Concerning a Stroll in the Park

The best place to find the Fop at this hour would be the park. The Silver Lady would have risen from her afternoon slumber and be ready to observe her subjects on a constitutional. The sky was darkening bruise as Tupelo came to the square, munching on half a hero he had found in a receptacle at the entrance. Lamplights were beginning to flutter shadows on wet green leaves and ripple colours on the fountain statue.
Rumor held the Fop was edging to expand his territory by a liaison with the Silver Lady, but Tupelo was always shy to put stock in rumors. He couldn't imagine the Fop having the energy for ambition really. Still, everyone knew the Lady had secrets anyone would covet, and the question remained of the bag of zombie powder. Unconsciously Tupelo touched the protection charm he'd drawn earlier with a half-dry Sharpie marker. He would not even wager on what the Ragamuffin King was after -- he was a crafty angel fallen with a bag of magic tricks.
He caught sight of the Fop and the Silver Lady ahead by the pond, watching a living statue dressed as Charlie Chaplin. A group of schoolboys ran past, pausing long enough to throw peanuts and jeers and then off. Tupelo watched intently for a moment, trying to spot the Ragamuffin King. He saw Ambling Henry in the distance trying to score a bench for the night, but no King. The park was technically the King's domain. He could be anywhere.

Tupelo had already traded the tape recorder for a crushed half-pack of cigarettes and a broken watch. The watch and a rusted crescent wrench later would bring him a handful of TV transistors and a battered blues harp with the bottom three notes irredeemably clogged. He also acquired a small skeleton carving in a vial.
Fist wrapped around this, he shuffled over to the pond. The Fop and the Lady were strolling slowly, followed from the water by a cadre of ducks cawing softly and without emotion.
"Ta," the Fop said as he approached. The Silver Lady nodded a him slightly. "M'Lady," Tupelo mumbled, averting his eyes.
"Any further news of the King?" the Fop asked airily. "He has not bothered to contact this personage with grievances."
"Kitty Rollins is, um, dead," Tupelo answered. The Silver Lady made a sound and put a pale gloved hand to her mouth.
"Who told you this?" the Fop demanded sharply. "Answer me truthfully, or it shall go ill with you."
"The Ragamuffin King, in the Horseman's land."
"He has no sense of dominion," the Fop dismissed with a toss of a slender hand. They continued walking. "What else did he tell you?"
"Um, he said to tell you not to dig what someone else wants. And that, um, her holdings pass to the Silver Lady."
"Why were YOU in the Horseman's domain, Tupelo? Does no service your atypical timidity."
"shadowman," Tupelo muttered almost inaudibly.
"I see. And what may I trust his response to be?"
They were passing in sight of the fountain again, the ducks tiring of their leisurely pace and seeking entertainment from the schoolboys and their peanuts. Tupelo thought he saw a shadow move, but he couldn't be sure. It could have been the lights dancing Cupid's silhouette on the hedge.
Tupelo fingered the vial when he spoke, and his voice sounded as strong as the Shadow Man, if just for a sentence. "It's not about her holding but her power. It will pass on to the next, or whoever has her spirit."
The Fop blanched, but only for a moment. "Fear not madam, and fear not young Tupelo." His voice quickly regained its regal scorn. "I shall let no brigand of the night do harm to your virtuous person." He narrowed his eyes at Tupelo, who felt the need to squirm. "If you see the King of Ragamuffins, pass him my regards. His nightmares and threats fail to scare me. Now begone."
Tupelo bowed to the Lady and dutifully tottered off, pausing briefly at a storm drain to inspect what would turn out to be a losing lottery ticket fluttering forlornly. He sat at the fountain, streams and falls raining symphony spattering wet concrete, Cupid and Psyche, forever locked in embrace, held company by the occasional transient pigeon. Tupelo took out the blues harp and tried to blow a few experimental notes.