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into places she was not supposed to, and I was detailed to keep an eye on her."
"Me?" Gwyna exclaimed. "I never " Then she began to cough, as if she had not intended to say
anything.
"Most adventuresome was her foray into the upper reaches of the butterfly conservatory; I had no notion
that a five-year-old could climb so high," Harperus continued as if he had not heard her protest. "Most
interesting was when she decided that the fountain in Hazewood Square required fish, and began
transporting them, in her bare hands, one at a time, from the view-ponds in the Aquarium nearby.
Amazingly, they all survived the trip! It was quite a surprise to the fountain-keepers, however."
He turned to Gwyna, who was blushing furiously. "Howdid you catch them, anyway? I have never been
able to figure that out."
"I tickled them," she said, in a small, choked voice.
"You tickled them." Harperus shook his head, and peered ahead through the curtain of rain. "Some sort
of obscure Gypsy secret, I suppose." He turned back to Kestrel. "At any rate, I have been the 'adopted
uncle' for any number of Gypsy youngsters, and she is one of them. Although I must admit that our dear
Robin is one of my favorites."
Kestrel relaxed a trifle; if Robin had known himthat long ago, then certainly he was not one of the odd
creatures you heard about from time to time whose behavior was so bizarre you never knew whether
they considered themselves your dearest friend or your worst enemy. "D-d-do you d-d-do m-much
tr-traveling?" he asked.
"I would say that I am probably on the road for about half of the year," Harperus said, after a momentof
thought. The wagon swayed slightly beneath them; nothing like the rough jouncing of their own little
caravan. "Some of us enjoy traveling, trading, and gathering information, and those of us who do spend
as much time out and about as we may. Usually we travel in wagons about the size of yours, and there is
very little to distinguish it from a Gypsy caravan. Frankly, dear boy, I wouldnot have taken this vehicle if
it were not for two things, and one of them is that it can defend itself from an unpleasant visitor. It is far
too conspicuous for my liking."
A little shiver ran down Kestrel's back at that.It can defend itself . . . . He could not even begin to
imagine what that could imply. He did not want to find out at first hand. And he was very glad that
Harperus did not consider them "unpleasant visitors."
"Have you made any good bargains lately?" Gwyna asked casually. Harperus brightened at that, and
began rattling off a number of trades that he considered to be something of a coup. A "laser imaging
system" ("still functional, if you can believe it!") for a small glass-smelting furnace; a "complete cache of
memory crystals" for an equal number of precious stones. Or rather, Kestrel assumed they were
precious; Harperus referred to them as "cultured" pearls, rubies, and sapphires. Kestrel was not certain
just what "cultured" meant. Perhaps they were better educated than other gems. Something else Harperus
said made him feel a little better.
"You know, value lies in rarity, really," the Deliambren told Gwyna, when she raised her eyebrow and
asked who had gotten thereal bargain. "They were using the memory crystals for jewelry, and valued
them no more than quartz. We simply gave them something better suited to display and tripledour
library. To us, memory crystals are rare. To them, our culturedstones are. Everyone benefits, and no one
feels cheated. That is the essence of a good bargain."
Gwyna laughed and told him he would never make a horse-trader, and then settled back for areal nap
against Kestrel's shoulder as the rain changed to a dismal drizzle. He held her with an arm around her
shoulders, supporting her so that she could nap, as the unknown source of warmth beneath their seats
dried them all and made her drowsy.
Harperus patiently waited through Kestrel's stuttering, and answered all of his questions, though Jonny
could not tell just how much of what he said was evasion. Finally he turned the tables on the Free Bard
and began his own series of questions.
Mostly, he concentrated on Kestrel's own story, and seemed particularly fascinated by the intervention
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