"I took the liberty of putting my horses in your barn, tavern keeper. It's too bitter a night for them to be left outside." The tavern keeper nodded his agreement and Will dug in once more. The lamb casserole was delicious.

The wagoner who had seemed so ill-tempered when he first arrived now made his way to the table where Will sat eating. Will noted with interest that he didn't presume to sit down and intrude on his personal space. He'd already learned that in taverns like this, people afforded jongleurs a certain respect. The big wagoner dropped a silver coin in front of Will.

"Good music, lad," he said. "That's for you there."

Will, his mouth full again, nodded his thanks. Several of the other customers now moved closer, each one dropping a few coins into the open mandola case on the table. He noticed that there were quite a few silver coins among the coppers and felt a flush of satisfaction once more.

"You've a deft hand on that lute of yours, young feller," one of them said.

"It's a mandola," Will replied automatically. "It has eight strings, while a lute…" He stopped himself. "Thank you," he said, and they smiled at him.

When he had finished eating, he surreptitiously signaled the dog again, setting her barking.

"Harley? What's that you say?" he said, and the dog instantly fell silent once more. "It's time for me to entertain these folk?" He glanced up at the smiling faces around him, shrugged and grinned at them. "She's a hard taskmaster," he declared, reaching for the mandola.

He played for another hour. Love songs, lively songs. Silly songs. And one in particular that had always been his favorite, The Green Eyes of Love. It was a haunting, sad ballad and he sang it well, although to his annoyance, he stumbled slightly on the instrumental line in the middle eight bars. As he finished it, he noticed one or two people wiping their eyes and again felt the pleasure known only to performers when they reach into the hearts of their audience. As he had played, the coins had continued to find their way into the mandola case. With some surprise, he realized that he would not need to delve into the traveling money that Crowley had advanced him. He was more than paying his own way.

The tavern keeper, who had left the bar to one of his serving girls and come to sit close by Will, glanced at the water clock that dripped slowly on a mantle.

"Perhaps one more," he said, and Will nodded easily. Inside, he felt a tightening of his chest. This was the moment he had built to over the night-a chance to get the locals talking about the strange events in Norgate Fief. It was one of the advantages of taking the guise of a jongleur. As Berrigan had told him: "Country people are suspicious of strangers. But sing to them for an hour or so and they'll think they've known you all their lives."

Now he strummed a minor chord sequence and began singing a well-known nonsense song:

"By a muddy ditch a drunken witch in a voice that was coarser and coarserer sang like a crow so that people would know of her love for the cross-eyed sorcerer."

He sensed the change in the room the moment he began singing. People exchanged fearful glances. Eyes were cast down and several actually moved away from him. He began the chorus:

"Oh, the cross-eyed sorcerer was called Wollygelly, he had breath like a goat and a big fat belly and a nose that…"

He let the song tail away, as if noticing the discomfort among his listeners for the first time.

"I'm sorry," he said, smiling at the room. "Is something wrong?"

Again, glances were exchanged and the people who just a few moments ago were laughing and applauding him were now unwilling to meet his gaze. The big wagoner, obviously troubled, said in an apologetic tone, "It's not the place or time to be making fun of sorcerers, lad."

"You weren't to know, of course," the tavern keeper put in, and there was a chorus of assent. Will allowed the smile to widen, keeping his expression as artless as possible.

"I wasn't to know what?" he said. There was a pause, then the wagoner took the plunge.

"There's strange things happening in this fief these days, is all."

"And these nights," added a woman, and again a chorus of agreement sounded. Behind his innocent, inquiring expression, Will marveled at Berrigan's insight.

"You mean… something to do with sorcerers?" he asked in a hushed voice. The room went silent for a moment, people looking fearfully over their shoulders and toward the door, as if expecting to see a sorcerer burst in at any moment. Then the tavern keeper answered.

"It's not for us to say what it is. But there are strange goings-on Strange sights."

"Particularly in Grimsdell Wood," said a tall farmer and, once more, others agreed. "Strange sights, and sounds-unearthly sounds they are. They'd chill your blood. I've heard them once and that's enough for me."

It seemed that once their initial reluctance was overcome, people wanted to discuss the subject, as if it held a fascination for them that they wanted to share.

"What sort of things do you see?" Will asked.

"Lights, mainly-little balls of colored light that move through the trees. And dark shapes. Shapes that move just outside your vision's range."

A log fell in the fire and Will felt the hairs on his neck prickle. This talk of sounds and shapes was beginning to affect him, he thought. Two hundred kilometers to the south, he could joke about it with Halt and Crowley. But here, on a dark night in the cold, snow-driven land of the north, with these people, it seemed very real and very believable.

"And the Night Warrior," said the wagoner. This time, silence fell over the room. Several people made the sign to ward off evil-The wagoner regarded them all, his face flushed.

"Oh, believe me, I've seen him all right. Only for a second, mind-But he was there."

"What exactly is he?" Will asked.

"Exactly? Nobody knows. But I've seen him. He's huge. A warrior in armor, as tall as two houses. And you can see through him. He's there and then he's gone before you're sure you've actually seen him. But I know. I saw him, all right." His gaze swept the room again, challenging the others to tell him he was wrong.

"That's enough of that talk now, Barney," said the tavern keeper. "People have a way to go to reach their homes this night and it's best not to talk about such matters."

From the mumble of agreement, Will sensed that there would be no further discussion this night. He struck a chord on the mandola.

"Well, I agree, this is no time to sing about sorcerers. Perhaps we should finish with one about a drunken king and a staggering dragon?"

Right on cue, the dog barked again and the dark mood in the room receded instantly.

"What's that, Harley? You agree? Well then, we'd better get to it." And he launched into it straightaway:

"Oh, the drunken king of Angledart could blow out candles with a fart. But the world never knew of the courage in his heart till he slayed the Staggering Dragon… Oh, the Staggering Dragon had four knock-knees and he staggered around and knocked down trees and he burned his behind every time he sneezed with the flames of his dragon breath!"

Laughter swelled up in the room and the black mood was dispelled as Will laid out the tale of the knock-kneed staggering dragon and the king with serious digestive problems. He was accompanied by the dog's enthusiastic barking every time he sang the word "dragon," and that added to the laughter.

It would never do at Castle Araluen, he thought, but it certainly did the trick here in the Cracked Flagon.