The Robin And The Kestrel

So sing it.'

He did not even waste a moment on consideration; he leapt to the top of the altar, and held up both his hands.

And gathered, reached, desperately, for the melody he needed. For the Magic...

'Stop!' he cried/sang, his voice ringing out like a trumpet.

The mob obeyed.

People froze in place, staring at him, mouths agape with astonishment.

Words poured from him as if from some supernatural source; he told them everything, as their faces gazed up at him, expressions dumbfounded. How Padrik was a fraud, working his 'miracles' with the help of criminals. How he had truly used their donations_the House he ran, the luxuries he enjoyed. And before anyone could challenge him, he signaled to Robin, who began to reproduce some of those 'miracles.'

She started with bursts of flash powder, and then 'magical appearances' of the altar-decorations by sleight of hand. She worked her way around the altar and made a couple of quick movements; Kestrel heard a muffled thump. She then found the mirror-rig, and used it to reproduce the 'demon'_a puppet hanging slackly among the sculptures of angels up above the altar, out of sight of the congregation.

He told how Padrik had bound the spirit of a poor nonhuman, murdered by an evil Abbot of Carthell, to become the High Bishop's own personal executioner.

He stretched the truth a little, describing Reymond as a 'holy mage of the Church,' who had discovered this and had freed the Ghost, sending it to take its own revenge on Padrik.

He poured his heart into his words, falling into the same kind of trance he invoked when playing his music. Behind his words, he heard another strand of melody, as Robin wove her magics in with his. She was singing an accompaniment to his rhapsody, steadying his lips, giving him strength beyond his own. As if the words came from someone else, he heard himself eloquently describing how Padrik had taken over all the trade in the Cathedral market_how Padrik confiscated the goods of those he sent off to be slain by the Ghost_how he had been collecting more and more money, and doing less and less for the poor, the sick, those to whom it was supposed to go.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, part of him gave an astonished cheer as the crowd began to pay more and more attention to him_and as their mood, staring at Padrik's chosen Priests, turned uglier and uglier.

'Go!' he heard himself urge, as his voice rang out in a triumphal call-to-arms. 'Go and look in his quarters! See what luxuries he has hidden there! See the place where those vagabonds he consorted with are living, how they eat from silver and drink from crystal! These things were bought with your money, and with blood-money! He has been living off of you and off the stolen goods of the innocents he has sent to their deaths, and all falsely in the name of God!'

A long silence filled the Cathedral for a moment.

It was broken by a single whisper of sound; the rustle of robes as one of the Priests tried to edge his way out of the Cathedral, ducking behind the statue of Saint Tolemy_

'They're running away! Get them!' someone shouted.

The false Priests broke and ran, holding up the skirts of their robes in order to run faster, fleeing into the Church buildings behind the Cathedral.

Robin plastered herself up against the altar as the mob flooded past her, storming after the fleeing Priests, brushing aside the guards. Kestrel just watched them go, sinking wearily to the surface of the altar. Padrik's quarters were in there, somewhere, and he had no doubt that they were as luxurious as he had described. The mob was going to have something to vent its rage on, after all.

When they had all gone, their shouts fading as they passed into other parts of the complex, he looked over at Robin and held out his hand. She smiled, exhausted, walked over to him, and took it.

Sunlight poured down through the hole in the roof to pool around the altar. Kestrel saw that there was someone lying behind the pulpit, quite unconscious, next to an obviously broken and jammed trapdoor. The back, and the clothing of the figure seemed oddly familiar.

Robin grinned, and turned the body over.

'Who is it?' he asked.

She straightened. The Clan Chief of the Patsonos,' she replied, her voice filled with glee. 'Come give me a hand with him _'

She had grabbed one arm and tugged him, none-too-gently, across the marble floor.