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Polijn could detect very little actual ceremony in the swirling exchanges that followed. People just turned to each other and started swapping golden ornaments or coins or small bits of pottery. There was undoubtedly some system, so no one received more than one token from the same person, but Polijn didn’t know the people well enough to pick it out. Standing close enough to the fire to warm and dry her legs, she braced herself to receive some of this loot herself. There was no trouble returning gifts; they were perfectly content with a song in exchange for a trinket. Polijn leaned heavily on those songs involving horses or paying proper respect to one’s deities.

She kept her eyes on her undesired allies. Carasta was receiving rather more and larger gifts, having again announced himself as an adept of Our Lord Horse. “Yes, I was stolen from good Abbot Anderal’s shelter as a child, though I had undergone many years of study up to that point. Villainous Rossacottans carried me away to their evil country, where they wanted me to marry some princess or another.” Carasta had always lied with more imagination than probability, but Chilia and several others were hanging on his words, feeling the story was worth everything they’d given.

Dirklad was doing very well for himself, too. In return for the gifts he was handed he gave little packets of cinnamon or pepper, realizing rather more this way than he would have from the actual sale of the spices.

Polijn was waiting for the ruby horse to spill out of Carasta’s pack. He kept shoving his gifts into the pack as he got them; surely a gleam of ruby must give him away. If that didn’t happen, she expected one of Anderal’s followers to come running up to Duke Burgo, with news that would turn this into a really wild party.

None of that happened. She did not, however, like the way Carasta and Dirklad seemed to keep finding each other in the crowd, or the way Carasta kept pointing to her. Wasn’t he making enough profit already?

She spotted a short man with an unruly shock of hair pushing his way through the crowd to Duke Burgo. Since he wore the duke’s livery, she doubted he could have come from the shelter. But she slid over toward them, just in case he had a message from the abbot.

“The guards have been chosen for the southern road, Your Grace,” he was saying.

“Cards?” the duke asked, knocking mud from his boots.

“Fistfight, actually,” his retainer replied. “The winners are ready to take up their places any time Your Grace gives the order.”

Grinning, the duke ran a hand through his hair. “Well, no point in their setting out before the Blessing of the Great Gift. We’ve got all the singing to go, and we’re not but half done with our own gifts yet. Wait till dark.”

“Very good, Your Grace,” said the shorter man.

The duke rubbed his hands together. “This year,” he chortled, “nobody’s going to take the shortcut and get to the shrine before the rest of us.” His servant nodded. “I still believe, begging Your Grace’s pardon, that it would be best to take the whole procession around by the southern road. It’s only slightly longer than the straight road to the shelter, and if you take into account the work of getting through the snow that hasn’t been cleared...”

“Fiddle!” cried the duke. “We’ve always taken the east road, snow or no snow, and it won’t stop us this year.”

“Very well,” said the smaller man with a shrug. “I will have the two crowns ready in case Your Grace and His Honor your brother reach it at the same time.”

The duke thumped the red-haired man’s nearest shoulder. “You take such good care of us, Miskey.”

“Hey!”

Polijn turned to find Carasta beckoning to her from a shadow at the side of the stables. She stepped back to join him there, whereupon he took hold of both her shoulders. This was a sign that he was ready to deliver some instructions.

“I know where they’re going from here,” he said, whispering even though no one was within twenty feet of the chilly, shadowed corner. “Listen. Nearly the whole caboodle will go to the shelter by the road we took. But there’s another road, to the south. It didn’t get as much of that slop on it last night, and it would be quicker going. That one gets within a hundred yards of the Crossroads Shrine, and then cuts off south. There’s a road from the shrine to it; we can take that down. See, the first of them to touch the shrine gets crowned King of the Procession. It’s supposed to be some big honor: the pizook has to sit in the shrine for the rest of the night. My bet is the duke just doesn’t like to look old Holy Robes in the face when it turns out their big present is only a hunk of cheese. Anyway, while they’re busy with that business, we slip off on that path, get on the clean road to the south, and we’re off with the profits.” He jerked his head at the crowd. “Dirklad’s coming with us.”

“You told him what you’ve got?”

He gave her shoulders a shake. “Don’t be dumb. I just told him I was afraid someone might be coming after us and did he know a way to throw them off the track. He’s got a safe place he’ll let us lie low in until we know if the duke or the abbot is following.”

“Good of him.” Polijn was sure there was a fee involved, and positive Dirklad wasn’t interested in being paid in song. But instead of pressing Carasta to share these details, she asked, “Shouldn’t we get some rest then, before we leave? We can’t walk all morning, dance all day, and then walk all night.”

Carasta let go of her hand and looked out at the crowd. “Nah. There’s lots of presents to pick up yet.”

“Not if they see that pack,” she told him. “Can’t you see how everybody’s sneaking off to hide their presents now and then, so people will think they haven’t been getting much?” Polijn did not, in fact, see this, but she hoped she could make Carasta see it. “I mean, are you getting everything you deserve?”

The larger minstrel rubbed his chin. “No. No, I’m not. Is that the plan? You’ll go off and guard this stuff and take a nap over it? Tuck it under your head, mind.” He started to unstrap the pack from his back. “Yes, yes, quite right,” he went on, his face now showing he thought so much of the idea it might as well be his. “You can’t do all that walking and dancing and then walking again, you know. Better that you be well-rested. Yes.”

He handed down the pack to her and jerked his head toward the stables. “This would be a good spot on a day in honor of Our Lord Horse.” He gave her a wink and a mighty pinch.

Polijn rubbed the spot as she watched him go. She had actually been thinking of a hiding place much closer to the gate, but he’d given her a new idea as well. The duke’s people were heaping up wood in a spot at a safe distance from all the outbuildings, naturally far from the stable. If they all meant to gather around a bonfire to sing, then as night came on a person could slip from the stables and move up along the wall to the gate. And it could be a person with a horse.

Polijn was unsure of her ability to outpace the procession on foot, especially if the duke had sentries she didn’t know about. But if she could find a horse of reasonable size and speed, she might stand a better chance. Having sung at a number of executions, she knew well what they would do to her if she were caught stealing a horse. But it could hardly be any worse than what they’d do if she were caught with the ruby idol, no matter where she claimed to be taking it.