The Robin And The Kestrel

both and praised the work. She started to offer him both, but to Jonny's surprise, he refused.

'That'd be bribery, dear, and we're honest men here in Gradford,' he replied. 'No, and I thank you, but you keep those in your pretty hands. Best of luck to you. Go right on in; there's no one in Gradford selling God-Stars like these, so you're no competition to a local trader, and that means you can set up in the market whenever you like. There's no tax on religious goods, other than the usual tithe.'

Gwyna thanked him, and did not argue; if the guard was too silly to understand that a customer who bought a God-Star would probably not buy something else, it was not her problem. Kestrel shook the reins to send the horses forward.

And as soon as they cleared the gates, it was only too obvious that Rodrick had been right. Although this was clearly the start of the market-district, there was not a single busker anywhere. No jugglers, no street-dancers, no musicians. The streets seemed to have plenty of people on them, until you realized that this should have been the busiest part of the city. Then it slowly became obvious that there was barely a third of the people here that there should have been.

The undercurrent of music to the chaotic crowd-noises was something that both of them had taken for granted. Now that it was gone, the lack made Jonny, at least, feel oddly off-balance, straining his ears, listening for something that simply wasn't there.

They passed several inns_it was never wise to take the first set of accommodations offered, for such places were invariably overpriced. They shared their side of the street with a number of other vehicles, but none of them were traders' wagons. So Rodrick had been right about that as well; the traders appeared to have deserted the city entirely.

There's no rain that doesn't water someone's garden, Jonny thought. At least there'll be no shortage of rooms. And probably good prices. Gwyna had told him that in most large cities it was against the law to sleep in wagons; anyone who wished to camp in his wagon had to do so outside the city walls.

He still wasn't certain which inn to patronize, and when he finally saw the sign, he knew instinctively he had found the right place for them. The signboard sported a bird, beak wide open and pointed to the sky, obviously singing for all it was worth. It also, unlike many others, had the name of the inn written under the painted bird.

The Singing Bird. The name seemed a good omen, and Jonny turned the horses into the arched gateway that led into the inn's court.

The lean and balding innkeeper was frantically happy to see them, and a glance at his stable showed them why. No more than a third of the stalls were occupied, and if that was an indication of the number of customers inside, it was no wonder that he was glad to see them and their cash.

He was not a Gypsy, somewhat to Jonny's disappointment, but his stables were good, and he saw to their needs personally.

'We'll need to be able to take the wagon out during the day,' Gwyna told him. 'We'll be using it as our stall in the marketplace.'

That stopped him cold, just as he directed the stableboys to put their mares in two spacious loose-boxes. 'I hope you aren't selling anything_like luxury goods?' he said, hesitantly, the bald spot on the top of his head growing red with anxiety. 'There's not much call for such things in Gradford these days.'

Jonny mentally gave him the accolade for his honesty. He could have gotten one night's lodging out of them before they found out the hard truth for themselves. Instead, he warned them.

Then again, if we were selling something proscribed, maybe he'd get arrested or fined for giving us lodging. It was a possibility. Given the lack of buskers and all that implied, Jonny was not taking anything for granted.

But Gwyna laughed, lightly. 'God-Stars,' she said, simply. 'As jewelry and as wall decorations.'

The innkeeper heaved a very audible sigh of relief, and mopped the top of his head with his apron. 'There's no problem then. I'll have the boys ready your wagon and horses at the bell for Sunrise Service from the Cathedral; you come down for breakfast at Calling Bell for Prime Service and you'll find them harnessed and waiting when you finish. Best place for you will be in the market-square in front of the Cathedral, and to get there you just follow this street until it comes out at the square.'

They locked up the wagon and took their bags from under the drivers seat, following their host across the yard to the inn itself. It was a sturdy, three-storied affair, substantial and built of dark timbers with whitewashed stone between. 'I'm sorry I can't offer you any entertainment,' he said apologetically. 'But musics not allowed, unless it's from a Church-licensed musician.'

His expression said what he would not say aloud. And those are so bad I'd rather have no music than theirs.

'Gradford has changed since last I was here,' Gwyna replied casually. 'There were no restrictions then, on what music could be played and what a peddler could sell.'