-mouthed crowd watching a fire eater run blazing brands across her 
slim body before blowing a fountain of flame over the heads of the 
audience. She had already visited Sheena the snake woman, and found the 
act, in which a somewhat faded beauty allowed a large but sleepy python 
to coil itself around her, to be rather tame, and had laughed with 
everyone else at the antics of Barron, the dancing bear, while at the 
same time feeling sorrow for the indignity of it. 
  Eventually, the excitement began to wane as Brenhya realised she was 
feeling tired. It had been a long day, filled with new and wonderful 
things, but now it was time to sleep. 
  Deavon's wagon was set a little apart from the others, and was painted 
a restful, duck-egg blue with stencilled flowers around the tiny 
windows. The chassis and shafts were red, while the wheels had yellow 
spokes and red hubs. Brenhya thought it looked delightful, and she 
climbed the three steps to knock at the door. At Deavon's invitation, 
she walked in. 
  The interior of the wagon was very feminine, tastefully decorated in 
chintz and lace, with frilly edged throws and pillows, and lit by two or 
three ornate oil lamps. Deavon herself was dressed in a blue nightgown, 
and was currently standing on one long leg, the other being stretched 
out atop a high dresser while the woman reached forward and bowed low 
over her own outstretched knee. She relaxed as Brenhya entered. 
  'Just working the kinks out before bed', she explained. 'Did you enjoy 
the Midway?' 
  'Mm hmm. But not as much as the Show. That was great, and you were the 
best!' The strongwoman feigned shyness. 
  'Why, thank you. I'm glad you liked it'. She reached under the sofa 
and pulled out a trundle cot. 'This will be your bed. It's not much, I'm 
afraid, but it will have to do. You'll have to fold your blankets each 
morning, and put the cot away. As you can see, there's not a lot of room 
in here, so we'll have to try and not get under each other's feet too 
much. OK?' 
  To Brenhya, after the trials of the last few months, the idea of 
blankets, let alone a proper bed, was luxury beyond price. She nodded 
her enthusiasm. 
  'When can I start learning to be a strongwoman like you', she wanted 
to know. 
  'My, you are keen', smiled Deavon. 'We've got to pack up and move on 
in the morning, so there'll be lots to do. And we'll have to find you 
some decent clothes. You can't go around looking like something the cat 
dragged in. Oh, now, don't go getting all embarrassed'. Brenhya was 
blushing at the state of her plain clothes. 'At least you've kept your 
clothes clean and well mended. They're just not right for a young lady. 
Here, put this on'. 
  She handed Brenhya one of her own nightdresses, much too large for 
her. 'You can cut it down tomorrow'. Obediently, Brenhya stripped of her 
plain garments and struggled into the diaphanous gown. During the 
procedure, Deavon caught glimpses of the young girls naked body, and was 
again quietly impressed at how her muscles rolled under the tanned skin. 
The woman climbed under the blankets of her own bed. 
  'We'll talk about your training on the road. Brenhya, you can put the 
lamps out, if you like.' 
  Brenhya did as she was told before sliding into the low cot. She lay, 
hands behind head, staring up into the dark. Now that she was in bed, 
she was not the least bit sleepy. She just lay there, eyes wide open, 
occasionally giving a contented sigh. 
  After a while, she heard Deavon lift her head from her pillow. 
  'What's the matter?', the strongwoman asked. "Can't sleep?' 
  'No', agreed Brenhya. 'I guess I'm too excited. My head is full of ... 
things'. 
  'What things?' 
  'Oh, you know. The show. And what you did in the ring. I still can't 
get over that.' 
  Deavon gave a laugh. 
  'That'll soon be commonplace to you', she said. 
  Brenhya raised herself on an elbow. 
  'Do you always do the same act?' she enquired. Deavon seemed to think 
for a moment. 
  'No', she replied at last. 'Sometimes I vary it a bit. Stops me 
getting stale'. 
  'How do you vary it?' 
  'Well ... let me see. You know that part where I have the four men on 
the pole? Where I spin them round and the hoist them over my head? Well, 
sometimes I lift them overhead first, and then spin them round'. 
  'Sounds harder' 
  'It is. Much. But I cope'. Deavon was not in the least smug. 
  'What else?' 
  'Sometimes, after I've bent the bar, I'll straighten it out again, 
then I'll invite the men from the audience to try and bend it. They 
never can, of course. 
  'I change the ending around quite often. Occasionally, instead of the 
eight men pulling on the ropes, I use two horses'. 
  'Wow!' 
  'Oh, it looks spectacular enough, but it's really all for show. It's 
not much more difficult than the eight men. And then I'll sometimes do 
what I call the "Progressive Horse Lift". That's always a show stopper'. 
  'What's the progressive horse lift?', asked Brenhya, as Deavon gave a 
huge yawn. 
  'You'll see, soon enough. But now', she yawned again, 'I have to get 
some sleep, even if you don't. Goodnight, Brenhya'. 
  'G'night, Deavon'. 
  Brenhya snuggled back down under her blankets. There was so much going 
on in her head, she was quite sure she would never sleep again. 
  No sooner had the thought crossed her mind, than she fell deeply 
asleep.