The Robin And The Kestrel

'Why all the rules?' Robin asked, in a whine. 'Why the ugly clothes, hey?'

'T'make us fit in. Can't look like Gypsy, or the High Bishop might get in trouble.' Rosa shrugged. 'It's worth it; we're getting real money for makin' him look like a saint. Once you start helping with the services, you'll start getting the money, too.'

She led Robin to a cot on the far side of the room_too far to get to the door without waking someone up. There were blankets there already, and a pillow. She patted the cot, and Robin obediently sank down onto it, trying not to show her dismay.

'I'll take you to services in the morning,' Rosa said, full of self-importance. 'You'll see what we do. Trust me, you'll like it! Even with the rules. This is the best!'

'Oh, yes,' Robin mumbled, as Rosa went off to her own cot, unaware of Robin's irony. 'This is really the best....'

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Jonny's anger evaporated the moment Robin flung the door open and vanished down the hall, but his indignation remained. He hadn't thought she'd storm off like that! But he stayed where he was, at least in part because he was just as stubborn as she was, and was not going to humiliate himself by running after her. He was certain that she would be back in a moment; in two, at most.

She knew he was right; she wasn't stupid. Once she got over being mad about the way he'd ordered her not to go, she'd realize he was right. The idea of trying to pose as some relative of these people was the height of insanity. Surely, if the Clan was as small as she claimed, they knew every single member. Just because she was a Gypsy, that wouldn't make her a believable Patsono!

She would come back. He would apologize for trying to order her around. That was his mistake, and he should have known better. Once he got a chance, he could explain that he was only worried about her, that he was afraid that her bravery (better not call it 'foolhardiness') would be stronger than her fear, and she would end up in trouble_

No, that doesn't sound right_better say that she would be so intent on finding truth that she might find herself in some situation she hadn't expected.

He didn't even sit down; he stayed where he was, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for her to come back. Waiting to hear her footsteps, returning. Waiting for her to appear in the open doorway.

And kept waiting, staring at the wood of the hallway outside the door.

When it finally dawned on him that she really wasn't coming back, it was too late, of course. She was long out of reach; he had no idea where this Gypsy enclave was, so he didn't even have a clear idea of where she was heading.

His initial reaction was a resumption of his anger. He stormed over to the doorway, slammed the door and threw himself down onto the bed. And there he waited, certain she would not be able to get into this Gypsy enclave_

She has no sense of responsibility, dammit! The only people she thinks are important are Free Bards and Gypsies_she doesn't care about anyone else. She's as bad as Padrik! He thinks nonhumans are nonpersons, and she thinks the same of anyone outside her little circle....

Hours passed; the anger burned itself out. Fear replaced it, turning him sick with anxiety for her. By the time the bells tolled for midnight, he was certain something terrible had happened to her. Maybe the Gypsies had turned her over to the Cathedral Guards; maybe they had taken matters into their own hands. Maybe she had been arrested for being out on the street after midnight. Maybe a common thief had knocked her unconscious, or even killed her!

Maybe someone had attacked her and she had used magic to defend herself, and now she was facing a judge for that.

He sat on the bed until the candle burned out. He was sleepless with tension, waiting to see if dawn would bring her back. His throat ached; his stomach twisted and churned, sending bile into the back of his throat. His skull throbbed with headache, and his eyes burned with fatigue. And above it all was helplessness_the knowledge that she was in a situation he couldn't discover, with people he didn't understand, and that his damnable stuttering speech would keep him from even asking a stranger about her.

When dawn came without her, his heart plummeted further, and he flung himself off the bed to stare at the rising sun with weary, aching eyes. There had to be something he could do!

Too restless with anxiety to stay in the room any longer, he tried to think where the best place might be to