Bard city blues, p.28
Bard City Blues, page 28
I took my glasses off and pinched the bridge of my nose. “All right, that’s a fair question. I suppose it does matter how the theft was done. Where were we with that?”
“The air elemental had just flown the painting into the fire,” Chill said.
“Right, thanks.” I put my glasses back on. “So, the water elemental put the fire out. The air elemental blew the painting into the hearth. Just then there was a flash along the floor. Later, I found that scorched jar in the tunnel under the trap door.”
“The what?” said the watch captain.
“She’s joking,” said Freda.
“That was when the fire leapt back to life,” I continued. “But it wasn’t a normal fire, it was a fire elemental. It had been waiting in the jar, and now it was in the hearth. The fascinating thing about fire elementals is that they can control how hot they burn. I know that from—from seeing one. Anyhow. It gave the appearance that the fire had returned, but in fact, it wasn’t hot enough to harm the painting. The air elemental dropped it in the hearth, where it was perfectly safe.”
“Ah, my daughter,” said Tappleblatt, rubbing his round chin. “It disappeared from my very sight.”
“That’s where the fourth elemental comes in. After the earth elemental tried to eat me, Alix very kindly sent my clothes out to be cleaned.” And I thought she threw them out like an idiot, I thought, but I kept that to myself. “When they came back, the cleaners apologized for how long it had taken to get the ash stains out. I didn’t register it at the time, since I had other things on my mind, but why would there be ash stains on my clothes?” I picked at my sweater. “Many other things, certainly, but ash? Unless there was ash in the elemental itself, because it was hiding in the ashes in the hearth. Fhraff let it loose in the tavern, but for that to work, it already had to be here. You thought you were seeing the painting burn up, Brother Tappleblatt, but you were actually watching through the flames as the earth elemental buried it.”
Tappleblatt peered into his empty mug. “If so, this was a scheme inspired by the Lords Below.”
“Okay, but after all that, how’d Fhraff end up with the painting?” Tails asked.
“I wondered about that, too,” I said. “It took days before he came back to the Gate, not until after the earth elemental attacked, and the hearth had been cleaned and relit multiple times since then. The painting should have been incinerated. If not, someone would have found it. And who would that be? The ash boy.”
“That little bugger disappeared!” Freda said.
“That’s right, a new girl took over his job. Almost as though he suddenly came into some money.” I spread my hands. “Fhraff paid Ash to bring him the painting.”
Silence fell in the Lifted Gate. Every face was turned toward me, expecting more, but I had done my job. To say any more would only break the spell. Now it was the audience’s turn—their chance to ponder all I had told them, turning it over in their minds and feeling for its essential truth. There was still one piece missing from the picture, but I knew, with a combination of bardic instinct and a judge investigator’s training, that I had to let them identify it.
At the head of the room, Master Southack was staring at me. Much of the venom had drained from his face. In its place I found something unexpected, an expression I might have called admiration if I hadn’t known better. My guitar was still on my lap, and I let its head cant downward so I could rest my elbow more comfortably on the body. I was at ease and I wanted him to see it.
It was Born-with-a-Bow who broke the silence, speaking with his eyes fixed on his empty glass. “Far be it from me to play the cynic, Gally, but it seems to me that while you’ve sowed plenty of doubt around Alix’s role in the theft, you’ve still given us no solid proof she wasn’t involved. Yes, all you’ve said makes sense, but she might have choreographed this dance as well as anyone. I fear your coffin is missing its final nail.”
I smiled. Of course Bow had spotted that final gap in my argument.
“It was,” I said, “until a few minutes ago. During Toss and Nose’s beautiful ceremony, we all saw them sign their names in Lord Chillingame’s book of records. It occurred to me that they were each holding the other’s left hand, so they could sign with their right, as most folk would do. Similarly, when Fhraff showed us the note that told him to return the painting, the handwriting slanted to the right. That’s right-handed script, like most folks’.” My smile grew to a grin. “And while I’ve never seen Alix’s handwriting, I do know she’s a leftie.”
“Darling, you might have led with that,” Alix said.
“You might have said so when Fhraff was here,” Bow added.
“I didn’t know it then—I only realized it when Alix rode in. She had her reins in her right hand, with her left hand out. Post riders keep their dominant hand free so they can draw a sword and fight if they need to.”
Chill’s mouth tilted in his half-smile. Tails whistled. Alix caught my gaze, held it, and nodded.
“Is that true, ma’am?” asked the watch captain sourly.
“As the day is long,” Alix said. “Got a scrap of paper?”
The captain frowned. “I’ve got your arrest warrant.”
“That’ll do.” Alix took the quill Chill was already offering and, left-handed, began scribbling across the back of a page the captain had produced from within her armor. After what looked like a paragraph and a half, the captain snatched the paper away.
“Fine. The charge of theft is dropped, but there’s still the matter of resisting arrest and property destruction. Come along, please.”
“Actually,” said Chill, “if I remember Councilor Droplet’s recent reforms correctly, a citizen can’t be considered resisting arrest if there was no original crime.”
“But her horse knocked over a fruit stand—”
“And per Lady Hardhammer’s Act Promoting a Sensible Judicial Demeanor Toward Beasts, a riding animal can’t be charged with a misdemeanor, isn’t that right?”
“But—”
“I’m sure Alix will be happy to square things up with the fruitmonger, person to person. In fact, I’ll make certain she does.” Chill scratched under his wig. “But I can’t really see that you need to get involved, watch captain, do you?”
The captain scowled at Chill, then at Alix, then gave a general glare around the room for good measure. She looked back at Alix. “You’re free to go.”
Alix slapped her hands together. “Too right I am!”
“Hell’s bells!” Freda threw her kerchief on the bar.
“Well done!” cried May Featherlight.
The watch captain turned her glare on me. “All right, bard, if you’re so clever—I’ve got a pair of manacles here and no one to fill them. Who did steal the painting?”
I swallowed and adjusted my glasses. “Er… I’m not really certain. Sorry.”
“That’s it? All that…” She waved a hand in my direction. “All that fancy hooplah to prove your friend innocent, but when it comes to catching the real criminal, the best you can do is ‘sorry?’”
I shrugged. “Sorry.”
Her lip curled in a sneer, and for a moment I thought she was going to cross the room and ask me again up close. Her eyes narrowed. Her hand hovered in the vicinity of her sword-hilt.
She spun on her heel. “City watch, we’re done here! Move it out!” She stomped to the stairs and her soldiers followed, one by one. None of the wedding guests moved, just watched the guards go, until the last one had disappeared under the portcullis.
“From everything Nose has told me, it wouldn’t be Saturday night at the Lifted Gate without a little constabulary excitement,” said Toss Cabbage. “I would hate to break with tradition. Now then. I believe another essential wedding tradition is the celebration afterward, is it not?”
With a cheer that shook the posts, the crowd became a party. I had a few minutes before I was expected to play again, and I only had eyes for Alix. I leaned my guitar against the wall and began threading my way toward her, smiling at the congratulations I received but not stopping to chat. When I was halfway across the room, she caught my eye and gestured to herself: her sweat-matted hair, her filthy clothes, her dirt-caked boots. And she held up a finger: give me a minute.
I snorted. Of course. But I waved her on, giving her license to do whatever she needed. She would be back as soon as she could. I had no worries about that, not anymore.
Besides, I felt too good to fret. Alix had come back. I had proven her innocent.
And when I’d told the city watch I didn’t know who stole Freda’s painting, they had fallen for it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
IN FAVOR OF DECENCY
I was halfway to the bar when Born-with-a-Bow waved me over.
“Lords Above, Gally,” he said as I approached. “You could cut the music and the legal drama and you’ve still given me the best night’s entertainment of my life. Come sit with me.”
I joined him with a sigh that mixed satisfaction and exhaustion. Our newlywed goblin friends were moving among the crowd, hugging and shaking hands, and we watched them for a moment in companionable silence.
“Nosepig,” Bow said. “Toss Cabbage. I’ll never get used to it.”
“Yes you will. He’s not gone forever, you know. He just won’t be here every night.”
Bow contemplated his empty glass. “I’ll have to find someone else to argue with.”
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem. Would another drink help?” I turned to gesture to Freda, but Bow put a hand on my arm.
“No. Thanks. It’s only water, anyway.”
I took the glass from his hand and sniffed it. “You’re serious.”
“Of course I am. This is already the best wedding I’ve ever been to, and it’s only an hour past sunset. Watching Cyprian slink away was only the silver on the swan.”
“Why do you call Master Southack Cyprian?”
“Because he hates it, of course. That’s what he gets for making me pay for seven years of lessons. Anyhow, Cyprian and I had a bit of a chat after your courtroom scene. Neatly done, by the way. Just like something out of a play.” Bow snorted. “Yes, we were discussing his little vendetta against you. I reminded him of his duties to the Guild, and to Lackmore’s bardic community at large. I may have invoked the very muses at one point. Cyprian goes in for that sort of thing.”
I stared at him. “Did it work?”
“Not a word of it.” He laughed. “So I asked him the last time he’d seen a bard stop two dozen city watch dead in their tracks simply by playing the highland lute.”
“And that worked?”
“It gave him pause, I think, but no. Ah! That reminds me.”
Born-with-a-Bow slipped a hand in his coat pocket, withdrew something, and set it on the bartop with a soft click. The golden harp and wreath of a Bardic Guild badge winked up at me.
I stared, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. “Bow, what…?”
“Oh, that’s not for you. I can see how that would be misleading.” He sipped his water and grimaced. “I don’t know how anyone can drink this stuff. Listen, Gally. The Guild system is a racket, there’s no denying it, and you’ll come across plenty of wretched souls like Cyprian Southack. You’re better off without them—though I do wish you’d made it. It wouldn’t hurt to stack the deck a little in favor of decency.”
I nudged the Guild badge with a finger. “Then what’s this about?”
“Ah. That’s about me growing up.” Bow plucked the badge off the bar and dropped it in his glass. Skotleivo was passing by on her way to the kitchen, and he deftly placed the glass on her tray before she disappeared through the door. “We’ll see what Xolgoth makes of it.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Bow watched me, sipping a fresh water and smiling narrowly. When I had finished, I asked, “But what will you do for work?”
“You won’t play the Lifted Gate forever, Gally Chaparral.” He set down his water, stood, and leaned over the bar. When he straightened up he had a viol and bow in his hands. “And I for one am not too shy to accept Nosepig’s spare change every now and then.” He tucked the viol under his chin and bounced the bow over the strings, twitching the tuning pegs with his left hand. The instrument was tuned up in a flash. “Now then, I think a highland reel would be appropriate, don’t you?”
He winked at me, stamped his foot, and let loose. Heads turned throughout the barroom, and for a moment I could only stare. His fingers flew over the neck of the viol, and his bow sawed back and forth so quickly it was a blur in the torchlight. I knew the tune, a well-worn highland dance I had heard since birth, but he played so deftly and with so many devious flourishes that it sounded entirely new.
I grinned. Born with a bow, indeed.
Called by the sprightly music, May bounded onto the dance floor—and Chill came trailing after, blushing from his collar to his hairline but entirely unable to keep a full-sized smile from his face. Folk around the room began dancing in twos and threes, and soon the whole floor was in motion, swirling in time to the reel, grouping and ungrouping like the eddies of the Weeping River where it tumbled from the high rocks of my mountain home.
I slipped off my barstool and wove through the crowd to Nosepig, who stood hand-in-hand with Toss, watching Bow play with a grin of his own.
“Can I steal the groom for a dance?” I asked.
“Anything for the hero of the hour,” said Toss Cabbage.
Nose let go of his bride, and I grabbed his hand and pulled him out onto the dance floor. The brisk movements of the reel brought us apart and together, apart and together, but he kept up admirably. He was a terrific dancer, and when the reel ended we stood catching our breath and smiling at each other. But we only had a moment’s pause before Born-with-a-Bow struck up the next dance, a stately waltz that had the wedding guests pairing up in each other’s arms.
I drew Nose in before anyone could interrupt us. I let him lead, though he was a head shorter, and leaned in close.
When my mouth was by his ear, I murmured, “I’m glad you gave the painting back.”
Nose startled so badly I had to hold him down by the shoulders.
“It’s not being me!” he said. His ears wobbled as his whole body shook. “What you are talking, I am not knowing this…”
“Nose, it’s all right.”
“Maybe Bow was doing this! Or Brothers Tappleblatt! He has many of maps at the church, did you make ask to him?”
I sighed. Apparently there would be no getting through to him until I proved I knew for certain he had done it. I reset my hands, just in case he panicked, and began my second explanation of the night.
“Nose, I know it was you. To begin with, you signed the marriage record with your right hand, so you could have written that last note to Fhraff. I assume you’ve been getting help with the phrasing? Anyhow, you were an adventurer, a successful one, so you must have experience with magic. You probably know more than one wizard who could provide the elementals you used.”
“Alix has a guy—”
“That’s true,” I said. “But there’s more. You kept a big secret from Toss that almost came between you. I assumed it was your wealth, but that wasn’t it, was it? When you first came back to the Gate to announce your wedding, Toss said you had ‘promised to put things right.’ That’s an odd thing to say if you had already cleared the air with her. Then, when Chill introduced himself as the Marquess of Chillingame, she said he looked familiar. She knows Master Southack, too. How could that be, unless she already moved in high society before you met her? And if that were true, why would you hide your wealth from her in the first place?”
Nosepig looked everywhere but my eyes.
“Speaking of odd decisions, you told me you quit your translation job with Brother Tappleblatt to spend more time with Toss. If so, why would you take the job in the first place? It’s not as though you needed the money. Well, Tappleblatt’s church has a collection of treasure maps, and we know how he loves treasure, whatever he may say to the contrary. I think he had you translating goblin maps, and—this is just a guess, mind you—I think you were translating them all wrong.”
“Calumny!” squeaked Nosepig, a word I wouldn’t have guessed he knew.
“You left when he hired a second goblin.” I smiled. “Who would have spotted what you were doing. And if you took a job you didn’t need, and intentionally did it wrong, I have to conclude it was because you didn’t want anyone finding the goblin treasures those maps point to.”
“Calumny,” he said again, with far less conviction.
“But I didn’t put all the pieces together until just before your ceremony,” I said. “Bow remarked that all the proportions looked off in Freda’s painting, and he was right. Well, not exactly right—the proportions aren’t wrong, they just aren’t human proportions. Or elf, or half-elf, or orc. They’re goblin proportions. It’s a painting of a goblin ruin, isn’t it? You stole the painting so no one else would. You wanted to protect whatever treasure the map on the back leads to.”
“A wizard did it,” Nose murmured. “So said the old bard, which all hearinged.”
“No,” I said gently. “You did it. But Dovel’s revelation about the treasure map gave you a motive, and the rumors of Uldor’s ghost gave you the perfect cover story.”
Nosepig stared at his feet, and his ears drooped until they hung to his shoulders, but he kept dancing. “Before you do the telling, and the arresting… may I have this night with my Toss?”
I was so shocked I had to swallow a laugh. “Nose, you really think I’m going to turn you in?”
He looked up at me with hope glistening in his huge eyes. “You’re not?”
