[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
catch hell for this later . . .
Then Aaron gave the signal and they dived into "Drowsy Maggie," half again as fast as
"Banish" and twice as lively. They ended in a flurry of wild notes, and the audience
applauded enthusiastically.
Oh, that was fun. Maureen, you would have liked that one . . .
That brought a sudden pain to his gut, his throat tightening. Damn it, Maureen, I thought
you'd love the Faire, I thought we'd be terrific together, soprano and flute. You'd actually get
to be close to your audience, see their reactions, how much they like your music; three feet
right in front of you instead of on the other side of the orchestra pit. I thought you'd be happy
here, and understand why I love doing this, playing Faire.
Why did you have to walk out on me?
He marched with the "Celtic bus" halfway back to the Hill, leaving the parade formation just
outside the Turkish coffeehouse. Eric waited in line at the counter, already imagining how
the sweet iced coffee would taste. Then he reached for his belt pouch to get out some cash,
and
and there were only the leather strings dangling from his belt, neatly cut just below the
knot.
Oh SHIT!
Somebody stole my money pouch! GODDAMMIT, this isn't FAIR!
He started to get angry but he ran out of energy, halfway through "disgusted."
Flat-lined. Emotional burnout.
Eric left the line, walked slowly to a convenient haybale, stretched out and closed his eyes in
numb despair.
What a truly revoltin development. First Maureen walks out on me, then someone steals my
cloak, then I damned near get thrown out of this Faire, then somebody cuts my belt pouch.
All the money that I made yesterday, busking with Maureen and the others. Gone.
I can't believe all of this is happening to me.
"But it could be worse."
The low male voice spoke quietly, directly into his left-ear. Startled, Eric sat up, looking
around.
And realized that no one was within ten feet of him. The closest person was a four-year-old
girl who was busily smearing baklava over her face while her mother and a friend were
watching the dance show on the small coffee-house stage.
Terrific. Now I'm losing my mind, too. Just what I always wanted.
The little girl held out a sticky hand to Eric, gravely offering a piece of straw-coated baklava.
He smiled and shook his head, then stood up.
Maureen s left me, he thought at her, as if she could hear him. Then someone stole my
cloak, I nearly lost this Faire gig, and a cutpurse got my cash pouch. It only had fifteen bucks
in it, not the end of the world, but that was all the money I had on me.
Methinks I need something stronger than Middle Eastern pastry, sweetling. But, in the
interest of the Faire's pristine reputation, I'll get out of the way before I look for it.
He waited until he was in the hidden grove, far from the thick dust and crowds, before
reaching for the corked flask at his side.
Then Eric proceeded to become thoroughly, profoundly drunk, for the second time in
twenty-four hours.
I love the smell of fresh dirt but I wish my nose didn't hurt. He opened his eyes a little, and
saw
Brown.
Oh. I'm lying facedown in it. That must be why it's a little difficult to breathe. Eric tried to roll
over onto his back, and failed. He tried again, then gave it up as hopeless.
S'okay. I really don't want to go anywhere, anyhow. I've always wanted to be a worm,
anyway. Worms can have a good time all by themselves and never know the difference. "Oh,
you're my tail? I thought you were my girlfriend."
He lay there in the dirt and oak leaves, imagining a beautiful red-haired woman smiling at
him. A particular beautiful red-haired woman.
"Eric, I've decided it doesn't matter to me what you do with your life, all I want is to be with
you, always."
Then she leaned forward to kiss him and ...
Dream on. Banyon.
Oh, Maureen . . .
He managed to get his head turned to one side, and pillowed his cheek in the crook of his
arm. He blinked back tears and sniffled, startling a bluejay who had been investigating him
curiously, doubtlessly wondering if all that hair would make a good lining for her nest. Great.
I'm lying in the dirt, completely wasted. Now I'm going to start leaking from the eyes. I'm
going to make mud to lie in. A perfect ending to a thoroughly delightful weekend.
"Bard? Bard? I need to talk to you."
The voice spoke softly, low musical tones, definitely male. Eric tried to open one eye to look
at the guy, but decided it wasn't worth it. "Go 'way. 'M trying to meditate."
"Please. It's very serious. I would not disturb your meditations, but I must ask some things of
you."
"Nothing's that serious. Here, have a drink." Eric still had his hip flask in his other hand. He
blindly shoved the flask in the direction of the voice. "Feel free to join me, there's plenty of
whiskey, plenty of room here on the ground. It's quite comfortable, really. If you don't mind
having rocks poking holes in your body."
The voice sounded profoundly puzzled. "No, thank you. But please, I must speak with you. I
have many questions, and you are the only one who can tell me the answers."
"Why? Who put me in charge? Go ask Caitlin or somebody."
"Why? You must you're the one who Awakened me." The voice became desperate.
"Please, Bard please."
Eric tried again to lift his nose from the dirt so he could see whom he was talking to, then
gave it up as a lost cause. "S'sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up. I just talk to myself when
I'm drinking, can't tell how loud I am, you know, just happens."
The voice wasn't paying any attention to him. "Please, you must answer my questions. Your
song Awakened me last night, and I don't know how long it has been. I cannot find any of my
own kind here, and ... I heard disturbing talk. Bard. They are saying that this place will be
destroyed soon. You, of all people, you must know what that will do to all of us. And the
others are they still Dreaming, or has soniething worse happened to them?"
Either I'm more drunk than I thought, or this guy is talking about something really and truly
bizarre.
Third possibility. Whatever he's doing has sent him into another reality. Bad drugs, Eric.
Humor the man. "Is this part of some street bit? I'm not in on it. Maybe you should save it for
the travelers, m'friend."
There was a long and profound silence, during which Eric felt his tenuous grip on [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl freetocraft.keep.pl
catch hell for this later . . .
Then Aaron gave the signal and they dived into "Drowsy Maggie," half again as fast as
"Banish" and twice as lively. They ended in a flurry of wild notes, and the audience
applauded enthusiastically.
Oh, that was fun. Maureen, you would have liked that one . . .
That brought a sudden pain to his gut, his throat tightening. Damn it, Maureen, I thought
you'd love the Faire, I thought we'd be terrific together, soprano and flute. You'd actually get
to be close to your audience, see their reactions, how much they like your music; three feet
right in front of you instead of on the other side of the orchestra pit. I thought you'd be happy
here, and understand why I love doing this, playing Faire.
Why did you have to walk out on me?
He marched with the "Celtic bus" halfway back to the Hill, leaving the parade formation just
outside the Turkish coffeehouse. Eric waited in line at the counter, already imagining how
the sweet iced coffee would taste. Then he reached for his belt pouch to get out some cash,
and
and there were only the leather strings dangling from his belt, neatly cut just below the
knot.
Oh SHIT!
Somebody stole my money pouch! GODDAMMIT, this isn't FAIR!
He started to get angry but he ran out of energy, halfway through "disgusted."
Flat-lined. Emotional burnout.
Eric left the line, walked slowly to a convenient haybale, stretched out and closed his eyes in
numb despair.
What a truly revoltin development. First Maureen walks out on me, then someone steals my
cloak, then I damned near get thrown out of this Faire, then somebody cuts my belt pouch.
All the money that I made yesterday, busking with Maureen and the others. Gone.
I can't believe all of this is happening to me.
"But it could be worse."
The low male voice spoke quietly, directly into his left-ear. Startled, Eric sat up, looking
around.
And realized that no one was within ten feet of him. The closest person was a four-year-old
girl who was busily smearing baklava over her face while her mother and a friend were
watching the dance show on the small coffee-house stage.
Terrific. Now I'm losing my mind, too. Just what I always wanted.
The little girl held out a sticky hand to Eric, gravely offering a piece of straw-coated baklava.
He smiled and shook his head, then stood up.
Maureen s left me, he thought at her, as if she could hear him. Then someone stole my
cloak, I nearly lost this Faire gig, and a cutpurse got my cash pouch. It only had fifteen bucks
in it, not the end of the world, but that was all the money I had on me.
Methinks I need something stronger than Middle Eastern pastry, sweetling. But, in the
interest of the Faire's pristine reputation, I'll get out of the way before I look for it.
He waited until he was in the hidden grove, far from the thick dust and crowds, before
reaching for the corked flask at his side.
Then Eric proceeded to become thoroughly, profoundly drunk, for the second time in
twenty-four hours.
I love the smell of fresh dirt but I wish my nose didn't hurt. He opened his eyes a little, and
saw
Brown.
Oh. I'm lying facedown in it. That must be why it's a little difficult to breathe. Eric tried to roll
over onto his back, and failed. He tried again, then gave it up as hopeless.
S'okay. I really don't want to go anywhere, anyhow. I've always wanted to be a worm,
anyway. Worms can have a good time all by themselves and never know the difference. "Oh,
you're my tail? I thought you were my girlfriend."
He lay there in the dirt and oak leaves, imagining a beautiful red-haired woman smiling at
him. A particular beautiful red-haired woman.
"Eric, I've decided it doesn't matter to me what you do with your life, all I want is to be with
you, always."
Then she leaned forward to kiss him and ...
Dream on. Banyon.
Oh, Maureen . . .
He managed to get his head turned to one side, and pillowed his cheek in the crook of his
arm. He blinked back tears and sniffled, startling a bluejay who had been investigating him
curiously, doubtlessly wondering if all that hair would make a good lining for her nest. Great.
I'm lying in the dirt, completely wasted. Now I'm going to start leaking from the eyes. I'm
going to make mud to lie in. A perfect ending to a thoroughly delightful weekend.
"Bard? Bard? I need to talk to you."
The voice spoke softly, low musical tones, definitely male. Eric tried to open one eye to look
at the guy, but decided it wasn't worth it. "Go 'way. 'M trying to meditate."
"Please. It's very serious. I would not disturb your meditations, but I must ask some things of
you."
"Nothing's that serious. Here, have a drink." Eric still had his hip flask in his other hand. He
blindly shoved the flask in the direction of the voice. "Feel free to join me, there's plenty of
whiskey, plenty of room here on the ground. It's quite comfortable, really. If you don't mind
having rocks poking holes in your body."
The voice sounded profoundly puzzled. "No, thank you. But please, I must speak with you. I
have many questions, and you are the only one who can tell me the answers."
"Why? Who put me in charge? Go ask Caitlin or somebody."
"Why? You must you're the one who Awakened me." The voice became desperate.
"Please, Bard please."
Eric tried again to lift his nose from the dirt so he could see whom he was talking to, then
gave it up as a lost cause. "S'sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up. I just talk to myself when
I'm drinking, can't tell how loud I am, you know, just happens."
The voice wasn't paying any attention to him. "Please, you must answer my questions. Your
song Awakened me last night, and I don't know how long it has been. I cannot find any of my
own kind here, and ... I heard disturbing talk. Bard. They are saying that this place will be
destroyed soon. You, of all people, you must know what that will do to all of us. And the
others are they still Dreaming, or has soniething worse happened to them?"
Either I'm more drunk than I thought, or this guy is talking about something really and truly
bizarre.
Third possibility. Whatever he's doing has sent him into another reality. Bad drugs, Eric.
Humor the man. "Is this part of some street bit? I'm not in on it. Maybe you should save it for
the travelers, m'friend."
There was a long and profound silence, during which Eric felt his tenuous grip on [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]