Tandri made a shooing motion. “Go ahead, then.” Her expression was severe, but Viv could tell she was trying not to smile.
The farmhand, or bard, or whatever he was, shuffled into the other room and looked around with barely-suppressed horror on his face. He made his way to the back, head down, and turned slowly around. Nobody paid him much attention, and he simply stood there for a few minutes, strangling his lute, fidgeting with the tuning pegs, and murmuring under his breath.
Viv was pretty sure he was arguing with himself, and she peered curiously around the corner at him.
The lute was odd. She’d never seen one like it before. There didn’t seem to be an opening on the front for resonance. Instead, there was a slab of some sort of slate-like stone underneath the strings, with silver pins embedded in it.
She almost thought he’d fold under his anxiety and slink back out of the shop, but he took a deep breath and began to strum.
The noise that emerged was unlike anything she’d expected, and all conversation cut short. There was a raw, wailing edge tothe notes,muchlouder than any lute Viv had ever heard before. She flinched and saw others do the same as Pendry began playing in earnest. The sound the man produced wasn’tunmusical, but there was something almost savage about it.
She wondered if maybe her trust in the Scalvert’s Stone to draw what she needed here might have been a bittooblind, because ifthiswas its doing….
Viv glanced at the patrons, who looked uncomfortable. A few rose as though they were preparing to leave.
She started to approach the young man, who, for a wonder, looked fully relaxed at this point, lost in the music. As she drew near, his eyes fluttered open, and he saw her. He glanced around the room and absorbed the shocked expressions of the people there, and abruptly stopped playing.
“Pendry?” Viv held up a hand.
“Oh, gods,” he moaned, clearly mortified.
And he fled the shop, his lute held before him like a shield.
* * *
Viv feltsorry for the kid, but the afternoon rush put him out of her mind. Demand for baked goods tapered off enough that Thimble could rest, and eventually Viv sent the poor rattkin home. He was knackered, and Viv got the impression that if she didn’t cut him off, he’d work himself into unconsciousness.
As she returned from clearing tables, she found Tandri standing by the front window.
“It’s not Kellin again, is it?”
“Hm? No, nothing like that.”
“What then?”
“That old man.”
Viv leaned out the door to look. Seated at one of their tables was an elderly gnome wearing a curious bent cap, like a small sack, and dark spectacles. Before him was a mug, a cinnamon roll, and a chessboard with little ivory pieces on it. Nobody was seated across from him. Curled around the base of the table, however, was Amity, purring in a contented rumble. The huge cat remained an infrequent visitor and shunned the bed of blankets they’d made, so it was a surprise to see her in repose.
“Huh, Amity seems to like him.” Viv shrugged. “I must be missing something though.”
“He’s been there for an hour. He came in a little after our would-be bard.”
“And?”
“I can’t figure out who’s moving the other pieces.”
“He’s playing by himself?”
Tandri nodded. “But he never seems to move for the other side. Or at least, I’ve never caught him doing it.”
“You managed to track that out of the corner of your eye?”
“I mean, at first, I didn’t pay any attention, but now I can’t help but keep glancing over.”
“Well,” said Viv. “We’ve had hell’s own bard here, today. Why not a chess-playing phantom?”
“I’ll catch him doing itsometime,” Tandri said, nodding decisively.
