Thornlost (Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

dropped his drink. “Yeh? What?”
    “Look at that!” Chat sniggered. “Answers to his name! Good puppy!”
    “Is he lead-trained yet, for walkies?” Vered asked.
    “Not even fully house-trained,” Cade told them. When Mieka opened his mouth to complain, Cade pointed a finger at him. “Shut it, or I’ll show them that rug you brought back from the Continent last year and tell them why it needed cleaning. Mieka, our colleagues have made the observation that the old version of ‘Treasure’ will need some rewriting before anyone else can do it at Trials from now on. Shall we distribute our script and performance notes?”
    Mieka sucked in an outraged breath as Chat said very earnestly, “Think of the rest of us poor sods, floundering about the Fliting Hall stage, trying to remember the fine distinctions Touchstone gave to the piece—”
    “Lacking the specifics,” agreed Vered, “we’d all make fools of ourselves. And it’s only right and proper for you to share. You’re the ones ruined the damned thing for the rest of us. We can never do the old version again.”
    Mieka struggled not to snarl. No player ever shared his folio. No glisker ever revealed his color coding for the glass baskets and withies, no masquer ever disclosed his performance notes, no fettler ever gave away his written annotations on the scripts. And most especially no tregetour ever distributed free copies of a play for all the world to see.
    “Of all the bloody cheek!” Then he saw that Cade was barely keeping laughter in check, and knew he was being teased. He swallowed hard, then managed, “Well, can’t see the harm in it. It ain’t as if anybody could do it the way we do it, right? But you’re welcome to try!”
    “What I’m thinking,” said Rafe from just beyond the firelight, “is that they ought to retire the thing.”
    Jeska had wandered up, and was nodding. “Or have no one but us do it at Trials from now on. No more sweats over mayhap drawing something horrible. Guaranteed Royal Circuit for us, every time.”
    “What
I’m
thinking,” Vered mused, “is that it’s nonsense to base Trials on the old plays at all. How often do we do any of them on the circuits? Never! Or almost,” he amended. “We play what sells, and what we make on our own, and none of the Thirteen has much to do with anything anymore—except at Trials.”
    “The Stewards would have a collective seizure,” Cade remarked, but there was that in his eyes which meant he was already envisioning it, and liking what he saw.
    Evidently Rafe wasn’t so sure. “If we all did what we liked at Trials, how would they judge? At least the Thirteen give a benchmark of sorts—”
    “They’d have to judge us on our best,” Chat said. “Not on whether we can make something good out of what everybody knows isn’t much more than warmed-over crap.”
    Touchstone’s initial reputation had come from making something spectacular out of “The Dragon,” and they had just done the same with “Treasure.” But the idea of tossing out all those others was intoxicating. Never having to rehearse the deathly boring Second Peril again—
    “This notion of judging, and ranks on the circuits,” said Vered, shaking his head. “I’m not much liking it anymore, anyways.” Then he tossed back the rest of his drink and boundedto his feet, swaying a little. “Miek, old son, would you happen to have a blanket or three and a spare pile of hay? I’ve a sudden longing to relive the simple rustic joys of our early years as destitute traveling players.”
    A little gasp made Mieka turn. His wife stood there with a tray of fresh drinks, scarlet-faced and scandalized. “Oh, no! We’ve beds to spare! We never would have invited—I mean, we’d never ask people like
you
to our house without—”
    “Soothe yourself, girl.” Mieka grinned. “If they’re pining for the memories, who are we to deny them?”
    “Talking of beds,” Cade said, “I heard the Minster chime not