Rob kept his eyes pointed at the ground as he walked home, in part because he wanted to think about the Godmother’s marriage ultimatum, and in part because an uncomfortable number of young women were smiling, waving and greeting him by name.

“Hello, doctor!”

“Good afternoon, doctor!”

“You’re looking well, doctor!”

Had things been like this before? Rob didn’t think so, but maybe he just hadn’t noticed until the Godmother put the idea in his head. When he’d first arrived here, Rob had been preoccupied with trying to find a way home.

Later, the work of starting up a medical practice had kept his sex drive at bay. Then he’d connected with Maggie, so Rob had never really considered dating, if that was even a thing people did here.

“Lovely day, Doctor!”

“Well met, Doctor!”

“Looking good, Doctor!”

Female voices continued to call out for Rob’s attention. Could the Godmother be toying with him? A stunt like this felt beneath her, and besides, he might have seen a little of this behavior well before their carriage ride.

Still, Rob knew the limits of his animal magnetism, even with a supposed pot of gold buried in his backyard, and these catcalls were exceeding those limits. Clearly, something was going on. But before Rob could finish his diagnosis, a ball of mud slapped him across the back.

“Hey!” he said, spinning around to face a mounted man with flowing blonde hair and a gaudy, red-colored tunic.

“Excuse me,” the man said coldly, bringing his horse around. “I didn’t see you there.”

Rob stuck his nose over his shoulder. “Gah, that smells awful.”

The young prince—Rob knew enough to realize this was a prince, or at least somebody who fancied himself one—sneered back at him. “Oh dear. I may have ridden through a slaughter yard or two. Your tunic is ruined, but by the looks of it, at no great loss.”

“Why did you—”

Quick as lightning, the prince slapped Rob across the face with his stiff, leather-clad hand. Rob collapsed to the ground where his clothes soaked up another dose of the offal-laden mud.

“Be careful, doctor. Mud can be slippery.”

His face stinging, Rob slowly got to his feet. Foot traffic along the boulevard had stopped, the friendly voices that had been calling out to Rob just a moment ago fell silent, and his heart raced to beat the band. He glared at the prince; there was no way he could fight this guy, but he hoped the prince wasn’t going to kill him with so many witnesses around.

“I think,” Rob said, his voice a little more shaky than he would have preferred, “you owe me an apology.”

The prince smiled without showing his teeth. “None is offered.”

Rob thought back to his conversation with the Godmother. “Is this about princesses, by any chance?”

“You think I’m worried about competing with you?” The prince laughed at his own remark. “Come closer, doctor. I wish to strike you one more time before I take my leave.”

“Yeah. No thanks.”

“If you make me chase you,” the prince said, flexing his leather-clad fingers, “I’ll hit you three times instead of once.”

“Ho there,” came a deep, rich voice from inside the crowd that had gathered to watch the prince v. Rob show. “What’s all this about chasin’ and hittin’, now then?”

A little tailor that Rob had once purchased tunics from bravely sauntered out into the street. He planted his compact frame between Rob and the prince, hooking both thumbs into his embroidered leather belt. His once-fine clothes had been patched in several places, and the small man carried no weapons, but the strength in his voice quieted everyone around him.

The prince was the first to regain his tongue. “This is none of your concern, little man.”

“Little, you callin’ me?” the Tailor said. “Says the boy who sits up top a horse to bully us folks down here on the ground.”

The crowd chuckled while the prince stuck out his handsome jaw. “Be wary, Tailor. I don’t fear you.”

“Fine by me. I didn’t climb out of bed intendin’ to scare folks today.” The Tailor tipped his hat to the crowd as they laughed, louder this time. “But I made that tunic you just soiled. This doc here is a customer, maybe even a friend of sorts, and a brave tailor don’t abandon his friends.”

Without taking his eyes off the Tailor, the prince dropped his right hand to grip the hilt of his sword. In response, the Tailor dramatically swept his right finger up to press on one side of his nose, mimicking the prince’s reach for his sword. Then he blasted a wad of snot from his open nostril.

“I should crush you for that,” the prince said over the crowd’s guffaws.

“Bigger men than you have tried, boy-o,” the Tailor said, wiping his nose before tucking his thumbs back in his belt. The embroidery on the belt was worn and frayed, but Rob could make out the words ‘Seven at One Blow’ stitched across the back. “Much, much bigger.”

The prince pointed at Rob but kept his eye on the Tailor. “I won’t waste any more of my time on you.”

“Time is far too valuable to go about wastin’ it,” the Tailor said, sounding wistful. “Believe me on this, young prince. Go off and enjoy your day, now.”

As the prince rode away, Rob heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks,” he said. “That was ridiculously brave. Aren’t you worried he’ll come after you?”

The Tailor winked at Rob, although the glint in his eye was tinged with sadness. “Don’t you worry. Them folk won’t do more than rough up my shop a bit, or maybe take a whack at my statue. Nothin’ serious.”

“I pass by that statue all the time. That’s really you, isn’t it?”

“Seems it is. Didn’t your fella Hans tell you about me?” the Tailor said. “I used to be a prince! Married into the gig, I did, only because I passed some fancy tests set up by the girl’s daddy. She never did warm up to me, sadly, and the court eventually found our marriage to be void on account of me passin’ them tests by way of some funny business. I still passed them, no question there, but the tide was against me from the start, so out I went.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Rob said.

The Tailor waved his hand in the air as if to say ‘it was nothing,’ but Rob could tell that it was anything but. “We were never a match made in heaven or nothin’, but I sure was sweet on the girl. It’s not easy when us regular folk skip up the social ladder, though it seems to happen often enough. Why, there’s that girl with the funny shoes who got plucked off a ballroom floor, and now she’s married to one of our more charming princes—I hear they’re even living in the King’s own castle—but happy endings like that are rare.

“Now,” the Tailor said, “I’m off to do my shoppin’. You need another suit of clothes, just come on by. I have a few customers, but not so many a hard-workin’ tailor can’t handle.”

The Tailor raised a hand as he walked away, and soon his small frame merged comfortably into the market traffic. Rob was wishing he could share the Tailor’s confident bearing, or at least imitate it, when Hans suddenly appeared before him.

“Christ,” Rob said, surprised. “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Your house,” Hans said. “Robert, you’ve been missing. And you don’t smell good.”

“Yeah, I know.” Robert peeled off his soiled tunic and held it at arm’s length. The sun was warm on Rob’s bare arms and T-shirt, but it didn’t make him feel any better. In the past 24 hours, he’d been robbed, left for dead, bullied into marriage, and splattered with mud or worse. It was a reminder that he was still a stranger here, regardless of how many clinic days he put in.

“Stories for another day, all right?”