The Robin And The Kestrel

'You? Vanderie?' Harperus seemed as delighted as he was surprised, which was something of a relief to Kestrel. 'It must be a true-love match then, for you would never settle for less! My felicitations and blessings, my children! Not that you need either, from me, or anyone else _'

He leapt down to the ground with remarkable agility for someone who was a hundred years old_

Or maybe two hundred!

He held out his hand to Kestrel, who took it and shook it gingerly. Then Harperus kissed Gwyna chastely on one cheek. 'And that is all you shall get from me, you young minx!' he said, when she pouted. 'Forget your flirtations, please! I have no wish to make your young man jealous or he will begin to look daggers at me!'

When Kestrel grinned shyly, and managed, 'R-R-Robin c-can t-t-take c-c-care of hers-s-self,' the Deliambren laughed with pure delight.

'I see you have yourself a wise partner, pretty bird,' Harperus said with approval. 'Now, let me have a look at this bit of a predicament _'

He continued talking as he peered under the wagon, then extracted an object from his coat and did something around the axle. Flashes of light came from beneath, and Kestrel wondered what he could be doing under there....

'Are you new to the Free Bards, youngster?' he asked Kestrel, his voice emerging from beneath the wagon as if from the bottom of a well. 'I don't recall anyone mentioning someone of your description before _'

Now Kestrel was in a quandary; he wanted desperately to talk to this man_but he was afraid that his stutter would make him sound like a fool.

But then Harperus cocked his head just enough so that he could look out and Kestrel could see one intelligent eye peering up at him. The color of that eye was odd_not quite brown, not quite yellow. A metallic gold, perhaps, with the soft patina of very old metal. 'Take it slowly, lad, and take your time in answering. I'm in no great hurry, and you mustn't be ashamed if you have a trifle of trouble speaking. Plenty of intelligent people do; it is often because they are so intelligent that their thoughts run far ahead of their mouths. Simply work with one word at a time, as if you were composing a lyric aloud.'

Kestrel was momentarily speechless, but this time with gratitude. 'I_have only b-been w-w-with the F-F-Free B-Bards since f-first H-Harvest F-F-Faire.'

'We found him, Wren and Lark and I, I mean,' Gwyna put in. She gave Kestrel an inquiring glance; he nodded vigorously, much relieved that she wished to tell their story. Better she tell the tale. If he tried, they'd be here all day.

She summed up the entire mad story in a few succinct sentences. Harperus made exclamations from time to time, sounds that were muffled by the fact that he was halfway under the wagon by now. Finally he emerged, amazingly mud-free and dry.

'Fascinating,' he said, eying Jonny as if he meant it. 'Absolutely fascinating. I must hear more of this, and in detail! I must have a record of all this_it could be very significant in the next few years.'

Robin laughed at him. 'You and your datas,' she mock-scolded. 'That's all you people are interested in!'

'Data,' he corrected mildly. 'The singular is the same as the plural. It is data.'

'Whatever,' she replied. 'You Deliambrens are the worst old maids I ever saw! You can't ever hear a story without wanting every single detail of it! Like sharp-nosed old biddies with nothing more on your minds than gossip!'

To Kestrel's surprise, Harperus did not take any offense at Gwyna's words. 'It is all information, my dear child,' he told her. 'And information is yet another thing that we collect, analyze, and sell. Somewhere, sometime, there will be someone who will want to know about this story, for there will be all manner of rumors and wild versions of it before the winter is over. And we will tell him, for a price. And he will trust our version, for he will know it to be composed of nothing but the facts. Facts are what we sell, among other things.'

'Just so long as you don't sell him who we are and where we are,' Robin replied sharply, suddenly suspicious. 'Those same people could be more interested in using Jonny than in facts, my friend. You people _'

'You know better than that,' he said, with immense dignity. 'Now, however, is not the time to discuss the ethics of information-selling. Firstly, it is very wet _'

'Tell me something I don't know!' Robin exclaimed, tossing her sodden hair impatiently.