The door opened, and two men entered, attired as if they were factors of some sort, with jackets over linen shirts. They didn’t even pause, but made their way to the table for four nearest to Quaeryt, taking as they did.
“Kinnyrd … said he’d be here…”
“… believe him? He’s always late…”
Quaeryt shifted his attention back to Karelya, who appeared with one of the large mugs and set it on the table. He slipped out five coppers.
“Just leave them on the table for now. Selethya will collect them when she brings your meal.” With another smile she was gone, moving to the pair of men, who’d been joined by a burlier fellow with an enormous brown beard. “What will you three have? The usual?”
“What else?” rumbled the burly man.
Karelya laughed, although Quaeryt thought the sound was slightly forced. Behind them several more people stepped inside Jardyna, and Quaeryt had the feeling that he’d arrived just a few moments before the customary time for most of those who frequented the place.
Quaeryt sipped the lager slowly as he waited for the meal. If the dark amber brew before him was the “light” lager, he certainly wouldn’t be interested in the “heavy” lager or the ale. Then again, maybe the Tilborans needed that heavy a brew in the dark and cold of winter.
Two women, perhaps ten years older than he was, slipped into the table next to him and immediately ordered ale from a serving girl, presumably Selethya, who also wore maroon and who had curly brown hair pulled back from her face and bound at the back of her neck so that the curls flowed down between her shoulder blades.
He tried to listen to the other conversations. That of the women was so low that he could barely hear them.
“… the sisters … worried about backlands partisans…”
“… why?… not affect us…”
At those words, Quaeryt strained to hear more clearly.
“… Maera … brother said-”
“Not here … scholar right behind you.”
For several moments, the women said nothing. Then, one spoke again.
“… hear about Waelya?… cannot believe she didn’t walk out … family … support her…”
“… pride … we … all have it…”
“… pride be named…”
The three men were far louder, so much so that their conversation drowned that of the women, who were clearly keeping their voices down.
“I told you that the late pears would be soft.”
“You’re always saying that you told me or someone else, but none of us remember those words.”
“You don’t want to remember.”
“Excuse me!” interrupted Karelya loudly and cheerfully. “Here you go.” She set the three mugs down, one after the other. Then she grinned and added, “The late pears were a trace soft, but I don’t think Kinnyrd said anything. Not in here. I would have heard it. So would everyone else.”
Even Kinnyrd laughed.
When the three had taken several swallows of whatever was in their mugs, the men’s conversation resumed, if in much lower tones.
“… another scholar … haven’t seen him before…”
“… trust Phaeryn to find a way…”
“… find a way, yes. Trust, no … backlands timber families can be worse than the High Holders…”
“… could be … also could be related…”
With those words, the three immediately begin talking about whether the snows would come earlier or later.
Quaeryt sipped the lager until the curly-haired Selethya arrived with a platter. “Sir … you had the fowl?”
“I did.”
She slipped the platter in front of him.
“Is there a singer tonight?”
“Yes, sir. Daerema will be here in half a glass or so.”
“Thank you.” He offered her the coppers, plus an extra.
“Thank you, scholar.”
The fowl was far better than the fare at the Ecoliae, and the sauce was excellent, especially since the dumplings were a trace firm. Even so, he found he ate everything, doubtless too swiftly. Then he had to sip the lager, slowly, while he waited for the singer. Almost all the tables had come to be filled, and all the conversations blended into a rumble, from which Quaeryt could pick out only phrases, none of which made sense out of context. He found that he had somehow actually finished the lager and ordered another.
The conversation died away when the singer stepped onto the low platform set against the middle of the rear wall, so that those in both halves of the room could hear her. The dark-haired young woman wasn’t all that pretty, not with her sharp nose and broad face. She offered no introduction, just lifted the lutelin and began to sing.
High upon headland, and clear out to sea,
my true love did sing out his song to me …
He sang and he wept and his words sounded true,
that never the night did I think I would rue …
Quaeryt smiled. She might not be a beauty, but her countenance was pleasant, and more important, for a singer, her voice was lovely, and her fingers were deft enough on the five strings of the lutelin that voice and melody blended pleasantly and strengthened the words of the song.
He listened and sipped as she sang, but still kept his eyes moving around the room as he did. After several songs, someone from the taproom side of Jardyna called out, “The wish song!”
“Aye, the wish song!” echoed another voice.
The singer smiled faintly, and raised the lutelin once more.
If wishes rained down from the sky,
porkers could talk and whales could fly …
if Nidar had lived in these days,
then we’d all be drinking his praise,
oh … we’d all be drinking his praise.
If Khanar had had a strong son,
or the envoy been roasted well done,
if Nidar had come back to fight,
we’d all be carousing all night,
we’d all be carousing all night.
But wishes don’t rain; ice isn’t snow,
Boars still snort, and no one will know
the time when the sun and the sea
and the rivers and we run free,
oh … the rivers and we run free.
Cheers followed the song, but as soon as they subsided, the singer immediately began another song, almost as if she wished she hadn’t been asked to sing the wish song.
My man was a strong man, as strong as life would see,
and he was fair and free and good at loving me …
The murmurs died away, and the room stilled, and Quaeryt glanced around. There were tears in some eyes, and the eyes belonged to both men and women.
… but a man and his daughter and a cousin fought,
and now I’ve a daughter with no father, all for naught …
When the singer finished the second song, clearly about the war with Telaryn, she quickly launched into an upbeat tune.
You came home the other night, as tight as you could be,
You woke me up to help you find the finest specialty …
But I’m no shop, and not your very private chandlery …
Laughter broke out, and Quaeryt laughed with the rest.
After several more songs, he paid Selethya for the second ale, which he’d barely touched, adding two extra coppers, and made his way out of Jardyna.
While he was especially alert on the walk back to the Ecoliae, he couldn’t help thinking about the songs that the singer had offered-and that she’d been able to sing the second one without anyone, even from the rowdier taproom side of Jardyna, heckling her … and in fact listening respectfully.
That reaction didn’t fit with what he’d observed of Chardyn, and that was another aspect of the Ecoliae that disturbed him. But then, there had been the two women talking of the sisters and the partisans … and the fact that there had been several tables besides the one adjoining his that had held only women-and that was something he hadn’t seen anywhere else in Telaryn, or even in the few Bovarian ports he’d visited years before.