A Handsome Thief with a Certain Charm

By Martin L. Shoemaker

Note: This story was dictated by The Instant Bard (a.k.a. me) at the Niles Renaissance Faire on May 17, 2025. This is a cleaned-up version of that transcript, with only one small but crucial change…

Welcome, everyone, to the Lists. We have had great combats here earlier today. Men and women fighting for the honor of the Queen and the Niles Renaissance Faire.

But you’re not going to see any fights here for the next thirty minutes. I don’t wield swords, I wield words. I am the Instant Bard and I am here to tell you stories that no one else has ever heard… not even me! I am the Instant Bard. I owe you a story, and we don’t know what it is. You’re going to have to help me figure it out. You sir, have you enjoyed the Faire so far today?

Yes. It’s my first time.

First time! What’s been your favorite part of the Faire?

The costumes.

The costumes! Yes, these are amazing! But did you ever hear of King Ferdinand’s costume ball? You haven’t? All right, King Ferdinand’s costume ball is quite a tale to tell…

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This was back in the days of King Ferdinand of Ferdiland, known far and wide as a just king, a fair king, but not necessarily a wise king. And sometimes Ferdinand’s generosity and his folly could get the best of him and get the whole kingdom into trouble. And in this particular incident, a scoundrel, a scallywag, wanted to rob the royal treasury while everyone was busy.

So he persuaded King Ferdinand to hold a costume ball—on this sort of a ground only bigger… this sort of a theme only grander. At this costume ball, where he, the scoundrel Bren, would sneak in costumed as a palace guard and make his way to the treasury to steal whatever jewels he could get while no one was looking.

Of course, Bren needed a guard’s costume. He contacted the seamstress who made the livery for the King’s guard. Normally she reserved that livery strictly for the guardsmen. But with a costume party coming, she was amenable to Bren’s persuasion. For he was a handsome thief with a certain charm.

So the seamstress made him a costume: not official, of course, without all of the proper accoutrements. No golden epaulets, no crimson badges. But it was close enough that he could pass. What she did not know was that Bren had stolen all of the missing elements to make himself look like an official palace guard. He wouldn’t wear those at first, because he needed access to the castle, and the castle guards were carefully letting in only those people who were in costume. They would let him in because they would recognize him as a reveler, not as an imposter.

So they did indeed grant him access. They eyed him carefully, but they let him in. As soon as he could, he visited the water closet—for Ferdiland was very advanced in the field of indoor plumbing—and he put on the rest of the costume.

As soon as he stepped out, however, he found that he was in the middle of a throng of partiers. And in particular, there were two rats. (Aside to the audience…) You may in fact have seen the two plague rats wandering around the Faire, two smaller people dressed in very elaborate rat costumes. At the costume ball, there were two more such rats, and they scampered around Bren’s feet as he tried to get away. Thus he found himself dragged on with the rest of the party into the ballroom, where the big event was, the dance. And everyone was lining up to take part in a Stroll. (You may know this as a dance from the 1950s, but Ferdiland had a long tradition of freestyle line dances.)

And before he knew it, Bren is in the line of costumed men awaiting pairing with ladies to dance down the aisle. He couldn’t make his escape now! He needed to go unnoticed. How could he in the middle of this?

Even worse, when Bren found himself at the head of the line, approaching his dance partner, he instantly recognized her. Despite her diamond-white domino mask, everyone knew the gracious older lady in the winged fairy costume. It was Queen Hermia—or more precisely, the Queen Mother Hermia, Ferdinand’s mother who had stepped down after long years of rule so that her son could ascend the throne. She was still in her prime, a most elegant lady and a gracious dancer.

Bren didn’t want this attention, but fleeing now was out of the question! He reluctantly took the Queen’s hand, and she pulled him forward with astonishing strength. They began a graceful swaying series of steps down the line. And since she was the Queen Mother, nearly every person in the ballroom had their eyes upon her, and therefore upon Bren. He strove not to stumble and embarrass himself, because that would only draw more attention.

Bren made his way gracefully down the long aisle, matching Hermia step for step. He didn’t think of himself as a dancer. He was, however, a second story man, a pickpocket, and a slippery character. He had to be nimble.

When at last Hermia and Bren reached the end of the aisle, the applause was astonishing—and not just for the Queen Mother. Every lady in the dance seemed to be watching him. He was a handsome thief with a certain charm, after all, and he had made a vivid impression. Every woman wanted to get onto Bren’s dance card. He might never sneak away that night, because suddenly he was the star of the dance.

But Bren tried, looking for excuses. “I have to get some food.” But that didn’t work. It only led to ladies squabbling to see who could bring him dishes. He was caught in the middle of the dance, with no clear way out. (Aside to the audience…) So what do you think he did?

He changed his disguise.

He changed his costume! But first he had to find a chance to change his costume where he could not be observed—despite all eyes on him. In the middle of a grand square—for square dancing was a new invention at that time, and very popular in Ferdiland—he snatched a chance to swing away at high speed, dashing behind great draperies that hung from the wall. As quickly as he could, he dropped the badges and the epaulets. He doffed the hat and ruffled his hair, hoping to look like a mere courtier.

Bren snuck out and looked around. His ruse seemed to work! No one recognized him as the grand man of the dance. But the servants, ever alert to the needs of the guests, eyed him as he emerged from the drapes. A sharp-eyed woman said, “Sir, can we help you? Do you need something?”

“Um… Food?” Bren had already had a lot of food, but that was first thing that came to his mind. As if by magic, she produced a tray of canapes. Stalling for time, Bren took a morsel and swallowed it.

But Bren hadn’t heard the server mention that these were lobster bites. Lobster always made him severely ill. Suddenly he found his hands swelling up three times their ordinary size and his throat growing closed…

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Bren awoke in the apothecary’s bottle-strewn chamber, strapped to a bed and drenched in sweat. His hands felt nearly normal; but he was weak, and he saw no way to ever escape from this predicament. He had no choice but to wait.

After several minutes, the apothecary entered the room and looked Bren over. He waved a hand over Bren’s face as if catching his breath, and then he sniffed his own palm. “An allergy.” It should be noted that even as long ago as this was, Ferdiland was very advanced in the medical arts. They knew what allergies were.

Bren himself did not know, but he didn’t want to argue with the apothecary. “Yes.”

“Ah, well, you need two things. You need fresh air, and this draft.” The apothecary removed Bren’s straps, and he handed Bren a small glass-stoppered bottle. As Bren sipped at the sour fluid, the apothecary pulled a cord.

A bell rang, and an aide sped through the door almost immediately. “See this man to the tower,” the apothecary said. “Let him get some air from the balcony.”

Bren finished the draft, and immediately began feeling better. That apothecary knew allergies! Bren felt the last of the swelling go down. He started to feel almost human.

But before Bren could formulate a new plan, the aide grabbed his sleeve, pulled him up from the table, and said, “We’re going to take you to the tower.” In Bren’s weakened state, he couldn’t stop the aide from leading him up a long winding spiral stair—right past the stout iron door to the treasury. Bren’s goal was in sight!

But the aide kept going, of course, leading Bren up four more floors to the top of the north tower. They emerged upon a large balcony where the summer sun had finally left the sky, and all that remained overhead were the stars and the moon. The aide led Bren to a bench, eased him onto it, and said, “Do you need anything else, sir?”

 What Bren needed was four flights down; but he couldn’t say that, of course. Instead he answered, “No, I am fine. I can handle this.”

The aide nodded and handed Bren the end of a long silk rope. “Just ring this bell if you need me, and I will be back. But I have other matters to attend to.”

So the aide left while Bren sat on the bench. The thief began to feel almost human, to the point where he was ready to brave the treasury. He looked around and saw no one watching. He rose from the bench—swaying a little, still not quite all there—and made his way back down the stairs.

He stood stronger, ready, when he faced the big metal door to the treasury—and the big lock upon it. This was not the sort of lock we have today, of course. Today we have very elaborately machined locks, and even these others they call electro something. This was an old large lock with a keyhole so large Bren could stick a fingertip in.

Bren was not just a handsome thief with a certain charm. He was an accomplished thief. He knew how to open that lock. He pulled out his dagger—for he never went anywhere without his silver dagger, his good luck charm—and he stuck it in the mechanism. He twisted, turned… twisted, turned… and click! The lock popped open.

With but a light push, the door swung open, and Bren snuck inside. He closed the door behind him, and he pulled out a very small torch that he carried, hardly more than a candle. That was all the light he needed here. He struck a spark with his flint and steel, and he caught the candle.

Bren looked around at the many chests and shelves and hanging fineries of the treasury. He was in the heart of Ferdiland’s riches, and he realized it was far greater than he had ever expected. Certainly he could not take one tenth of a tenth of a tenth of what was here. Instead he would find the most valuable item. He was good at appraising the treasures that he saw. He was looking for something small that he could sneak out without anyone seeing and sell for a fortune in the next kingdom over—for if he sold it here, surely someone would recognize it.

Bren found scarves of the finest silk. He found paintings from great masters. He found sculptures so intricate, they looked like they could walk away! He found coins galore, but mere coins were not challenge enough for a thief like Bren. He needed something that would show that he was the greatest thief in the land.

Finally Bren found a big chest with the seal of Queen Hermia upon it. Surely this would have her crown jewels. Even the least of these would be more than any thief had ever stolen in Ferdiland before! But he could not find any lock upon it, not even any latch. It was a sealed box.

This was beyond even his skill. How do you open a box with no lid? Bren paused and thought… paused and thought… At last he remembered the grace of Queen Hermia upon the dance floor. And he remembered her surprising strength. It struck him that a box does not always have six sides… Bren grasped the chest, wrapping both arms around it and lifting it up. There was no bottom. Instead he revealed racks of the crown jewels.

Bren took a deep breath as the candle shone upon the finest of Ferdiland’s treasures. What should he take? Clearly if he took something large like one of her tiaras, it would be too recognizable. But some of the smaller things… Queen Hermia had many, many rings. With so many, surely one might not be missed for days, seasons, even years. So he looked at the rings as he held his candle close.

Among all these fine works, one glinted in a way Bren had never seen before. It was brighter than any gold, brighter than a star. In the candlelight, it glowed like a sliver of the sun. That was the treasure he must have. Bren pulled the ring carefully off a spindle and slipped it into his belt pouch.

Immediately Bren regretted it, for the ring was hot. Not in our modern sense as in stolen, hot as in he felt the heat right through the pouch.

But Bren wasn’t ready to give up. He wasn’t just a handsome thief (with a certain charm), he was a proud thief. When he stole a treasure, it remained stolen. So would take that ring and get out of there somehow, heat or no heat.

But he had better hurry before he developed a blister…

Bren snuck back out, which was no difficulty. He locked the door behind himself, because after all, an unlocked door would let people know that someone had been there. The longer they remained unaware, the farther away he could get. But he had to hurry. He was starting to feel pretty warm in the hip.

Bren hurtled down the steps—right past the aide who is coming up to check on him. The man grabbed Bren’s arm. “Are you all right, sir?”

“I’mfine,” Bren said, quickly and in a tight voice.

“Can I get you anything, sir?”

“I’mfine.”

“Sir, why don’t I take you back down to the party?”

“No, I’mfine. I’mfine.” Bren tugged against the man’s grasp, but the aide held strong.“I’mgoing.”

“But the party is in full merriment. Everyone is having a great time. Have you seen the queen and her new suitor?”

“No, I’mfine. No… New suitor? No, I’mfine.”

“All right. If you’re quite sure, sir. But there’s so much party yet to come. And here you’ve missed so much of it. You really should—”

“I’mfine!” Bren broke free, and he was gone. He hurried down to the base of the tower, right past the guards and out the front gate.

But the aide was correct. Partiers galore were still arriving. Bren had to thread through another throng of people in their various costumes. There was one in a large dragon costume, almost the size of a real dragon, and Bren had to divert around the long tail. There were people in armor and people with mermaid tails. All of these and more swarmed around him as he tried to wend his way through.

And somehow Bren found that he had gotten turned around. He was heading right back into the ballroom, exactly what he had not planned. Turning back, he found a solid wall of festive characters. So instead he tried to push forward as fast as he could so as not to get trapped. But the throng was beyond Bren’s capability to penetrate. Once again he was dragged right straight back into the big ballroom.

And there in a sudden clear spot stood Queen Mother Hermia. In her hands she clutched a battered hat, a scarlet badge, and dirty golden epaulets. Her gaze lit upon him, and she had much sharper eyes than anyone else. Bren may have changed his costume, but she immediately knew him. Hermia snapped her fingers and said, “We must dance.”

Bren knew: You do not turn down the Queen Mother. Not if you’re trying to avoid a scene. So once again, he was drawn into a dance with the Queen Mother.

This time Hermia seemed much more familiar, almost affectionate. She beckoned him to join her in a slow, close dance as the ring started to burn a hole in his pouch. He knew that if he held her as close as she indicated he should, she would feel the heat—and not the sort of heat that normally stems from dancing.

Bren danced, of course. It was the Queen Mother’s request, after all, and the Queen Mother’s request was a command. But he danced at a distance, very carefully, very much at arm’s reach. Even though she tried to pull closer, he ignored the signals, keeping her carefully away.

At last the Queen Mother asked, “Good sir, why so distant?”

Bren had a certain charm, and was skilled with improvising stories on the spot. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I am a mere commoner. It would not do for me to dance so close to you.”

“I am the Queen Mother. I decide what will do and what will not.”

“Your Majesty, I am deeply, deeply honored. But look at all these fine men at arms here.” She held his hand too strongly, so he nodded his head at the surrounding nobles, some of whom indeed glared at him. “Some of these gentlemen still have hopes of being your suitor.”

Hermia sniffed with disdain. “They merely want to be the King’s stepfather. They seek influence over him.”

“I understand that, but that doesn’t change the fact that they are eyeing me warily. They do not like me being this close to you.”

“I decide what we like here in Ferdiland. Even my son does not gainsay me in such decisions. They shall not. Nor shall you, a mere thief—though handsome and with a certain charm.” Bren almost tripped, but Hermia steadied him. “If I choose to make you my next spouse, I make that decision, not them. Not the King. And not you.”

At last Bren found words. “Next spouse?”

“Well, of course. What did you think we were leading up to? Wouldn’t this be a grand place to make a proposal to the Queen Mother? At this grand ball? This is where we must have our first kiss.”

Bren was completely in a panic. He had not the foggiest clue how to get out of this predicament. He was trapped like no thief had ever been trapped before. Not barred in a dungeon. Not caught in a canyon with the King’s guards close on his heels. He was trapped in a marriage proposal.

He had to say the words to make it formal, of course, but he realized he had no choice in the matter at all. While he was “trying to decide”, the Queen Mother Hermia was deciding. She acted with royal determination, tugging him gently to the dais. She pulled him up the three steps, dancing all the way, again coaxing more grace from Bren than he knew he had. They ascended the stage as nobles gave way.

The Queen Mother raised her scepter, and the music stopped. The dancers froze. All the guards stood with their spears planted for attention, for this was clearly the start to a vital announcement. Queen Hermia said, “Greetings, my nobles, the subjects of my son, the great King Ferdinand. I, your Queen Mother Hermia, have been approached by—” In a lower voice she asked, “What did you say your name was again?”

“Just Bren.”

Again she raised her voice. “Lord Bren of the Northern Marches has an announcement to make.”

Bren looked around, and he shrugged. He would never be his own man again. He took a knee, reached into his pouch, and found the ring. As if it knew it were returning to where it belonged, the ring was now cool to the touch. He pulled it out and said, “Queen Mother Hermia, I beg your hand in marriage. Nothing could be a better fate for me than to be beside you for always.”

Hermia smiled. “You have a certain charm that I cannot refuse, Lord Bren.” She held out her hand, and Bren slid the ring onto her finger.

They were married the next midsummer night. Bren had all the riches that any thief could ask. The only cost was his freedom.