The Robin and the Kestrel (28 page)

"W-we're here as t-t-traders," Kestrel said softly, "in G-God-S-Stars. B-but w-we n-need t-to know what's b-been happening—why-why has G-Gradford g-gone crazy?"

"Ah." Donnar nodded wisely. "Good choice of trade-goods. So, ye want the short an' sorry tale'a what's been goin' on, eh? What happ'ned with Our Padrik, the miracle-worker?"

Robin sighed with relief. "That, and other things. What's it going to cost us?"

Donnar considered this for a moment. "The tale's on th' house, if ye buy some'a m'beer at m'high prices. The rest—we'll see, eh? Depends on what ye want."

Robin and Jonny listened attentively as Donnar described what had been happening, and the measures people had taken to get around the new rules. Virtually all forms of public entertainment and pleasure had been forbidden. No plays, no public performance of music, no Faire-type gatherings. Taverns and inns were not permitted to serve anything stronger than small beer. Extravagance and ornamentation in dress were frowned upon. The brothels had been closed, and the Whore's Guild officially disbanded.

So the Guild and every other form of entertainment organization had moved to the Warren, and the houses had taken on other guises.

"Ye go off t' Shawna Tailor's, fer instance," Donnar said, "an' ye ask fer th' 'personal fittings,' and personal is what ye get! Or there's 'bout a half dozen bathhouses where ye ask fer th' 'special massage.' But it costs more, it all costs more, eh. Outside the Warren, ye gotta pay off th' Constables an' the Church Guards; ye gotta bribe th' right people."

Even the Guild musicians had moved on to other cities, with the exception of the few who had steady employment with wealthy or noble families, or in the better class of inn. The few independent musicians still in the city now played only at "private parties," or, predictably, in one of the Houses. Taverns did not
sell
hard liquor; they sold the use of a mug or glass, and for a little more than the old price of a drink, one could go to a stall located conveniently near the tavern and purchase hard liquor in tiny, single-drink bottles. The glass-blowers were the only ones prospering at the moment; these were the same kinds of bottles that had been used for perfumes and colognes. If you wanted to drink with your cronies in the tavern, you bought your evening's drinks outside, and brought them into the tavern to drink them.

"Takes deep pockets, though," Donnar sighed. "It all takes mortal deep pockets. Bribes ev'rwhere ye turn. An' I tell ye, there's a mort'a folks who just canna understand why 'tis that last year they was good tax-payin' tithe-makin' citizens, an' this year they're criminals. Hellfires, I'm one'f 'em! Had me a tavern an' didn' have the means t' build me a liquor shop. Moved in here."

He sighed, and looked so depressed that Robin reached out to pat his hand comfortingly. He looked startled, but smiled wanly.

"Well," he continued, "advantage is I started out with rules here. Don' care who ye be,
nor
what ye do—in
here
we got peace. Got th' whole buildin'. Rented out th' upstairs t' the head'a th' Whore's Guild; her girls work as m' wenches when they ain't on duty. An' 'f they decide t' go on duty wi' a customer, 'tis all right w' me, eh?"

"Padrik—the High Bishop," Robin said, after a moment. "With all the thieves and professional beggars in the Warren, you
have
to know those miracles of his are faked!"

" 'Course we know!" Donnar said in disgust. "Trouble is, we can't figger out how he does half of 'em, so what's the good of tryin' t' expose 'im, eh? It ain't no good fer
us
t'do anythin' unless we c'n show ever'thin' is faked! Otherwise, nobody's gonna believe us."

Robin sighed, and agreed that he was right.
She
was going to have to wrestle with her conscience over this one, and she wished desperately for a way to contact the Chief of her Clan. There was no way that she could expose Padrik as a fake without revealing how his "miracles" were performed, which was in direct violation of her oath.

"Does anyone know who's helping him?" she asked, hoping someone did. If she could discover who the Gypsy was that had given away the secrets, she might be able to force him to confess publicly that he had helped Padrik perform his "miracles." That would take care of the problem without revealing any Gypsy secrets.

But Donnar disappointed her, shaking his head. "Not a clue," he replied. "Wish we did. We figger it's got to be somebody in the Priests. Mebbe they found summat in some book somewheres that tells 'em how t' do all that stuff."

That was a possibility she had not even considered! And if anything, that made her quandary worse. If there was no one to blame for revealing secrets, if the Gypsy "secrets" turned out to be something that had already been put in print somewhere, did that make her oath invalid?

She shook her head. This situation was confusing enough without making it more complicated than it already was.

"Well, the last thing we need is something you can do for us better than anyone else," she said. "We need more information than we have, particularly on the Priests, and the best way to get that—"

She paused significantly, and Donnar grinned. "Is t' go workin' inna House, a'course!" he finished the sentence for her. "I 'spect ye mean as musicians; I tell ye what, I'll get ye an audition at th' place I reckon'll suit ye best. Rest is up t' you." He thought for a moment. "Ye come by in two days, same time as t'day, 'less I send ye a message at th' Bird. I'll have it set up fer ye. A good House; I'd say here, 'cept I already gotta feller who ain't bad, an' he's old. Th' girls spoil 'im rotten."

Robin returned his grin. "So now what do we owe you?" she asked.

He named a price she considered quite reasonable; she slid the coins over to him, and he pocketed them neatly. "That includes safe-passage through th' Warren," he said, as an afterthought. "It'll be 'rranged 'fore ye reach th' door. That means most won't mess with ye. Some will, but th' rest'll leave ye be, 'cause if they mess w' ye, an' I find out 'bout it, well, I got friends in here now." He looked about his establishment, and sighed pensively. "Got so used to it, when time comes I can go back t' runnin" a real tavern again—well, I might not."

And on that odd note, they left him, and made their way back through the Warren's noisome streets completely unmolested. As promised.

There was one truism that Kestrel had always found held up, no matter what happened. Crisis might come and go, war, tempest, disaster—but people still needed to eat and sleep, and somehow, business continued as usual.

And if they were to go on with their ruse, no matter how they felt about the situation, they had to act as if they were exactly what they appeared to be; simple traders. The next day was a repetition of the first; getting up with the dawn in time to be in the square before Prime, selling God-Stars, listening to another of Padrik's sermons, and trailing into the Cathedral to watch more of Padrik's fake miracles.

This time, with Robin's demonstrations firmly in mind, Jonny was able to catch some of the trickery. He
also
noticed that many of the same people showed up to be "healed" today as had yesterday—only today they were suffering from entirely new ailments! He had quite some time to study them as they lined up for their "miracles." There was definitely a similarity of features among them, as if they were all related.

Or are members of the same Gypsy Clan?

There were no demon-possessions today; evidently Padrik saved his more spectacular tricks to ensure that they didn't lose their impact, and didn't perform them every day. He did produce alms, and heal three cripples, two blind men, a deaf woman, five cases of gout, a woman with palsy, a man with "a withered arm," and a man with running sores on his ;g. Today evidently was the big day for "miraculous messages" from angels; he "struck" three different Priests with rays of light, one red, one gold, and one white. They took turns relating messages from departed relatives to the grieving survivors. The one thing these people all had in common were tales of misfortune and woe, and they came seeking answers from those who presumably now had access to all of the wisdom of God.

Kestrel should not have been surprised at the answers, but he was. A great many of these spurious messages claimed that the misfortune that had brought the relatives here to consult with Padrik was due to inheriting "tainted money" and urged the survivors to take what they had inherited and donate it to the Church. Padrik took the occasion to preach an extemporaneous sermon on the subject of the evil magic practiced by nonhumans, and how it tainted even the lives and the goods of those who dealt with them.

"Only by giving selflessly can the taint be washed away," he told the hushed congregation. "Only the Church has the power to cleanse and heal."

And although a scant handful of those who had come to Padrik seeking an answer frowned or looked bewildered and walked away, several dozen more began to weep with hysteria and rushed forward to the waiting Priests. Presumably the Priests were quite prepared to help them with the arrangements for transferring their inheritance into the hands of the Church . . . .

This time the angelic messages were very detailed, relating the circumstances of the person's life and death. Enough detail was included to bring gasps from those grieving relatives they were directed to, people the Priests identified by name. But Jonny had been watching and listening to what was going on in the crowd waiting for Prime Service while he had sold their Stars. His feigned muteness had fooled Padrik's corps of Priests into thinking he was deaf and probably feeble-minded; they had been out among the customers, questioning those who had bought the red and blue Stars for "help in adversity." They had worn ordinary clothing rather than the robes of their order, but something about the way they had spoken had alerted Jonny to the fact that these were no common folk. He had made note of faces—and lo! Here they were, in white robes like Padrik's, though not as elaborate.

So it was no word from "angels" that gave the three Priests "touched by the Hand of God" such detailed information on postulants—it was clever work beforetime by their fellow clergymen.

It was quite enough to make him sick, to see all these innocent people defrauded. And how could a man who was
supposed
to be protecting their souls, who was
supposed
to be giving them good counsel, be preying on them this way?

He left the Cathedral as disturbed as Robin had been angry the previous day. They returned to their wagon in silence; while she went back to her sales, he took refuge from his confused feelings by taking inventory of the Stars they had left, both the wall-Stars and the miniatures.

He knew they had been doing well, but when he opened the boxes and trays they were storing the Stars in, he was shocked! It didn't take a mathematical genius to figure out that they had been doing much better than he had thought. There simply wasn't that much left to count! There was no question in his mind; if they were to continue their mission here and maintain their guise as traders, they would have to take a day or two off and make more Stars. For that, they would need more materials.

Fortunately, just as the noon bells rang, they got a break. The ringing of the bells triggered hunger in the stomachs of those still in the square. Their customers finished their purchases and hurried towards the stalls selling hot pies and drinks, sausages, bread and cheese.

"W-we n-need supplies," he told Robin in a soft voice, as soon as he was certain they were not being watched. "W-we've got enough f-for t-today, and th-that's all."

She ran her hand through her hair, looking tired and distracted. "Already? Well, at least it will give us a break. Do you realize that even after our expenses we've doubled what the Ghost gave us? We could make a fortune here!"

"Unt-t-til someone else s-starts making S-Stars and undercutting our p-p-prices," he said sharply, annoyed that she was thinking only how much money they were making and not what was happening to the poor people Padrik was defrauding.

Or the people who are the sacrificial victims to bring him to power.

But Robin only shrugged. "Then we'd better make money while we can," she said, philosophically. "You know what we need, so go get our supplies. You'll find the jeweler I made our bargain with easily enough, it's Master Tomas and his daughter Juli at the sign of the Three Hearts in Silver Street, and they know what you look like. They can tell you where to go to get the yarn and things. I
have
to stay here, you're supposed to be mute, and it's going to look odd if you start telling people prices and bargaining with them."

She turned back to her task of hanging yarn Stars on the side of the wagon, leaving him to extract some coins from one of the little hoards in the wagon, and get off on his errand.

He wasn't sure how to handle Robin's attitude toward all this. She seemed so callous and indifferent. The only thing that really upset her, so far as he could see, was the fact that Gypsies had imparted some of their secrets to an outsider—and
not
what the outsider was doing with those secrets. He simply couldn't reconcile that with the Gwyna he thought he knew.

Silver Street, the street on which all jewelers and goldsmiths had their businesses and workshops, was not that far from the Cathedral. He met with the jeweler's daughter Juli, currently in charge of the shop, who did, in fact, remember him, and also remembered her father's promise.

"Business has been wonderful," she said, smiling. Her smile had already erased some of the little lines of worry he'd noticed on her forehead yesterday. "And it's thanks to your lady. The other smiths haven't figured out how to make proper God-Stars yet; they've been casting them, and they just don't look the same. You might as well try to make lace by cutting holes in cloth. We stayed up all night working, father, me, and his two 'prentices, and this morning, the
first thing
that happened was that our best patron came to ask if we had any Star Pendants! We sold him one for every member of his family, and he commissioned a chain of them for his wife!"