Robin held the last note for a moment before letting it fade. The small room in the ruined tavern whispered with a smattering of applause. Robin didn’t mind, though. There were only a couple of dozen people here anyway. They couldn’t manage more than a smattering of anything.

He hefted Bertha’s Bottle and made his way around the room. He kept one eye on the rest of his party as he went. Not that he was currently wearing his party face. There was no reason to fear Khavren would recognise him. No, Robin just wanted to make sure he took care of all the other customers that wanted a slug from the bottle first, so he’d have more time to linger and talk with Drev, Jhess, and Khavren in his Marq persona.

They had a healer to find, and Khavren’s way clearly wasn’t getting them anywhere.

It took longer than he expected. Everyone seemed to want a slug from Bertha’s Bottle. A good sign. Robin’s plan was working, and there was coin slowly filling his pockets.

When he did make it to the table his party occupied, Drev and Jhess were deep in conversation while Khavren scowled and offered the occasional comment. They were discussing the problem of their missing healer.

Perfect.

Robin lingered with the customers nearest the party for a few moments longer than he might have otherwise, listening for a good spot to enter the conversation Drev and Jhess were having. He didn’t have to wait long. It seemed today had been no more fruitful than any other in the past fortnight.

‘We’re going to have to branch out from the temples at this point,’ Jhess was saying. ‘We’ve tried them and no one is interested. For some reason.’ She shot a significant glance at Drev.

Fortunately, Khavren didn’t notice.

‘No! Only a temple healer will do,’ the knight insisted.

‘So you agree,’ Jhess said, ‘we should visit the Church of Isha’gal next.’

Khavren reddened at the mention of the deity of conquest and sensual delights.

‘No,’ he said, ‘we are not yet that desperate.’

‘I don’t understand your objection,’ Drev said. ‘They are both skilled healers and able combatants. Really, I’d say it’s an ideal option—’

‘I said no!’ Khavren insisted. ‘It would not be good for our image, and we’ve already—’

Robin chose this moment to interrupt, before his alter-ego could be slandered in front of him.

‘Drink from the Bottle?’ he asked, stepping in.

Jhess thrust out her cup with a grin. Drev was a bit more restrained, but also put forward his tankard. Robin poured, first for Jhess and then for Drev, easily hiding the gestures of [Lesser Phantasm] at this point. Jhess got a taste of gym sweat—payback for so swiftly volunteering him for daily training with Khavren—and Drev got strawberry wine.

As the rogue sputtered and glared at him, Robin (as Marq) turned to Khavren and offered him a shot from the Bottle. The knight flatly refused. Because why would anyone want to do something like have a little fun?

Robin switched tacks. He was here about the healer anyway.

‘It’s never easy, getting a good party together,’ he said, oozing sympathy. ‘Have you tried—’

‘How dare you listen in on a private conversation!’ Khavren’s words flew hot and sharp out of his mouth, like sparks from a forge.

Robin blinked, taken somewhat aback by the intensity of the knight’s response. Disproportionate much? He couldn’t resist clapping back, just a bit.

‘I’m sorry, friend, but it can’t be that private. Your voice, in particular, is rather loud. I’m sure everyone in here has heard of your, ah, recruitment drought.’

Khavren actually shut his mouth with a snap, surprised.

Had no one ever told him he was loud? No. Probably not. Not only would no one want to offend him, not many people would have spent enough time near the man to really know that he had a serious modulation issue.

‘Have you given any thought to getting candidates to come to you? It has to be a slow and frustrating process, travelling temple to temple, going through rosters, and interviewing candidates that aren’t really right just to have the time taken from you when they don’t work out.’ Robin pulled up a chair and settled into it companionably before taking an obvious pull from Bertha’s Bottle.

It was more for show than anything else. He barely even wet his tongue. And that alone was enough to almost set his throat afire.

He really needed to start buying better alcohol.

When he could afford it.

‘How would we do that?’ Drev asked.

Khavren looked suspicious. Jhess was still gagging from her drink. Robin settled in and let his Marq persona take the wheel.

‘Depends exactly what you want. You figure out your ideal candidate and work back from there. There’s no point putting on a show for sailors if you want to attract an audience full of seamstresses.’

‘What?’ Khavren looked confused.

‘No, that actually makes sense,’ Jhess said, joining the conversation. ‘What do we really want? Specifically. And what would be nice to have? We need to know that before we really even know what we’re looking for.’

‘A virtuous healer,’ Khavren said promptly. ‘Modest, skilled in the restorative arts, and from the right temple.’ He glared at Jhess.

‘I’d say some of those are wants, rather than needs.’ Drev actually managed to sound slightly regretful for Khavren’s benefit. ‘The absolute minimum of our needs are the right level of healing skill and a willingness to work with us.’ The last was slightly pointed. ‘Up until now the lack of the latter has been the main sticking point keeping us from completing our party.’

Khavren looked rebellious, but didn’t actually come out and argue the point. That was progress!

‘And you want them to be modest.’ Robin resisted the urge to roll his eyes all the way out of their sockets. ‘From the right kind of temple. And what else? A good teammate? Someone you can work easily with? I can’t imagine you want to risk getting a prickly healer who might hold grudges and therefore be less than kind in the execution of their duty.’

Khavren looked shocked at the mere suggestion that any healer would be anything less than an angel of mercy with the patience of a saint and a voice that was balm to every wounded soul.

Ugh. The knight’s obsession with a certain kind of story struck again. This was going to be a recurring problem, Robin could see, unless he could work it to his advantage.

‘I think that is one of your problems right there,’ he said earnestly. ‘You’re describing an ideal healer who is already at the height of their powers, who has already journeyed far along their path. Please don’t take offence at this, but it looks to me like you yourselves are closer to beginning to walk the path of power than to reaching its end.’ Robin looked to Khavren for confirmation. Knights were supposed to be modest, so he should at least pick up this cue.

‘We are,’ Khavren said stoutly, ‘though for our green years, our skill is nonetheless most puissant.’

That’s right, big guy. Play the role. Robin could work with this.

‘Does it not stand to reason, then, that you should be seeking a healer who is likewise positioned on this path? Including in walking their way to virtue? Have you not heard the story of Saint Augustine? Saint Dismas? Saint Angela?’

Some of the religions of the region had calendars of saints. Robin’s [Bardic Lore] told him that much. It also supplied some details on a few of the saints he could recall as having sinful pasts.

‘I have not heard of these saints.’ Khavren, again, and suspicious.

‘Perhaps you know them by different names,’ Robin suggested. ‘I have travelled far before coming here to Noviel. Like the gods, saints often have many names in many different places.’

‘This is true,’ Khavren admitted grudgingly.

Robin launched into the tale of St. Dismas, a thief, who found salvation only at the end of his life. Though Robin severely edited the tale, and made the one who inspired the thief to change a noble knight, cruelly wronged by a jealous local magistrate. He figured that would resonate better with Khavren.

He was not wrong.

‘It is true I take great delight in the reformation of lost souls,’ Khavren mused. ‘Even now I am attempting to instil the glory of honourable combat into an unfortunate weasel of a bard—no offence.’

‘None taken,’ Robin lied through his teeth. In reality, he was definitely insulted, both on his behalf and on behalf of weasels. Weasels were awesome! Adorable predators that could fell prey many times their own size? What was not to love?

He wondered how much Khavren out-massed him by.

‘It will also be easier to recruit healers of that description,’ Jhess said. ‘I’m sure many of them have been overlooked by other parties—entirely unfairly, when they have so much potential to do good.’

Ah. Good job, Jhess! Hit Khavren with an analogy to his own situation—provided the knight was bright enough to pick up on it.

Khavren looked thoughtful. Robin took the opportunity to pour the knight a glug from Bertha’s Bottle and twist his fingers through the gestures that would make the knight’s drink taste of sacramental wine.

Robin had sampled enough of the stuff on the black market when buying booze for this place. It had a distinct taste: cheap. Temples that shared out wine rarely saw any virtue in sharing out the good stuff.

That they reserved for the high clergy.

Khavren sipped and the knight actually smiled, absently. That had been the right choice, then. Wow, this guy was really racking up the stereotype points. Whatever. Robin would take it.

‘I suppose I could undertake to reform two as easily as one,’ the knight mused.

‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ Robin said enthusiastically.

Khavren looked startled. Drev and Jhess exchanged a glance.

‘What idea?’ Jhess asked, clearly expecting a setup.

She was going to get one.

‘Why, friend Khavren’s idea, of course,’ Robin said, perhaps a bit too heartily.

‘My idea?’

‘Yes,’ Robin said firmly, ‘your idea to find a healer to reform as part of your party, and your idea to do so by sending out an invitation and gathering prospects here, so you can interview them all at once, rather than having to go tromping across the city and wasting your valuable time.’ Robin gently punched Khavren on the shoulder. ‘It’s genius, really. You’re a very clever knight. I’m sure your friends are delighted to be adventuring with you.’

‘I am? Yes! I am! Thank you.’ Khavren looked both confused and delighted.

Robin didn’t give him any more time to think.

‘I’ll put together an evening catered exactly to the kind of healers you’re seeking,’ the bard enthused. ‘The right light, the right music, and healers drink for a few coppers less with proof of ability! After all, thrift is a virtue!’

‘Very true,’ Khavren agreed.

‘And that will give us a chance to see some of their skill in action,’ Jhess added. ‘We’ve not been able to insist on that when petitioning the temples.’

‘A most excellent idea, Khavren,’ Drev murmured, though his eyes were locked to Robin’s.

The knight preened and took another drink from his tankard. He frowned. The taste of sacramental wine had vanished. Robin wasn’t ready for him to go in for another sip!

It didn’t matter, though. The knight’s good mood was undiminished.

‘Well, glad I was able to sort that out, then,’ he said. ‘And you, friend Marq, can arrange all this? Very kind of you.’

‘Oh, anything for my friends who are clearly legends in the making!’ Robin smiled with Marq’s face. ‘I’ll leave you to discuss how you want to talk to each of the candidates, and I’ll get to work serving the other patrons here. I can work with—Jhess, was it?—to get the word out to the right candidates. Everything should be ready, say, day after tomorrow? Good? Good!’

Robin swept off, his work for the party done for the evening. Tomorrow he’d have to run his arse off getting things ready, but time was wasting! They needed this sorted, and soon.

They had a healer to find and a treasure to hunt!