Brown John said politely, “Perhaps, child, if you lifted your foot.”
She looked down, groaned, and jumped aside, snapping up her clothing. Turning her back, she slipped into her tunic with three wiggles and a yank, while watching him over a shoulder. Then she turned back, deliberately smoothing her tunic with one hand, while the other held her knife aimed at Brown John’s belly. Her straight brow was lowering over angry eyes. She seemed to be frowning but it was difficult to tell. Her firm smooth forehead was barely cooperating, and her cheeks were too busy blushing. But her tone helped.
“You snake! Were you watching?”
Brown John sat down on a flat rock, said, “To my great good fortune, yes.”
Groaning, she glanced away, then looked back at him sharply. Her eyes were large beautiful wet wounds. “That was awful of you. Mean.”
“Not mean, child, simply lucky. Extraordinarily lucky to have chanced to pass this way. The sun, the lizards and I will not only carry your lovely image to our graves, but far, far beyond.”
She hesitated, then asked, “Do I know you?”
“I believe so,” he said with a slight tone of mystery. “I, at least, have seen you many times.”
“Really? Where?”
“Well, once I saw you standing on top of a barrel and laughing in the village of Coin. And last summer you were watching the performers on the stage in Rag Camp.”
Robin, unconsciously lowering her knife, gasped, “But… but no one knew I was there!”
“I thought as much,” he said. “Then, of course, you are always in the front row when we perform in your village.”
“Oh!” Robin blurted. “You’re the bukko! The wizard-master!”
He bowed extravagantly. “I am called Brown John.”
“I know! Everyone knows!” Robin exclaimed. She picked up her belt, sat down cross-legged on the rock facing him, and buckled it on. “But you remember me? You know my name?”
Brown John studied her smile as it performed about her face, as varied as the song of the robin after which she was named. He said quietly, “Indeed I do.”
She stiffened slightly, and suspicion returned to her eyes.
“You… you came here to find me… didn’t you?”
“Yes. And you are right to be angry with me. When confronted by a scene more dazzling than any that could be created on a stage, the manners of performers are inevitably rude and inadequate.”
“Oh.”
“Nevertheless,” he continued, “my spying on you was not intentional. The fact that you selected this extraordinarily beautiful pond, and were bathing in a wardrobe made of sunshine and bubbles, was all quite by chance. But to look away would have denied my nature, and I would be lying if I said I regretted it.”
She blushed, and shook her hair vigorously to hide it. Beads of water flew about sparkling. She eyed him warily. “You’re too clever. You make me forget what I’m saying.” She hesitated, collecting her thoughts. “Why did you come to see me?”
He considered her thoughtfully. “Because your virtues are well-known, and because I have seen in you a brave heart. And an appetite for chance, adventure.”
Her big feathery eyes scolded him more gently now. “You’re trying to confuse me again… not really answering my question.”
He chuckled. “You are right, Robin Lakehair. Let me put it this way. I have a role which I believe you, and only you, can play.”
“Me?”
“You.”
“But I… I’m not an actress.”
“Indeed not. In fact it is well known that you are incapable of anything false or artificial… and can hear all that is false in others.”
“But then why…”
“Because the role is real,” Brown John said interrupting her.
She cocked her head boyishly, her eyes glistening with sudden curiosity.
“If I am right, the spirit of the open road already makes your feet itch.” He leaned forward, lifted her chin slightly with a finger. “In fact you remind me of a former traveling companion, a girl who joined us when she was just about your age. I can’t recall her real name. We called her Ansaria, after the wild root which enchants children. She was the embodiment of beauty and adventure. They loved her everywhere we went. Even named their children after her.” He sighed nostalgically. “Oh, we were respected then. Invited to carnivals and castles to perform for kings and queens.”
She looked at him from under her straight brows. “You’re playing with me.”
He shook his head. “I do not play, it only sounds that way because you are not accustomed to hearing someone speak seriously of dancing girls. And because the nature of your, and Ansaria’s, attraction is difficult to explain. Elusive. Like trying to cage a shooting star. But then, it is not required that you understand.” He looked directly into her eyes intently. “Tell me, which of our acts do you like the best?”-“Oh, I loved them all,” she said enthusiastically.
“Of course.” His eyes twinkled. “But think now. I am certain you have a favorite!”
“Well, last summer, there was a dancing bear and a clown… and a beautiful dancing girl. She was small and dark, and wore red scarves and all kinds of baubles and beads. They were wonderful.”
“Ahhh,” murmured Brown John. “Nose, the rubber man, and Lale.”
“That’s it! But what was the bear’s name?”
“They called him Sir William.”
Robin chuckled, “Sir William. How wonderful.” She became dreamy. “The girl was so beautiful.”
“Yes… she was,” he said with a touch of nostalgia. “In a way she was also like yourself. She could not hide. There was no distance between her and her audience. No matter how she cluttered herself with jewels and gaudy cloth, her deepest feelings were always on display. One night she would be so brazen and frenzied in her dancing that she would drive Nose wild with jealousy. The next night she would jump into the audience and try to plunge her dagger into a girl for winking at him.”
“Really?” Robin whispered.
He nodded. “They no longer dwell in Rag Camp. One morning they were just gone. They are what we call followers of the wind. Sometimes they’re like a storm, sometimes like a breeze. But always moving.”
“It sounds frightening,” Robin said with a shiver. “But wonderful too.”
“Yes,” Brown John said thoughtfully. He looked off at the water swirling down over rocks, gathering in eddies, turning white as it crashed over logs and boulders. “I miss it,” he sighed, “but I no longer have the temperament for the road.”
She nodded, waited. Eyes wide and impressed.
He looked at her. “What others did you like? What skits? The She-Ass! Chums’? The Gelded King?”
She blushed. “Well… they were funny… but very bold.” She hesitated, then said with a rush of excitement she could not conceal, “There was one story! I’ve seen it every time, The Lizard Song of Ting-Gad!”
“Ahhh yes,” said Brown John. “And the part which you liked best was, of course, where the lizard turns into the handsome outlaw chief?”
She blushed.
Brown John threw back his head and laughed out loud. Just as abruptly, he became subdued and serious. “The transformation is a very difficult piece of stage business to perform. It has a touch of magic to it, but a very, very fragile magic. The performers who play it must be totally involved and dedicated, as well as skilled. Its effect comes a long time after the performance. Sometimes it is years before its subtle power takes hold, and transforms the audience with its dream.”
Robin leaned forward excitedly. “Is… is that how… how your magic works? It takes that long?”
“Not always, but sometimes longer. Generations.”
“But… but, I don’t understand! Everyone says that the only magic a bukko can make is with dancing girls of low character and strong wine, and they laugh when they say it.”
Brown John chuckled. “Some of that is true, but do not think unkindly of me or my girls. Sometimes they can be as enchanting and profound as The Lizard Song of Ting-Gad.”
Robin nodded as these new ideas whirled behind her eyes. Then he abruptly changed the subject.
“Do you truly love your tribe?”