Anya needed no encouragement, and it clearly took all of Ardent’s training to keep him at her heels rather than racing ahead to snatch a piece of roasting boar straight off the spit.
“You know, since I turned into a newt, I only want to eat bugs,” said Shrub conversationally as they climbed down. “I wonder if I’ll still like ’em when I turn back. The shiny black ones are really nice and crunchy. I might go off and hunt some down if that’s all right.”
“Some bugs are good,” said Ardent. “But not as good as roast boar or rabbit.”
“If you could catch some bugs for Denholm too, that would be helpful,” said Anya. “I don’t think he gets enough from ones that go near his cage, and I can’t let him out. The spell will make him run away from me.”
“Don’t leave the theater, Shrub,” instructed Bert. “The sentries will turn you back, but I don’t want them bothered. Or you shot by accident.”
“I’ll behave,” called out Shrub, angling off along one of the terraces, already looking into the darker corners. “I promised Ma, didn’t I?”
Down at the stage level, Bert showed Anya where she could lay down her staff, bundle, and frog cage. The princess offered the wrapped ham as a contribution to the dinner, but Bert refused it. Anya set it down with a firm admonishment to Ardent that he was to leave it alone.
“There is a necessary trench over that side,” said Bert, pointing to the far end of the stage where the stone pavers had broken to reveal bare earth. “Take care you do not fall in, and use the small shovel to throw some dirt after your business. The barrel on the way back, there, has water and soap. It will be warm, or warmish at least. When you are ready, come to the fire for food and drink.”
Anya poured some water from her bottle over Denholm before she went to the toilet herself. Ardent loped ahead to investigate, adding his own contribution. A robber brought over some steaming-hot water in a large pot and topped up the barrel just before Anya washed her face, neck, and hands, so it really was warm, and the soap, though unscented, was not the harsh, scratchy square she anticipated.
At the fire, she was handed a wooden plate loaded with roast meat, roast yams, and some wild forest greens she didn’t recognize but which tasted pleasantly peppery. Ardent got a plateful too, and ate almost decorously at Anya’s feet as she stood among the robbers, trying not to gulp the food down herself. When she was finished, she joined a line of robbers to wash the plates clean, and to receive a cup of nettle tea, ladled out of one of the several cauldrons that were bubbling over the long fire pit.
As Anya drank that down, one of the robbers, a young man with a mischievous face and a questionable moustache, came to talk to Bert. His hair was red, even in the moonlight, which faded most colors into shades of gray and silver.
“Music tonight, Captain?” he asked.
Bert didn’t answer for a moment before she slowly nodded.
“Let’s have another hand of sentries out first, Will, what with Duke Rikard up to no good with his assassins and the like. And no drums—we’ll keep it a bit quieter.”
Five of the robbers picked up their bows and went up the terraced side of the arena to spread out around the rim of the hill. Anya heard owl calls, and thought for a moment Gotfried might have somehow found her, before she realized they were either wild owls or more likely the robbers signaling to one another.
“Come up and sit by me,” said Bert, taking up her weapons again. She climbed up to the second terrace, where a pile of new-cut ferns made a comfortable long seat upon the stone, and probably a bed later. Anya followed, with Ardent close by. Shrub was still presumably off hunting bugs.
Bert put her bow and quiver down first, before she sat, and made sure her sword was arranged not just comfortably, but so she could draw it as she stood. Anya noted her caution, and turned her own knife so she could pull it out easily even when sitting. Such caution seemed like a good idea not just for a robber, but also a princess stalked by assassins and sorcerous servants.
Down below, on the stage, other robbers were taking out instruments. Three produced lutes from their backpacks. A group of four produced wooden pipes of different lengths, though all had curved ends. Anya recognized them as crumhorn players, and leaned forward. She liked the buzzing sound of crumhorns. They were joined by two robbers on shawms, one of them already playing a soft melody, the plaintive woodwind sound suddenly the loudest noise in the whole theater.
“Music is a great balm,” whispered Bert as the other players slowly joined the first shawm, building on that simple tune, reinforcing it and winding around and about it, making it both more complicated and simpler at the same time. “Another thing evil sorcerers give up. They cannot abide music, for it can conjure all human emotions, most particularly joy and happiness.”
“Did someone tell you I was learning magic?” asked Anya uncomfortably. She felt rather like she was about to be lectured by a stern tutor, though she’d never really had a teacher. Apart from Gotfried, and he never lectured anyone. She had read about stern tutors in stories, though.
“I hear things,” said Bert quietly. She was watching the musicians, not looking at Anya. The robbers below were smiling now, their spirits lifted by their music. The tune had become merrier and faster, like a fire given new fuel, rising higher and brighter.