Chapter 9 - Tune of Discord (Patreon)

During our walk back to the village, Atlas was a whole lot more agreeable. A full belly, succesful outing and a sort of bonding experience all combined into one happy lizard. As for me, I was practically floating as well. The day had been one long learning experience, and things were looking ever more promising. Atlas was taking to language like a dragon to hoarding - a couple of repetitions, and he’d have each word down pat. He even started to react to some of my spoken words. I played for him on and off, always initiating by telling him what I was going to do. Approaching the village, we encountered our first speed bump on the road to real telepathic communication. A couple of minutes of failed attempts and I was forced to accept that "Stay nearby. I might have need of you soon." was pretty damn far beyond our current level of communication. He had been increasingly insistent about a specific nearby pool he wanted to visit, and in the end, that's what we agreed upon. I'd just have to resign myself to run off and fetch him if when I needed his help. It was probably a matter of time, though. I was pretty confident I'd need his eyes and stealth in order to not be taken by surprise, but I wanted to ask Chertog a number of things and didn’t want to shock him by having Atlas lurking around. Well, unless his inevitable puns were even more atrocious than usual. A huge lizard popping out of nowhere right before him might stun him into silence for a while. Might.

As I made my way along the village palisade to the town gates, however, I started speculating whether I’d been premature in letting him go because…something was going on inside the village. Voices were raised and orders shouted, and while I couldn’t tell the words apart, the urgency was plain as day. The occasional gap between logs in the palisade allowed for glimpses of people running or moving around at speed. Instinctively, I upped my pace as well, and when I reached the gates, I was practically running. The scene inside was that of controlled chaos and the regular murmuring tune of the day-to-day undertakings, which were usually pretty relaxed right after noon, was pitched at a higher pace. To me, it was like a discordant tune, stringing its way through the frenzied activities, telling me quite clearly that something was not right. A bunch of villagers were busy erecting a wooden scaffolding of sorts in the distance, and unfamiliar scents carried through the air. I hurried closer, and grabbed the sleeve of a girl skipping by, asking what was going on. 

Her answer was short, but explained everything: “Whaddaya mean? It’s Caravan Day, silly.”

Ah. The arrival of the legendary Caravan. A wonderful chance for the villagers to earn money at extortionate rates from tired caravan guards and hear news from the grand outside. Judging from the colored flags that were currently being raised in the town square, it was also going to be half a day off for the villagers. This also explained the urgency - they’d want everything in its place by the time the caravan entered the village. The sense of discord slowly tickled to the background, and I had a chuckle at my own nervousness. Their arrival meant nothing to me - except maybe some increased tips in the evening. I shrugged and made my way to the cemetery, where Chertog was busy out front, removing weeds from in between the logs that separated the cemetery grounds from the village proper. Meeting him always took me a bit aback - his ever-present brown, worn robe and shaved pate just screamed “dwarven warrior monk”, while his tidy goatee yelled “villain”. His smile seemed a bit chillier than usual though.

“Ah, my errant apprentice returns. I suspect you’re looking for some answers to a riddle or a mystery that’s troubling you. As always, let old Chertog help you in his benevolence, without asking for anything in return.”

Oh, that’s what he was grumpy about. Good timing, for once. “In all honesty, yes, I’d like for you to enlighten me on a few topics - right before I continue figuring out where the grave robber went after escaping from out the broken fence back there." I pointed to the place I'd spotted a while back.

That seemed to mollify him some. "Hah. Of course I'll help alleviate my favorite student of a smidgeon of his ignorance. Besides, I'm used to dealing with people who're late all the time."

I held up my hands in supplication as I saw what was coming. "Chertog...please don't."

Of course he ignored me. "Yeah, take late Mrs. Bainsworth over there? Haven't had any issues with her at all." He gave off a full-throated chuckle. 

Massaging my temple, I took a dig at him, "Wow. Some times  I wonder at how you can keep the audience away." 

Of course, this did nothing to face him. "Me too, really. I tell you, it's the level of education today that's to blame."

I groaned. "That doesn't even make any sense - you don't have a bloody school in the village."

Chertog shook his head vigorously. "Just goes to show how much you know. We have two teachers, right here." He pointed behind him at the graveyard. "Yeah, one of em's pretty humerus but the other's quite sternum." He threw back his head and roared with laughter.

So help me, an involuntary snort escaped me. Crap. If he thought I was actually enjoying his dreadful puns, he'd never stop. "About those questions?"

He gave me a lop-sided grin, but relented, motioning for me to continue.

"Thank you. Now, the first one's probably a stupid question, but it could save me a lot of time in the long run. Time and again I find myself in search of knowledge in different areas of expertise. How does the Chronicler network, erm, work? Are you the only one nearby who's saving information, and would you allow me to read your books or - what would you suggest?" 

He rubbed his pate. "That question sorta got away from you in the end, didn't it? Heh, don't sweat it - I get what you're asking. I'm by no means the only person in Grant's Crossing who's hoarding knowledge - but I'm probably the only one who doesn't specialize. What I'm saying is: if you want information on administration and legal issues, ask Autoria - for hunting tips, go to Sourpuss and so on. Their expertise will most often have my smattering of information beat nine times out of ten. And yes, you're my student - of course I'll let you check out my books - under observation, mind you. I have my filing system down just right."

I thought back to the haphazardly piled stacks of books and scrolls that covered most surfaces of his shed and suppressed a shudder. Having to deal with a chaperone - even Chertog - was preferable to having to dig through that mess on my own. "That's very kind of you. And the Chronicler network? There is a network, right?"

He nodded affably, "The Chronicler network, as you call it, is commonly referred to as The Wheel. If you view the entire continent of Aeion as a huge wheel, the center, where we store all information that we deem worthy, is the Hub. Moving outwards from the Hub, we have Spokes going in all directions, with Repositories stashed at fair distances along the length of each Spoke. The most important mission of each Repository is to gather and delve forth as much information as possible. Then they're to assess what is worthy of being forwarded, what should merely be stored locally and, ever so rarely, what should be destroyed outright. Heh. This is the boiled down version, as you can guess - with every organization that reaches the size of ours, there's bound to be tons of additions and necessary later add-ons. Quality control and emergency communication along the Spokes for instance. Or backup vaults. Or even intermediary knowledge stations for storing what's considered to be basic knowledge. I reckon you can imagine how impractical it was back in the day, when we had to contact the Hub whenever we needed a blueprint for a miner's pump."

I nodded, attempting to take in the idea of a vast network of people all across the continent sorting through oceans of pieces of knowledge, judging which were to be assigned the notion of "truth" and sent onward to the central vault of knowledge for safekeeping. To me it sounded quite a lot like..."Chertog, erm...I'm not entirely sure how to phrase this, but...how is this system not being abused? In all honesty, it sounds like the perfect recipe for restricting knowledge and deciding what the unborn masses are allowed to know. "

He raised an eyebrow, "You seriously asking me whether the system's perfect, kid?"

I could feel a blush creeping its way up to my ears. Ok, so maybe I had forgotten, just for a moment, that he'd been dumped here as a penalty by someone who had gamed the system to frame him. "Sorry, Chertog. I forgot - I'm so sorry."

He chuckled. "No hard feelings, Arcangelo. You're not the one who set me up. Besides, the important part is that, despite all the shortcomings of our system, it works - and there are checks and balances in place to avoid the worst of abuse. Furthermore, we have two factions in place to avoid the worst type of abuse. The most important, of course, being us dwarves - and the second being the Royal Cabal itself. A little history is in order here, I reckon." He cleared his throat and looked pensive for a moment before continuing: "The Hub has existed for the better part of four hundred years. It sprang into existence when the Regent of the time, Jormuth Targarsson, decided that there was a clear and present danger of losing vital parts of our knowledge and cultural base what with all the incessant wars and infighting. He set up the Chronicler profession along with the system to propel knowledge towards the Hub and verify and assess the importance of each peace of information." His face fell. "Alas, even he failed to predict that the Hub itself could be lost, and when Varmahlíd floated away during the Separation we lost everything but bits and pieces - and the idea of the system itself. This time around we're playing for keeps though. We've allied ourselves with the Royal Cabal and all their underlings - we deliver and preserve the information, and they develop and maintain the infrastructure that allows us to keep the lore moving." He thought about it for a second, before adding: "Oh, and should the Cabal decide that we were stacking the deck, there'd be...ramifications, let's keep it at that."

It still did sound like a nation-wide conspiracy in the making to me - but fortunately that wasn't my problem. "Thank you for the explanation, Chertog. What does that mean for a newcomer like me though? Would I be allowed access to the Hub or one of these local...Repositories, was it? And where is the closest one?"

A loud guffaw made Chertog's ample belly bounce.  "Oh, that's a good one. No, you'd have to prove yourself in order to gain access to the Hub itself - and even then, there are several Charters that're off-limit to everybody except a very few, select groupings. We wouldn't want just anybody to be able to delve into necromancy, right? At the rate you're learning, you will, however, soon be allowed access to the Repositories."

[You have been offered a serial quest: “A Pool of Knowledge” Gain access to one of the Chronicler Repositories in order to take advantage of the impressive breadth of gathered lore and knowledge. 

Required: Chronicler skill level 10

Rewards: 

Chronicler Skill + 1

New quest: "A Lake of Knowledge". 

Accept/decline?]

I instantly accepted - how could I not? I mean, they were basically giving me access to the in-game cheat codes, right? Sure, I could pay for lessons with Mrs. Bertinga, suffer through horrible humor with Chertog and maybe even gain an audience with her Highness, Mayor Autoria - or I could just read up on it myself and find the information I wanted myself. Maybe even ask someone so I wouldn't have to suffer through all the dull tomes. At least, that was how I was hoping this was going to play out. "You never did mention where the nearest one was, did you?"

He grunted "Too right. Unfortunately you'll have to travel all the way to the western edge of the forest to Laegeria for that. Heh, unless you'd somehow be able to convince the harpies west of here to access theirs. I still can't fathom how the Cabal came to an agreement with them, but facts are they'll inspect and pass on lore like any other Repository - they just don't tolerate strangers."

With that, the old gears started grinding. Maybe I'd actually want to take a closer look at the Council quest to establish peace with the harpies at some point after all. Fortunately, I was in no hurry, as I still needed another four levels to my Chronicler skill before I'd be allowed entry. While we'd been talking, the hubbub around us had slowly grown in intensity, to the point where it seemed that at any moment, fisticuffs might be breaking out left and right. I was just asking Chertog whether he had any knowledge on Sonic Magic lying around, when a kid sprinted by us before braking sharply and almost stumbling in his hurry. The kid was actually an out of breath Jebediah, Gillem's kid, who pointed at me wheezing something unintelligible. I laughed, "What is it Jeb? Breathe, kid."

He finally got his breath back and slowly straightened. "The pits're you doing here? You're s'posed to be back at the tavern like half 'n hour ago." 

I was completely taken aback. It wasn't like I was a wage slave with regular hours like back in the bank. 

He didn't wait for me to gather a coherent reply though. "Din't you read the agreement? Caravan comes to town, you work, 's the deal, 'n no two ways about it."

All right, so maybe I hadn't read all the fine print. He was probably right, though. "What, right now? Have they even arrived yet?"

He shook his head, all teenaged certainty. "Don't matter none. We gotta go." And with that, he took off at a jog.

I stared back and forth between Jeb and Chertog for a few seconds, watching as Chertog's jaw slowly tightened. "Arcangelo," he said with a grave expression, "your days are numbered."

"What?" I felt like a complete idiot, just gaping at the entire world today, but things were simply happening too fast for me to react. Threats now?

"Yes, numbered." he repeated, and slapped me on the back, hard. "Didn't you know? The days in your calendar? They're numbered. Should help even someone as popular as you find a free spot for your old teacher. Tell me when you're able to try again." And with that he turned around and walked away with a mean chuckle, leaving me catch up to Jeb.

I didn't have to run far. In fact, the moment I rounded the nearest corner, I spotted him leaning against the fence, looking like a cat who'd just watched his feline arch nemesis drenched by a storm drain. I slowed down to a walk, and he started walking at my side. Within a few moments, my brain caught up - I blame all the knocks my poor head had received during the day. "So, Jeb - there's no emergency? No small details in the agreement?"

His smirk grew to impressive proportions. "Nah. Saw y' standing there, gabbing with ol' Chertog 'n thought "I'll rescue him from the bad jokes 'n what not, 'n then he'll owe me one." By the by - y' owe me one."

I stopped. "I actually had something I was supposed to help him with."

Jeb raised an eyebrow. "Is it better than triple tips for hardly no work? Oh, and Bertel says they've got a smoking hot adventurer with 'em. Wanna miss that for whatever Chertog's got going on?"

So I wasn't going to win any competitions for steadfastness that day. But damn, Jeb knew how to sell his point. Beautiful adventurers and easy tips would win my attention ten times out of ten.

When we entered the tavern, it was still relatively empty. Jeb had everything prepared though. "Bertel says they're stalling 'm a bit cause the market's not ready yet. Half of 'em tend to go straight here 'n wet their throats first - 'n then it's back 'n forth between the shops, stalls 'n here until they crash at some point. If we're lucky, they'll be too hungover to move on tomorrow, so we can fleece 'm a bit more."

Such cynicism from someone so young. But it would appear that this was a stable factor in the lives of all villagers. I could already see Millerd and the other Fingers players with their cards - and they just so happened to have an extra seat or two if somebody would like to join in. From the sounds and smells in the kitchen, all hands were on deck, and fully at work going over some last-minute preparations. I spotted Gillem orchestrating everything from the kitchen door and milled over. "So, shorty - everything in order here?"

His head turned, and a dazzling smile emerged. "Now it is. Blessed Tharlenn , you'll double my income just by jumping onto that stage. If you manage to make that fiddle of yours sound less like a dying feline, we might even make it higher. It's always a competition, you know? They've got the goods out there, and some entertainment, while I've got the alcohol - and now I've got the entertainment to match them. It'll be glorious!"

Holy mother of greed. I could practically see the gold coins in his eyes, and couldn't help taking a swing at him. "Sounds great, Gillem. You know, I've been thinking. I'm the official Bard of Grant's Crossing - yet I always remain cooped up inside the tavern instead of spreading the music around the entire village." I slowly stroked my chin.

Gillem glared at me, "You wouldn't. Not tonight."

"I'm just wondering out loud. I mean, I'm sure they've got all sorts of good food cooking out there in the square, right?" I let that hang for a bit.

He ground his teeth. "I will have something special arranged for you. And you will take back those words when you enjoy it."

I decided I'd taken the joke far enough - if I tried to push him for extra drinks, he'd probably punch me. "Sounds wonderful Gillem. Of course, I'd never leave your company on a night like this - what're friends for, right?"

He growled something unintelligible and turned back toward the kitchen door, yelling an order at the unlucky kitchen help. 

I chuckled evilly. Man, I was going to regret that, but damn if it wasn't worth it. I so rarely got the better of him. My chuckle grew to a full laugh, as I discovered that my little joke had actually resulted in a bonus to the Blackmail skill. Wiping my eyes, I turned back to business. I started going over what I wanted to play for the night. I'd probably try to stick to local stuff - better odds of a good reception if it was something they knew, I'd wager - and I could do with the practice. Maybe even ask them for wishes, get them involved. Yeah, that'd do. Everything else, I'd decide along the way. I generally found that I had better luck if I could adapt something on the fly depending on the mood of the crowd.

I'd just placed my stuff on the stage and fetched a beaker of water for myself, when the door slammed open and the whole village floated in on a wave of laughter, shouts and high spirits. At first I failed to even make out who the caravan guards were, because they were the most subdued of the bunch. Covered in dust and grime, they responded little to the crowd, focusing entirely on the small figure who was waiting for them before the bar - Gillem. Decked out in his finest accoutrements, for once he appeared not to be a jovial barkeep but rather a maitre d'. A short, composed discussion with the leading caravan guard - a grim-faced half orc - led flawlessly to a series of shouted orders to the kitchen staff while the guards were placed at a four large tables that had been shoved together. Once they were seated, a calm slowly fell over the room, while the company ordered their drinks and settled in. 

The entire arrangement seemed to me a fine-tuned operation, rehearsed many times and orchestrated perfectly. Everybody knew their parts and played along, and so many things happened simultaneously that it was hard to keep track. Dirty capes and jackets were shed, placed in a basket and removed, for cleaning ostensibly. Drinks were served, huge backpacks carried up the stairs with the company in the center of it all, gearing down. The villagers piped down or helped out, knowing without being told that there was a pecking order in place and that their time would come later in the evening. This was not the time to intrude on anybodys attention, and I decided to start playing softly, keeping everything mellow, relaxed and very much in the background. 

Soon, food and drink started to flow in in astounding quantities. Huge platters of meat, gravy and tubers decked the tables alongside large beakers of beer and water alongside the occasional wine bottle. I could spot several small plates of foodstuffs that I had never seen Gillem serve before - he wasn't holding anything back tonight. The company dug in and soon, the rest of the room started to place their orders in more relaxed fashion. After a while, a low chatter began to fill the room as a degree of normalcy returned and everybody focused on their own satisfaction. I kept my playing low-pitched, but did notice a curious glance or two from the company - and did my own fair share of gawking while playing. Overall they were an unassuming bunch - twelve man strong, composed of men and women from pretty much every race, with only gnomes being left out. It was easy to tell who was who among the company. The sole halfling stood out with his garish clothes, gold chains and huge belly, demanding the choicest of delicacies for himself - surely this was the merchant. The rest were one large collection of wiry muscles, scars and bad table manners, with the sole exception begin the aforementioned "smoking hot adventurer". And boy, did she ever stand out. Like a rose among weeds, the female elf was the epitome of grace and beauty, commanding attention from everybody present without even trying. Her long, flowing dress was embroidered with flowers, and she looked more like someone who'd decided to step out for a pleasant picnic than a girl at the end of a long day's march. Her laughter was infectious, and even a local beauty like Aurora was mostly ignored while she waited the tables, and the elf must've earned as many envious glances from the women present as admiring ones from the males. At times, I even found my own attention wavering, and decided to concentrate on my playing - best save any attempts at flirtation for later.

Subtly, the mood in the room changed, as people slowly ate their fill, and I acted accordingly. It wasn't quite time to capture their attention entirely, but I decided to make my presence obvious. Moments later, the tones of a local ballad, "The miller's homecoming" slowly spread throughout the room. It was a common classic, or so I'd been informed. You know, one of those songs with thirty-plus verses that'll have different words and moods depending on the village you visit - but everybody'd know it upon hearing it. Whatever it was, it did the trick, and I noticed a couple of chairs being subtly turned towards me throughout the room - guards and villagers alike. I even noticed a small smile appearing on Gillem's face from behind the bar where he was surveying the room.

As the tables were slowly cleared out, I caught the attention of a couple of guards starting to veer towards the door, and knew this was the time to hold them. I almost started singing something, but then something changed my mind. Maybe it was the sight of the gorgeous, stately elf with her lustrous black hair flowing down her neck. Yes, my attention drifted again, so sue me. Or maybe it was the merry atmosphere which was building up into something closer to a party than a regular night at the tavern. I slowly let the music die down and strode forward, front and center. "Well met, everyone. In the name of Cariola, goddess of friendship and love, I hereby pronounce this a night of celebration. Why do we celebrate, do you ask? Because wherever people come together in peace, sweet music grows - the music of new paths and friendships that are founded, seeds that are sown and, dare I say it, love that blossoms. And with this , I would ask you to join me in a dance, so we can scare away the dawn for a while. Aurora, would you be a dear and show one of our new friends just how it's done around here?" I gave off my best lopsided grin. "You know, we can't expect outsiders such as these to know all our quaint customs and dances, right?" and added in a loud stage whisper: "and please do it slow - there's no way these slowpokes are going to be able to keep up with us, right?" 

Thankfully, Aurora took up my challenge with a raised eyebrow that told me without a doubt that I was going to pay her back for that later. She approached one of the least scruffy-looking guards, gave him the once-over, held out her hand and asked loud enough for the room to hear: "Do you intend to prove the fiddler right or what?". The guard shot back with a good-natured jibe: "You just tell me if your fragile feet get too sore to continue, sweetheart," jumped to his feet and took her hand. On cue, I started back into "The miller's homecoming" - only this time I played it as it was supposed to be played - fast, swirling, and above all, loud. Both the caravan guard and Aurora held their ground, and I was impressed that the guard's heavy boots somehow managed to avoid causing any damage to Aurora's dainty feet in her soft leather shoes. After three verses  I lowered the violin and applauded the dancers - and the rest of the room quickly followed. Both the dancers were slightly out of breath, and Aurora had gained some color in her cheeks. I threw the challenge to the rest of the room, "Are you going to let them outshine you all? Get out there with us and show how it's supposed to be done!" and with that I launched straight into "The clumsy king" - a raucous and merry tune that had a simple beat even a child with a tenpenny whistle could follow. Pandemonium followed as tables and chairs were pushed roughly out to line the walls and dancers threw themselves into the merriment. 

Following this, my task was pretty much done - I just had to keep the music flowing, while my villagers and the guards did everything in their power to make this an event to remember. To begin with, most people kept to themselves, but after a while everybody intermingled freely, both on and off the dance floor. Gillem mostly kept to his position at the bar, shouting orders left and right, but the contentment in his wide grin was plain to see. To tell from the rivers of ale and spirits that were flowing, even Gillem's avarice would likely be sated for a time following tonight. Once in a while, one of the guards shot a glance towards the door, but a fresh cup of wine or a new dance partner would inadvertenly arrive to distract him or her. Some of the guards that didn't dance ended up at a table in the corner along with Millerd and Gerhard, attempting to fleece the fleecers and groans and shouts from their table soon joined the ruckus. The invisible borders between the two groups soon dissolved, and after some time I spotted Sourpuss and Greck attempting to drink a huge, hulking catfolk under the table, while Mrs Bertinga was lost in discussion with the halfling merchant right next to them. Time and again, the door would sneak open, and somebody would stare in astonishment at the proceedings inside, before they inevitably joined in. An hour later, and I imagined that all the stalls outside were left unattended with the tavern as crowded as I'd ever seen it. I even spotted the carpenter, a young loner of a human, who rarely left his cabin, dare to approach the lovely elven guard and ask her to dance. 

As for me, I was lost. Lost in the joyous mood, lost in the music, lost to the wonder of not having any true obligations beyond this evening and keeping this captured moment of perfect joy alive. The next few hours was one unending tapestry of music, requests, shouted jibes, comments and laughter, and I can only imagine that I'd have continued until keeling over if a small hand hadn't suddenly tugged on my legs. Looking down, I saw Jeb holding a huge platter of food along with two large cups of water. "Tora'll take over for the nonce, mister. Dig in." I thanked him gratefully as the small half dwarven girl climbed the stage and waited for the worst noise to die down, before launching out in a a capella version of "Down by the riverside". Heh - I'd taught her that one, but now, somebody might just think that she was a Reborn - that could prove an entertaining misunderstanding. Chuckling to myself, I dug back into the food and almost fainted from the pleasure of it. Thick slices of boar steak with thick, tasty gravy and crispy fried tubers at the side were accompanied by deer bacon and an assortment of fresh, crunchy shoots and a tiny bowl of ripe, tart berries to counter the richness of the gravy. Gillem had truly overdone himself this time - I'd have to compliment him later. 

After an unknown period of time in culinary heaven, I sat next to the stage, nibbling at the last piece of bacon and enjoying Tora's latest song - I didn't know the tune, but it was captivating, telling the story of a farmer who lost her husband during the Separation. After a period lost to grief, she dedicated her life to improving the conditions of those in need, and eventually rose high enough to gain the ears of a local noble. The song was simple, but her singing was heartfelt enough, that I was right there with her, hoping that the farmer would be able to help everybody. Before I  heard the conclusion, however, somebody was shaking my sleeve again. 

The culprit was Jeb again, but before I could tell him to let me hear out the song, he burst out: "Da says you're to get on stage again 'n play like nothing's wrong - only finish off quickly and don't make a show of it. 'S important, he says."

For once, Jeb had no further information, not a clue what was going on. He could only tell me that Gillem was "Using his mean voice, y'know?" - which told me absolutely nothing. From across the room, I spotted him, but his face gave off nothing - except for the fact that his earlier grin had disappeared entirely. What the hell was this? Was he getting back at me for my acts earlier? Didn't he get that I was just joking around? My mind was in turmoil as Tora finished her song, and I hardly even acknowledged her presence when she descended from the stage to the sound of massive applause. I got back up, and for a moment drew a complete blank. I simply didn't know what to play. 

The scattered live gigs I've played back in Copenhagen have taught me a number of capital-r Rules. Watch out for people throwing beer bottles, even in friendly crowds. After the shows, always "coincidentally" take a place near the bar next to the people who've clapped the loudest - men may buy you a round and women - heh, women may compliment you in other ways. The rule that applied right now, however, was: "Always have an emergency melody to play if your brain shuts down." This was why, two seconds later, I found myself playing the intro to Emergency song #1 for merry crowds - Flogging Molly's Drunken Lullabies. Fortunately, the crowd loved it, and my playing was almost drowned out by the stamping of feet on the dance floor.  I'd played that track so many times, that it also allowed me a bit of surplus to think - not about Gillem's reasoning, I'd save that for later - but on how to make an excuse and escape to my room without causing suspicion.  Eventually, I decided to go with the old adage learned by children everywhere, "When lying, keep as close to the truth as possible." and a short while later, I was telling the crowd how I'd gotten in a fight with a group of Dawnlight Soarers earlier, how it'd left me somewhat the worse for wear and I needed some rest.