The biggest attraction at the fair was the Ferris Wheel. The tall construction was the most expensive item used to attract people. Not that there was a shortage of people. The worker elves from Alerion said they were from the forest of plenty. Grandpa Thinker had given them an allowance of 10 gold coins per elf to spend. This was better than Yule for them.

Theanore and Marinus ran from stall to stall. They had one gold coin each to spend, so the most they did was browse. Still, Theanore already had a chocolate pancake in her hand and Marinus was eating caramel hazelnuts.

They stopped before the puppet show of the elderly couple just as it was ending. Disappointed, the children began to leave when the old man raised his voice.

“And now we have a play for the book author herself. The tale of Theanore the nymph. A good dungeon core.”

Theanore stopped mid-step and froze. Oh, no. Her secret was going to be exposed! The children didn’t know about the plan where the secret was going to be exposed during the fair.

Some children turned to look her way and pointed.

“She is not a dungeon core, grandpa! Dungeon cores are crystals,” said a snotty girl, pointing at Theanore.

“That is right, I am not a dungeon core,” said Theanore with false bravado. But the old man just chuckled.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire! You keep refining the skill, little Thea, and you will end up on the bad list again.”

Some children paled. Others laughed.

“Stay and listen. That way, you can tell us if we got the facts wrong.” Said the man, and he dropped a puppet on the stage that looked like Theanore. Then another that looked like Crassus and another that looked like Marinus. The elderly couple took the strings and had the puppets bow.

“Once upon a time, there was a merchant who lost his way in the forest of fireflies…” Began the man. Theanore looked at him, and she was sure he was grandpa Thinker. Only he would want to expose her like this.

“Why would the merchant get lost?” Asked the snotty girl. The kindly grandmother shrugged.

“He did get lost. And the only thing he had to eat was an apple. So, he planted it in a nicely lit grotto and from it, our little Thea was born. A small nymph.”

“Spirits born from trees are called Dryads,” said a boy who was eating a candied apple.

“There are wood nymphs too,” said Theanore before she could stop herself.

“Is that so?” Said the boy. “Make a plant grow then! Otherwise, you are just a liar!”

Theanore puffed up her cheeks and got out a small corn seed. Then she planted it in the soil and spend 20 mana to have it grow to maturity.

“There!” She said, as the children crowded around the corn to touch it.

“Oh, dear. We overdid it, Albert,” said grandma Merriweather.

“That proves she is a nymph, not that she is a dungeon core!” Said the snotty girl, finger pointed at the storytellers.

“That is because I am not a dungeon core,” stated Theanore calmly. “This story is pure fiction.”

The children returned to the stage and the two storytellers looked sheepish. But in truth they were ecstatic. Hide the lie behind the truth, and no one will find out about it. That was the basis of the barrier of the open secret.

“Well, our source is not the best one, it seems. I thought it was a bit weird for an apple sapling to be a dungeon core too. But, children, do you want to listen to the rest of the story?”

“Yes!” chorused the children. Theanore blushed at that.

“Well, then. Soon after she was born, her father went back to the village and left her alone. Then she found a merman boy by the name of Marinus…”

“There is no way he is a merman,” said one child who was clutching a teddy bear.

“Where is my tail if I am a merman? Who is your source, anyway?” Asked Marinus.

“Grandpa Thinker himself.” Stated the elderly man, who was grandpa Thinker in truth.

“Well, he needs to brush his teeth more because his breath stinks from all the candy canes he eats!” Said Marinus. The children began to giggle, but grandpa Thinker’s eye twitched. Darn brats.

“And his armpits smell, too. Of moldy hard candy.” Said grandma Merriweather, giggling. Grandpa Thinker resisted the urge to check his armpits and breath for bad smells. Why were these little trolls attacking him now? He was trying to do good, darn it.

“What else did grandpa Thinker tell you about Theanore?” Asked a little girl who was writing it all down. “I have been on the bad list for three years now after I killed off my sister’s butterfly reserve. I am so going to write a news article exposing his lies.”

Well, that was better for the barrier. But it was going to hit grandpa Thinker’s name and drag it through the mud. He looked at Theanore, who had held back on insulting him. It was worth taking the fall. Just this time.

“I think we should all forgive grandpa Thinker. He is old and has a bad memory. Sir, what other plays do you know?” Said Theanore, and she winked at grandpa Thinker. She knew! He gave a belly laugh and began to tell the story of Zippy the elf. He was going to save it for last, but the children needed their minds taken away from the matters at hand.

When the puppets bowed, the two performers told the children they will be taking a break and went to the tent next to the stage. Soon, Theanore came to them by herself. She was carrying two plates with chocolate pancakes.

“You two have been performing the entire day. You can’t do it on an empty stomach. Grandpa Thinker. Grandma Thinker,” she handed them the plates and ran off just as grandpa Thinker was saying:

“There is no grandma Thinker!”

He received a harsh nudge to the stomach and had to pay half of the chocolate pancake for his words.