The Robin And The Kestrel bv-2

by Mercedes Lackey

  "I?" The Deliambren arched an eyebrow at her. "I am a well-known and respectable trader. You, on the other hand, are a disreputable Gypsy, and a Free Bard to boot! I am far more like to see you in a gaol of one sort or another!"

  Jonny shivered; after the things that Nightingale had told them, that was no longer very funny. "D-d-don't even j-j-joke about th-that," he said. "L-let's j-just s-say w-w-we'll s-s-see y-you b-b-before M-M-Midw-w-winter."

  "So we shall. May your road be easy, friends," Harperus responded, gravely. "Now_if you are to make Westhaven before nightfall _"

  "We had better be off." Robin swung herself up into the drivers seat, leaving Jonny to accept Harperus' clap on the shoulder and T'fyrr's handclasp_

  _or clawclasp. Or whatever.

  Then they parted company; Harperus to take his wagon onward, and Robin to turn theirs down a much smaller road, one covered with wet, fallen leaves and shaded by sadly drooping branches, with undergrowth so thick that once they were on the lane, it was no longer possible to hear or see the larger vehicle. In moments, they could have been the only people in the entire world. There was no sign of any human, nothing but the forest, the occasional birdcall, and the steady drip of water from the bare branches.

  Kestrel sighed. In some ways, he was glad that the two of them were alone again, but he had enjoyed Harperus' company, and he wished he could have heard T'fyrr sing a few more times.

  But most of all, he liked the feeling of security he'd had, being around the Deliambren and his formidable wagon. No one was likely to give Harperus any trouble, and if anyone did, against all common sense, he was probably going to regret doing so.

  He only wished that the same could be said for them.

  They reached the village of Westhaven quite a bit before nightfall. The fact that the road was considerably less traveled meant that it was, conversely, smoother than the main road. Less traffic during all this bad weather had made for fewer ruts, though there were erosion cuts to rattle across. The mares made much better time that he or Robin had any right to expect.

  "If I recall, the inn is on the other side of the village," Robin said. There wasn't much there, really; a few buildings around a square, although there did seem to be a farmer's market going on. This was the kind of village that Jonny Brede would have passed by, if he'd had the choice. There was no room for an outsider here, everyone knew everyone else. Still, though strangers might not be welcome, their coin was, and spending money usually brought some form of speech out of even the most taciturn of villagers.

  "W-we should g-get some bread," he said. "M-maybe ch-cheese. S-S-Stillwater d-d-didn't have either."

  Robin glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and smiled. "So we can find things out without asking questions, hmm?" she replied. "Oh, I can think of a few more things we could use. Roots, for one; and more feed for the horses. Even at the 'good price' they gave me for being a Gypsy, the price for grain at Stillwater was outrageous."

  By that time, they were actually in the village; virtually everyone in the square or the stalls along one side stared at them as they drove in. Robin pulled the horses up to the single hitching post with ostentatious care, then jumped down and tied the mares up to it. Kestrel climbed down on his side, trying to look as formidable as possible.

  The village square was centered around a well. No great surprise there, most small villages were. There were four buildings on three sides of the square, with two larger buildings, one clearly a small Church and the other a Guild Hall, on the fourth side. A joint Guild Hall from the look of it; there were boards with the signs for the Millers', the Joiners', the Smiths' and the Tanners' Guilds up above the door. No Bardic Guild harp, though, which was a relief.

  The stalls had been set up along this side, and Kestrel followed Robin as she opened the back of the wagon, got a basket, and made her way directly towards them. It looked as if the rain that had plagued their travel so far had scarcely touched Westhaven; the dust of the street was damped down, but had not turned to mud, and beneath the dust, the street itself was packed dirt that must surely turn into a morass every time it rained heavily.

  Now I remember why I like cities, Kestrel thought. Paved streets, and regular collection of refuse, were two very good reasons.

  As Robin approached the first stall, looking determinedly cheerful, he decided he did not like the faintly hostile way the woman minding it and the two loitering in front of it were staring at her. He steeled himself for trouble.

  But it never came. At least, not in the form of outright "trouble."

  Instead, the thin, disagreeable-looking wench, who had a face like a hen with indigestion and hair the color and texture of old straw, completely ignored them. She began chattering away at her two cronies at such a high volume and rate of speech that it would have been impossible for anyone to "get her attention" without interrupting her forcibly and rudely.

  But Kestrel knew that Robin had no intention of doing anything that would give the stallkeeper an excuse for further rudeness. And if the wench thought she was going to outmaneuver a Gypsy_

  Instead, Robin silently surveyed the contents of the stall with a superior eye, counterfeiting perfectly the airs of a high-born nobleman. She raised one supercilious eyebrow, then sniffed as if she found the selection of baked goods vastly inferior to what she was expecting, and sailed on without a single word to any of the three.

  At the sound of a smothered giggle from just ahead of them, Robin smiled, and exchanged a quick glance with Kestrel. He nodded slightly in the direction of the giggler, an older woman in the next stall, one with a plain but merry face, who was selling eggs, sausage, and bacon.

  Although none of these things had been on their tentative shopping list, Robin headed straight for her, and engaged her in a spirited bargaining session. As Robin put her purchases in her basket, she cocked her head to one side, and paused for a moment.

  "Is there anyplace here in Westhaven where I can get fresh bread?" she asked, loudly enough that the women at the first stall could hear her clearly. "Properly made bread?" The disagreeable hen-woman flushed, and the egg-seller's mouth tightened as she held back another giggle.

  "Well, Mother Tolley isn't a baker, precisely, but she sells the freshest bread on market-days," the egg-seller said, with a slightly malicious sparkle to her eyes that told Kestrel there was a petty feud, probably of long standing, between her and the hen-woman. "It's from an old family recipe, and her own yeast, and I buy it myself. She's got the last stall in the row."

  "Thank you so much," Robin replied, with a warm smile. "I really appreciate your courtesy."

  She made her way past the next four stalls, still smiling, and paying no outward attention to the varied expressions of shock, amusement, and hostility the women there displayed. Interesting that there were only women in the market today. Perhaps the harvest was late.

  Or perhaps the men did not consider market-day to be within their purview.

  Now, Kestrel was no stranger to small villages or the behavior people who lived in them exhibited, particularly to outsiders, but the feeling here was_odd. By their clothing, by the condition of the buildings, and by the unused state of the road leading to Westhaven, this village was not exactly prospering. The women with stalls here should have been falling all over each other to attract the money Robin was so willingly spending.

  But they weren't. The first woman had been actively hostile, and only the woman with the sausages seemed at all friendly_and that was simply because of the quarrel she had with the first stall-keeper. What was going on here?

  The last stall held something they could actually use; some nice, freshly dug root-vegetables and two round, golden loaves of bread_obviously the last of a large baking, by the blank places on the cloth where they sat. "Mother Tolley" behaved in the way Kestrel had expected_she was obviously pleased to see them and their coins, and was only too happy to sell them whatever they wanted. Robin chatted with her about the weather, the terrible state of the
roads, revealed the fact that they had come from Birnam by way of Kingsford and that they were on their way to Gradford.

  "My, how you've traveled! And you've been through Kingsford! Oh, I wish I could see it some day," Mother Tolley said, brightly. "I hear the Kingsford Faire is something to behold!"

  "It is, indeed," Robin replied, nodding. "I have been there as a performer every year since I was a child of ten."

  "Truly?" Mother Tolley's eyes widened. "What is it like? Is it as great as they say?"

  Robin spread her hands wide. "Absolutely hundreds of people attend the Faire, from Dukes to Guild Masters to every manner of peddler you can imagine. If there is anything in the world that can be sold, you'll find it at Kingsford Faire. All the best performers in the world come there, and the Holy Services at noon on Midsummer Day are beyond description."

  "All the world comes to Kingsford Faire." Mother Tolley repeated the old cliche as solemnly as if she had made it up on the spot. "Well, say, since you are so well-traveled, and a musician and all _" she hesitated a moment, then, with a sly glance at the other women, continued on "_ there was someone I knew once who had a hankering to go to the Kingsford Faire. It was a local child, with so many dreams_well, there aren't too many folk who believe in dreams, especially not here. I don't suppose you've ever heard tell of a fiddler girl named Rune?"

  By now, Kestrel would have had to be a blind man not to notice how all the women, even those who were feigning indifference or displaying open hostility, were stretching their ears to hear Robin's reply to that question. And by the look in her eyes and the set of her jaw, Robin was about to give them more than they bargained for.

  "Rune? Lady Lark?" she said brightly. "Why, of course I have! Everyone in all of Rayden and Birnam knows all about Free Bard Rune! Why, she's the most famous Free Bard in two kingdoms except for Master Wren!"

  Mother Tolley blinked. Apparently that was not precisely the response she had expected. Kestrel figured she had hoped to hear something good about Rune, but not this. "Rune! Famous!" she said, blankly. "Why, fancy that _"

  But Robin wasn't finished, not by half. "Oh, of course!" she continued, raising her voice just a little, to make certain everyone in the market got a good chance to hear. "First there was her song about how she bested the Skull Hill Ghost_I don't think there's a musician in Rayden that hasn't learned it by now."

  "She_actually _" Mother Tolley was still trying to cope with the notion that Rune was famous.

  "Oh, indeed! And she still has the Ghost's ancient gold coins to prove it!" Now Robin was getting beyond the truth and embroidering... and that made Kestrel nervous.

  "Gold? The Ghost has gold?" That was one of the other women, her voice sharp with agitation.

  "He did, but he gave it all to Rune, for her fiddling," Robin said brightly. "But that was just the beginning. Then she became an ally of the High King of the Elves for getting the better of one of the Elven Sires."

  "Elves?" said another, in a choked voice. "She _"

  Robin ran right over the top of her words. "But of course, what really made her famous was that she won the hand of Master Bard Talaysen himself with her talent and her musical skill_in fact, she was the one who saved him from that Elven Sire she bested. He wedded her, and now the two of them are the Laurel Bards to the King of Birnam, King Rolend, not just Laurel Bards but his personal advisors _"

  Mother Tolley's face had gone so completely blank from astonishment that Kestrel couldn't tell what her feelings were. He guessed she would have been pleased to learn that Rune was doing well_but that this was something she wasn't prepared to cope with.

  "I was at the ceremony, myself," Robin rattled on, in a confidential tone, as if she was a name-dropping scatterbrain. "As one of Lady Lark_that's what we call her, Lady Lark_one of Lady Lark's personal friends, of course. My! Even a Duke's daughter would envy her! She has twelve servants, all her very own_three of them just to tend to her wardrobe!"

  Kestrel elbowed her sharply; she'd already gone too far three lies ago. She ignored him.

  "The King himself gave her so much gold and gems that she couldn't possibly spend it all, and the weight of her jewelry would drown her if she ever fell into a river wearing it!" Robin gave him a warning look when he moved to elbow her again. "She wears silk every day, and she has three carriages to ride, and she bathes in wine, they say _" Robin simpered. Kestrel did his best not to laugh at her expression, despite his unease. He hadn't known she could simper. She was a better actress than he'd thought. "Our wagon and the horses and all_that was her present to me. You know, she gave wagons and horses to all her Gypsy friends who came to the ceremony. So sweet of her, don't you think?"

  Mother Tolley had gone beyond astonished. "Yes," she said faintly. "Yes, very sweet. Of course."

  Calling Rune one of King Rolend's Laurel Bards and a personal advisor was not exactly the truth_and the picture Robin had painted of Rune and Talaysen wallowing in luxury and wealth was not even close to being true. But Kestrel watched the faces of those who had been so eager to hear some terrible scandal about their prodigal runaway, and their puckered expressions told him that some of the good citizens of Westhaven were less than thrilled to hear that she was doing well. And the more sour those expressions became, the more Robin embroidered on her deceptions. He didn't think he had ever seen her look quite so smug before.

  But while this was all very amusing to her, he was beginning to worry more than a little that she might be digging a hole they both were about to fall into.

  "W-we must g-go," he said, firmly and loudly, before she could make up any more stories, this time out of whole cloth_either about Rune or about their supposed importance to her. Or worse yet, told the whole truth about him! He didn't know what was worse_to have these women believe Robin's tales, or to have them think her a liar.

  "Ah," Robin said blankly as he completely threw her off her course for a moment with his interruption; then she regained her mental balance, and blinked, as if she had suddenly figured out that she might have gone a little too far. "Of course, you're right! We have a long way to go before we stop tonight."

  She tucked her purchases carefully in her basket and allowed Kestrel to hurry her off.

  "What w-were you th-thinking of?" he hissed, as they followed the sausage-woman's stammered directions to the mill.

  "I'm not sure," she said weakly. "I got kind of carried away."

  He refrained from stating the obvious.

  "It was just_those sanctimonious prigs! You saw how they wanted to hear that I had never heard of Rune, that she was a nothing and a failure! I wanted to smack their self-satisfied faces!"

  "Y-you d-did that all r-right," he replied, a little grimly, as they arrived at the mill.

  The miller himself was busy, but one of his apprentices handled their purchase of grain for the horses. It took a while; the boy was determined that he was going to give them exact measure. By the time they returned to the wagon, the stalls were deserted, and the women gone from the marketplace.

  Kestrel's stomach told him that there was no sinister reason for the empty market _it was suppertime, and these women had to return home to feed their families.

  But the silence of the place unnerved him, and for once even Robin didn't have much to say. She unlocked the back of the caravan quickly and stowed her purchases inside; he went to one of the storage bins outside to put the grain away. Suddenly he wanted very much to be out of Westhaven and on the road.

  Quickly. He felt eyes on his back; unfriendly eyes. The women might be gone, but they were still watching, from their homes and their kitchens. The sooner he and Robin had Westhaven behind them, the better.

  He had put the last of the bags of grain away in the bin and locked the door, when he heard footsteps behind him.

  "Hey!" said a nasal, obnoxious male voice. "What kinda thieves do we have here?"

  CHAPTER SIX

  He turned, but slowly, as if he had no idea that there was anyone at all there, pretendi
ng he had not heard the voice or the not-so-veiled insult. They weren't in any trouble_yet. An official, even in a tiny, provincial village like this one, would not be as young as the voice had sounded. Obnoxious, surely. Officious, of course. But not young. So this must be some stupid troublemaker, a village bully and his friends.

  He knew as soon as he turned that he had been right, for the young men wore no badges of authority. There were three of them, none of them any older than he. All three were heavily muscled, and two of them had teeth missing. All three were taller than Kestrel. He looked up at them, measuring them warily. Definitely bullies, else why have three against two?

  Don't do anything. Maybe they'll get bored and go away.

  "So, Gyppo, what'd ye steal?" one asked, rubbing his nose across the back of his hand. It was a very dirty hand, and the nose wasn't exactly clean either. Dirty hair, pimpled face, a sneer that would have been more appropriate on the lips of a bratty little six-year-old.