Bard city blues, p.26
Bard City Blues, page 26
A snarl curled Fhraff’s lip, but he didn’t argue, just leaned his burden against the wall and yanked off the cloth. The crowd gasped.
It was Freda’s painting.
Everyone started talking at once. Freda was shouting for someone to bring her the painting before it was stolen again. Brother Tappleblatt wanted to see the treasure map on the back. Half a dozen voices accused Fhraff of stealing it after all.
I stepped forward and caught his gaze. He scowled down at me, giving me the distinct impression he wanted to confront me least of everyone in the room.
“Did you see Alix?” I asked.
He shook his head and crammed a big hand into his jacket. When it reappeared he was holding a rectangular notecard, which he handed to me. There was a handwritten message on one side:
I’m so sorry. I don’t want the painting anymore.
Please bring it back to the Lifted Gate.
“This came from your employer?” I asked.
Fhraff nodded. “Same dead drop they used before.”
I pushed my glasses up and examined the card. It was plain, thick paper, not too cheap and not too fancy. The message was written in the careful lettering of someone disguising their handwriting—slightly tilted to the right, but otherwise neutral. Even the ink looked profoundly average. Whoever had sent this note knew how to stay anonymous.
I sighed. Part of me had been hoping I could somehow prove the message wasn’t Alix’s, but I had never even seen her handwriting.
Skotleivo rattled up. “Well, you’ve been a terrific delivery boy. You know the way out. Hope you weren’t expecting a gift bag. We’ve got them, I’m just not giving you one. Bye now. Don’t come back.”
“Not just yet.” Fhraff held up a hand. “One thing, then I’m gone forever. This little thing—” he scowled at me— “pinched me fair and square, and I did my time. But I ain’t going down alone. Wouldn’t be fair.”
My breath caught. Not only did it sound as though Fhraff knew who his anonymous employer was, he appeared ready to let the cat out of the bag. There was every chance this would be the final nail in Alix’s coffin… but I couldn’t help but hold on to a tiny of sliver of hope that he would name someone else, that by some miracle, Alix would wind up innocent after all.
Fhraff lifted a long arm and pointed at Tails.
“I thought I was doing right before, trying to protect the kid,” he said. “I tried my best. But he screwed up and left evidence behind, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s best to fess up when they’ve tumbled to you anyway.”
Tails gaped at him. “Fhraff, what—what are you talking about? I had nothing—I was never—you never brought me in on this one!”
“Just stop, kid.” Fhraff shook his head. “He was in on it from the beginning. The argument was fake, naturally. Him being here when I let out the dirtpile, that was a real mistake. Real apology, too. But he’s my partner. Of course I cut him in on the action.”
“You said Tails left some evidence he was involved?” I asked.
“I’m getting to that, little lady,” Fhraff said. “Now as it happens, we did find out who our employer was in the end. Your girlfriend.”
I swallowed, fighting down despair. “I know. But how did you learn it was her?”
“Last letter we got before that one—” he gestured at the note in my hand— “told us to bring the painting to her house to get paid.”
“She told you to come in person?” I frowned. “Why would she do that? She did everything by dead drop previously.”
Fhraff shrugged. “Shows what you know about thieving. If she gives us the money, how does she know we’ll deliver the goods? And vice versa, see? When it comes time for the exchange, it’s got to be face-to-face.”
“I don’t suppose you still have that letter.”
“Burned it. I’m no fool. Just listen. She told us to bring the painting to get paid, so we did, but her house was dark. We go around back. Nobody’s home, no Alix, no money, nothing. So Tails gets the bright idea to knock on the door, only he doesn’t take his ring off first.”
My heart slammed to a stop. I had found a ring in the dirt behind Alix’s house only two days earlier.
“You ever hear metal on glass?” Fhraff’s head was down, staring at his boots. “Loud as a hammer on a cozy street like that. Well, some nosy neighbor sticks his head out and starts hollering ‘Who’s there?’ So Tails slips his ring off and knocks again, but now the whole neighborhood’s waking up, so we’ve got no choice but to leg it. We leave the painting, forget the money, and what do you know… the kid drops his ring in the scramble.”
I tried to speak, but my mouth felt crammed full of ramswool. I wasn’t sure what I would have said, even if I were able to.
Fhraff raised his eyes to stare at Tails. “Well, I had a look just now when I was fetching the painting, but the ring’s gone. Odds are one of those neighbors handed it off to the city watch. Sorry, kid, you’re pinched. Time to come clean.”
“But I didn’t lose a ring,” Tails said. He sounded remarkably calm.
“Sure you did. No point denying it now.”
“I’m so sorry, Tails,” I said. He and Fhraff looked at me and I swallowed, hard. The ring I had found was still in the pocket of my trousers, and I slipped it out. “I found this behind Alix’s house on Thursday.”
Fhraff clucked. “That’s the one.”
“Funny.” Tails held up a hand, where a silver ring glinted in the torchlight. “That looks just like mine.”
Fhraff’s mouth fell open. “What in the Lands Below…”
Tails strode over to me, a smile playing around his mouth. “Gally, may I?”
He plucked the ring from my hand and tried to slip it over each of his fingers, one by one. It was much too small for any of them. It was impossible the ring was his.
“What…?” said Fhraff.
Tails closed his hand and reopened it. The too-small ring was gone. He gave a little flourish and it had returned, pinched between his finger and thumb.
“It was kinda tough to trust you after you picked a fight with me, Fhraff,” he said casually, watching his fingers work. The ring appeared and disappeared. “And then you let that earth elemental loose without caring who might get hurt, and I thought, maybe this guy isn’t such a good friend after all.”
Fhraff glared at him from under heavy brows. “When we shook hands. You slipped me a fake ring, you little rat.”
I suppressed a delighted laugh. Not only was Tails innocent, he had anticipated Fhraff’s attempt to frame him. The big orc’s hold on him was broken.
“Well, you were trying to take the real one, after all.” Tails shrugged. “Never steal from a thief, Fhraff. You’ll end up with whatever they put in your hands. Hey, you know what’s funny? You taught me that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
GUTTER BARD
An hour later I sat alone, checking the tuning on my guitar. Tosspig and her entourage had taken over my bedroom and washroom—both newly clean—for their preparations, relegating me to the round room. Freda hadn’t wanted to share the secret of my apartment, but another bag of coins from Nose Cabbage changed her mind, and so I donated my home to the bride.
Out in the tavern the guests had gathered and the bar had opened. The muffled roar of laughter and chatter was audible even through the walls. But I was enjoying the quiet moment to myself.
I played a few testing chords. The guitar was perfect, its notes blending into something sweet and rich, and in the domed space of the round room it sounded far larger than a single instrument. I stood and stretched my back. It was time to head out into the barroom, say a few last words to my friends, and take my place to await the start of the ceremony. But I found myself lingering, plucking at my guitar, wandering in and out of snatches of songs.
If only Alix would come back.
The thought made me fumble a few notes, then stop. Silence filled the space.
There was a noise in the hallway: the scuff of a footfall.
I turned, my breath caught in my throat, fantasy momentarily crowding out reality in my thoughts. But it was only one of Tosspig’s bridesmaids, a sweet, round-faced young elf. She smiled shyly.
“There’s someone here for you—a post rider? She says—”
I would have dropped my guitar if it hadn’t been slung over my shoulder. I pulled it off, laid it on the ground, and darted to the door. “Is she—did she—never mind, I’m coming! Thanks!”
I slipped past the bridesmaid and dashed down the hallway with no pretense at dignity. There was a shape silhouetted in the torchlight, wrapped in the sound of revelry: a broad-shouldered female figure in riding leathers. I stumbled to a halt, bracing myself with a hand on the damp stone wall.
“Hiya,” said the post rider, a grinning, short-haired dwarf woman. “Some party. You Gally Chaparral?”
“Yes,” I said. My voice sounded as hollow as my chest felt.
“In-town same-day from the House of Learning. Sign here, please.” She produced a quill, which I accepted shakily and used to autograph a paper she held up, then traded for a slim parcel of white paper.
“Thanks,” she said. “Enjoy the shindig. Ta!”
I shuffled back down the hallway, numbly reading the inscription on the package I had just received.
To: Gally Chaparral, Bard, The Lifted Gate Tavern
From: Ath. Weaver, Jr. Libr., The House of Learning
Everyone deserves a second chance
Due Back in Three Weeks
Intrigued, I paused and began to undo the wrapping, which was three sheets thick and folded like a dwarven puzzle box. Halfway through the process I realized what must be inside, so when I finally saw the familiar, soft-cornered cover of the book, I could only smile.
Regenisraen.
“What is it?” asked Tosspig’s bridesmaid.
“An old friend,” I said.
She peered over my shoulder. “Oh, I love that book!”
Back in the round room, I set Regenisraen down and picked up my guitar. The wedding would start soon and my place was in the tavern. I only needed a moment to compose myself.
I glanced at the book on the floor, considering Athan’s message: “Everyone deserves a second chance.” As far as advice from strangers went, it was remarkably pertinent to my troubles. But surely he had only meant Regenisraen itself—and he was right, there was no sense letting painful memories of my mother keep me from a book I loved. I would read it, I decided, starting tomorrow. It wasn’t long. If I put aside practicing and dashing around town, I could have May’s bottle filled in a day or two.
Making the decision felt like pulling my guitar from my shoulder at the end of a long gig. My limbs loosened up and some of the tension eased from my back. I sighed, and even as I let out the breath, understanding washed into the corners of my mind where worry had been taking up space.
I had spent so much effort trying to unravel the meanings of magic I could see—Chill’s coins, Freda’s painting—I had never stopped to wonder at the everyday magic hiding around me.
I might never achieve Nose Cabbage and Tosspig’s storybook romance. But I could learn from the work they had done to make it happen. They had argued, and felt betrayal, and their love survived the painful truth and came out stronger for it.
I might never enjoy a cathartic display of brilliance, as Tails had. But I had watched him grow up before my eyes. He had stood up to Fhraff. He was even wearing cashmere now.
I might never wield power like Chill, but he had come to terms with his unwanted upbringing. He would find a way to balance his responsibilities to his friends and his position.
And Xolgoth… his strange exhortation about Chill’s coins was beginning to make sense. The wizard Basheel had seen it, too. The night we met, he called me upside-down: “heavy in the head, light in the heart.” Xolgoth was only repeating the message.
Reverse.
I had been raised to use only my head, to believe that the sole way to approach the world was via strict thought and analysis. When I was drowning in that childhood, music was a lifeline I was capable of grasping, a way to approach emotion through methods I understood: practice, study, discipline.
Music had saved me. Music had brought me to Lackmore, chasing the dream of the Bardic Guild. When Master Southack blocked me from joining, he had shattered that dream—but in a way he had freed me, as well. If I couldn’t be a Guild bard, I could just be Gally Chaparral…
Gutter bard.
As a gutter bard, I was free to read all the books I liked. I was free to play the music I wanted. To make whatever friends I wanted. And to do things my mother would never, ever do—like accept that Alix Bon Vallu had stolen Freda’s painting and lied to me about it, and forgive her anyway.
I still wished she would come back, but not with the same pain as yesterday. It was a different desire, as though the longing itself had grown up. If I ever saw Alix again, I wouldn’t fling myself at her feet and beg her to tell me it was all a mistake. I would simply ask her why she had done it, and listen to the answer she gave.
And I would tell her the truth. I would tell her I hadn’t wanted to break things off. I had been afraid, afraid I wasn’t good enough for her, as I hadn’t been good enough for my own mother. Whatever her truth was, she could tell me that too, if she wanted to.
But Alix was gone, and if she wanted to stay out of jail, she wasn’t coming back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
AND I DIDN'T GIVE A DAMN
Freda hung the painting in its place of honor above the bar.
I saw it when I slipped out of the apartment, guitar in hand, ready to take my position at the back of a very crowded tavern. May Featherlight was at the bar with her friends, looking lovely in a frock dress of lilac cotton, and Freda paused halfway through serving them to glance at the painting and give a nod of satisfaction. Born-with-a-Bow seemed drawn to it as well. He was fixed in his usual spot, drink in hand, and he sat sipping and staring up at it as though he could unlock some secret if he just looked long enough.
May and her friends moved away, leaving him alone there, and I couldn’t resist a final attempt at clearing the air.
“Hi,” I said, easing up to him through the crowd. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“It’s an open bar.” He didn’t look at me.
“Then I’ll place the order for you. You don’t seem very talkative.”
“Only with you, six-stringer.”
I sighed. If Bow was determined to freeze me out, there was nothing I could do about it. He was welcome to stay miserable—I would have fun, no matter what.
The next person under the portcullis put that to the test.
Master Bard Cyprian Southack didn’t duck. He strode into the barroom as straight-backed as ever, hands clasped behind him, wearing an expression of mingled distaste and uncertainty. “Is this the Cabbage wedding?” he asked no one in particular.
“Master Southack?” I said.
“Miss Chaparral?”
“Cyprian?” said Born-with-a-Bow.
“Born-with-a-Bow?” said Southack.
Nobody said anything for a few beats. Southack scowled, I stared, and Bow watched us both over the rim of his glass.
“Slumming it, are we?” Bow said at last, making me like him a little more.
“I received an invitation to Tosspig’s wedding and was pleased to accept, if only to see whom she had chosen over me to provide the music.” Southack’s gaze found the guitar around my neck and froze there. “I assume it was the groom’s decision.”
“Jealous?” I asked.
He peered around as though he still expected the Lifted Gate to fade away like a hedge wizard’s illusion and be replaced by the real wedding venue. “Are there… seats?”
“No,” said Bow.
“Mm.” Southack returned his glare to me. “Not where I’d expect to find a Guild hopeful.”
“I’m not, thanks to you,” I said. “So save your admonishments. It’s not as if you can double ban me. And look! A month in Lackmore and my shows are standing room only.”
Master Southack frowned and pushed off into the crowd, no doubt seeking somewhere he might stand without anything déclassé rubbing off on him.
I turned to Bow. “He can’t double ban me, right?”
To my surprise, he laughed. “If anyone could find a way… but no. Your career is as ruined as it’s going to get. You’ve got a quick tongue in your head, you know. You should use it more often.” He chuckled to himself. “Standing room only.”
I sighed and gazed up at Freda’s painting. “It’s hard to believe Alix sent it back, just like that.”
“It’s hard to believe Freda wanted it back,” said Bow. “It’s hideous. The painter had no sense of proportion. The trees are too big, the doorways are somehow too short yet too narrow…”
“I don’t know, I think there’s something charming about it. Bow, look.” I made myself face him and found he was already watching me. “I don’t blame you for staying upset with me. I’m truly sorry for what happened.”
“Me? Hold a grudge?” Genuine surprise flashed over his face. “Forget it. If I’m sour tonight, it’s only because it’d be rude to skip my best friend’s wedding.”
I hid my smile at that. “Why would you want to miss this?”
“Gally, I miss every wedding I can. I befriend engaged people just to get invited to their weddings and miss them.” Bow looked back at the painting. “I suppose it’s about time you heard my tragic tale. Have you got a drink? Good. I told you I used to run a theater, yes? I never told you why they fired me.”
I didn’t have a drink, but I had the feeling I would need one.
“Our star was a woman named Alba McCrae. Face like a bulldog, voice like an angel. Lords Above, I loved that woman. I asked her to marry me and she agreed, right up to the day she changed her mind.” He took a contemplative sip from his glass. “Well, the troupe decided they couldn’t keep us both. Too awkward. The way they saw it, Alba was the moneymaker, so they sent me packing about an hour after she did.”
