Bastion

the end of his judgment book, shortly before supper. “I’ve nothing to complain about, Headman,” Jakyr said, as the man closed his book and stowed it away in his satchel. “I’ll not be needing to see anyone you called judgment on, unless they wish to bring something up before me. So I’ll be back in the morning to give them the opportunity. Meanwhile, the Crown thanks you for your cooperation.”
    At any other time, the Headman might have muttered something uncomplimentary about the Crown, but there was a Bard and her Journeyman sitting not four lengths away from him, and it was clear there was going to be some excellent entertainment in less than a candlemark. So he just mumbled something marginally gracious back, and hurried out, the image clear in his mind that he was going to return his judgment book, tell his wife that the children could be given their dinner by the cook, and he was treating her to the inn tonight, and hurry her back here.
    Jakyr raised an eyebrow. Mags shook his head slightly. Jakyr relaxed, and before the inn got too crowded, he ordered a meal for both of them. The innkeeper at this point was so beside himself with happiness that his inn was going to be crammed full tonight that he didn’t even bother to charge them real money. He accepted the chit absently and hurried back down to his cellar to bring up another barrel of beer. There would be a lot of drinking tonight; throats got dry when people were encouraged to sing along, and when people were choked up with emotion, they tended to drink as well, and a Bard who wanted the good will of the innkeeper would see to it those moments came often.
    The food wasn’t as good as Jakyr’s cooking, but it wasn’t anything you had to choke down. The inn slowly filled, and Mags and Jakyr moved to the farthest corner of the room to make way for people for whom this was going to be a rare treat.
    :Should we leave?: he Mindsent to Jakyr.
    He sensed the effort it took his mentor to reply. :No. Would look odd. Understand?:
    After a moment of thought, he did understand. Why would the Heralds leave—presumably for an ill-tended Waystation, isolated outside of town—right when the inn was full of people, warm, they were getting a good meal, and not just one, but two Bards were about to perform? People would ask why, and there was no good explanation for leaving like that.
    And anything they tried to do to make it believable would only make the whole situation look odder. Shoulder their way out, muttering loudly how much they hated music? Very bad idea. No one would ever believe it. Pretend a sudden headache or illness? Ridiculous. And there was no way, in their Whites and Grays, that they could get out inconspicuously.
    The best thing they could do was what they were doing; it was courteous of them to get to the back of the room and allow others a better view. That would reflect well on them. But they should be listening as if they had never heard Lita and Lena play before, and show their appreciation. Not that this would be difficult, after all.
    And this would be an excellent way to see if there was anything amiss among the people of this village. Most of them would be here tonight, and if anyone was harboring guilty secrets, given the usual content of the songs that Lita performed, sooner or later something would leak out where he could “see” it. So as they listened to Lita and Lena tune up, he let stray thoughts brush against his mind, looking for ones that were out of the ordinary.
    He really didn’t find anything. When they weren’t being surly and resentful, these were just normal farming folk. There were no dark secrets here. People did stupid, sometimes unkind things. People did things that were a little bad, things that they were ashamed of. People cheated a little on their taxes, got a little greedy, sometimes they pilfered something that wasn’t properly theirs, they quarreled, they abused each other (but never to the point that it would call for a Herald’s intervention) and were basically just . . . people. A little good, a little bad, mostly just getting by. Not even close to the level of evil that Cole Pieters and his sons maintained.
    And when they hurt someone, in general, they made it up later, were kind, generous, thoughtful, contrite.
    Ordinary folks, a muddle in the middle, just trying to get by with the least amount of pain and the greatest amount of joy. He could not argue with that.
    He caught one thought that