Lark and Wren

that she uses it only when-after very careful consideration-she thinks it's just and fair to do so, and not simply convenient.'

How would I feel about somebody coming in and changing my thinking around? she wondered. 'Was it just and fair of us to keep those men-at-arms from throwing us in a dungeon, or conscripting us?' she countered. 'I certainly think it was! They wouldn't listen to reason or logic, and I was running out of patience.'

He grinned. 'I'd have to say yes and you know it,' he mocked. 'That's a cheating question.'

'Would it have been just and fair to get that Priest to marry us?' she continued.

'Now that is a good question.' He mulled that over for a bit. 'I would have to say no. Even though he was being an officious, uncharitable, vain and foolish man.'

'Why not?' she asked, wanting to hear his reasoning.

'It would not have been just and fair to change his mind, because we were only inconvenienced. On the other hand, if those men-at-arms had jailed or conscripted us, we would undoubtedly have been harmed.' He smiled feebly. 'I don't do well in damp dungeons. And I wouldn't know one end of a sword from the other. In the former, I'd probably become ill rather quickly, and as a conscript I'd probably become dead just as quickly.'

'Obviously the same goes for the elven-king,' she replied, thoughtfully.

He nodded. 'Elves aren't predictable. He might have kept us a while, or killed us when he tired of us. Now, whether or not we should have used this power of ours to change the minds of people at those Faires to let us in-I don't know.'

'It's not worth debating,' she told him, as a jay overhead called raucous agreement. 'We couldn't have done anything to help ourselves or others at the last three Faires because the people we needed to influence directly were not going to come out to listen to us.'

'True, but we could have started a riot,' he said, so soberly that she knew he was not joking. 'All we'd have needed to do would be stand outside the Church gates and sing rabble-rousing songs with that power behind them. People were annoyed enough already, especially the ones being turned away. We could quite easily have started a riot without anyone suspecting we were to blame.'

The morning seemed suddenly cold, and she shivered. She'd never seen a riot. She didn't want to see one. People could be killed in riots; children often were trampled and either killed outright or maimed for life. 'We don't do that,' she said forcefully. 'We don't ever do that.'

'I agree,' he replied, just as forcefully. 'It would have to be something worlds away more serious than what we encountered to make starting a riot justified.'

She paused to collect her thoughts. 'You do realize that we're talking about this as if it's real, and not the product of some really good luck and our imaginations, don't you?'

'I don't have any doubt that it's real,' he told her. 'We've managed to change things three times with this- whatever it is. When something happens three times, it's not a coincidence, it's real.'

It's more times than that, she thought wryly, remembering how she had coaxed money from unresponsive audiences. And then she sobered, thinking about what she'd done in a new light.

Had that been 'fair and just'? After all, she hadn't done anything important to them, had she? They wouldn't have parted with their coins if they hadn't had them to spend. Would they?

Yes, but- She had still changed their thoughts, the most private thing a person could have. The poorest person in the world, the man accused of heresy and thrown into the Church's dungeons, a cripple who couldn't move arms or legs-they could still claim their thoughts as their own, and in that much they were wealthy and free.

But what she and Talaysen did could change that. Not in any large way, but it was still a change. And for what? Convenience, again. The convenience, perhaps, of not working quite so hard. . . .

Never mind that finding that elusive thread of magic-song and matching it was harder work than simply playing well. She had to assume that one day it might become easy. What then? Wouldn't it be a temptation to simply sit back and play indifferently, knowing that she would be well-paid no matter how she played?

She thought of all the cold days in the winter, busking on a corner in Nolton, and had to admit that it would have been more than a temptation. If she'd known about this, she'd have done it. And she'd have probably teased her audiences into buying hot cider and sausage rolls from her vendor friends as well, whether the listeners were hungry or not.

No. That was wrong. Absolutely wrong. It was a cheat, and it made her music into a lie.

'We don't use it to make audiences like us, either,' she said into the silence, with more force than she intended. 'They either appreciate us on their own or not at all.'

He raised an eyebrow at her outburst but agreed immediately. 'What do we have, then? Not for the sake of convenience, not when there are other ways to deal with a situation, only when it's fair and just?'

She nodded and sighed. 'You know, I hate to admit this, but it sounds as if we're saying we can't use it to help ourselves at all.'

He laughed. 'Oh, partially. We can't use it unless we're really being threatened, shall we say? Or it's for something that truly needs to be done.'

'That sounds good.' She glanced at him, and couldn't help grinning. 'Now, does threat of hunger count?'

'I don't-'

'Or how about if I wait until you're hungry to ask that question?' she said, and chuckled.

He only shook his head. 'Women,' he said, as if that explained everything, and then changed the subject.

Just like a man, she thought with amusement, and let him.