“Yes, it did take me a few years to learn to play the lute.” Matt had needed something to fill the spare time while he waited for Alisande to set the date. “The dancers and players are poorly paid,” the woman said, “but a living is a living, I suppose.”
“Yes, if that’s all they’re after.” Matt frowned. “But if the plays and dances are really bad, they must be pretty unhappy about doing them.”
“Bitter, I would say-quite bitter.” The matron shook her head, looking angry, almost frightened. “At least, the few who have come to me for employment have complained of it They tell me there are a few of the players who will never leave the theater, they are so ardent about it-but my ex-player women think those ardent ones to be mad, or nearly so. Certainly they will rage and rant, at a moment’s notice, about the paucity of mind in the folk who come to see them, and the poverty they must endure-and what they call the hollowness of the soul.”
“Yes, I’ve run into artists like that,” Matt said, “though most of the ones I’ve talked to have been painters and poets.” He didn’t mention that he had once thought of himself as being one of them. “They start feeling that there is no substance in their culture for them to draw on.”
The matron frowned up at him. “Oddly put-but it has the sound of sense, even though I think I do not understand all of what you mean. I only wish that I could provide a living for all these poor souls who feel themselves stretched so on the rack of fashion.”
“But you can’t,” Matt said sympathetically. “Too many girls and not enough work, and you’d stop making profit.”
“Profit? What is that?” the woman said impatiently. “We make a living, and so do they.”
Matt’s opinion of her went up. “Are you open to donations?”
“Donations?” The woman stared. “You mean gifts of money? Whatever for?”
‘To help protect more of them.“ Matt fished a gold piece out of his purse and pressed it into her hand. She stared at it, then looked up at him, her composure shaken. ”Thank you, young man-but I’ll hold this a week before I spend any of it, so you can come back for it if you find you have need.“
Matt nodded. “Very prudent. But I’m sure I won’t need it back.”
“I’ll wait all the same,” she said doggedly. “Keep it or not, I thank you-your heart’s in the right place.”
“Thanks.” Matt gave her a sardonic smile. “Like you, I just wish I could do more.” He turned back to Pascal and Flaminia. “Time to start pub-crawling, folks.”
“What is a ‘pub’?” Flaminia asked. “Anyplace where they serve beer and wine to people with more money than sense.” He turned back to the matron. “Thanks ma’am-and good night.”
She watched them go, brow puckered with worry, shaking her head. Pascal and Flaminia seemed rattled. “There is far more wickedness in this city than I had thought,” the young man said. Matt shrugged. “What would you expect, when it was the capital of evil for so long? Interesting to hear her call Boncorro ‘good’-but even if he were, he couldn’t reform his town completely in just a few years.”
“And from what I have heard,” Flaminia said, “he is not dedicated to Goodness-it is simply that he is not dedicated to Wickedness, either.”
“But his reign has produced more!” Pascal burst out. “Or as much, but of a different sort! It has brought the noblemen flocking into town to prey upon the innocent, and the country folk in to be their meat!”
“That’s one side of it, yes,” Matt said, frowning, “and as far as that goes, Boncorro’s try at a worldly culture without any teaching of values has produced a great deal of emotional suffering and exploitation of the weak-but on the other hand, nobody’s starving or homeless, or at least very few.”
“I have seen many beggars,” Pascal objected. “But they have been far from starvation,” Flaminia pointed out. Matt nodded. “Plus, I haven’t seen any dead bodies in the streets, though maybe that only means that it’s the wrong time of day. No, I think I’ll have to meet this king and talk with him a bit before I make up my mind about him.”
“Meet the king?” Flaminia looked up, frightened. “Surely you are jesting!”
“He must be,” Pascal agreed. “Why, to meet the king might be as dangerous as it would be exciting!”
“No, I really do want to,” Matt said. “I do not,” Flaminia said certainly. “But you shall,” said a voice behind Matt’s ear, and he was just beginning to turn when the pain burst on top of his head and spread through it. He fought to stay conscious even as he felt himself falling, but all the good it did was to give him a quick glimpse of Pascal struggling in the hands of one bruiser while another swung a truncheon, and to let him hear Flaminia’s screams as two more men closed in on her. He was just realizing that they wore livery when the darkness closed in.
Chapter 16
Matt’s first blurred impression was of a lot of cobblestones. After a minute he realized from the discomfort that he was lying on more than cobbles. Then he realized that there wasn’t anyone anywhere near, though there did seem to be a goodly number off in the distance, there-lined up, pointing, gesticulating. Then the headache hit. Actually, it had been there all the time-it just required a certain level of consciousness to feel it. His vision stayed blurred, and he gasped with the agony of it. He begged his pulse not to beat, because every throb made his head split all over again. Fortunately, he didn’t beg in rhyme. Through the blinding pain one thought bored: he couldn’t possibly function with his head splitting, and there was only one way to make it stop. What the hell? Whoever the chief sorcerer was around here, he knew where he was, anyway.
The improvement startled him. Suddenly, the headache was only a dull, persistent pain at the back of his head-not as successful a spell as it would have been if he had tried the same verse outside Latruria, but good enough. He raised a hand to touch the spot the pain radiated from, then thought better of it-he didn’t need to start another explosion. In what was left of his mind, he made a note to check himself for concussion when he had time to find a mirror-or conjure one up, more likely. With the pain reduced to a bearable level, he could take stock of his circumstances. Now that he thought of it, he remembered being hit on the head, remembered… Flaminia’s abduction! In a panic, he looked around for Pascal, and saw… A wall of tawny fur. He stared at it for a second, realizing why the onlookers were staying so far back. Then he looked up slowly to the double grin above. “Hi, Manny.”
“It is good to see you alive again, mortal.”
Matt pushed himself up to a sitting position, very carefully. “Somebody tried to kill me again, huh?”
“Yes-one of the soldiers in wine-red tunics. He changed his mind when I dropped down beside you.”
“Dropped down? How’d you get into the city, anyway?”
“Why, I leaped atop the wall, then sprang to the nearest house-top and prowled across the roofs.”
“Like any cat.” Matt nodded. “I kept you in sight all the afternoon, disappointed that there was no need of me.”
“Bet you were real happy to see them jump us, huh?”
“Yes. I could not prevent them from striking, but when the wench was secured and the leader turned back to you with a lifted knife, I knew my moment had come and dropped beside you with a hiss of joy. He was somewhat startled to see me.”