The Warded Man
Page 97
“Two years, on the road to Woodsend.”
Cholls shook his head sadly. “I recall his apprentice was something of a fiddler,” he said at last, glancing Rojer’s way.
“Indeed,” Jaycob agreed. “That and more. I present to you Rojer Halfgrip.” Rojer bowed.
“Halfgrip?” the guildmaster asked, with sudden interest. “I’ve heard tales of a Halfgrip playing the Western hamlets. That you, boy?”
Rojer’s eyes widened, but he nodded. Arrick had said that reputations carried quickly from the hamlets, but it was still a shock. He wondered if his reputation was good or ill.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Cholls said, as if reading his mind. “Yokels exaggerate.”
Rojer nodded, keeping eye contact with the guildmaster. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Well then, let’s get on with this,” Cholls said. “Show me what you have.”
“Here?” Rojer asked doubtfully. The office was large and private, but with its thick carpets and expensive furniture, it hardly seemed suited to tumbling and knife throwing.
Cholls waved at him impatiently. “You performed with Arrick for years, so I’ll accept that you can juggle and sing,” he said. Rojer swallowed hard. “Earning a license means showing a focus skill beyond those basics.”
“Fiddle him, boy, just like you did me,” Jaycob said confidently. Rojer nodded. His hands shook slightly as he took his fiddle from its case, but when his fingers closed about the smooth wood, the fear washed away like dust in a bath. He began to play, the guildmaster forgotten as he fell into the music.
He played a short while before a shout broke the music’s spell. His bow slipped from the strings, and in the silence that followed, a voice thundered outside the door.
“No, I will not wait for some worthless apprentice to finish his test! Move aside!” There were sounds of a scuffle before the door burst open and Master Jasin stormed into the room.
“I’m sorry, Guildmaster,” the clerk apologized, “he refused to wait.”
Cholls waved the clerk away as Jasin stormed up to him. “You gave the Duke’s Ball to Edum?” he demanded. “That’s been my performance for ten years! My uncle will hear of this!”
Cholls stood his ground, arms crossed. “The duke himself requested the change,” he said. “If your uncle has a problem, suggest he take it up with His Grace.”
Jasin scowled. It was doubtful even First Minister Janson would intercede with the duke over a performance for his nephew.
“If that’s all you came to discuss, Jasin, you’ll have to excuse us,” Cholls went on. “Young Rojer here is testing for his license.”
Jasin’s eyes snapped over to Rojer, flaring with recognition. “I see you’ve ditched the drunk,” he sneered. “Hope you didn’t trade him for this old relic.” He thrust his chin at Jaycob. “The offer stands, you want to work for me. Let Arrick beg for your scraps for a change, eh?”
“Master Arrick was cored on the road two years ago,” Cholls said.
Jasin glanced back at the guildmaster, then laughed out loud. “Fabulous!” he cried. “That news makes up for losing the Duke’s Ball, and to spare!”
Rojer hit him.
He didn’t even realize what he’d done until he was standing over the master, his knuckles tingling and wet. He’d felt the brittle crunch as his fist struck Jasin’s nose, and he knew his chances of winning his license were now gone, but at that moment, he didn’t care.
Jaycob grabbed him and pulled him back as Jasin surged to his feet, swinging wildly.
“I’ll kill you for thad, you little …!”
Cholls was between them in an instant. Jasin thrashed in his grasp, but the guildmaster’s bulk was more than enough to restrain him. “That’s enough, Jasin!” he barked. “You’re not killing anyone!”
“You saw whad he did!” Jasin cried, as blood streamed from his nose.
“And I heard what you said!” Cholls shouted back. “I was tempted to hit you myself!”
“How ab I subbosed to sig tonide?” Jasin demanded. His nose had already begun to swell, and his words became less understandable with every moment.
Cholls scowled. “I’ll get someone to perform in your stead,” he said. “The guild will cover the loss. Daved!” The clerk stuck his head in the door. “Escort Master Jasin to an Herb Gatherer, and have the bill sent here.”
Daved nodded, moving to assist Jasin. The master shoved him away. “Thid idn’t ober,” he promised Rojer as he left.
Cholls blew out a long breath as the door closed. “Well, boy, you’ve gone and done it now. That’s an enemy I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”
“He was already my enemy,” Rojer said. “You heard what he said.”
Cholls nodded. “I did,” he said, “but you still should have restrained yourself. What will you do if a patron insults you next? Or the duke himself? Guildsmen can’t go around punching anyone that angers them.”
Rojer hung his head. “I understand,” he said.
“You’ve just cost me a fair bit of coin, though,” Cholls said. “I’ll be throwing money and prime performances at Jasin for weeks to keep him appeased, and with that fiddling of yours, I’d be a fool not to make you earn it back.”
Rojer looked up hopefully.
“Probationary license,” Cholls said, taking a sheet of paper and a quill. “You’re only to perform under the supervision of a master of the guild, paid from your take, and half of your gross earnings will come to this office until I consider your debt closed. Understood?”
“Absolutely, sir!” Rojer said eagerly.
“And you’ll hold your temper,” Cholls warned, “or I’ll tear up this license and you’ll never perform in Angiers again.”
Rojer worked his fiddle, but out of the corner of his eye he was watching Abrum, Jasin’s burly apprentice. Jasin usually had one of his apprentices watching Rojer’s performances. It made him uneasy, knowing that they were watching him for their master, who meant him only ill, but it had been months since the incident in the guildmaster’s office, and nothing had ever seemed to come of it. Master Jasin had recovered quickly and was soon performing again, raking in accolades at every high-society event in Angiers.
Rojer might have dared to hope the episode was behind them, save that the apprentices came back almost every day. Sometimes it was Abrum the wood demon lurking in a crowd, and others it was Sali the rock demon sipping a drink at the back of a tavern, but however innocuous they might seem, it was no coincidence.
Rojer ended his performance with a flourish, whipping the bow from his fiddle into the air. He took his time to bow, straightening just in time to catch it. The crowd burst into applause, and Rojer’s sharp ears caught the clink of metal coins in the hat as Jaycob moved about the crowd with it. Rojer couldn’t suppress a smile. The old man looked almost spry.
He scanned the dispersing crowd as they collected their equipment, but Abrum had vanished. Still, they packed up quickly and took a roundabout path to their inn to make sure they could not be easily followed. The sun was soon to set, and the streets were emptying rapidly. Winter was on the wane, but the boardwalks still held patches of ice and snow, and few stayed out unless they had business to.
Cholls shook his head sadly. “I recall his apprentice was something of a fiddler,” he said at last, glancing Rojer’s way.
“Indeed,” Jaycob agreed. “That and more. I present to you Rojer Halfgrip.” Rojer bowed.
“Halfgrip?” the guildmaster asked, with sudden interest. “I’ve heard tales of a Halfgrip playing the Western hamlets. That you, boy?”
Rojer’s eyes widened, but he nodded. Arrick had said that reputations carried quickly from the hamlets, but it was still a shock. He wondered if his reputation was good or ill.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Cholls said, as if reading his mind. “Yokels exaggerate.”
Rojer nodded, keeping eye contact with the guildmaster. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Well then, let’s get on with this,” Cholls said. “Show me what you have.”
“Here?” Rojer asked doubtfully. The office was large and private, but with its thick carpets and expensive furniture, it hardly seemed suited to tumbling and knife throwing.
Cholls waved at him impatiently. “You performed with Arrick for years, so I’ll accept that you can juggle and sing,” he said. Rojer swallowed hard. “Earning a license means showing a focus skill beyond those basics.”
“Fiddle him, boy, just like you did me,” Jaycob said confidently. Rojer nodded. His hands shook slightly as he took his fiddle from its case, but when his fingers closed about the smooth wood, the fear washed away like dust in a bath. He began to play, the guildmaster forgotten as he fell into the music.
He played a short while before a shout broke the music’s spell. His bow slipped from the strings, and in the silence that followed, a voice thundered outside the door.
“No, I will not wait for some worthless apprentice to finish his test! Move aside!” There were sounds of a scuffle before the door burst open and Master Jasin stormed into the room.
“I’m sorry, Guildmaster,” the clerk apologized, “he refused to wait.”
Cholls waved the clerk away as Jasin stormed up to him. “You gave the Duke’s Ball to Edum?” he demanded. “That’s been my performance for ten years! My uncle will hear of this!”
Cholls stood his ground, arms crossed. “The duke himself requested the change,” he said. “If your uncle has a problem, suggest he take it up with His Grace.”
Jasin scowled. It was doubtful even First Minister Janson would intercede with the duke over a performance for his nephew.
“If that’s all you came to discuss, Jasin, you’ll have to excuse us,” Cholls went on. “Young Rojer here is testing for his license.”
Jasin’s eyes snapped over to Rojer, flaring with recognition. “I see you’ve ditched the drunk,” he sneered. “Hope you didn’t trade him for this old relic.” He thrust his chin at Jaycob. “The offer stands, you want to work for me. Let Arrick beg for your scraps for a change, eh?”
“Master Arrick was cored on the road two years ago,” Cholls said.
Jasin glanced back at the guildmaster, then laughed out loud. “Fabulous!” he cried. “That news makes up for losing the Duke’s Ball, and to spare!”
Rojer hit him.
He didn’t even realize what he’d done until he was standing over the master, his knuckles tingling and wet. He’d felt the brittle crunch as his fist struck Jasin’s nose, and he knew his chances of winning his license were now gone, but at that moment, he didn’t care.
Jaycob grabbed him and pulled him back as Jasin surged to his feet, swinging wildly.
“I’ll kill you for thad, you little …!”
Cholls was between them in an instant. Jasin thrashed in his grasp, but the guildmaster’s bulk was more than enough to restrain him. “That’s enough, Jasin!” he barked. “You’re not killing anyone!”
“You saw whad he did!” Jasin cried, as blood streamed from his nose.
“And I heard what you said!” Cholls shouted back. “I was tempted to hit you myself!”
“How ab I subbosed to sig tonide?” Jasin demanded. His nose had already begun to swell, and his words became less understandable with every moment.
Cholls scowled. “I’ll get someone to perform in your stead,” he said. “The guild will cover the loss. Daved!” The clerk stuck his head in the door. “Escort Master Jasin to an Herb Gatherer, and have the bill sent here.”
Daved nodded, moving to assist Jasin. The master shoved him away. “Thid idn’t ober,” he promised Rojer as he left.
Cholls blew out a long breath as the door closed. “Well, boy, you’ve gone and done it now. That’s an enemy I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”
“He was already my enemy,” Rojer said. “You heard what he said.”
Cholls nodded. “I did,” he said, “but you still should have restrained yourself. What will you do if a patron insults you next? Or the duke himself? Guildsmen can’t go around punching anyone that angers them.”
Rojer hung his head. “I understand,” he said.
“You’ve just cost me a fair bit of coin, though,” Cholls said. “I’ll be throwing money and prime performances at Jasin for weeks to keep him appeased, and with that fiddling of yours, I’d be a fool not to make you earn it back.”
Rojer looked up hopefully.
“Probationary license,” Cholls said, taking a sheet of paper and a quill. “You’re only to perform under the supervision of a master of the guild, paid from your take, and half of your gross earnings will come to this office until I consider your debt closed. Understood?”
“Absolutely, sir!” Rojer said eagerly.
“And you’ll hold your temper,” Cholls warned, “or I’ll tear up this license and you’ll never perform in Angiers again.”
Rojer worked his fiddle, but out of the corner of his eye he was watching Abrum, Jasin’s burly apprentice. Jasin usually had one of his apprentices watching Rojer’s performances. It made him uneasy, knowing that they were watching him for their master, who meant him only ill, but it had been months since the incident in the guildmaster’s office, and nothing had ever seemed to come of it. Master Jasin had recovered quickly and was soon performing again, raking in accolades at every high-society event in Angiers.
Rojer might have dared to hope the episode was behind them, save that the apprentices came back almost every day. Sometimes it was Abrum the wood demon lurking in a crowd, and others it was Sali the rock demon sipping a drink at the back of a tavern, but however innocuous they might seem, it was no coincidence.
Rojer ended his performance with a flourish, whipping the bow from his fiddle into the air. He took his time to bow, straightening just in time to catch it. The crowd burst into applause, and Rojer’s sharp ears caught the clink of metal coins in the hat as Jaycob moved about the crowd with it. Rojer couldn’t suppress a smile. The old man looked almost spry.
He scanned the dispersing crowd as they collected their equipment, but Abrum had vanished. Still, they packed up quickly and took a roundabout path to their inn to make sure they could not be easily followed. The sun was soon to set, and the streets were emptying rapidly. Winter was on the wane, but the boardwalks still held patches of ice and snow, and few stayed out unless they had business to.
