The Robin and the Kestrel - Chapter Eleven
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i_read_whatSo last time, our heroes scouted out the city of Gradford and learned the lay of the land. Now, they're about to go to church and see the cause of all this religious fervor.
Our heroes are performers by nature and practice, so our first impression of "High Bishop Padrik" is an assessment of his skills:
Padrik's voice, as beautiful a speaking voice as any Kestrel had ever heard, rang out over the crowd as clearly as one of the bells. It was such an incredible voice that Jonny wished he could hear Padrik sing, and listened closely for any signs that the High Bishop had Bardic training. Padrik was the single most impressive speaker Jonny had ever heard in his life, surpassing even the Bardic Guild Masters and the Wren himself. Then came the moment in the Holy Services when the sermon was given. If he had not been braced to be skeptical and critical, he might have found himself convinced of the truth of the High Bishop's words, for in comparison with Padrik's superb command of rhetoric and argument, the street preachers of last night were as clumsy as toddlers arguing over a toy.
Apparently dude has skills in spades. It makes some sense. How much of religion and politics come down to showmanship. No disrespect intended to religious folk, but as a lapsed Catholic, I always suspected that a lot of the influence comes from the trappings: robes, candles, altars, et cetera. There's a reason why horror movie priests are always Catholic. We put on the best show.
The substance of Padrik's speech is the same hateful bullshit. But he's very good at making everything seem logical and sane.
Part of a conspiracy, in fact, of nonhumans "and their friends, the betrayers of humanity," to destroy mankind, after first weakening it with magic, and to enslave the survivors. Only the vigilance of the Church stood between the faithful and these "perfidious servants of demons," who sought to bring on the Second Cataclysm and make all humankind the helpless prey of demons. How they were actually going to do that was not specified. But then, most people had no notion how or why the original Cataclysm had occurred.
Actually, how DID the original Cataclysm occur? The fact that it did seems to be common knowledge, but I'd like to know more.
So, Kestrel's an interesting choice of viewpoint character here, because, for all the trauma of his upbringing, he is still a white man. He may be a bit more susceptible to this kind of effect than Gwyna, who may not be the direct target of this preaching, but as a woman and a Rom, would probably realize that she will be a likely future target.
To be fair, Kestrel shakes off the spell immediately, horrified. He's wondering how long this preaching has been going on and realizes that he hasn't seen ANY nonhumans in Gradford. He figures that most probably skipped town at the initial dark implications, understandably. But they may not be aware that what HAD been dark implications (nonhumans are without souls) has now started turning outright genocidal (nonhumans are the enemies of mankind.) He thinks if they knew, there'd be a lot more alarms raised throughout the Twenty Kingdoms.
After the preaching ends though, we start to see why Padrik's really so effective. The church mass is only the start of the show.
"Let the sick be gathered, and the poor be brought," the Priest cried out, for all the world like a Sire's Herald announcing the start of a feast. "Let all those in need come forward into God's own House, for the High Bishop's prayers and God's blessing!"
We finally get a look at Padrik:
Padrik was young for one with such a high position in the Church; Kestrel judged him to be in his middle thirties, at most. There was no gray in his golden hair, no wrinkle marred the perfection of his face. In fact, he was just as handsome as any of the alabaster carvings in here, a face that matched the glorious voice. In his pristine white robes he was the very ideal Priest, the image of a modern Saint. The white surcoat over his white robes gleamed with gold embroidery, and Kestrel was willing to bet every copper penny they'd made that day that the embroidery had been done with real gold bullion.
And we get to see the "blessings".
A young man comes to have his disability (a short, twisted left leg) cured. (There is a point where he admits to having gone to healers, which leads Padrik to scold him for seeking out "the services of the Deceivers, the Unbelievers", before he begs forgiveness.
Does it work?
He raised his voice. "Let all who see, believe, and let all who believe, rejoice!"
As the crowd held its collective breath, he pulled the lap robe off and laid his hands on the young man's legs. It was very clear that one was shorter than the other, although if it was twisted, Kestrel couldn't tell, for the young man wore loose velvet trews with open bottoms instead of breeches or hose, and expensive leather boots. Still, every Healer would be the first to sigh and admit that those born with defective limbs were doomed to live with them; there was nothing any Healer could do to Heal those born with an ailment.
Nothing any Healer could do. Except, it seemed, this one—
As silence held sway over the crowd, Padrik slowly stretched the young man's bad leg, straightening it and pulling on it until it was exactly even with the good one!
That's the only explicitly described "blessing", but we're told that there are others: healing deaf, blind, and other disabled people. Producing showers of silver and gold coins. He blesses a priest with a beam of light, leading to some vague prophecies.
The best is last though, when he heals a demon possession!
The High Bishop looked down upon the writhing man, whose face was contorted into an inhuman mask, and began to pray, alternately exhorting God to help the sinner, and ordering the demon to release its victim.
The man spat fire again, this time touching nothing, then vomited a rain of pins all over the carpet in front of the altar. Then he howled one final time and lay still.
Padrik directed one of the Priests to sprinkle the man with holy water; presumably as a test to see if he was still demon-haunted.
Evidently he was, for the holy water sizzled when it touched him, and left behind red, blistered places. There were gasps from the crowd, and a few moans.
Finally the High Bishop himself knelt down beside the man and laid his hands upon the man's forehead.
The healing works And the audience eats it up. And Jonny is freaking out. Because if Padrik DOES have these powers, then he must BE a Saint, which means...
I like this bit, because it's a little risky on Lackey's part. It's not necessarily a great look to have a white, male lead have even a moment of doubt when it comes to listening to hatespeech and bigotry. Because we're genre savvy enough to realize pretty quick that there must be a trick involved. Many authors (including some I've reviewed on this blog) really dislike the idea of their characters being flawed.
But I think it does work here, because we know Jonny's an empathetic person. But he's, in his own way, fairly uneducated. Whatever actual schooling he had pretty much ended by the time he was twelve years old. And he was too busy scrounging for food and running for his life to learn much by way of practical knowledge either. And his freak out puts a human face on the townsfolk in general. They're not religious bigots by choice, they're simple people being manipulated and abused by the folk in power. We can sympathize with the nameless masses better because we see it work on our hero.
Robin, on the other hand, is FURIOUS. Part of it, I'd imagine, is because she's (as mentioned) a woman and a Rom. But more than that:
"Convinced, were you?" she said, her words hot with rage, although she whispered to keep her voice from carrying outside the wooden walls. "Just like all those other fools out there. Yow saw Padrik perform real miracles, didn't you? With your own eyes! Damn the man! May real demons come and snatch his soul and carry it down to the worst of his nightmare hells!"
"B-b-b-b-but—" Jonny couldn't get any more than that out.
"Produces alms from thin air, does her Well so can I!" And before he could say or do anything, she showered him with coins that came from out of nowhere. "I can heal the blind and the deaf, too, if they were never blind nor deaf in the first place!"
Robin knows the tricks. She explains how the "leper" had sores made of flour and water paste. It's apparently an old beggar's trick. Padrik's healing gestures was just surreptitiously wiping them away with a hidden damp sponge. She also knows how to make her legs look uneven and shows her husband how to "heal" it by pushing on her feet: her right boot had been pushed down to add inches of length.
The bright light was just careful placement against the stained glass window. Robin had seen him position himself. And a slightly calmer Kestrel does remember the prophesies being vague - it's basically just crowd cold reading.
But then, there's the demon. The explanation is pretty cool:
"That is what got me so mad!," she said, gritting her teeth in anger. "Someone has been teaching Padrik [Roma] magic! Everything else is the brand of chicanery that professional beggars and false preachers have been doing for hundreds of years, but he could not have simulated that possession without the help of [Roma] magic! Spitting fire—that's done with a mouth full of a special liquid in a bladder you keep in your cheek—remember how close the man was to the candles? He even knocked one over, and that was the one that he used to light the liquid as he spit it out. Vomiting pins is something only we know how to do. The first batch of holy water had a secret dye in it that only turns red after it touches another dye, which you paint on the skin; the water droplets left behind looked like blisters because you expected blisters to be there. The 'sizzle' came from someone dropping real holy water into one of the incense burners while everyone was watching the show; I watched him and I saw the steam. And the smoke when the 'demon' left the body is another one of our tricks! The howl came from someone frightening a peafowl up in one of the towers—either that, or they've trained it to cry on command." She spread her hands wide, some of the hot rage gone from her expression, replaced by determination and a colder fury. "Some of that Padrik could learn to do on his own, but most of it was done with accomplices. That means that not only is someone teaching him, someone is helping him! And I am going to find out who it is!"
So, this is where my ignorance about Roma people and customs kicks in. I'm not entirely comfortable with this emphasis on Roma magic and trickery as being a part of the race and customs. I'm not sure how much of that is an accepted part of the real culture or a harmful stereotype.
I need to educate myself before I can weigh in on Ms. Lackey's portrayal here, positive or negative.
But anyway, Kestrel remembers that bit from a chapter or two ago: Robin's fire trick that she couldn't explain to her own husband, because of her vows. This is much bigger than that. Kestrel is, after all, Roma by marriage and he thinks that, if there was some reason that he HAD to learn to learn Roma tricks, Robin could probably get permission to teach him. But Padrik is a complete outsider. Moreover, one who is promoting an agenda that could end up directed toward the Roma people themselves.
Robin suggests they close up shop a little early, so that they can go hunting more information.
On the plus side, since business was so good, they're able to pay both tithe and their inn fees in advance. The innkeeper is thrilled. He'd been losing business after all, and he's very happy to have them. Moreover, he's actually an ally in other ways. The inn's name, "the Singing Bird", clued Robin into that, and she got the story out of him: Back when he'd started the inn, and hadn't built up a clientele yet, Talaysen had done him a solid - playing for room and board all winter, which caused a surge in customers.
Because of that, he's very inclined to give Free Bards first dibs on venue and help them out. He gives Robin directions to the worst part of town. They're looking for the "Whore's Guild", which had relocated there after Padrik shut down the "Houses".
Kestrel is pretty dismayed at getting dragged into the scary part of town, wondering why his wife does things like this. But it's too late to back out now.
Dude, I think you two really need to work on your communication.
-
We switch viewpoints to Robin, who really isn't as cavalier as she seems. We get a description of the bad part of town:
This district, tucked away between the tanners' and the dyers' quarters, was called "the Warren." It merited the name, for it was a maze of narrow streets too small for any size of cart to travel along, with buildings that leaned over the streets until they nearly touched, blocking out the sun. They hadn't been built that way, either; the Warren had been built over ground that had once been a refuse dump, and was now in the process of collapsing, and as it sank, the buildings leaned, coming closer and closer to falling down with every passing year. Constables never ventured in here; there were not enough of them. It would take a small army to clean out the Warren, and no one wanted to bother.
Sound echoed in here, and it was impossible to tell where a particular sound came from. This early in the afternoon, though, it was very quiet in the Warren. Somewhere there were children playing a counting game, a man coughed and could not seem to stop, babies wailed, and there were two people having a screaming argument. That was nothing compared with the noise and clamor in the inn district. The streets here were always damp, and slimy with things Robin didn't care to think about. The stench was not quite appalling; the horrible odors from both the tanner's and the dyer's district overwhelmed the local effluvia. A few undernourished, wiry children played in the streets—not the source of the childish voices, for these children were playing an odd and utterly silent game involving stones and chalk. But they were the exception here; most children in the Warren were hard at work—at a variety of jobs, some legal, most not. As soon as a child was able to hold something and take directions, it was generally put to work in a district like this one.
It sounds lovely.
Anyway, Robin's looking for a particular tavern. One that is both reputable, but also still serves free musicians. (It's where the innkeeper would have directed them if they'd come in as Bards.)
It's actually kind of a cool place:
Finally she spotted what passed for a sign; an empty barrel suspended over a tiny door. It looked nothing like a tavern on the outside, but when they opened the unlatched door and stood at the top of a short set of stone stairs, it was clear they had come to the right place.
Although the enormous room—a converted cellar—was very dark, it was also clean. A few good lanterns placed high on the wall where they would not be broken in a fight gave a reasonable amount of light. The furniture was simple, massive seats and tables built into the walls or bolted to the floor, so that they would not be broken up in a fight, or used as weapons. A huge fireplace in one wall with ovens built to either side—an ancient stone structure as old as the building—betrayed that this had once been a bakery.
It's definitely got speakeasy vibes.
Anyway, they chat with the proprietor, who is friendly enough. We learn some new slang too: "Buggie" which is a rude term for a nonhuman. It's for "Bug-eyed Monster", despite the fact that, the narrative tells us, most nonhumans aren't bug-eyed or monsters.
It MIGHT be more evidence of this society being a future post-apocalyptic version of ours though.
The reference is neutral, by the way. The dude is just noting that being a Free Bard is more dangerous than being anything but a nonhuman, right now.
The dude, Donnar, gives them the rundown of things: the new rules that forbid all forms of public entertainment and pleasure. Taverns being forbidden to serve anything stronger than beer. All extravagance and ornamentation being frowned on, and the brothels closed.
That said, there's still sex work. But you have to know where to go and who to ask: a particular lady tailor may have "personal fittings", and some bathhouses offer "special massages", but it's precarious. Lots of bribes needed.
Even Guild musicians have moved on. THAT says something, as usually the Guild and Church go hand in hand.
There are other interesting speakeasy type workarounds. Taverns don't sell alcohol, they sell the mugs. People can go to a convenient stall outside to buy single-drink bottles. Stuff like that.
Donnar and the other folk on the wrong side of the tracks DO realize that Padrik fakes his miracles, but they can't prove it. This causes a dilemma for Robin, because while she CAN explose Padrik as a fake, she'd need to reveal the methods behind his miracles to do it. That'd violate her own oath. And she doesn't have an easy way to contact her Clan Chief for permission.
There's another option though: trying to find out who's helped Padrik with the miracles. If she can expose THEM, then she can make THEM confess to helping with the miracles without revealing secrets. Unfortunately, Donnar doesn't know who could be helping. He suggests someone in the priesthood.
There's another possibility for getting info: going to a House. Meaning a brothel. Donnar can help them get an "audition". He can also get them safe passage through the Warren. The chapter ends with them heading out again.
Our heroes are performers by nature and practice, so our first impression of "High Bishop Padrik" is an assessment of his skills:
Padrik's voice, as beautiful a speaking voice as any Kestrel had ever heard, rang out over the crowd as clearly as one of the bells. It was such an incredible voice that Jonny wished he could hear Padrik sing, and listened closely for any signs that the High Bishop had Bardic training. Padrik was the single most impressive speaker Jonny had ever heard in his life, surpassing even the Bardic Guild Masters and the Wren himself. Then came the moment in the Holy Services when the sermon was given. If he had not been braced to be skeptical and critical, he might have found himself convinced of the truth of the High Bishop's words, for in comparison with Padrik's superb command of rhetoric and argument, the street preachers of last night were as clumsy as toddlers arguing over a toy.
Apparently dude has skills in spades. It makes some sense. How much of religion and politics come down to showmanship. No disrespect intended to religious folk, but as a lapsed Catholic, I always suspected that a lot of the influence comes from the trappings: robes, candles, altars, et cetera. There's a reason why horror movie priests are always Catholic. We put on the best show.
The substance of Padrik's speech is the same hateful bullshit. But he's very good at making everything seem logical and sane.
Part of a conspiracy, in fact, of nonhumans "and their friends, the betrayers of humanity," to destroy mankind, after first weakening it with magic, and to enslave the survivors. Only the vigilance of the Church stood between the faithful and these "perfidious servants of demons," who sought to bring on the Second Cataclysm and make all humankind the helpless prey of demons. How they were actually going to do that was not specified. But then, most people had no notion how or why the original Cataclysm had occurred.
Actually, how DID the original Cataclysm occur? The fact that it did seems to be common knowledge, but I'd like to know more.
So, Kestrel's an interesting choice of viewpoint character here, because, for all the trauma of his upbringing, he is still a white man. He may be a bit more susceptible to this kind of effect than Gwyna, who may not be the direct target of this preaching, but as a woman and a Rom, would probably realize that she will be a likely future target.
To be fair, Kestrel shakes off the spell immediately, horrified. He's wondering how long this preaching has been going on and realizes that he hasn't seen ANY nonhumans in Gradford. He figures that most probably skipped town at the initial dark implications, understandably. But they may not be aware that what HAD been dark implications (nonhumans are without souls) has now started turning outright genocidal (nonhumans are the enemies of mankind.) He thinks if they knew, there'd be a lot more alarms raised throughout the Twenty Kingdoms.
After the preaching ends though, we start to see why Padrik's really so effective. The church mass is only the start of the show.
"Let the sick be gathered, and the poor be brought," the Priest cried out, for all the world like a Sire's Herald announcing the start of a feast. "Let all those in need come forward into God's own House, for the High Bishop's prayers and God's blessing!"
We finally get a look at Padrik:
Padrik was young for one with such a high position in the Church; Kestrel judged him to be in his middle thirties, at most. There was no gray in his golden hair, no wrinkle marred the perfection of his face. In fact, he was just as handsome as any of the alabaster carvings in here, a face that matched the glorious voice. In his pristine white robes he was the very ideal Priest, the image of a modern Saint. The white surcoat over his white robes gleamed with gold embroidery, and Kestrel was willing to bet every copper penny they'd made that day that the embroidery had been done with real gold bullion.
And we get to see the "blessings".
A young man comes to have his disability (a short, twisted left leg) cured. (There is a point where he admits to having gone to healers, which leads Padrik to scold him for seeking out "the services of the Deceivers, the Unbelievers", before he begs forgiveness.
Does it work?
He raised his voice. "Let all who see, believe, and let all who believe, rejoice!"
As the crowd held its collective breath, he pulled the lap robe off and laid his hands on the young man's legs. It was very clear that one was shorter than the other, although if it was twisted, Kestrel couldn't tell, for the young man wore loose velvet trews with open bottoms instead of breeches or hose, and expensive leather boots. Still, every Healer would be the first to sigh and admit that those born with defective limbs were doomed to live with them; there was nothing any Healer could do to Heal those born with an ailment.
Nothing any Healer could do. Except, it seemed, this one—
As silence held sway over the crowd, Padrik slowly stretched the young man's bad leg, straightening it and pulling on it until it was exactly even with the good one!
That's the only explicitly described "blessing", but we're told that there are others: healing deaf, blind, and other disabled people. Producing showers of silver and gold coins. He blesses a priest with a beam of light, leading to some vague prophecies.
The best is last though, when he heals a demon possession!
The High Bishop looked down upon the writhing man, whose face was contorted into an inhuman mask, and began to pray, alternately exhorting God to help the sinner, and ordering the demon to release its victim.
The man spat fire again, this time touching nothing, then vomited a rain of pins all over the carpet in front of the altar. Then he howled one final time and lay still.
Padrik directed one of the Priests to sprinkle the man with holy water; presumably as a test to see if he was still demon-haunted.
Evidently he was, for the holy water sizzled when it touched him, and left behind red, blistered places. There were gasps from the crowd, and a few moans.
Finally the High Bishop himself knelt down beside the man and laid his hands upon the man's forehead.
The healing works And the audience eats it up. And Jonny is freaking out. Because if Padrik DOES have these powers, then he must BE a Saint, which means...
I like this bit, because it's a little risky on Lackey's part. It's not necessarily a great look to have a white, male lead have even a moment of doubt when it comes to listening to hatespeech and bigotry. Because we're genre savvy enough to realize pretty quick that there must be a trick involved. Many authors (including some I've reviewed on this blog) really dislike the idea of their characters being flawed.
But I think it does work here, because we know Jonny's an empathetic person. But he's, in his own way, fairly uneducated. Whatever actual schooling he had pretty much ended by the time he was twelve years old. And he was too busy scrounging for food and running for his life to learn much by way of practical knowledge either. And his freak out puts a human face on the townsfolk in general. They're not religious bigots by choice, they're simple people being manipulated and abused by the folk in power. We can sympathize with the nameless masses better because we see it work on our hero.
Robin, on the other hand, is FURIOUS. Part of it, I'd imagine, is because she's (as mentioned) a woman and a Rom. But more than that:
"Convinced, were you?" she said, her words hot with rage, although she whispered to keep her voice from carrying outside the wooden walls. "Just like all those other fools out there. Yow saw Padrik perform real miracles, didn't you? With your own eyes! Damn the man! May real demons come and snatch his soul and carry it down to the worst of his nightmare hells!"
"B-b-b-b-but—" Jonny couldn't get any more than that out.
"Produces alms from thin air, does her Well so can I!" And before he could say or do anything, she showered him with coins that came from out of nowhere. "I can heal the blind and the deaf, too, if they were never blind nor deaf in the first place!"
Robin knows the tricks. She explains how the "leper" had sores made of flour and water paste. It's apparently an old beggar's trick. Padrik's healing gestures was just surreptitiously wiping them away with a hidden damp sponge. She also knows how to make her legs look uneven and shows her husband how to "heal" it by pushing on her feet: her right boot had been pushed down to add inches of length.
The bright light was just careful placement against the stained glass window. Robin had seen him position himself. And a slightly calmer Kestrel does remember the prophesies being vague - it's basically just crowd cold reading.
But then, there's the demon. The explanation is pretty cool:
"That is what got me so mad!," she said, gritting her teeth in anger. "Someone has been teaching Padrik [Roma] magic! Everything else is the brand of chicanery that professional beggars and false preachers have been doing for hundreds of years, but he could not have simulated that possession without the help of [Roma] magic! Spitting fire—that's done with a mouth full of a special liquid in a bladder you keep in your cheek—remember how close the man was to the candles? He even knocked one over, and that was the one that he used to light the liquid as he spit it out. Vomiting pins is something only we know how to do. The first batch of holy water had a secret dye in it that only turns red after it touches another dye, which you paint on the skin; the water droplets left behind looked like blisters because you expected blisters to be there. The 'sizzle' came from someone dropping real holy water into one of the incense burners while everyone was watching the show; I watched him and I saw the steam. And the smoke when the 'demon' left the body is another one of our tricks! The howl came from someone frightening a peafowl up in one of the towers—either that, or they've trained it to cry on command." She spread her hands wide, some of the hot rage gone from her expression, replaced by determination and a colder fury. "Some of that Padrik could learn to do on his own, but most of it was done with accomplices. That means that not only is someone teaching him, someone is helping him! And I am going to find out who it is!"
So, this is where my ignorance about Roma people and customs kicks in. I'm not entirely comfortable with this emphasis on Roma magic and trickery as being a part of the race and customs. I'm not sure how much of that is an accepted part of the real culture or a harmful stereotype.
I need to educate myself before I can weigh in on Ms. Lackey's portrayal here, positive or negative.
But anyway, Kestrel remembers that bit from a chapter or two ago: Robin's fire trick that she couldn't explain to her own husband, because of her vows. This is much bigger than that. Kestrel is, after all, Roma by marriage and he thinks that, if there was some reason that he HAD to learn to learn Roma tricks, Robin could probably get permission to teach him. But Padrik is a complete outsider. Moreover, one who is promoting an agenda that could end up directed toward the Roma people themselves.
Robin suggests they close up shop a little early, so that they can go hunting more information.
On the plus side, since business was so good, they're able to pay both tithe and their inn fees in advance. The innkeeper is thrilled. He'd been losing business after all, and he's very happy to have them. Moreover, he's actually an ally in other ways. The inn's name, "the Singing Bird", clued Robin into that, and she got the story out of him: Back when he'd started the inn, and hadn't built up a clientele yet, Talaysen had done him a solid - playing for room and board all winter, which caused a surge in customers.
Because of that, he's very inclined to give Free Bards first dibs on venue and help them out. He gives Robin directions to the worst part of town. They're looking for the "Whore's Guild", which had relocated there after Padrik shut down the "Houses".
Kestrel is pretty dismayed at getting dragged into the scary part of town, wondering why his wife does things like this. But it's too late to back out now.
Dude, I think you two really need to work on your communication.
-
We switch viewpoints to Robin, who really isn't as cavalier as she seems. We get a description of the bad part of town:
This district, tucked away between the tanners' and the dyers' quarters, was called "the Warren." It merited the name, for it was a maze of narrow streets too small for any size of cart to travel along, with buildings that leaned over the streets until they nearly touched, blocking out the sun. They hadn't been built that way, either; the Warren had been built over ground that had once been a refuse dump, and was now in the process of collapsing, and as it sank, the buildings leaned, coming closer and closer to falling down with every passing year. Constables never ventured in here; there were not enough of them. It would take a small army to clean out the Warren, and no one wanted to bother.
Sound echoed in here, and it was impossible to tell where a particular sound came from. This early in the afternoon, though, it was very quiet in the Warren. Somewhere there were children playing a counting game, a man coughed and could not seem to stop, babies wailed, and there were two people having a screaming argument. That was nothing compared with the noise and clamor in the inn district. The streets here were always damp, and slimy with things Robin didn't care to think about. The stench was not quite appalling; the horrible odors from both the tanner's and the dyer's district overwhelmed the local effluvia. A few undernourished, wiry children played in the streets—not the source of the childish voices, for these children were playing an odd and utterly silent game involving stones and chalk. But they were the exception here; most children in the Warren were hard at work—at a variety of jobs, some legal, most not. As soon as a child was able to hold something and take directions, it was generally put to work in a district like this one.
It sounds lovely.
Anyway, Robin's looking for a particular tavern. One that is both reputable, but also still serves free musicians. (It's where the innkeeper would have directed them if they'd come in as Bards.)
It's actually kind of a cool place:
Finally she spotted what passed for a sign; an empty barrel suspended over a tiny door. It looked nothing like a tavern on the outside, but when they opened the unlatched door and stood at the top of a short set of stone stairs, it was clear they had come to the right place.
Although the enormous room—a converted cellar—was very dark, it was also clean. A few good lanterns placed high on the wall where they would not be broken in a fight gave a reasonable amount of light. The furniture was simple, massive seats and tables built into the walls or bolted to the floor, so that they would not be broken up in a fight, or used as weapons. A huge fireplace in one wall with ovens built to either side—an ancient stone structure as old as the building—betrayed that this had once been a bakery.
It's definitely got speakeasy vibes.
Anyway, they chat with the proprietor, who is friendly enough. We learn some new slang too: "Buggie" which is a rude term for a nonhuman. It's for "Bug-eyed Monster", despite the fact that, the narrative tells us, most nonhumans aren't bug-eyed or monsters.
It MIGHT be more evidence of this society being a future post-apocalyptic version of ours though.
The reference is neutral, by the way. The dude is just noting that being a Free Bard is more dangerous than being anything but a nonhuman, right now.
The dude, Donnar, gives them the rundown of things: the new rules that forbid all forms of public entertainment and pleasure. Taverns being forbidden to serve anything stronger than beer. All extravagance and ornamentation being frowned on, and the brothels closed.
That said, there's still sex work. But you have to know where to go and who to ask: a particular lady tailor may have "personal fittings", and some bathhouses offer "special massages", but it's precarious. Lots of bribes needed.
Even Guild musicians have moved on. THAT says something, as usually the Guild and Church go hand in hand.
There are other interesting speakeasy type workarounds. Taverns don't sell alcohol, they sell the mugs. People can go to a convenient stall outside to buy single-drink bottles. Stuff like that.
Donnar and the other folk on the wrong side of the tracks DO realize that Padrik fakes his miracles, but they can't prove it. This causes a dilemma for Robin, because while she CAN explose Padrik as a fake, she'd need to reveal the methods behind his miracles to do it. That'd violate her own oath. And she doesn't have an easy way to contact her Clan Chief for permission.
There's another option though: trying to find out who's helped Padrik with the miracles. If she can expose THEM, then she can make THEM confess to helping with the miracles without revealing secrets. Unfortunately, Donnar doesn't know who could be helping. He suggests someone in the priesthood.
There's another possibility for getting info: going to a House. Meaning a brothel. Donnar can help them get an "audition". He can also get them safe passage through the Warren. The chapter ends with them heading out again.
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Date: 2024-06-11 01:03 am (UTC)= Multi-Facets.
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Date: 2024-06-11 01:07 am (UTC)