Hearts Return - Part 13c

From the stage, Zandrianna watches in fear as the Watch men close in on Rastellion. He’s too intently focused on the man he’s arguing with to notice – at least, focused until Ceolfred jumps up on the table to dance. That captures Rastellion’s attention and, at the last moment, the young man notices the approaching guards. He turns and flees blindly through the crowd.

Doing her best to keep the music in time, Zandrianna gapes at the unfolding spectacle. Rastellion barely slips away from the first set of guards as he darts in between revelers and stalls, looking for an escape. “Rast, no”' she whispers as another Watcher joins the fray, and Rastellion barely manages to push a set of chairs between himself and this new pursuer as he changes direction yet again.

Back and forth Rastellion weaves through the drunken crowds, pushing people aside, drawing closer to the stage in his unplanned flight, just as Zandrianna and Emra finish their final song. He’s rushing past the stage as the ladies begin to take a bow for the crowd – the watchmen close on his tail.

As he passes, Zandrianna, with an exaggerated flourish, bumps one of the poles that supports the stage’s canopy. It wobbles and then comes crashing down on the ground in front of her, trapping the lead guard – along with a couple of drunk revelers – and tripping two of his companions behind him. Mayhem ensues.

The guard struggles to disentangle himself from the heavy cloth. "After 'im," he cries. "The fellow's got a gold on his head!" He tugs angrily at the fold that's looped around his arm, but only succeeds in pulling down a second pole. It thwacks across a table on the lower platform, sending the blue-and-cream clad performers tumbling backwards with cries of outrage and surprise.

Emra keeps her head down in a bow as she tries her hardest not to burst out in laughter at the sight below - the guard, red-faced and furious, swearing at the brightly colored fabric. She stands, her face schooled in an expression of baffled shock, and looks in the direction Rastellion had run and scans the crowd. Where had that boy gone off to? Ah! Her lips curl into a half grin as he slips between two of the nearby buildings and disappears from sight.

Zandrianna, setting her harp aside, scrambles down from the stage. "Are you alright?" she asks the guard, attempting to help him stand from the wreckage of the canopy, despite his muttered curses and protests. Finally, the man lets out a growl of frustration and shoves her backwards. The back of her leg connects with the edge of the stage and she lets out a yelp of surprised pain, grabbing the edge of the platform to keep from falling.

Emra jumps down from the stage, her hands balled in fists as she prepares to take a swing at the watch man. Then she bursts out laughing as the guard suddenly finds himself planted back on his arse by a passing man doing what gives every appearance of being a drunken jig, his salt and pepper hair falling into his eyes as he stumbles past, tripping over the fallen canopy, stumbling onward, and somehow contriving to leave the guards even more tangled by the fabric in his wake.

The guard’s leader finally manages to get to his feet. "What're you two just standin' around starin' at?" he demands of his companions, who are trying to suppress chuckles at their captain's predicament. "After 'im! That fellow ain't gettin' any closer while you two clowns stand 'round gawkin'." He looks around at the milling crowd. "Which way'd 'e go?" The other two, still suppressing their laughs look at him blankly, then at each other, then both point, in wildly different directions. The captain swears and looks about. "Anyone see which way 'e went?" he demands.

Emra shakes her head at the question and her finger at the guard. "How were we supposed to see anything with you pushing helpless women around ... women that were only trying to help. You ought to be ashamed mister - and stripped of that badge. Guard indeed. You're a disgrace."

Zandrianna gives a polite cough. "I'm afraid in all the commotion I didn't see which way anyone went, much less the man you were chasing." She carefully steps over one of the canopy poles and looks around, watching several revelers - at least the more sober ones - look to each other and shrug. Several point in different ways.

The captain scowls; then, picking the direction one of his subordinates had indicated, he heads off into the crowd, at right angles to the path Rastellion actually took, the other guards following.

Zandrianna watches the guards wander off, and turns to Emra. "That was too close," she whispers as the dark-haired woman leans in.

"Too close by far," Emra agrees, "What was the fool thinking coming out here in the open like this?"

Zandrianna looks up at the sky and shakes her head. "I only hope he got somewhere safe ... and out of sight."

Behind the two women, the other performers are getting back to their feet. One gives an angry cry. "My cordial!" he exclaims, in a slightly raspy voice, and his companions give a few sympathetic exclamations of alarm. Turning, Zandrianna sees that the speaker is the burned-face man she recognized earlier. In his hand he holds the broken handle of a small ceramic pitcher, now shattered.

Zandrianna moves to join him, Emra close behind. She looks down at the shattered remains of the pitcher and then back up at the man, her expression a mixture of confusion and sympathy. "What was it?" she asked, motioning to the ground.

The man glances over her shoulder and scowls. "Never you mind," he says, his voice harsh, and turns back to his group. "I've got more cordial back at our rooms. I'll be back before they get this farce cleaned up." He steps down to the plaza and strides off across the square, pushing his way through the onlookers who are still excitedly discussing the recent debacle with the awning.

The leader of the other group looks after him for a moment, shaking her head, then turns to address Zandrianna. "I apologize for Sterek. He's got a short temper sometimes - but he's not had it easy." She gestures toward Zandrianna's calf. "Are you alright? I saw that brute of a guard shove you."

Zandrianna nods and reaches back to rub her leg. "I'm fine, though it'll be bruised tomorrow. I've never seen such a debacle." She smiles at the other woman. "I'm sorry to hear about your friend. I'm a healer, if there's anything I can do for master. ... Sterek, you said?"

The older woman waves this away. "No, no. It's fine. We've more of his potion at the Stoat." She turns to look in the direction the young man went. "A shame, really," she murmurs regretfully, half to herself. "He had such a lovely voice, before the fire. The potion soothes some of it back, but only some. He plucks the strings well as ever, and he still sings well enough, better than many, but it's not the same."

"Aye, but I wish that potion of his soothed his temper as well as his throat," one of the other musicians grumbles. "Been a right pain having him with us, and at the last minute. If only Lebin hadn't had that fall an' broke his leg..."

Zandrianna nods. "It must have been a horrible fire to leave him in such a condition.”

"Father, step-mother, step-sister, baby brother. He only survived because the neighbors dragged him out; he was already unconscious and ... well, you saw." A worker pushes between the two women with a muttered apology and sets to righting the fallen pole and canopy. The other band leader shakes herself out of memories. "Well, done is done." She steps out of the way of the repairs and turns back to Zandrianna. "I liked your last number - I've not heard that setting of it before. Where'd you find it?"

Zandrianna turns to Emra, who appears to be lazily looking over the crowds toward the judges, and nods. "She came up with it, was humming it and started playing it that way so ..." Zandrianna shrugs and turns back to the other band leader. "Sometimes, you just never know do you?" she asks wryly.

The other chuckles. "True enough."

There's a commotion at the edge of the crowd, then Sterek reappears, puffing slightly, with a new pitcher in hand. Once back on the platform he pulls the wax stopper off the jug's mouth, then takes a quick swallow. "Catch yer breath, Sterek," one of the other musicians says. "They're not ready for us yet." This hopeful statement is disproven as the workmen finish righting the final pole, and calls for the next group are heard.

The older woman gestures her group toward the main stage. Sterek leads the way, shoving past Zandrianna and Emra without a word. "Seems they're ready for us," the woman says. "Good luck to you two in the competition .. though not too good, of course!"

"Same to you," Zandrianna says with a grin, watching the group head up to the main platform, her hand clenched tightly in the folds of her skirt. She turns back to Emra, "Nice people, but we’ll need to beat them if we’re to get into that villa."

As she starts walking towards a nearby ale stand, Zandrianna shakes her head. How strange, she thinks, that I should hear twice about a house fire like that. It's almost as if... Zandrianna freezes in mid-step, causing Emra to bump into her.

"Hey! Warn me next time you're going to stop dead like a mule .. What is it?" Emra asks, glimpsing the expression on Zandrianna's face.

"Father, step-mother ... only alive because …" Zandrianna's head whips around and she stares at the burned young man now singing on stage, her jaw open in surprise. "Theoden King," she whispers.

"What?" Emra demands, tugging on Zandrianna's sleeve as she follows to the ale stand. She plunks down two silvers and Zandrianna accepts the ales from an unusually rosy-cheeked hobbit. Emra positions herself so she can watch the stage. and takes a long drink. "Tell me.”

“I was at the dressmaker earlier today. The one that the serving girl works for?” Zandrianna adds, seeing the question in Emra's eyes. “I was tending the woman's hands when she told me an interesting story about ...” Zandrianna breaks off as someone calls her name.

At the edge of the crowd, Madame Greenvale waves her cane at Zandrianna, then makes her arthritic way toward them across the cobbles, Delliah at her elbow. "Those were some nice tunes you two played," she says in a thin voice, once she's sat down beside them and caught her breath. "Very lively. Seemed a bit soft to me, but the fellows beside us were tappin' their feet."

Behind Madame Greenvale's back, Delliah grins. "Could hear just fine," she says. "Very pretty."

Past her, Zandrianna can see the blue-and-cream clad band striking up their second number... and can't help but notice that they seem to be drawing far more of the crowd's attention than she and Emrabeth had managed. Even the judges have paused in their conversations with the mayor to listen.

“Thank you,” Zandrianna replies with a smile, though her eyes remain on the stage. “I only hope our playing will be good enough, but we'll not know until the actual competition.” She tears her eyes away from the stage and looks over at Madame Greenvale. “How are you feeling? Did you come out to watch the music or did you need anything else?” she asks the older woman, though she directs the questions at Delliah.

"What's that?" the old woman asks, cupping a hand to her ear. "My knees? Oh, they're fine, just old. Happens to all of us... you'll see, you'll see."

Behind her, Delliah bends down and repeats what Zandrianna had said into the older woman’s ear.

"Oh, need anything? No no.. and look!" She extends her hands, spreading the fingers and wincing only slightly. "Been weeks since I could do that! I'm right grateful. Put all those local charlatans to shame, you did, and I'll be letting them know it too!" A note of pleased anticipation enters her voice as she contemplates this telling off.

Zandrianna smiles at the older woman. “Then you're here to listen to the music? A fine evening for it as well,” she comments.

“At least it was a fine until ...” Emra starts but halts abruptly as Zandrianna glares at her, and returns her attention to the stage. “They do look nice up there, don't they?” Emra murmurs in appreciation.

“They do,” Zandrianna agrees, a note of trepidation in her voice.

Madame Greenvale nods vigorously. "That they do. And one good turn deserves another.” A bony finger presses down atop Zandrianna's hand on the table, regaining her attention. "So I'll tell you this. Don't matter how well you two play, you won't be chosen by the judges. Not the way you’re dressed now."

Across the square, the bells in the village hall's tower toll the hour. The mayor glances over at the tower in annoyance, then, drawing a breath, stands. Two of the judges stand with him. The movement among the judges catches Emra's attention and she stiffens and stands up straighter. “What do you mean?” she asks, not taking her eyes off of the judges. “I think we look just fine and, besides, our clothes aren't making the music. We are.”

Madame Greenvale chuckles, giving Emra a fond smile. "Ah, t' be young and innocent again...." Her sharp gaze returns to Zandrianna. "See here, that old coot up at the villa, he doesn't care about music, just about the look of the thing."

"That's so," Delliah interjects. "He shows more interest in the dress than his bride.”

"Precisely," the dressmaker says. "Don' know why he's makin' a spectacle out of this wedding. Don't know why he's even gettin' married. I'd not have thought him the type, nor that anyone'd take him." She waves her bony hand in the air between them. "But that's no matter. Point is, it’s a spectacle, and the judges know this. If ya want any of th' top spots, you've got t' look th' part." She jerks a thumb over her shoulder at the stage. "The way those 'uns do."

At the judge's table, handshakes are going around. Then the mayor strides off in one direction, continuing his conversation with the man who accompanies him. The second judge heads off in the opposite direction, angling somewhat away from where the four women are talking, while the third refills his tankard and settles back to listen to the next number.

Zandrianna chews on her lip thoughtfully.“We didn't have time to have anything special made before we left, and besides such outfits cost dearly. Mayhap I could see what we have packed and have them … Emra where are you going” she asks, grabbing the other woman's arm. “I'm sure whatever young fellow it is can wait on you a bit longer,” she adds with a huff.

“I'm not …” Emra starts but one look at Zandrianna's expression and she shuts her mouth. She pulls her arm away from the lady's grasp and resumes looking after the second judge. 'Where is he?' she thinks, bouncing on her feet as her eyes scanned the crowd. 'Oh there.' She watches him, only half paying attention to the conversation.

Madam Greenvale grins, pleased with herself, displaying her several remaining teeth. "Something new, aye, there'd not be time. But I've got a few things in my shop that I think might serve. Even some matched sets. And I could fancy them up with bits of ribbon or..." She pushes herself to her feet and moves around the table to Zandrianna's side, scarcely drawing breath as she rattles off thoughts about colors, fabric, and accents, poking Zandrianna here and there – hip or shoulder or collar – as she describes what she might be able to do.

Emra glances back, amused at the sight of Madam Greenvale's poking and prodding. 'Oh crap,' she thinks, remembering the judge and scans the crowd again. 'Did I lose him? Don't tel me I lost him. Crapcrapcrapcr … oh.” She watches him head down a short street and take a turn, moving further out of sight – and further away. Not waiting to explain, she thrusts her mug into Zandrianna's chest. "Here, hold this. Something I've got to do, won't be long." Before Zandrianna can retort, Emra hurries away, weaving her way through the crowds.

Zandrianna mutters in annoyance. "That woman. I don't get her at all." She takes a long drink of her own ale and shakes her head. “We’d certainly be grateful for something like that; when should we come by the shop?” she asks Madame Greenvale, shaking her head in apology for Emra's sudden disappearance.

The dressmaker watches Emra racing off. "Young folk," she mutters. "Everything's always so important. Delliah here's the same way." She answers Zandrianna, “Well, it's too late now anyway. And I'll be wantin' to soak my hands again, like you showed me, before bed. Just you two come around tomorrow morning and I'll see what I can do for you. Just three doors down that lane there, on the left."

"Of course, we'd be happy to come by. It's most appreciated," Zandrianna replies graciously.

"One good turn deserves another," the old woman repeats. She offers her arm to Delliah. "Now help me home, lass. I think that's plenty enough excitement for me for one night. An' you know how it'll be once the bardin' is finished: they’ll tap more kegs and, well... You young people these days! Now, when I was your age..." He thin voice is soon lost among the hubbub as Delliah, patiently, leads her off.

Zandrianna sets the mugs down at a nearby booth. That Emra, she thinks. Who knows what gets into her sometimes? She'll have to hear what I was going to say tonight then, when I tell Ceolfred. With that, she heads back up the road towards their inn.