Technical Details Page 6
"Friar?" a voice said, very close to his left elbow.
Hearing it, his soul shattered again, and when he turned his head to meet Ponnor's eyes, his own were filled with tears.
The other man smiled.
"I am sorry that I will not be able to stay and hear the rest of the great music," he said. "My grandmother calls me."
Friar Julian shook his head.
"I bargained in bad faith. I cannot release you."
Incredibly, Ponnor's smile grew wider.
"I think you are too hard on yourself," he said, and extended a large, calloused hand. "Come, let us celebrate this lady and her return to song."
Friar Julian hesitated, staring from hand to face.
"Did you understand what I said?" he asked. "It's not in my power to release you."
"That!" Ponnor said gaily. "We will see about that, I think! Come, now, and walk with me. We will test this thing. Let us go together down the street to the tavern. We will drink, and bid each other farewell."
"I tell you, it is impossible!" cried Friar Julian.
His wrist was caught in one large hand, and he came to his feet, reluctantly, and Ponnor's hand still holding him, went out of the niche and into the nave, where the day visitors and the laymen, and all of the friars, stood, their faces bathed in wonder.
"Was that," asked a woman wearing a flowered apron, "the organ?"
"Julian?" said Friar Anton. "Is it—I thought I heard. . ."
"You did hear!" Ponnor answered, loudly. "Your organ sings again! Soon, Friar Julian will come back and play for you all, but first, he and me—we have business to conduct."
No one questioned him, least of all Friar Julian, the music still ringing in his head. The crowd parted before them, all the way down to the day-door.
Friar Julian came to his wits as the sun struck his face, and he pulled back.
"You will be struck!" he cried.
"Not I!" Ponnor declared. "What a beautiful day it is!"
That was so, Friar Julian saw, the sun smiling cheerfully upon the broken street, and the children playing Find Me! among the piles of salvage.
Halfway down the street, the bright red sign of the saloon mere steps ahead, Friar Julian exclaimed, "But you're out of range! The chip should have activated!"
"You see?" Ponnor grinned. "You have kept your word! The gods of the house would not let you sin."
A miracle, thought Friar Julian. I am witness to the movements of the gods.
Dazed, he followed Ponnor into the room, and allowed him to choose a table near the door.
"Sit, sit! I will fetch us each a glass of blusherrie! A special day begs for a special drink!"
The friar sat, and glanced about him. The hour was early and custom was light. Across from him a dark haired man wearing a hat sat alone at a table, nursing a beer. On the other side of the door, near to the bar, a young woman with red ribbons plaited into her black hair, black eyes sultry, sat by herself, an empty glass on the table beside her.
"Here we are!" Ponnor returned noisily, placing two tall glasses of blue liquid in the table's center, as he sat down in the chair opposite.
"We will drink to the lady's restored health!" Ponnor declared, and they did, Friar Julian choking a little as the liquid burned down his throat. It had been a long time since he had drunk such wine.
"We will drink to the wisdom and the mercy of the gods and their consorts!" he cried then, entering into the spirit of the moment.
They drank.
"We will drink to fond partings," Ponnor said, and they did that, too.
Father Julian sighed, surprised to see that his glass was nearly empty. He felt at peace, and more than a little drowsy.
Across the table, Ponnor set aside his glass and rose.
"I leave you now," he said. Father Julian felt his hand lifted, and blinked when Ponnor placed a reverent kiss upon his knuckles.
"Enjoy your sweet lady, sir," Ponnor said, and was gone, walking briskly out the door.
At once, the man and the woman at the single tables rose and followed him out.
That was odd, thought Friar Julian, and sleepily raised his glass for another sip of blusherrie.
"Hey," said a rough voice at his side. Friar Julian blinked awake and smiled sleepily up at a man wearing an apron. The barkeeper, perhaps.
"Yes?" he said.
"What I wanna know," the man said, looking down at him with a thunderous frown, "is who's gonna pay for them drinks."
Friar Julian sat up straight, suddenly and vividly awake.
Money! He had no money! Ponnor—
"The guy with the mustache said you'd pay for them, too," the barkeep said, using a blunt thumb to indicate the two single tables, now empty. "We ain't the church, here, see? You drink, you pay."
"Yes, I understand," said Friar Julian, his heart sinking, thinking of the few coins left in the cash box, after the medical supplies had been purchased.
Futilely, knowing they were empty, he patted the pockets of his robe. The right one was as flat as he expected, but the left one. . .
Crinkled.
Wondering, Friar Julian pulled out a bright blue envelope. He ran his finger under the flap, and drew out a sheaf of notes. Notes! Not coins.
He offered the topmost to the bartender, who eyed it consideringly.
"Hafta go in back to change that," he said.
Friar Julian nodded.
Alone, he fanned the money, seeing food, medicines, seeds for their kitchen garden. . .
Something fluttered out of the envelope. Friar Julian bent and picked it up off the floor.
It was a business card for one Amu Song, dealer in oddities, with an address at the spaceport. Father Julian flipped it over, frowning at the cramped writing there.
The gods help those who help themselves.
He stared at it, flipped the card again, and there was the word, oddities. He thought of the North Transept, the cluttered tables of worthless offerings there.
. . .and he began, very softly, to laugh.
About the Authors
Maine-based writers Sharon Lee and Steve Miller teamed up in the late 80s to bring the world the story of Kinzel, a inept wizard with a love of cats, a thirst for justice, and a staff of true power. Since then, the husband-and-wife team have written dozens of short stories, and twenty-one novels, most set in their star-spanning Liaden Universe®. Before settling down to the serene and stable life of a science fiction and fantasy writer, Steve was a traveling poet, a rock-band reviewer, reporter, and editor of a string of community newspapers. Sharon, less adventurous, has been an advertising copywriter, copy editor on night-side news at a small city newspaper, reporter, photographer, and book reviewer. Both credit their newspaper experiences with teaching them the finer points of collaboration. Sharon and Steve passionately believe that reading fiction ought to be fun, and that stories are entertainment. Steve and Sharon maintain a web presence at www.korval.com
For a complete list of Lee and Miller eChapbooks, please visit Pinbeam Books (www.pinbeambooks.com)
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Sharon Lee and Steve Miller