The Eagle & the Nightingales: Bardic Voices, Book III by Mercedes Lackey Page B

began between his ears and traveled down his neck, presumably to end between his shoulder blades.
    Unlike the adults, who were muscular enough to give any five men pause, this boy was thin, gawky, awkward, exactly like a young colt. Although he had three-fingered hands that were otherwise identical to a humans, with nails that were much thicker and black, his feet presumably ended in hooves, for Nightingale heard them clopping on the pavement.
    “This lady is a musician, and she’ll be joining us, Kovey,” the man said. “Take her little beast and—” He turned back to Nightingale. “I assume that room and board will be part of the arrangement?”
    “That’s the usual,” she replied shortly, unable to be anything but amused herself at the way he had decided that she was going to stay.
    “Right then, have her things taken up to the Gallery and put ’em in the first empty room. Then leave word at the desk which it is.”
    The Mintak boy nodded his hairy head and trotted over to them, extending his hand for the donkey’s lead-rope. The donkey stepped up to him eagerly as Nightingale put the rope into his large, square hands. He smiled shyly, showing the blunt teeth of a true herbivore.
    Interesting. If I did not have the abilities I do, I would be very suspicious at this point. They have parted me from my transportation and my belongings and gotten me inside a building with no clear escape route. Do they assume that I am naive, or do they assume that as a Gypsy I do have other senses at my command?
    It could be either. Her clothing marked her as country folk; it could be presumed that she was not familiar with the ways of cities and the hazards therein. On the other hand, the man had not only recognized her as a Gypsy, but as a Free Bard . . .
    Boy and donkey trotted off down the corridor, and Nightingale’s escort ushered her past the second doorway and into the “tavern” proper.
    The man waited for her reaction, but she was not the country cousin she looked, and she didn’t give him the gasp of surprise that he had expected. She had assumed that the “tavern” took up a good portion of the building as estimated from outside, and she had not been mistaken. Maddy had not been mistaken in comparing this place to a Faire. The main portion of the tavern—she couldn’t think of a better name for it—had a ceiling that was quite three stories above the rest, and pierced with the most amazing skylights she had ever seen. They were not clear, but made with colored glass, exactly like the windows in the larger Cathedrals. Below the skylights hung contrivances that Nightingale guessed were probably lights. Beneath these skylights was an open floor, all of wood, with a raised platform at one end and with benches around it, exactly like a dance floor and stage at a Faire, except that at a Faire the dancing area would be floored in dirt.
    This took up approximately half the floor space. The rest—well, it looked very much as if someone had taken all of the entertainment and eating places at a really huge Faire and proceeded to stack them inside this building.
    All around the walls, from the ground floor to the ceiling, there were alcoves for eating and drinking, many with comfortable seating and a small stage for one to three performers. Many of the alcoves had recognizable bars in the back; some had doors that could be slid across the front, cutting them off from, the main room. Some boasted braziers and what might be odd cooking implements as well. Some had nothing at all but the seating.
    Not that this place was as elegant as the skylights indicated; in fact, the opposite was true. The building showed its heritage quite clearly; walls and the ceiling were roughly finished, huge metal beams were exposed, and ropes and wires hung everywhere.
    Still it was a monumental undertaking, putting this place together at all, and Nightingale rather liked the unfinished atmosphere. That was the difference—outside, things