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to make do with the crackle.
Anyway, it would be under a solid roof
Solid? Maybe. Maybe not. Her conscience called up a long litany of leaking roofs, inns without shutters,
stinking little hovels withoutwindows , dirt-floored, bug-infested places with only a hole in the center of
the roof to let the smoke from the fire in the middle of the room escape. Which it mostly didn't. . . .
Maybe, if she hadn't even found that kind of scant shelter, not a roof at all.
In fact, if she hadn't been clever or lucky, shecould be shivering in the so-called "protection" of her
travel-tent right now, a lot colder and wetter than she was, or even be huddled under a bush somewhere.
The wagon was solid, the fire was their own, and they were entitled to the flame and the crackle, once
the stove warmed up.
If it ever does.
But memory did supply some honest memories of sitting on the clean hearth of a good, clear fire, in a
good quality inn; sipping a mug of spiced cider or even wine, listening to the rain drum on the roof while
she tuned her lute. In fact, she had spent whole seasons in such venues, the valued fixture of the tap room
who brought in custom from all around.
Will this stove never heat up?
"Th-they s-say a w-w-watched p-pot never b-boils," Kestrel said, his voice muffled under his blanket.
"D-do w-watched s-s-stoves n-never heat?"
"I'm beginning to think so," she replied. "I  "
"Hello the wagon! Having trouble?"
The clear tenor voice from outside carried right over the drumming of the rain on the roof. She was out
of her blanket and had poked her head out of the door at the rear of the wagon before Kestrel couldeven
uncurl from his "nest." That voice was more than welcome, it sounded familiar!
Another vehicle had pulled up on the road beside them, a wagon much, much larger than theirs. So
large, in fact, that it probably had to keep to the major roads entirely, for the minor ones would not be
wide enough for it. As it was, there was just barely room for a farm-cart to pass alongside of it. Anything
larger would have to go off to the side of the road and wait.
It had tall sides, as tall as a house, and rather than wood, it was made of gray, matte-finished metal. It
had glass windows,real glass , covered on the inside by shutters. Below the windows were hatches,
perhaps leading to storage boxes. It was drawn by four huge horses, the like of which Robin had only
seen when the Sires held one of their silly tournaments and encased themselves in metal shells to bash
each other senseless.
As if they weren't already senseless to begin with.
The huge beasts stood with heads patiently bowed to the wind and weather, rich red coats turned to a
dull brown by the rain, white socks splattered with mud, "feathers" matted. They were beautiful beasts,
but she did not envy their driver, for they would eat hugely and be horribly expensive to keep. That was
why only the Sires could afford such beasts, although their great strength would be very useful to any
farmer. Then again, anyone who could afford a rig likethis would have no trouble affording the feed for
these four huge horses.
Their little Gypsy caravan would easily fit inside this colossus, with room for two or three more.
The driver sat in sheltered comfort inside a porch-like affair on the front, enclosed on the left and right,
roofed and floored. He leaned out around the side, just as she tried to make out who or what he was 
and as soon as he saw her, his face was lit by a mixture of surprise and delight.
"Old Owl!"she exclaimed, jumping from the back of the wagon to the ground. "By our Lady, I can't
think of anyone I'd rather see more!"
Kestrel poked his head out of the door of the wagon just in time to hear Robin address the driver of an
utterly amazing vehicle as "Old Owl."
Both made his eyes widen. The wagon was likenothing he had ever seen before in his life. It seemed as
alien to this road and forest as a coronet on a rabbit. The driver was as astonishing as his wagon, and he
certainly saw why Robin  and presumably the other Free Bards  would call him by that name.
He lookedquite owllike, although he was more human than a Mintak or a Gazner  but much less so
than an Elf. While Kestrel stared, the driver grinned down at them both, perfectly protected from the rain [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]