:’Cept we know her an’ we know she’ll hev prepped herself all day,: Mags replied. :He really don’t know her at all, does he?:
:Not in the least.:
“Thank you, dear, for bringing me here and introducing me to your friend,” Marchand continued. “Now I must be off, and you must go on to your classes. And I see that I was interrupting some work here, so I am sure I shouldn’t continue to do so. Until tomorrow night!”
He turned with a flourish, and made an exit, with Lena pattering along beside and a little behind him, just like an obedient, devoted spaniel.
Amily bent her head over the papers for a moment, and it was clear she was furious. Finally she said something.
“Oh, that man.”
It was more restrained than he expected.
“I don’ like ’im, not one bit,” Mags said, “ ’E makes me skin crawl.”
“Well, he is clear proof that talent and a Gift don’t make you a wonderful person,” Amily said sourly. “It makes me wish that there was a better way of selecting Bards than just judging what they can do. Someone like that should . . .” She paused, and then said, unexpectedly, “Do you know why he tries to humiliate my father every chance he gets? Did Father tell you?”
Mags shook his head.
:Oh, this could be interesting.: He felt Dallen settle back, waiting for the revelation.
:Yer a worse gossip than a old woman.:
:It’s only gossip if you repeat it. Until then, it’s gathering information.:
“Because many years ago, when they were both Trainees, my father was party to something that Marchand would really rather no one else knew.” Her lips tightened. “And I shouldn’t tell you this, and I wouldn’t, except that you are in Father’s confidence. What happened was that he was in the same room when Marchand was getting a dressing-down from the Dean of Bardic for some incredibly selfish thing he had done. Father never told me what it was, but given Marchand, he probably used his Gift to get something he wanted to the detriment of someone else.”
“Like, usin’ it t’ hev his way wi’ a servant, or somethin’?” Mags hazarded. He could easily imagine that. Anything from getting the servant to do something he wasn’t supposed to, or finagling a girl into his bed.
Amily nodded. “Probably wenching,” she said, confirming Mags’ guess. “They were both about sixteen at the time. My father was the witness to it, so the Dean had him in the office to confirm the accusation. Whatever it was isn’t important... what’s important is that he did something that was in violation of Bardic ethics.”
“It couldn’ have been huge,” Mags pointed out. Then hesitated. “Could it?”
“Well... that’s the question. I mean, not life-threatening huge, but I would say very serious. The thing is that the Dean really lost his temper with Marchand, and told Marchand with Father there—” She paused, and closed her eyes, as if making sure of the memory. “ ‘The only reason we allow you to continue here is because, with a Gift as strong as yours, we dare not let you off our leash. You are like a dangerous animal, Trainee, but you are one of us by virtue of that Gift, and the Bardic Circle will not abandon their responsibilities in the matter of how you use that Gift. We will control you, Marchand, if you do not learn to control yourself and abide by the rule of ethics and law.’ ”
Mags felt his jaw dropping open with shock. Well, that explained a lot. “Anyone else know this?” he gasped.
“The Dean, who’s dead now, Father, me, the King, Marchand himself, and now you,” Amily said gravely. “Father told me and the King. I very much doubt the Dean told anyone. Marchand knows that as long as he stays just on the edge of the line, so to speak, my father won’t ever say or do anything about what he knows. So he doesn’t actually use his Gift to get things he wants directly, he just uses it to charm people into wanting to give him what he wants.” She paused. “I don’t think he’s actually evil, just incredibly selfish. I don’t think anyone matters to him except as a means to getting what he wants.”
“Gah.” Mags felt sick. “So thet’s why he ain’t in the Ruling Circle e’en though he’s a Master Bard.”
Amily nodded. “Exactly. He will never be on the Council or in the Ruling Circle. The King will always veto him. I don’t know if anyone has ever guessed why for certain, but most of the high ranking Bards feel about him the way you do, and the plain fact is they all know he is far too selfish to ever be allowed real political power, because... he wouldn’t actually abuse it as such, but he would never use it for anything other than what suited his own ends. His ‘friends’ are mostly what I would call patrons and admirers. In fact, I don’t know that he actually has what I would call a real friend.”
Mags pursed his lips thoughtfully. This really explained a lot. He knew that Lena’s family was very well off, and it wasn’t from any income that Marchand might bring in. “Lena’s Mama?” he asked tentatively. “She one of those patrons, like? Thet why ’e married ’er?”
“Lena’s mother has piles of money,” Amily confirmed. “He charmed all of the family, married her, fathered Lena, and now only has to appear home for a few days a year to keep them all dazzled. Or so Father says. I don’t see any reason to disagree with that.”
Mags shook his head. “Gotta say, what wi’ Lena’s Pa an’ Bear’s folks, mebbe I ain’t so bad off not hevin’ a fambily.”
Amily only sighed. “Then there is Master Soren, and my father,” she pointed out. “And Marc’s family, Pip’s family and Gennie’s—more good than bad. Not all families are trouble... but I will admit, it does make me appreciate my own.”
The East and West teams had played their first Kirball match yesterday, and the dining hall was still full of the babble of people talking the match over and comparing it to the North and South match. You could tell who was discussing the game—which was almost everyone—by the flailing arms and hand gestures. Everyone had an opinion. Bardic Trainees were clearly trying to figure out how to write songs about this. Mags overheard some comparisons between how he and Dallen had taken the North flag to how East Foot Kaven Lockertie had stolen the West flag. So far, the Fetching Gift hadn’t even come into play, which didn’t much surprise Mags. You’d have to be really, really good to make Fetching work in the middle of the scrum, and as for standing off on the side... the moment anyone spotted a Herald Trainee doing that, they would be on him in a heartbeat.
Mags had found that he had, indeed, enjoyed watching—perhaps even more than he had enjoyed playing. But the second full day of non-stop babble about it was beginning to pall, for there were only so many ways that you could replay the match in theory. He wasn’t comfortable speculating about what the other teams could and could not do. He certainly wasn’t comfortable with talking about his own abilities or lack of them. And he was very glad that Bear was talking about something else.
Bear’s herbal medicine kit was coming along. The Healers in general were satisfied with his progress, and he was happy. Mags didn’t understand more than half of what he was saying about it all, but it was obvious that things were going well, so he listened and contributed where he could.
Now the idea had expanded to placing one in every village that didn’t have a Healer; nearly every village had a midwife or something of the sort, so that would be who would have the responsibility for keeping the kit safe and doling out the medicines.
“I’d worrit ’bout thet kit makin’ people think they didn’ need a Healer,” he offered. “Y’ know, jest tryin’ one medicine after ’nother till it was too late.”
“They do that now, without the kit around,” Bear replied, shrugging. “Mostly the medicines and remedies they try are ineffective ones. But you’re right to think that, the Healers’ Circle debated it for almost a day before deciding it was going to do more good than harm. At least this way, the medicines they’ll try are known to be effective, and known to be of standard strength, and not something like dead beetles and bat’s blood pounded with the dung of a pregnant goat.”