The company clattered forward, iron-shod hooves ringing on the cobbled street, passersby hurriedly making way for it. Taudde put a hand out blindly, bracing himself against the door of the nearest shop and stood still, not because he intelligently resisted the temptation to give way to terrifying fancies, but simply because he found himself momentarily frozen by indecisive panic. It took every rational faculty he possessed to stop himself reaching for his flute. If the Dragon had indeed disregarded him, then flinching in terror and bringing a bardic sorcerer’s flute out in plain sight would probably be a good way to get his attention. But Taudde found it impossible to stand quietly in the street and let the Dragon’s company ride by so close, either.
Instead, and with a sharp effort, Taudde turned on his heel and plunged, without looking, into the shop.
“May I assist the noble lord in locating any poor oddment that may be offered in this humble establishment?” inquired a rather nasal voice.
Taudde, most of his attention still fixed on the sound of the passing horses, tried not to flinch noticeably at this unexpected address.
The horses’ hooves clattered loudly in the street… They did not halt, but went on past. Taudde blinked and took a quick breath. He found his hand had indeed gone to touch the reassuring smoothness of his flute. He took his hand away, trying to cultivate a bland expression while his heart settled gradually back to a slower rhythm.
The shop, once Taudde glanced around it, proved to hold an interesting display of oddments: porcelain lamps, brass sconces, small glass bottles, mysterious confections of copper wire and glass bobbles, delicate bowls, and small musical instruments. The proprietor was an elderly man, but one who appeared prosperous. Despite the formal humility with which he had addressed Taudde, the man’s attitude was far from humble. Taudde suspected he was of noble blood himself, perhaps the son of some lord’s keiso mistress—no. His wife, he corrected himself. A keiso was not a mistress, but a flower wife. The mother of left-hand sons, who were, according to Lonne custom, recognized by their noble fathers.
“Ah—” Taudde managed. “Ah, I don’t—I wasn’t looking for any specific item.” But his attention was caught by a diminutive finger harp strung with white fibers so fine they were all but invisible. Distracted from his urgent worries, Taudde bent to examine it. The harp was an exquisite instrument, made of some unfamiliar fine-grained red wood with pearl facing and pearl knobs. The strings did not seem to be silver wire. He touched one with a fingertip and frowned in surprise. It made an odd sound, not pure, but with a faint burring undertone, almost a buzz. Trying another string, he found a note not quite in tune with the first and affected by the same buzzing quality. Attempting to tune the second string to complement the first produced a flatter quality to its note and only accentuated the buzz.
“A pretty thing, but for display perhaps more than use,” the proprietor murmured, correctly reading his expression. “It is from the great island of Erhlianne. The wood is poppy teak, which grows only in the far mountains of Erhlianne. Very rare and expensive. The strings are made from the feathers of a beautiful white bird called the miarre, which flies out at sea for all but three weeks a year, and comes inland for those three weeks to nest upon the branches of trees that stretch out over the sea from the cliffs of Erhlianne. Strings made from these feathers never break, for they have the endurance of the bird to which they once belonged.”
“Ah,” said Taudde.
“Or so it is said,” murmured the proprietor smoothly. “Now, a connoisseur such as my lord… hmm. If my lord would care to step over here…” He guided Taudde toward the rear of the shop. Along the far wall were blanks of wood and sea ivory and bone and horn, racked in order of size; pegs and buttons of exotic wood or polished stone; spools of copper wire, or silver, or gold; tubes of brass and copper; delicate reeds oiled and curing in the gentle warmth of a lamp. A small table, lit by the lamp, was cluttered with clamps and carving tools, polishing cloths, and fine brushes.
“I believe my lord might prefer an instrument such as this,” suggested the proprietor, reaching into the midst of the clutter and finding, apparently without needing to search, a set of pipes as broad as the palms of both hands. “Now these are meant for the hand of a skilled instrumentalist. They are made, as you see, of bone and copper. The inlay is abalone shell. The reeds are simple sea reeds, but treated with a special technique of my own to prevent warping or splitting and to purify their tone. Perhaps my lord would be pleased to try these pipes?”