"Inadequacy," Ikon said. "I was crafted to emulate Havoc, and can do the ordinary things he does, but this puts me in another role."
She nodded. "You can sing and play a musical instrument. Well."
"Affirmation." He passed a hand along his belly under the shirt, and removed the mock dragon scale. In a moment it turned blue, perfectly resembling the one Havoc had.
Weft shook her head. "That's won't do. I want you to be a different man. We'll have to find you another instrument."
"This can be another," he said. "It has several forms."
"Demonstrate."
He touched key spots, and the scale broke apart into two metallic rods.
They changed color, becoming red and green. "The batons."
"Neat. But are they musical?"
"Affirmation." He knocked them together, and they vibrated, making two notes in harmony.
"Delight! But you can't make music with only two notes. Are they adjustable?"
"They are versatile. They can make brief notes, depending on where struck." He knocked them together several times, making a spot melody. "Or sustained." He produced continuing notes, two melodies in counterpoint.
"Joy!" she exclaimed, thrilled. "This is a full-fledged instrument, parallel to my dulcimer."
"Affirmation. Havoc has musical talent, as do you."
Her dulcimer appeared. "Let's try 'John Riley' You sing the male stanzas; I'll sing the female ones. Start."
She was still testing him. He was ready. He sang, playing his own accompaniment with the batons. His singing voice was marvelous, so much like Havoc's, by no coincidence.
Now Weft sang, accompanying herself with the hammer dulcimer. She knew she was good, and when she sang, she had to be at her best. It was her nature.
It was his turn again.
These were references to Earth sites of a thousand years ago, maintained pristine in the song. The folk of Charm loved the archaic references, even if they didn't want to be governed by Earth.
It was Weft's turn.
The next stanza was also hers, but Weft broke off. "This will do. We could be a small entertainment troupe. It is certainly cause to be together."
"Gratification."
She set aside her dulcimer. "And of course everyone will know we're touring no fault. Come here, you handsome minstrel." She patted the bed.
He came to her, of course, and they made delightful love. She had not yet made her decision, but she knew she was well on the way to it. If Havoc could love a robot mistress, she well might love a robot master.
"Now all we need is a minstrel slot," she concluded as they cleaned up. "These things have to be scheduled. That will take time."
"Interjection," Idyll's voice came, reminding them they there were not really in a private bedroom. "Yesterday a minstrel took sick, and they must cancel the remainder of his tour; his assistant can't handle it alone. Ennui is trying to arrange a replacement, but it's far in the hinterland and there's no time."
"We'll take it," Weft said. "Details?"
"It is in a Red Chroma zone. It was a Red minstrel."
"Question," Ikon said. "Red is the Chroma of healing and demons. How could a native have gotten sick there?"
"Euphemism," Idyll explained. "He ran afoul of what was not after all a no fault liaison, and her husband put a curse on him. It will take time for his private region to mend."
"Coordinates," Weft said. "And his itinerary."
Idyll gave them. Weft clothed the two of them in minstrel garb, had Ikon pick up her ikon, and conjured them to the Red Chroma village. Everything was shades of red, of course; the two of them were a striking contrast. Soon she was addressing the Village Elder.
"I know you were hoping for Threadbare Minstrel and his winsome helper," she said. "But he is indisposed and unable to perform at the moment. I am Weft, the king's daughter, and this is my companion Ikon. We will attempt to substitute, if you are amenable."
The Elder gazed at her. He knew that this was considerably more than a weak substitution; Weft was known across the planet. "Amenable," he said immediately.
"Show us to the guest house. We will perform this evening."
"Question: are the two of you married?"
"Negation. We travel no fault."
"Then you must not share a dwelling here. We are a moral village."
"But we travel to several villages," Ikon protested.
"What you do elsewhere is not our concern," the Elder said firmly. "While you remain in Chaste Village, you will honor our way."
Weft stifled her annoyance. Traveling entertainers honored the customs of the villages that hosted them.
"Ikon will take the guest house. I will share with a family."
"Satisfactory."
Soon she was with the family. She couldn't be alone with Ikon even for an hour, lest her morality be compromised. Actually, considering her state of indecision, that was convenient.
"Greeting, Minstrel Weft," the man said. "I am Weaver, and this is my wife Weave, and our child Null."
Something was wrong. Weft explored the situation rapidly with her mind while making small talk. "Ah, you weave. My name is coincidence, intended to be temporary, but it stuck. My brother is Warp."
"Warp and Weft," Weave agreed, smiling. "It fits."
"We suspect the Elder knew that," Weaver said. "But he could not resist putting you with us. Regardless, you are welcome."
Then Weft got it: the child, a four year old girl, was magically disabled. Her color was correct, solid red, but she couldn't do magic. That made her an outcast, the shame of the family, and others had named her Null. That was unkind.
But she remembered something else. Sometimes there were compensating qualities. Her clairvoyance suggested something musical. "Indulgence," she murmured to the parents, and kneeled down before Null. "Greeting, Null."
The little girl was surprised. She glanced at her mother questioningly. Weave nodded, allowing the acquaintance. "Ak-nowledged," she said.
"Do you like music?" For new near future paths were coming into sight.
"Af—af—yes," the girl agreed shyly.
Weft produced her hammer dulcimer. She donned the finger hammers on one hand and played a few notes. "Can you do this?" She gave the remaining hammers to Null and set the dulcimer before her, correctly oriented.
Null got the hammers on, though they were large for her small fingers, then addressed the dulcimer. It was obviously a new instrument to her, a thing of novelty. She lifted her hand and moved her fingers. She struck the same four notes, perfectly.
Weaver and Weave stared, astonished.
Weft wasn't, because she had seen this in one of the paths. The child was a savant, her ability concentrated in music rather than magic. Such things occurred, on rare occasion.