Read Online The Gambler's Fortune (Einarinn 3) by Juliet E. McKenna - Free Book Online
Authors: Juliet E. McKenna
Tags: Fantasy
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think of the cockatrice?”
Usara frowned. “It started life as an ordinary cockerel, obviously, until someone cut off its spurs and comb. What I don’t understand is how that man set the spurs growing on its head instead.”
So he’d seen nearly all the trick. “You have to castrate the bird first, so I’ve been told.” A chorus of horns ended all conversation and the Explanatory in his plain white mask and unadorned wig stepped out from behind the backdrop. He gave us the set-up for the tale and the usual broad hint of what moral we might expect to improve us, harking back to the days of pious plays performed in the shrines. As was modern custom, half the audience listened attentively to find out who was who and the other half stirred restively, wanting the dancing girls and the comedy with the pig. I sipped my wine as our hero, a rich youth from the nearside house, came on to declaim his love for the virtuous daughter of the warden of his guild. This paragon was apparently and somewhat improbably off traveling with her aunt. There were jokes about the warden hating anyone who didn’t make coin through honest trade and a few mild sallies about his girth, which must have been written in for local color, given the immoderate laughter they provoked.
The cook of the neighboring house spent a lengthy passage complaining to the hero’s housekeeper about how badly her miserly master treated her and then, to everyone’s relief, the messenger came rushing in with muddy mask and windblown hair firmly set with flour paste. After stressing how private his news was, he proceeded to tell all and sundry how the virtuous maiden had been abducted by hired bravos. As those of the audience who’d failed to see this coming gasped, the band struck up and dancers came skipping out from behind the backcloth.
I nudged Usara. “I’ll have to tell Niello upper-house servants would sit naked on the rooftops before so much as commenting on the weather to a cook!”
The mage didn’t answer, leaning forward for a better view of the girls, whose shapely legs were barely concealed beneath muslin skirts bright with ribbons. Gaily colored half-masks hid their eyes, but not their enticing smiles. After an energetic song, just the tasteful side of bawdy, it was time for the clowns, one hook-nosed and the other moonfaced, so no surprises there. They were playing tradesmen this time, their problem a guard dog who attacked anything in breeches. One clown was a knife-grinder wooing the cook, with all the jokes one might expect about blades and scabbards and we soon learned that the dog was keeping him from getting a regular sharpening. I recognized Niello’s voice behind the hook-nosed mask and he played the scene with a relish that set me giggling.
As the hero came on to lament the loss of his love in tedious detail, a stir ran through the crowd behind me. I turned quickly in my seat but Usara’s attention was still fixed on the stage. My instinctive trepidation was replaced with delight as I saw two blond figures pushing toward us, heads at shoulder height to most of the men, one with the unmistakable stocky build of the mountains, the other slighter, long hair tied back with a braided leather knot.
“Make some space, Usara.” I dug an elbow into his ribs and he shuffled along the bench with courteous apologies to some apprentices on his far side. ’Gren grabbed a stool from behind someone unwise enough to stand up for a better view and passed it to Sorgrad, who promptly settled himself at our table as if he’d been there all evening.
“We got word you were here.” Sorgren slipped in between me and Usara, helping himself to the last of my wine with a cheeky grin. “That’s welcome; I’m dry as a lime-burner’s hat.”
Sorgrad pulled a little silver goblet from his pocket and I filled it from our jug. “I’ve been leaving word everywhere I could think of. When did you arrive?”
“Just after sunset.” Sorgrad drank
Usara frowned. “It started life as an ordinary cockerel, obviously, until someone cut off its spurs and comb. What I don’t understand is how that man set the spurs growing on its head instead.”
So he’d seen nearly all the trick. “You have to castrate the bird first, so I’ve been told.” A chorus of horns ended all conversation and the Explanatory in his plain white mask and unadorned wig stepped out from behind the backdrop. He gave us the set-up for the tale and the usual broad hint of what moral we might expect to improve us, harking back to the days of pious plays performed in the shrines. As was modern custom, half the audience listened attentively to find out who was who and the other half stirred restively, wanting the dancing girls and the comedy with the pig. I sipped my wine as our hero, a rich youth from the nearside house, came on to declaim his love for the virtuous daughter of the warden of his guild. This paragon was apparently and somewhat improbably off traveling with her aunt. There were jokes about the warden hating anyone who didn’t make coin through honest trade and a few mild sallies about his girth, which must have been written in for local color, given the immoderate laughter they provoked.
The cook of the neighboring house spent a lengthy passage complaining to the hero’s housekeeper about how badly her miserly master treated her and then, to everyone’s relief, the messenger came rushing in with muddy mask and windblown hair firmly set with flour paste. After stressing how private his news was, he proceeded to tell all and sundry how the virtuous maiden had been abducted by hired bravos. As those of the audience who’d failed to see this coming gasped, the band struck up and dancers came skipping out from behind the backcloth.
I nudged Usara. “I’ll have to tell Niello upper-house servants would sit naked on the rooftops before so much as commenting on the weather to a cook!”
The mage didn’t answer, leaning forward for a better view of the girls, whose shapely legs were barely concealed beneath muslin skirts bright with ribbons. Gaily colored half-masks hid their eyes, but not their enticing smiles. After an energetic song, just the tasteful side of bawdy, it was time for the clowns, one hook-nosed and the other moonfaced, so no surprises there. They were playing tradesmen this time, their problem a guard dog who attacked anything in breeches. One clown was a knife-grinder wooing the cook, with all the jokes one might expect about blades and scabbards and we soon learned that the dog was keeping him from getting a regular sharpening. I recognized Niello’s voice behind the hook-nosed mask and he played the scene with a relish that set me giggling.
As the hero came on to lament the loss of his love in tedious detail, a stir ran through the crowd behind me. I turned quickly in my seat but Usara’s attention was still fixed on the stage. My instinctive trepidation was replaced with delight as I saw two blond figures pushing toward us, heads at shoulder height to most of the men, one with the unmistakable stocky build of the mountains, the other slighter, long hair tied back with a braided leather knot.
“Make some space, Usara.” I dug an elbow into his ribs and he shuffled along the bench with courteous apologies to some apprentices on his far side. ’Gren grabbed a stool from behind someone unwise enough to stand up for a better view and passed it to Sorgrad, who promptly settled himself at our table as if he’d been there all evening.
“We got word you were here.” Sorgren slipped in between me and Usara, helping himself to the last of my wine with a cheeky grin. “That’s welcome; I’m dry as a lime-burner’s hat.”
Sorgrad pulled a little silver goblet from his pocket and I filled it from our jug. “I’ve been leaving word everywhere I could think of. When did you arrive?”
“Just after sunset.” Sorgrad drank
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