Meghan's Dragon by E. M. Foner

The man looked skeptically at the young couple. “You don’t seem the theatrical types, if you don’t mind my saying.”
    “We’re both new to the business, but we’re willing to work our way up from the bottom,” Meghan said.
    “What have you been doing until now?” the harlequin inquired.
    “We were both in food service,” Bryan said. “Speaking of service, how do I get what you’re having?”
    “You could fight me for it,” the man suggested mildly. “I’ve already lost once today. If I hadn’t taken the precaution of hiding my last silver in my mouth when I heard the bandits coming, I might have been entertaining these good people for a scrap of bread, rather than dining on the Ploughman’s Special.”
    “You were robbed?” Meghan asked. “Was it three men, one of them with a scar running from his eye to his mouth?”
    “Friends of yours?”
    “They thought so, but I convinced them otherwise,” Bryan interjected, drawing a sharp look from Meghan. “About that food…”
    “I see you have limited experience as a traveler,” the man said. “My name is Laitz, and I’m on my way back to Rowan’s troupe myself, so perhaps we can travel together. As to your meal—Waitress!”
    The harlequin didn’t seem to speak this last word any louder, but his voice cut through the noisy conversations in the tavern like a foghorn. A young woman whose hands testified to her spending the day in the fields before coming to work in the inn materialized at the table, and the background noise returned to its usual level.
    “What’ll ya have?” she demanded.
    “Ploughman’s Special,” Bryan replied immediately. “And a pitcher of beer.”
    “Ploughman’s Special,” the waitress bellowed in the general direction of the kitchen. “And for the little lady?”
    “I’ll have a half a chicken with a potato and whatever greens you’re serving,” Meghan replied, trying her best to sound like an experienced traveler.
    “We’re outta chicken,” the waitress replied.
    “Do you have any rabbit?”
    “Outta rabbit.”
    “Meat pie?”
    “Outta pie.”
    “What do you have?” Bryan interrupted.
    “Ploughman’s Special. You’re late and it was a busy night. Got cheese if you want. Maybe some vegetable soup.”
    “Another Ploughman’s Special,” Bryan ordered. He turned to Meghan. “I’ll finish it if you can’t.”
    “Thank you,” she replied sarcastically, as the waitress bellowed the order and disappeared.
    “It’s quite good, really,” Laitz said. “Worth every bit of eight coppers, though I anticipate some hungry days before catching up with Rowan.”
    “So these guys took your purse but they left your clothes?” Bryan asked curiously. Now that he knew that food was on the way, he was happy to engage in conversation.
    “The bandits took everything, including the clothes off my back, but the one who went through my bag pointed out that my professional suit would be difficult to sell and wasn’t anything he would be caught dead in. The other two agreed, and they seemed to derive a great deal of amusement from leaving it with me. I have to admit that it draws a very different reaction on the road than what I’m used to on the stage.”
    “How long have you been with Rowan’s players?” Meghan asked.
    “I traveled with them for almost five years, but six months ago, I made the mistake of taking a castle job as the duke’s jester when the troupe completed its engagement there. It seemed like a wise career move at the time, steady pay and limited travel. I soon discovered that Rowan was right and that you can’t entertain the same people seven days a week.”
    “Why not?” Meghan asked.
    “Material gets stale,” Laitz explained. “If you do two shows a day for a few days and then move on, nobody gets tired of your repertoire. Try staying the same place for a few weeks and they’ll be pelting you with rotten fruit. After a fortnight in the castle, I found myself making up jokes on