"Are you new to the Free Bards, youngster?" he asked Kestrel, his voice emerging from beneath the wagon as if from the bottom of a well. "I don't recall anyone mentioning someone of your description before _"
Now Kestrel was in a quandary; he wanted desperately to talk to this man_but he was afraid that his stutter would make him sound like a fool.
But then Harperus cocked his head just enough so that he could look out and Kestrel could see one intelligent eye peering up at him. The color of that eye was odd_not quite brown, not quite yellow. A metallic gold, perhaps, with the soft patina of very old metal. "Take it slowly, lad, and take your time in answering. I'm in no great hurry, and you mustn't be ashamed if you have a trifle of trouble speaking. Plenty of intelligent people do; it is often because they are so intelligent that their thoughts run far ahead of their mouths. Simply work with one word at a time, as if you were composing a lyric aloud."
Kestrel was momentarily speechless, but this time with gratitude. "I_have only b-been w-w-with the F-F-Free B-Bards since f-first H-Harvest F-F-Faire."
"We found him, Wren and Lark and I, I mean," Gwyna put in. She gave Kestrel an inquiring glance; he nodded vigorously, much relieved that she wished to tell their story. Better she tell the tale. If he tried, they'd be here all day.
She summed up the entire mad story in a few succinct sentences. Harperus made exclamations from time to time, sounds that were muffled by the fact that he was halfway under the wagon by now. Finally he emerged, amazingly mud-free and dry.
"Fascinating," he said, eying Jonny as if he meant it. "Absolutely fascinating. I must hear more of this, and in detail! I must have a record of all this_it could be very significant in the next few years."
Robin laughed at him. "You and your datas," she mock-scolded. "That's all you people are interested in!"
"Data," he corrected mildly. "The singular is the same as the plural. It is data."
"Whatever," she replied. "You Deliambrens are the worst old maids I ever saw! You can't ever hear a story without wanting every single detail of it! Like sharp-nosed old biddies with nothing more on your minds than gossip!"
To Kestrel's surprise, Harperus did not take any offense at Gwyna's words. "It is all information, my dear child," he told her. "And information is yet another thing that we collect, analyze, and sell. Somewhere, sometime, there will be someone who will want to know about this story, for there will be all manner of rumors and wild versions of it before the winter is over. And we will tell him, for a price. And he will trust our version, for he will know it to be composed of nothing but the facts. Facts are what we sell, among other things."
"Just so long as you don't sell him who we are and where we are," Robin replied sharply, suddenly suspicious. "Those same people could be more interested in using Jonny than in facts, my friend. You people _"
"You know better than that," he said, with immense dignity. "Now, however, is not the time to discuss the ethics of information-selling. Firstly, it is very wet _"
"Tell me something I don't know!" Robin exclaimed, tossing her sodden hair impatiently.
"_ and secondly, I have some bad news concerning your wagon. I fear you have cracked the axle." He tsked, and shook his head as Robin winced and Jonny bit off a groan. That was something they could not fix themselves; not without help, at any rate. "It is just as well that you could not budge it. You might have caused more damage. If you had attempted to drive on it, that would break it, within a league." He nodded, as Gwyna grimaced. "You must go somewhere there is a cartwright; I do not have the equipment to fix a vehicle such as yours."
"I know where there's a cartwright, and it isn't that far from here but _" Robin began, biting her lip anxiously.
He brightened. "Ah! Well, then in that case, there is no true problem. I can get you out without further damage, and I can tow your wagon without breaking the axle."
Kestrel gaped at him. "How?" he gasped.
Harperus laughed. "Watch!" he said. "And see! Am I not a Deliambren? There will be wonders! Or at least"_he amended, with a sheepish smile_"there will be winches."
There were, indeed, winches; just as Harperus promised. Or a winch, with a hook on the end of a cable, a winch that swung out from the back of Harperus' vehicle. Once Gwyna had an idea of what he intended, she made him wait while she extinguished the fire in the charcoal stove; there was no point in risking coals spilling and setting fire to the entire wagon. It was quite a powerful winch, although not at all magical, simply very well made. Harperus maneuvered his huge wagon so that the winch was as close to the back of their wagon as possible without the wheels of his vehicle leaving the firm roadbed. Then he unwound the cable, fastened the hook of his winch to the chains they already had in place, and enlisted the help of both Bards with the business-end of the winch.
It required hand-cranking; if there were any of the magical machines legend painted anywhere in or on the wagon, they were not in evidence. As the two Bards helped Harperus turn the capstan, the cable and chains slowly tightened; then, the rear rose with a wide and amusing variety of odd noises as the mud fought against releasing the wheels.
The mud was no match for Harperus' winch. Jonny was relieved at how relatively easy it was to crank it up by hand. He knew a little, a very little, about machinery. This winch must have some clever gearing to make it so easy to use.
As the wagon creaked and groaned, the wheels pulled free with a sucking sound, and rose above the muck. Blobs of thick mud plopped back into their parent pothole.
They didn't stop there. Harperus continued to winch the wagon higher, until the damaged rear was well above the roadbed. Jonny hoped that everything was stowed away properly in there. If it wasn't _well, there was no hope for it. It was going to be a mess inside, with things tumbled everywhere.
A small price to pay for getting out without losing the axle while moving. That would have caused more than a mess; they might have lost the whole wagon. They surely would have been injured, perhaps seriously, depending on how fast they would have been going when the axle broke.
The rain finally slacked off, and by the time Harperus was ready to actually haul their wagon up onto the road, it had thinned to a mere drizzle.
They fastened the halters of the mares to the front_now the rear_of their wagon, stowed the harness away in the exterior storage boxes under the drivers seat, but left the blankets on them, and put away the tarpaulin and nose bags. The mares didn't look unhappy about moving; they couldn't have been very comfortable in the rain and chill wind. Before too very long, everything was ready.
Harperus checked and double-checked everything, from the set of the hook to the lock on the winch, before he had convinced himself that all was as it should be. Then, with a self-satisfied grin, he handed them both up to the drivers bench on his wagon. Jonny admired the arrangement as he took his place; there was a clever set of steps built into the front of the wagon, and the front panel had a door set into it. Harperus took his place beside them, handling the reins of all four horses with the confidence of long practice.