I sat in the audience, including Soren, some bandits, and coachmen. Margaret, the jinn, and Grendel sat at the judge’s table; the jinn in the center, Margaret on his left, and Grendel on the right.

The sun had risen and the mist had disappeared. Though none had watched the sun rise; they were too busy with the preparation and clamor of the competition. The bandit's mountain was to the left of the road.

Four would perform for each side. For us, the order was Perrin, then Serena, then Dietrich, and then Augustus; he was one of the coachmen.

These chairs were curious. Never before have I seen one of its kind, or so many so identical in both dimensions and style. Chairs were wood and hand-crafted. You could always see the carves and age of a chair, each looked different from the other. But these things were metal, identical, and shined all the same.

The jinn flew over to the stage, in front of the closed curtains, in the center, and announced, “Presenting Perrin Turcuttle!” His voice boomed once again, except not from himself, but from the sides of the stage. He then flew back to and say in his judge’s seat.

The curtains parted, revealing Perrin who sat on a stool, a waterskin beside him. Before him was a black stick that stood on a stand with another short black stick attached to its top, pointed in the direction of Perrin. Behind him was a painting, on the stage’s wall, of a decrepit mansion atop a jagged mountaintop, in the middle of a storm, and surrounded by a raging sea. There were sound effects too, of thunder, howling wind, pouring rain, and crashing waves. He spoke into the short stick and his voice boomed as well.

Perrin started his story by stating how his party was marching up the twisting, perilous path that lead to the mountaintop mansion. One of his friends had received a letter, their rich uncle had died, and a reading of the will was to be had. Normally, one would never invite friends to a gathering that was strictly for family, but the will insisted that they were to be allowed to bring up to four other individuals.

The scene behind Perrin changed when he finished with his introduction, into one of a grand foyer of a mansion, with dual stairways at the sides of the wall opposite of the entrance, two doors leading to hallways on the left and right, and in between the stairways was a portrait of the deceased with flowers beside and under it. The interior design was of old, dark wood. There were few paintings or tapestries on the walls, but carved shapes and animal designs inside them. And it was lit sparsely, but enough. There was a bevy of people, dressed finely in black. The sounds changed to ones of party murmurs, of serving trays clinking against other glasses and metals, and the shuffling of feet.

Perrin continued his story with wild gesticulations, stating how lovely the interior was, how nice and welcoming everyone was, and the food, oh the food, how delectable and varying it was. There were even some things he never heard of before, and most importantly, there was the presence of his favorite delicacies that he hardly ever got to try.

And the scene changed once again, into one of a room with rows of chairs before a coffin, the uncle's upper half presented. This time it was silent, mournful, downright dour. Curiously though, none wept, no, not even the old or young.

Perrin continued, “Just after the rites were read, and when the will was to be read, when everything of his estate would be doled out, it happened. The room became chilly, not because of the temperature of the room or of an ajar window, for the room had no windows and the door was closed, but it was because of chill wind that blew throughout it. None knew where it had come from. The wind continued to blow, and the bells of the clocks of the manor, they rang, altogether, simultaneously, as if on cue. But for what? I’m sure that’s what we all thought. And when the bells that rang 12 times, no more and no less, stopped, he appeared. The wind collected and swirled above the coffin, gathering a loose handkerchief, glove, and dust. And seemingly rising out of his dead body was the uncle. His ghostly face, quite unlike his dead one, was not at all at peace. There was a conviction to the furrow of his brows. And as he rose more, we saw his body, completely colorless - except perhaps a light gray - and transparent enough to see what was behind him, but also to the point that he seemed fully solid as well. The laws of gravity were not put to work on this man. The end of his suit and his hair, they stirred, as if they were undersea. But more than that was the way he carried himself, a walking stick in one hand and his other held tightly to his lapel. He seemed completely and absolutely ready for whatever it was that was going to happen. He said,” Perrin made his voice deep and strong sounding, ““One of you murdered me. And no one is getting anything until I found out who.””

And Perrin continued on, telling of all that had to be gone through to find the true culprit. It was a thrilling and edge-of-your-seat inducing experience. There were some secrets said, a few chases, almost another murder, and more than a couple red herrings, and you’d never guess who it was, except until the last moment, when you realized it could only have been that person from the start. In the end, everyone was safe and sound, and the culprit was sent off by the authorities.

The audience applauded, including the judges. The jinn whistled with his fingers and howled like a wolf. And after the applause had died down, everyone looked to the judges. It was decided earlier that after the performances, each judge would say what they thought and hold up a number corresponding to their score of the piece.

It started off with Grendel, to which when it was decided it would, he had made a face of ghastly terror. And now, again, when all looked to him for his thoughts, he could not help but move his hands all about without actually doing anything with them, teeth jittering, eyes darting left and right, manically, and finally, after a long hollow breath, he said, stuttering, “I-I th-thought it was good.” And held up a sign that said 9.

Then the jinn said, “Well said.” in a way that none could be sure whether he was being serious or not. Even Grendel looked at him, incredulous. He clapped some more and said, “It was absolutely wonderful, captivating, all the things that make a murder mystery worthwhile.” and held up a 10.

Then Margaret held up another 10, recalling and commenting on her favorite scene.

Perrin bowed, right hand under his chest, and left arm held outward to the side, and the curtains closed. There would be a five minute break between each act, and beside the rows of chairs were concession stands (each were manned by a copy of the jinn dressed in uniforms) that people helped themselves to. All talked and reminisced on Perrin’s tale. One saying how they were sure it was the butler, and another saying how they thought it would be the count. Someone said they had to go to the bathroom really bad, but they were sure the story was about to hit the really good part, so they didn't. Coincidentally, after saying so, that person went straight for the forest in a mad dash.

The jinn announced the next act would be beginning and everyone rushed back to their seats. Perrin's performance had set an atmosphere for the event, making all expect much of the same caliber.

This time it would be someone from the bandit’s side. The curtains parted, revealing a women. Her name was Amelia. She was dressed in contrasting colors dyed bright; no doubt meant to catch the eye. And atop her puffy hat was a plume of a feather, its colors also contrasting, one color fading into the other from the center shaft. All in all, she looked ridiculous, perfectly fit for a court jester or minstrel.

Held in her arms was a lute. She strummed it, as if to check if it were tuned correctly. It was.

She plucked a chord, at first with a soft gentleness. And then the next chord and the next. The notes became a melody, with each successive pluck melding the note of the first with the next. It was slow, and kind, and sad. And then she sang, her words like tears, sharp in their sorrow, but slow in their flow. She sang of love, of her love, of the time they spent, of the promises they made, of how fate had torn them apart, of how still to this day, she dreamed of him.

And then it ended. None made a sound, as if it to do so would tarnish the sweet melody she had made. It was simply silent for a long moment. And then someone clapped, and that clap was met with many others, until all did so.

Some of the female bandits openly wept with cloths to their face. And even some of the men allowed a single teardrop to flow down their cheek, but most had buried their eyes in their elbows before it was allowed.

Grendel was still sobbing when it was all over, when all expected him to give his verdict. In the end, he said, while sobbing into his elbow, “10! It’s a 10!” He added, sounding as if he only just realized it, “It was so sad!” and continued sobbing.

The jinn clapped again and said, “Truly spectacular. This is this the kind of human’s whining about their bad romance I enjoy.” He raised up a sign that said 10.

Margaret raised up a 9, saying, “It was super sad,” and add with pursed lips and thoughtful eyes, “but I didn’t really get it.” Good. I hope you never do.

She bowed much like Perrin did, except she had her right leg behind her left, and bent it so only the tip of her right foot touched the floor, and the curtains closed. And a break was had. This time though, little to none left their seats or talked among themselves; they were still stricken by the mood the song had given them, and they would likely continue to be until a time had passed, or until their palate cleansed. And it was, a little, when the jinn joyously announced the next participant exactly as he had done the last two times.

The curtains parted, revealing Serena on one side of the stage, and three targets on the other. She had her bow in hand and arrows at her side.

Margaret waved with energy, excitement, and a smile spread across her face. Serena returned the wave, though not nearly as energetically, but equally as eager, she waved and smiled back reservedly.

Perrin was indeed our heavy hitter. Though Serena’s skill was not quite as showy, it was impressive.

Serena turned toward the target, looked at it for a moment, grabbed an arrow, nocked it, drew it, and for a short moment - a moment that would that would mean the difference between a finishing blow and a mere scrape - she focused her shot. The degree was so much that you could physically feel it, the aura, the energy of her intent. And she loosed her arrow.

It flitted across the span of the stage, which though not large for a show of archery, was not small either. And its mark made true, striking in the center of the center dot of the target.

This feat was indeed impressive, but an impressive deed done once can simply be played off as a stroke of luck, a simple whim of lady luck. To truly cement her skill, she would have to achieve the same feat once again.

And again, she did the same as last time. And again, its mark made true.

And once more, on the last of the three targets, she did the same.

After she shot her third arrow, she looked visibly tired; breathing deeply, slouched over, and a lock of hair hanging over her face.

The audience clapped again, though not nearly as boisterously or unanimously as they did for the prior performances.

Back in my day, there were those who could use their very words and songs in battle; storytellers could turn their tales into reality, bards could soothe not only the soul but the body with their songs. It was insane and terrifying, but beautiful. I even knew an archer who could use the wind, or as he liked to say, let the wind use him. With his arrow, he could send it far, and penetrate the hides and skulls of monsters no others could. I’m glad none of these lot seem so powerful. I’m glad there doesn’t seem to be a war ravishing this land, that none need to find greater strength.

Grendel gave a verdict of 8 without much of a statement. And the jinn seemed perplexed, arms folded across one another and leaning back in his chair. Margaret gave her ruling of 8 as well. And then the jinn said, “It was good, but I feel like it was missing something. Sure it would be fine for a competition, but this isn’t a competition. Or it is but it also isn’t.” Grendel and Margaret looked at him, confused. “What I mean to say is that it could use some more... pizzazz. How about an apple on a head, or catching an arrow and shooting it back, or shooting an arrow shot at you?”

Serena rolled her eyes. “You mean trick shooting?”

The jinn nodded profusely, “Yes, yes, indeed.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to do that. My mother only taught me how to hunt with the bow.”

The jinn nodded profusely some more, full of understanding and patience, “I see, I see, no problem, though a little disappointing.” and raised up another 8.

Serena bowed a rough bow, without any of the delicate arm or leg movements of the prior contestants, she only lowered her back, and the curtains closed.

And another break was had. This one much more casual than the last. Some admiring Serena’s skill, and others apparently unaware of them.

The jinn announced the next contestant. His name was Harold and he would be whittling. The curtains parted, and he sat on a stool, a wooden block in one hand and a small knife in the other, and a bucket below him. He was one of the more brutish-seeming of the bandits. His forehead protruded slightly from his head, shading his eyes and giving him an ominous look. But the rest of his face, his expression included, told of a peaceful creature.

And so he started, carving into that wooden block, causing a curl of a shaving of wood to fall into the bucket. A couple minutes of this passed when the jinn called out to him, “How long is this going to take? Could you do it any faster?”

Harold’s voice was deep and honest, “You can’t rush art. I’ll be done within the hour.”

“I see…”

And so Harold continued to whittle, and continued to whittle. Some audience members elected to attempt to snooze rather than continue to watch. But then something happened.

Harold was whittling faster. It was hard to tell if you weren’t looking close. His body remained motionless, but his hands were moving at a ridiculous, impossible speed. And when Harold was about to open his mouth, his hands returned back to normal speed, and he said, “I’m almost done.” He didn’t notice it, the jinn’s little trick.

He stepped down from the stage and presented the wood figurine to the judge’s table. It was of a sparrow. Its legs were thin, its tail was long, and its beak sharp. He even etched in the detail of the feathers and the lines in its legs. It was a fine craft that must have taken many a wood blocks to make.

All of the judges gave it an 8. The curtains closed, a break was had, with some audience members nudging to attention the dozers, and the jinn announced the next contestant. It would be Dietrich.

The curtains parted, revealing Dietrich with three colorful balls in hand. He did not know how to juggle, at least not before this event. Perrin had spent the majority of the 30 minutes attempting to teach him how.

And so he threw the ball up, and then the next, and then the next. And then he caught one and threw it back up. And when he attempted to do the same for the next, he missed it as it fell past his outstretched hand.

Dietrich froze, and the rest of the balls fell to the floor. He looked on at that first fallen ball with terror. And then he fell to his knees and then the palms of his hands fell to the floor. Lifeless and hopeless was his demeanor.

“New rule!” shouted the jinn, “Those who fail their performance are put into timeout.” The jinn zapped Dietrich and a transparent ball surrounded him. The ball floated up from the stage to above the jinn. “And they’re only taken out of timeout when the next performer on their side performs well. It’s like dodgeball.” Dodge what?

Dietrich didn’t seem all that upset by the new rule, rather, he didn’t seem to notice it, still stuck in that position of defeat.

The jinn continued on, stating how Dietrich wouldn’t be judged and how the break would begin. And then he announced the next contestant, Durham.

The curtains parted, revealing the bandit leader. Held in his hands were also an assortment of colorful balls. He was sweating profusely, his eyes darting between the jinn and the levitating Dietrich. He did not seem pleased. With a gulp of the throat, he tossed them up. He was more successful than Dietrich. He had caught two balls and thrown them back up before the third fell to the floor, rather deafening at that.

Durham continued looking up at where the balls should have been. And then he turned to the first fallen ball, and then back at the jinn, knowingly. With a grim bow of his head, he accepted his fate.

“New new rule!” shouted the jinn once again. “If the next performance doesn’t figuratively knock my socks off, both of these men are going to be thrown to the fishies!” With a poof of blue smoke, a wide, wide transparent barrel appeared beside the judge’s table. Held in it was water and a pair of sharks.

Durham attempted to run, but the jinn zapped him mid-stride and a transparent ball surrounded him. He still had his weapons and armor equipped. He unsheathed his sword and smashed madly at the interior with the butt end of it. No cracks or crevices appeared. No, I doubt even a scratch.

This Dietrich did hear. He began to smash at the orb with his clenched fists as it moved to the shark barrel. He shouted, “Someone stop this crazy bastard!”

Now the bandits, Soren, Serena, Perrin, Grendel, and the coachmen rallied and rose up from their chairs. Or tried to. But they could not. The jinn snapped his fingers and chains appeared around them all, trapping them to their chairs. I sat still.

Margaret bolted up from her chair, causing it to fall on its back, and shouted to the jinn, “What are you doing!?”

The jinn replied, as if confused by the question, “What am I doing? What?” His body started to grow. “I'm having fun!” He now towered and loomed over Margaret. “What point is there in a contest without a little incentive?!” He turned away from her and to the audience. His voice teetered between madness and order. “Now everyone, let’s sit down, and enjoy the show.”

Margaret turned to me and shouted, “Galla - “. A cloth appeared, tied around her mouth.

The jinn said, “Ah, ah, ah,” with a waggle of his index finger side to side. “No you don’t.”

My body did not move.

The jinn shrunk back to normal, flew over to the stage, and announced the next contestant.

To this, Dietrich began to flail even more wildly. Durham saw this and took it as some sort of clue and bashed more intensely.

Out of breath and on their backsides, Dietrich shouted, “I’m sorry I didn’t pay the toll!”

Durham replied, “I’m sorry too! We weren’t even going to attack you! It was all bluster! We just threaten people hoping they’ll be too scared to fight back! I know I asked for too much! But we needed it! My wife and others were sick!”

“I would pay it twice if it could get us out of this!”

“Really, do you mean it!?” said not Durham, but the jinn.

“What?” Dietrich turned his head in the direction of the giant head of the jinn that was beside him, looking in on his transparent ball with one eye.

The jinn asked again, genuinely, spacing out the words to add emphasis, “Do you mean it?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” shouted Dietrich incessantly.

The jinn said succinctly, sounding satisfied, “Well alright then.”

And just like that, it all disappeared, the stage, the chairs, the chains, the concession stands, the judge’s table, the shark barrel, the orbs, and the cloth around Margaret’s mouth, all of it.

And as the jinn disappeared into the center of a shrinking tornado of blue smoke that originated from the lantern, which was still on Dietrich’s person, he said, “Your wish has been granted!”

A long, long moment passed. One filled with nothing but silence and the whistle of the wind.

Everyone’s jaw dropped at the realization of the reason for which all had transpired.

None said a word.

Still silent, Dietrich went to the back of his second wagon, came out with a shovel, and started to dig. Durham did the same. When he decided it was deep enough, Dietrich threw the magic lamp in. And then the two set to work burying it. When it was done, all had gathered around the caravan. Dietrich said, “Let’s pretend this never happened.” All nodded.

And we continued on the road. Dietrich had given Durham 10 gold coins, and Grendel, without anywhere else to go, joined the caravan.