Robin’s mind raced. Clara was going to think he had treasure hidden someplace in this tavern and would have no compunction about taking him apart to find it. Vance wasn’t going to let up until he told him the story he was after.

So…he’d give them what they wanted and what Robin needed them to hear. He’d tell the story, with a few judicious edits. It would conflict with one or two of the rumours, but so what? Artistic license, right? He just had to be convincing enough to keep Clara from gutting him to search for gold in his small intestine, and truthful enough to satisfy Vance’s desire for detail.

How hard could it be?

Clara was walking over to them, determination writ large on her face. Nope. Not having that.

Robin whirled and made his way to the stage, willing the [Visual Phantasm] of the snowflakes to shimmer gold to mark his path. A judicious use of [Command Attention] helped catch the crowd’s attention and urge them to quietness.

‘Ladies, gentlemen, and beings beyond that binary, it’s time for a tale!’ The bard projected his voice and it easily filled the space. ‘Some of you may have heard that I recently had the privilege to accompany a group of adventurers deep into the undercity to explore and map a new dungeon. Well, tonight I shall tell you that very tale! You have asked and asked, and far be it for me to be such an uncouth host as to not comply!’

Robin stepped onto the stage and turned with a flourish. The lights dimmed around him with a thought, and with a flick of his fingers the sound of dripping and lapping waters began seeping into the ears of his audience.

‘Picture it! The sewers beneath this fine city…’

Robin launched into an energetic retelling of his experiences with the living dungeon known as Ruprecht. He left out the name, of course, and downplayed his own part even as he magnified the heroics of his companions. He even painted Khavren in a good—if misguided—light. The man’s mother was still a power in Noviel, after all, and Robin didn’t need to make her an enemy.

He already had plenty.

Robin kept a close eye on Clara the whole performance. Subtly, of course. She kept herself to the edges of the crowd, arms crossed, face set as stone.

That was going to be one tough nut to crack. Well, if he wasn’t going to be able to appease her with half of his hoarded treasure—which he wasn’t—he’d best make sure he pulled in a good haul tonight, so at least she went home with a solid take.

Best keep the Broken Knucklebones happy until he could figure out the best way to remove them from the neighbourhood.

Civic pride was important, after all, and who wants trash like that cluttering up the streets?

Best hit the idea that he came back with nothing but a song nad borrowed glory one more time.

‘Come on, you lot,’ he called. ‘I barely escaped with my life and sanity intact after that core was shattered! Think of all the counterfeit coin we suffered through! All that lead-painted gold! Have pity on a poor bard, toss a coin! Toss a coin!’

Robin called for coin, for a glittering hoard to appear at his feet. He got the ball rolling with a few illusory coins via [Visual Phantasm], and real ones followed, with laughter and jeers, but they followed.

His abilities were clearly growing. It wasn’t enough to command screaming crowds or to ensure him showers of gold, but he was reliably bringing in coin.

Most of it got chucked right back into the tavern or down Rerebos’s gullet, but coin it was.

Half of which would be going home with Clara tonight.

Well, a bit of luck and Rerebos already had, or soon would find, some snippet of information that would ensure he could deal with the Knucklebones. Then things could get back on track.

‘That is the end of that tale, for now,’ he called to the audience, ‘but fear not! I shall be around to each of you soon with the bottle I know you’re all excited to see once more! To test your bravery and test your luck!’

Robin knew that as soon as he stepped off the stage, Vance and Clara would be waiting for him. The only question was which would find him first.

Clara, was the answer. She was ready for him as soon as he stepped into the kitchen to retrieve the jug from its hiding place. As unpleasant a prospect as the conversation was, at least Robin could look forward to getting it over with quickly?

There was a poniard in her hand.

Maybe not that quickly.

‘Holding out on us?’ Clara cut right to the point.

That, at least, he could respect about the Knucklebones. They weren’t much for beating around the bush. They knew what they wanted and went right for it. Not the way he preferred to do things, but they knew their strengths.

‘I’ve provided half of my takings since we made our agreement, just as I promised Dag,’ Robin said, projecting an air of serene disinterest. ‘The agreement was for protection, correct? I’m all paid up. I rather think you should see to your job—upholding the agreement—and not go looking for anything more. I assure you, there’s nothing more to be found here.’ He gestured to the tavern with his ring hand. ‘Unless you enjoy dust and splinters.’

Technically, entirely true.

Clara looked at him suspiciously.

‘Look,’ he said with some exasperation, ‘given what you know of me and of bards, do you honestly believe for one moment that if I had come crawling up out of those sewers dripping with gold and jewels instead of muck and stagnant water that I would be able to resist talking about it? That I wouldn’t have been tossing gold around like dirty dishwater? That I wouldn’t be wining and dining myself and any fair companions I could find across the width and breadth of Noviel?’

‘No,’ Clara said grudgingly.

‘Good. Now, if you want me out there making both of us money while you sit and drink and enjoy the scenery, you should probably put that away and remove yourself from my kitchen. The longer we stand her talking, the less coin I’ll be able to wriggle out of the patrons’ coin purses with a pull from Bertha’s Bottle.’

‘I don’t know what people see in that thing.’ Clara’s face curdled.

‘If you’re lucky, you get something good.’ Robin shrugged. ‘If not, you get a good laugh and a good story out of it. It’s a win-win.’

Clara grunted but didn’t bother disagreeing any further. Reluctantly, she stowed her poniard.

‘I’m watching you,’ she said. There was threat in her voice but it was half-hearted at best. Robin was right. He was the one making them money and if she didn’t want that cut off, she had to keep him alive.

And she certainly wasn’t going to risk trying to shake him down on her own. No, threats were all she was going to muster. Tonight at least.

Robin made a mental note to keep an eye out for any unfamiliar faces at his performances the next few days. Whatever she thought, Clara would certainly inform Dag of this, and that might prompt the gang boss to have a closer look at Robin, maybe go in for another shakedown, just to see what might tumble free.

‘Honey, everyone out there is watching me. I’m the entertainment. Now scoot.’ Robin made a shooing motion with his hand and watched as Clara departed.

Ridiculous woman.

Robin made the rounds, raked in some more coin. He felt Clara’s eyes on him the whole time. When the evening wound down and the patrons departed, he made sure to let Clara count and split the money. At least that should please her. It had been a good haul. Possibly the best since they’d started soaking him for half his take.

The bard resolved, not for the first time, to take it out of their hide at the first opportunity. With interest.

Clara, happy enough with her haul, left Robin alone to clean up.

Or at least he’d thought he was alone. He was only a few passes through [Legerdemain], cleaning up spilled beer, when Vance reappeared.

‘I thought I’d wait until your partner left before cornering you with a few follow-up questions,’ the librarian said.

‘She’s not my partner,’ Robin said automatically. ‘More like my tax collector.’

‘I see.’ Vance digested that before clearly brushing it aside as of little interest to him. ‘So, about this dungeon…’

‘Aren’t you getting a bit ahead of yourself?’ Robin interrupted, punctuating his sentence with a snap of his fingers as he directed his energies at a table nearby in bad need of polish.

‘Useful trick,’ Vance’s eyes watched the grime dissolve away in rippling circles. ‘And no, I don’t believe so.’

‘Our deal was the story for the information. I’ve given you the story, you need to give me the information. Questions and clarifications are extra.’ Robin smiled to take the edge off his words. ‘My going rate is usually a question for a question.’

‘Ah. The question game. A classic. However, I’m not sure—’

‘You’re sure,’ Robin said. ‘You spend your life working with words. You know what was said, and what was agreed. Moreover, you know I’m right. So stop testing me, and let’s get on, shall we? What is the Head Librarian researching, and which books, maps, scrolls, or other assorted knowledge vessels is he looking for to pursue that research?’

Vance laughed.

‘Very well. I owe you the topic of the Head Librarian’s research, and as of now, he is deeply engaged in plumbing the mysteries of Tarin-Tiran, the City on the Edge of the World. Specifically, he is searching for accounts penned by what we know as the Order of the Ever-Gazing Eye.’

Robin’s [Bardic Lore] pinged at the name. Tarin-Tiran had been a ruin for thousands of years, a vast city built by unknown sorceries, hanging on and around the very edge of the world. Well, the edge of this floating continent. It featured in many, many songs and ballads, not just for the mystery it represented, but also because a living dungeon had formed within the city at some point. Whether this was the cause of the city’s decline or something that happened long after the city had depopulated, no one knew, but the dungeon’s presence ensured there was still a wealth of archaeological knowledge to be found within the city’s borders. Few grave-robbers were willing to brave the place.

The Order of the Ever-Gazing Eye he couldn’t manage to dredge up any tidbits on, however. It sounded like a priesthood or a secret society of some kind. If they were of interest to the Head Librarian, though, there had to be sources within the library that could tell him more.

If they weren’t already locked in the restricted access sections. If they were, he’d be back to square one. Robin chewed his lower lip in thought.

‘You said you had questions,’ he said slowly. ‘It seems I do as well. If you are interested in a trade, I think we could both do well out of the exchange.’

‘Perhaps over a drink,’ Vance suggested.

‘I think that can be arranged.’ Robin gestured to a nearby table.

He poured and Vance began to ask his questions. The librarian wanted more details, especially about the living dungeon and its core. Robin danced around them as well as he could, offering those facts he thought safe to. In return, he quizzed Vance on the Head Librarian’s interest in Tarin-Tiran and the Order. Enough to know what it was the Head Librarian was looking for.

Examples of primary sources were exceedingly rare, but there were several translations, and translations of translations, floating about. The Head Librarian was in the midst of a painstaking process of comparing all the translations in an attempt to wring some clarity and truth from them.

Of course the translations the Head Librarian would be interested in would be expensive, or rare, or dangerous to acquire. The others, easy to get, he would already have. That didn’t make things easy for Robin.

Slowly, a plan began to take shape in his mind. If he couldn’t find an artefact, maybe he could fake one.