by Wil Ogden
CHAPTER THREE: BACK TO BARDING
It had been a busy night at the Hedgehog. One of the barmaids swept the floor as Sheillene settled into an empty booth with a pitcher of beer. She set her lute carefully on the table, close to the wall.
The patrons had all been shuffled out the door except for a few at the gambling table eager for another chance to lose their months wages. Sheillene appreciated the thrill of a good card game for coin, but for an Abvi like her, playing poker with the short lived humans that populated the city was very similar to taking candy from children.
The innkeeper, Tara, came over and sat across from Sheillene with two glasses. She filled both with beer and passed one to Sheillene. After taking a long sip of her own, Tara said, “You’re very good for only taking up as an apprentice bard four weeks ago.”
“Thank you,” Sheillene said. She picked up her glass and poured it down her throat. Taking the pitcher, she refilled her glass and took a small sip. Singing all night had dried her throat and made her thirsty.
“Too good,” Tara said.
Noticing that Tara was not smiling alongside the compliment, Sheillene asked, “Too good?”
Tara nodded. “Have you noticed that Thomas, your teacher, and my fiancée, only gets to get on stage one hour a night? He’s arguably the greatest bard in the world, and he fills my taproom so that people will stand outside the inn’s doors for hours to catch a few notes of his music and I only let him take the stage for an hour.”
“I’d assumed it was his choice,” Sheillene said. “I thought he was giving me more time to learn the ins and outs of the trade.”
“Are you kidding?” Tara said. “Thomas would spend his whole life on stage if his throat could take it. He still thinks he should get up there from sunset to midnight. I have him convinced that I prefer him by my side than on stage and I get lonely when he’s not at my side.”
Sheillene bit at the bait. “But, that’s not why you don’t like him up there.”
Tara rotated her beer glass on the table, but didn’t take another drink. “Let me ask you this, when he’s onstage, singing, how many people buy drinks?”
“I don’t know,” Sheillene said, “Thomas is so good, it’s almost enchanting. I don’t really pay attention to anything other than the music and the songs.” Thinking on that a moment, she realized the problem. “I guess it’s the same for everyone in the audience.”
Tara nodded. “It took me forever to figure out why on my busiest nights, I did less business. Thomas draws crowds, but they only get one drink at the start of the night and forget to get more. I do so much better as an innkeeper if they get more.”
Sheillene sipped the last of the beer from her glass and reached for the pitcher. Realizing it too was empty, she slid her empty glass to the middle of the table. “You’re not saying that I’m actually doing the same thing, to a lesser degree maybe?”
“Here,” Tara said, pushing her mostly full glass to Sheillene. “The problem is that with you it’s not to a lesser degree and you’re not as famous. I get fewer receipts before you start singing and nothing after you start.”
Sheillene felt a burst of pride, but the look on Tara’s face was not celebratory and kept Sheillene from expressing the exuberance she felt. “As Thomas’s apprentice, I have to defer to him for changes to my performance schedule. You should talk to him.”
“Thomas is my, um…” Looking away from the table for a moment, Tara fell silent. “We’re too close to have this kind of conversation. He see’s your learning as paramount importance and I see maintaining enough profit to feed my family as paramount importance. I’ve tried to talk to him about his playing, but it’s his life, he’s immovable in his stance that he should strive to be great in every performance. He’ll expect the same of you, I’m sure.”
“Well, I can’t talk to Thomas either.” Sheillene examined the bottom of her empty glass then the empty pitcher. Tara wasn’t taking the hint. Perhaps she didn’t need any more beer. A ditty about pirates draining the rum keg dry popped into her head. It wasn’t the kind of song Thomas wanted her to sing. He liked the emotional ballads and historical epics. The kinds of songs that gripped the hearts of the audience and with his talent, Thomas could make the audience feel every emotion of the tales. If Tara were to be believed, Sheillene had gained a similar degree of audience empathy.
She wondered if she could use that in a different way – a way that would benefit Tara and make it worth having Sheillene onstage. What if she did play the drinking songs? Would the audience respond by drinking more?
Sheillene told Tara, “I have an idea for my next performance. I think it should resolve our little impasse.”
Three songs into her first set of the night, Sheillene noticed the bittersweet smiles on the faces of her audience and their untouched drinks. She glanced over at Thomas and winked as she brought the song to a soft close.
Thomas looked confused. She hadn’t shared her plans with him. She stood up from her stool and strummed a full trill across all the strings of her lute. She then broke into a very energetic ditty about draining every bottle. She didn’t make it halfway through the second verse when several of the patrons rushed the bar, reaching for the bottles behind the counter without waiting for Tara or one of the barmaids to help them.
Tara stood in the corner, chugging at a bottle of whiskey when Sheillene slapped her hand on her strings, silencing them.
Thomas walked up to the stage and took Sheillene’s lute from her hands. “I think we should talk about this.”
Sheillene grabbed her lute back. “Tara needs to sell drinks to stay in business. I was just trying to help.”
“You can’t abuse your talents,” Thomas said. “You can’t manipulate people into making themselves sick from beer, wine, whiskey and I think I saw one guy reach for a bottle of lamp oil.”
“And we can’t abuse the innkeepers who give us a stage,” Sheillene said. “We’re supposed to draw in profits for them, not steal their patron’s attention.”
“Our art is our gift to the world.” Thomas turned and gestured to the audience. Most of the people were finding their seats again. A few were talking with Tara about how to pay for a whole bottle of whiskey or rum. “We are obligated, by possessing the talent, to share it in the best way possible for our audience.”
“If we want to be purists, we can find a clearing or a street corner and busk for pennies.” Sheillene sat on her stool and fingered through a scale. “It’s time to relinquish the stage, Thomas. I have a set to finish.”
Thomas leaned close to Sheillene. “No more songs that force the audience to drink,” he said quietly. He then left the stage.
Sheillene sang a ballad of love and false betrayal and the audience wept, but they didn’t even sip from their drinks again. Not a single patron bit into a pretzel or salted nut.
When she realized a new opening, Sheillene smiled and winked at Thomas again. He stood up and took a step toward the stage, but stopped when Sheillene started her next song. She didn’t know a song about what she needed so the made one up on the spot using a simple two chord rolling rhythm. She improvised lyrics about squirrels fattening up for the coming season. When she stopped playing the audience rushed the bar, but at least that time they were choosing their drinks.
Thomas stepped up to the stage and shook his head, not saying a word.
Sheillene smiled and cringed, waiting for her mentor’s scolding.
He folded his arms across his chest and looked toward the bar. “I suppose it’s a fair compromise,” he said. “I do like to play with a roof over my head.”
“Good,” Sheillene said. “I wasn’t sure I could continue in this profession if I was going to be abusing the hospitality of innkeepers across the lands.”
“Just one thing,” Thomas said.
“Yes?”
“The lyrics to that ditty need work,” he said. “I never again want to hear the line, ‘he bit his nuts, he chomped his nuts, he licked…”
&nb
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