THE SONG 
by Steve Baxter 
	
	"Nice ring, Sam. What's the sparkly stuff, glass? Or something less expensive?"
	Buttermere Warble, known to his friends as Sam, looked up with a start. On the other side of his table was a small figure with a grinning face and a thatch of brown hair. "Oh. Tarquin. It's you. Your boat's in, then. Oh, good."
	Now more halflings came crowding into the tavern after Tarquin. Jasper, the barman of Esmeralda's Apron, pot-belly wobbling, growled at them to shut the damn door. Even here, deep in Marienburg on the murky rim of the Elven Quarter, the winds off the Sea of Claws had power.
	The halflings pulled up stools and began settling around Sam's table. Soon he was ringed by a jostling rabble. "Join me, why don't you," Sam said drily. In his line of work it was useful to have contacts at all levels of society - but you could have too much of a good thing...
	"Aw, Sam, aren't you glad to see us?" A skinny young halfling called Maximilian dug a worn pack of cards out of his woollen coat and began shuffling them.
	"Oh, sure. I was getting so sick of calm, peace and quiet."
	Tarquin sat opposite Sam. "So what's the story with the ring?"
	Sam's ring was a fat band of gold; shards of crystal caught the light. Another young sailor bent over to see. "Broken glass must be in this year."
	Sam covered the ring with the palm of his hand. "It's personal."
	Tarquin shook his head in mock disapproval. "Oh, come on," he said. "We're just off the boat. Tell us while we're still sober."
	"I told you, it's personal."
	"How personal?"
	"A tankard of ale."
	Maximilian laughed. "Ah, keep it." He slapped cards on the rough tabletop. "Three Card Pegasus. That's what I want to spend my sober time on..."
	But Sam pushed back the hand he'd been dealt. "Sorry, lads. Deal me out."
	Tarquin sat back, mouth wide. "You're kidding. Dragon High Sam, refusing a game?"
	"What is it?" Maximilian asked. "Funds low? No juicy cases recently?"
	Sam shook his head. "No. I'm sworn off Pegasus, that's what."
	"Why?"
	"Well, it's kind of connected to the ring. But it's basically because of what happened last time I played..."
	The circle of faces were fixed on him now. "Come on, Sam. Tell us."
	Sam looked significantly at his tankard.
	Tarquin picked it up. "Don't tell me. That's personal too, right? Well, you win, Sam. I'll get your ale. But it had better be worth it..."
	Sam leaned forward and folded his arms theatrically. "Right. Picture the scene," he began. "It was in the Apron; in this very bar. This table, I think. I can't remember too clearly." Briefly the halfling's face grew dark, belying his jocular tone. "I'd... had a bad day. I'd taken it out on one or two tankards - " "So tell us something new."
	"I was playing Pegasus. And losing. I couldn't even cover the pot. But there were only two of us left in the hand." He paused. "And?"
	"And I held three Dragons." A collective sigh rippled around the table.
	My only opponent was called Eladriel (Sam went on). An elf. Tall, with a streak of gold in the silver of his hair; quite distinguished looking, like a Lord almost, even with his knees crammed under the halfling-sized tables. Slumming it a bit down here in the Apron, obviously. (Jasper growled in warning.)
	I remember his eyes. Black as a bird's, they were; they pinned me as I tried to decide what to do. "Well, Sam?" Eladriel said. "Do you fold?" I took another pull at my tankard and tried to think straight. Only three Unicorns can beat three Dragons; we all know that. But I'd lost too much. "No," I said. "I don't fold." "Then cover the pot." "You know I can't," I said a little bitterly. Eladriel smiled, showing even teeth. "Fold or cover," he said. I stared at my three-Dragon hand. "I'll use a marker." Eladriel ran a delicate finger over the edge of his three cards. "Now, come," he said slily. "Markers in a place like this? I think not. You don't have anything of value?" I knew without looking. "Nothing." Eladriel tutted. "Everyone owns something, no matter how low they sink." "Thanks a lot." I stared at those black eyes. "Fold or cover," he snapped.
	"Name it," I said thickly. "Name the stake you want."
	His voice was low. "Are you serious?"
	"Name it."
	"Your mind," he said rapidly. "Your very being. Your last asset. Gamble your mind, my friend."
	Another player reached out of the darkness and touched my arm. "No, Sam. Fold."
	"I know you, Warble," Eladriel hissed. "You are... an investigator, are you not? And one of some repute. Your mind is good... for a halfling - "
	Now anger mixed in with the booze and the fatigue - just as the elf wanted, I suppose now - and I decided I was going to teach him a lesson.
	The coal eyes glowed. Three Dragons leapt at the edge of my vision.
	"I'm in," I said.
	"Sam, this is crazy - "
	"I'm in. And I'll see your hand."
	Eladriel smiled. And he laid his cards on the table.
	You know what they were.
	"I know a little battlefield magic," said Eladriel briskly, and he drew a small, wasp-waisted bottle from his coat. "I'm an old soldier, you see. This won't hurt, Sam."
	He passed his fingers before my face, once, twice - 
	I stared at his three grinning Unicorns and the world fell away.
	I felt warm, but numb. As if I'd lain in a bath for too long. But my head was still working. So I was alive.
	Or was I? Could this be the Afterlife? I tried opening my eyes. I saw a fat face, round ears, a huge pot-belly.
	It was Jasper, bending over me.
	"I'm finding the Afterlife a little disappointing so far, I have to say." My voice was thick, my mouth dry, but it all worked.
	Jasper straightened up and snarled in disgust. "Eight days out flat haven't dulled your tongue, then."
	"How long?" I tried to sit up. My back - and backside- were stiff and cold. I'd been lying on rough sacks in what seemed to be the cellar of the Apron.
	Jasper began shifting crates around the cold brick floor. My view of him was oddly washed-out, as if I was looking through a thin mist. "It was like you were asleep. Kept you clean and fed, though," he added gruffly.
	I stood shakily, legs tingling. "Yes, but by the fields of the Moot, Jasper, couldn't you have moved me around a bit? Haven't you ever heard of bedsores? The blood pools, you see - "
	Jasper grunted. "You're lucky to be able to give cheek, after that damn fool bet. Remember?"
	I nodded, rubbing my neck. "But, Jasper. I held three Dragons. What could I do?"
	"Not risked your life. I didn't expect you to wake."
	I thought it over. "To be honest, neither did I. People who have their minds taken normally don't, do they?"
	He hoisted a barrel over each broad shoulder. "And by the way. You had a visitor."
	"What? Who?"
	"While you were asleep. A messenger from an Elven Lord, he said. Go to the large house at the north end of Lotharn Street. You'll find something of value. That's what he said."
	"What Lord? What thing? What?"
	"What? What? I preferred you when you were asleep... You're the investigator; you work it out." Jasper trudged up the cellar stairs. He called back without turning, "There's food in the kitchen. And your gambling companion kindly left you the pack of cards. I put it in your pocket."
	"Thanks. Ah... Jasper," I said, following him. "I owe you."
	Jasper grunted. "Just leave money for the food."
	"Lotharn Street, eh..?"
	I climbed out of that cellar into an early morning. A thick mist lay over Marienburg. The mist glowed with sunlight. I walked north through the Elven Quarter, breathing deep.
	Now, you know Lotharn Street. You climb gradually until, at the northern end, you reach a fine view of the city as it sprawls over the islands in the mouth of the Reik. That morning the Hoogbrug Bridge seemed to arch into the sky and I could see the sails of a Kislevite frigate jutting out of the mist around the feet of the Bridge-
	Yes, all right, Tarquin; I am getting on with it. The point I'm making is that it was a great-to-be-alive morning, a morning when your skin tingles and your blood runs so fast you feel like doing handstands...
	Except I didn't feel like that. I felt as if I was hardly there at all.
	To me the colours of the city were pale, as if I was standing in a faded painting. I strained to hear the fog bells of that Kislevite freighter, but my ears seemed stuffed with wool.
	Earlier I'd walked past a Tilean street trader, a fat, swarthy human who sold broiled meat on sticks. I couldn't smell the hot meat. And when I bought a piece it tasted like soft wood.
	I didn't feel ill, you understand, despite my days unconscious. Just - absent. Not complete.
	For the first time I began to feel frightened. After all, I'd had my mind, my very self, taken away - and given back.
	Or had I? What if I was no longer complete? How would I feel? And why would anyone play such a trick?
	I had a feeling this mysterious Elven Lord would have the answer. And I wasn't sure I'd like what I'd hear.
	At the northern end of the Street a house stood alone. It was surrounded by a head-high wall topped with iron spikes. The spikes were barbed. Cute, I thought.
	There was a thick wooden gate, standing open; I walked through into a courtyard of cobbles. The house itself sat like a huge toad in the middle of the courtyard, a box of dreary stone with tight window slits.
	The door was a slab of weathered wood with a brass knocker in the shape of a war dog's head. I thought it would bite me when I lifted it.
	The door creaked open and out of the darkness thrust a face like a melted mask.
	I jumped back. I couldn't help it. A scar like a strip of cloth ran from the scalp right down one side of the face. The chest on that side was crumpled like a crushed egg, and one arm was a lump of gristle.
	That wreck of a face twisted into a half-grin.
	I managed to say, "My name is - "
	"Sss-ammm." The lips would barely close, and spittle sprayed over a distorted chin. "I know. He'shh ex-pected you."
	"Who?"
	But the creature just turned slightly and, with the good arm, gestured me in. The door was barely open. I had to squeeze past, and the wrecked arm brushed against me, cold as old meat. I thought I'd throw up. The old cripple grinned wider.
	The house was built around a single large room. A little light leaked through the slit windows as if by accident.
	The room contained a bottle.
	The bottle was about the size of my fist and it had a wasp waist. It sat on a simple table at the centre of the stone floor.
	Yes, Tarquin, there was more in that room than a bottle. In fact there was a whole lot of precious stuff. I'll come to that. But to me, you see, that bottle glowed like a pearl in mud. I walked up to it and stared, drawn, almost afraid to touch -
	"Hands off."
	The voice was painfully familiar. A tall figure emerged from the shadows at the back of the room. I wrenched my gaze from the bottle long enough to take in a fine, middle-aged face, a golden streak in silver hair.
	"Eladriel," I said. "The card player. Of course. So you really are a Lord..."
	Talking was an effort. My eyes dropped back to the bottle and I felt my hands rise, tugged to the glass as if by magnetism -
	There was a growl at my neck, a breath that stank of sour milk.
	"Down, Aloma!" Eladriel snapped.
	Yes, Tarquin; he saidAloma, a girl's name. I was as surprised as you are.
	"And you," said Eladriel. "Arms by your side."
	I did as he said. The foul breath moved away. Eladriel relaxed and walked closer. "No need to be frightened of Aloma," he said, smiling. "As long as you behave yourself."
	"Aloma? He's a she? I mean... it? Er - you're kidding."
	"Not at all. Used to fight at my side in my younger days. Without her I doubt if I would have done half as well on all those campaigns. Mightn't have survived, even. With her help I got out with enough profit to buy my way into a Marienburg shipping concern and to settle into this - " he waved an arm " - comfortable retirement. Dear old Aloma - "
	The Aloma-thing blushed. Yes, blushed. It was like watching a side of mutton go foul.
	Eladriel went on, "Her strength's extremely rare, of course." He whispered behind a delicate hand, "I suspect there's a little Ogre blood in the mix there somewhere... Yes, dear Aloma," he said more loudly. "Getting a bit long in the tooth now, of course, but still as tough as any two warriors... and in case it should occur to you to try anything let me point out that her single good arm could crush your spine like a twig."
	"Uh-huh. I'm reconsidering the pass I was planning."
	"And she was quite a beauty before her injury."
	"Really?"
	Eladriel's smile faltered. "Well, no, not really. But she has her uses. Now then, gambler, no doubt you're wondering why I've asked you here."
	With a supreme effort I stepped back from the table. "Get to the point, Eladriel. What's in the bottle?"
	"Bottle?" he asked innocently. "Which bottle? Do you know what he's talking about, Aloma?"
	My hostess cackled like a blocked drain. "What-t boss-tie?" she slurred.
	"Oh, very funny," I snapped. "What a double act."
	Eladriel nodded calmly, still smiling. "I think you already know what's in there, Sam. Can't you feel it? Aren't you drawn to it? Haven't you been feeling a little - not all there?"
	Aloma sniggered. I held myself still, dreading his answer.
	"You are in there, Sam," he said in a matter-of-fact way. "The rest of you. Now listen carefully. That bottle is sealed. And I've put another of my old battlefield spells on it, an aura of invulnerability. Do you know what that means? The glass can't be broken; it will resist any blow. Only I can open the bottle, release you and make you whole, you see. And any time I want I can do this."
	Blank.
	I was lying on the floor. I must have hit the table on my way down; my forehead throbbed.
	"Easy as snapping a finger," Eladriel said softly. "Neat, isn't it?"
	I tried to keep my voice level. "What do you want, Eladriel?"
	"I can tell you what I don't want. And that's to waste my strength holding half a mind that was a bit lightweight to start with. Tell you what, why don't we trade?"
	He turned and began to pace about the room, glancing over objects stacked around the walls on shelves and low tables. There was a painting of a bowl of flowers; Eladriel ran his finger around the edge of its frame. Then he moved to a sculpture of a girl's face, turned up to the sky; Eladriel cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand.
	"See this stuff?" he asked. "Human art, you know. It has an element of... vividness that's missing from Elven work, I always feel. A rawness, perhaps. I'm a collector, you see." He coughed modestly. "I've gained a certain reputation in some circles as a connoisseur of early Tilean belt buckles. Perhaps you've seen my monograph on the subject - "
	"Oh, of course," I said. "During a hard night in the Apron my mates and I talk about nothing else. Tilean bloody belt buckles."
	Eladriel raised a manicured eyebrow but otherwise ignored me. "There is quite a little community of us, you know. Collectors of human art. And some of us," he said in a conspiratorial whisper, "go a little further."
	"Further?"
	"Some go so far as to - ah... collect, shall we say - the artists as well. Do you understand? Poets, painters, dancers..."
	I couldn't believe it. "Elves running a market in humans? Eladriel, there are five hundred elves in this city... and about twenty thousand humans. If they ever find out there's a human slave market they'll kill you in your beds."
	He looked shocked. "Slave? What a sordid word. These little creatures are well cared for and are free to practice their art before an appreciative audience. What more could they ask?"
	I considered. "Freedom? Choice?"
	He ignored me. "And of course, it makes economic sense. Why buy eggs if you can own the goose? Besides, those humans who do know about it will make sure the rest don't find out. Elven money means a lot to this city."
	"As I was saying. There was one particular artist. A singer. A girl called Lora... quite lovely, apparently. Well, she came up for auction one day, and there was quite a buzz in the circle. Even to hear her sing, just once... But there was a pre-emptive bid. FromPeriel." He spat the name.
	"The Periel? The Elven Lord who owns the island close to High Bridge?"
	"He may." Eladriel sniffed. "Well-to-do, I understand."
	"Right," I said. "Probably as 'well-to-do' as the rest of you Elven Lords put together."
	Eladriel sniffed again, looking carefully indifferent. "Well, because of Periel no other elf got to hear Lora sing."
	I laughed. "And I bet that must have driven you wild."
	Eladriel sighed. "Lora may be the finest singer of her generation. I really must hear her voice."
	"Oh, sure. Purely for aesthetic reasons. Tweaking Periel's nose has nothing to do with it."
	"Even just once, a single song. Well, then. So sorry to see you go." He moved his arms in a brushing motion. The hideous Aloma grunted and began to shuffle towards the door. "So is that clear?"
	I was baffled. "What?"
	"Why, what I want you to do for me, of course. Arrange for me to hear Lora sing."
	There was a lump of ice forming in my stomach; I heard my breathing go shallow. "Steal her from Periel? The most powerful elf in the city? But... how?"
	He looked elegantly surprised. "Why are you asking me? You're supposed to be the resourceful investigator. That's your problem, isn't it? Here." He handed me another bottle, identical to the one containing a bit of me. "This also has the protective aura. Maybe you'll find it handy."
	I stared at the bottle. "I suppose there's no point asking for my usual thirty crowns a day plus expenses - "
	Blank.
	I was on the floor again, " - but in the circumstances I'll be happy to waive the fee," I said as I picked myself up and pocketed the bottle. "Don't bother, Aloma, I'll show myself out. By the way. Lay off the eyeshadow. Be subtle..."
	It wasn't easy getting to Periel. As one of the city's most successful Sea Lord merchants he's rich enough to have bought layers of privacy.
	My first problem was that he doesn't even live in the Elven Quarter. So I chose a shapeless old coat and a red woollen hat, and I set off into the lowlier human districts of Marienburg, working my way towards the mouth of the Reik.
	It wasn't a pleasant experience. Not everyone welcomes strangers, even halflings. So I walked through stench-ridden streets with my shoulders hunched and my head down, enduring suspicious stares.
	Second problem. Periel lives on one of the rocky river-mouth islands. He likes his privacy. The island's not the biggest piece of rock in the Reik - but it's all Periel's, it has a great view of the open sea, and there are no bridges to it. You wouldn't think that was possible in this city of bridges; but so it is.
	So I needed a boat.
	I found a depressing little tavern on Riddra Island, at the west end of the Suiddock. There were rusty fishhooks and patches of damp on the walls; the tables were sticky with dirt and the ale was gritty. I never thought I'd miss the Apron, but this place was even worse.
	(Joke, Jasper. Joke.)
	There were three customers in there, sitting in gloomy silence at separate tables. I selected the cleanest-looking of them, bought two tankards of damp grit, and sat down.
	The fisherman eyed me warily - he couldn't take his eyes off my red hat - but gradually, in grunts and half-sentences over more tankards, he began to talk.
	His name was Kurt. He was a wiry man with a shock of black hair. He survived by scraping herring out of the Sea of Claws. His boat's timbers had a creeping fungus, the herring catch was down that year, and his wife was having it off with a cod-grader called Norbert.
	Boys, he was the conversational equivalent of a case of piles.
	But he was due to take his boat out at high tide that evening; and - after a little encouragement - he agreed to carry a passenger on a small detour.
	And so I found myself rowing - yes, rowing - Kurt's creaking boat through the straits of Marienburg. Kurt sat at the stern, picking at a net with black fingernails. The light was fading but it was still brighter than the inside of that tavern at midday. Kurt began to stare at me. I stared back.
	"You've got a secret," he said at length, "and I know what it is."
	My heart thumped. "Oh, yes?"
	"Yes." He eyed me shrewdly.
	I sized up the situation. Kurt was not much taller than me but a lot broader - and, thanks to Eladriel, I wasn't all there. If Kurt had felt like it he wouldn't have had much trouble taking my purse and dumping me over the side.
	"What are you going to do about it, then?" I asked, eyes locked with his.
	Surprisingly he shrugged. "Nothing. Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."
	"It is?"
	"Yes." He turned his face away from the wind, spat out a chunk of green phlegm, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I know why you're wearing that hat," he grunted at length.
	"Hat?" I put a hand to my red woollen cap.
	He placed his hand on his scalp, grabbed a handful of hair, and pulled the whole black mass right off his head. The afternoon sunlight glinted off his skull. "See?" he said, waggling his wig. "You're as bald as an egg under that stupid hat, aren't you?"
	I agreed enthusiastically and kept rowing.
	Periel's island was a stub of rock a few hundred paces across. A few scrubby trees clung to nooks in near-vertical cliffs. A tower, simple but well-built, stood to attention at the peak of the island.
	We circled the cliffs until we came to a tiny harbour. There was a small, well-kept boathouse at the top of a beach of pebbles. The place was deserted.
	His toupee jammed back on his head, Kurt tied up against a jetty. He agreed to wait until dawn, winking and staring at my head.
	I walked up the beach, footsteps crunching. There was a narrow staircase cut into the rock behind the boathouse and I climbed a hundred steps to the island's flat summit.
	The wind off the sea scoured that plateau and made me pull my coat close. The last of the western light picked out the tower's clean lines, and I could see a door. It looked ajar.
	I stared for a while, wondering. Could it be that easy? I took a few tentative steps forward - 
	I heard a snuffling breath, like a pig digging for truffles, a footstep thumping into the soft earth.
	No, it wasn't that easy, I decided. I stood stock still, hands empty and at my side. And round the curve of the tower came the last barrier around Periel's privacy.
	He was four times my height and about as broad - and that was just his chest. Stumpy legs thumped into the earth. A breechclout swaddled a thick waist. His head was small and pig-like, and little eyes peered at me with suspicion. He hefted a club from one huge hand to the other. The club was tipped with iron bolts. His skin was the colour of dung, and matted with sweat, like a horse's. Let me tell you, boys, his personal hygiene left a lot to be desired.
	I smiled. Well, I tried to. "How do you do?"
	The creature hissed softly.
	"You're an ogre, aren't you?"
	His voice was like a wooden box full of gravel. "And you are not invited."
	"I'm here to see the Lord Periel," I said briskly.
	The ogre ran a rope-like finger over the tip of his club. "Shall I brain you," he mused, "before throwing you into the sea?" His shoulders moved in a grotesque shrug. "Why make a mess?" And he laid his club delicately on the ground and advanced on me, hands spread.
	Anyway after I'd got the ogre's club off him and had knocked him unconscious, I made my way to the open door and - 
	What do you mean, you don't believe it? You really want the boring details? Oh, very well...
	That ogre came closer, muscles working in his shoulders. Frantically I tried to concentrate, to think through the cobwebs Eladriel had left around my senses. I remember thinking that I'd finally run out of cards to play - And that gave me a clue.
	Quick as a flash I dragged my battered pack of cards from my pocket. "Wait!" I said.
	The ogre kept coming, his feet leaving craters in the ground. I began shuffling the cards and working simple tricks. Gradually the boar-like eyes were attracted by the flashing colours. The ogre slowed to a stop, staring at the cards; and those huge hands dropped reassuringly.
	"Before you so justifiably throw me off the cliff," I said smoothly, still working the cards, "please let me make you a gift."
	The ogre looked at me, and at the cards. "Thanks," he said, and reached down for the pack with one hand and for my throat with the other.
	"Hold on," I cried, skipping back. "I have to show you how to use them."
	The ogre studied me doubtfully, probing a mouth-sized navel with one finger. Rapidly I dealt out two hands of three cards. "Let me show you a game. It's called Three Card Pegasus.
	It usually ends in a fight, and you'd enjoy that, wouldn't you? We both take three cards. Now then, I look at my hand... Not bad. What have I got to stake? How about this - " I took off my woollen hat and laid it on the ground between us.
	The ogre ran a puzzled thumb over his cards.
	"And what's your stake?" I asked brightly.
	He growled menacingly.
	"Well, let's make this a demonstration hand, shall we?" I went on rapidly. "Now show me your cards... Oh," I exclaimed happily, "I only have Eagle high, but you have a pair of Dragons! You've won! Here." I held out the hat. "It's yours."
	The ogre took the hat, poked at it dubiously, and then jammed it over his skull.
	"Yes, well, the red wool clashes a bit with your dominant pigshit brown," I observed, "but never mind. Now, another hand?"
	The ogre nodded his great head. He hissed over the cards and stamped his thick feet in a kind of dance.
	Well, it took about half an hour, I suppose. By the end of that time I'd not only got my hat back; I also owned the ogre's breechclout, his unique collection of the droppings of the Giant Bat, the right of marriage to his first-born daughter... and his club.
	The ogre sat on the damp ground staring miserably out to sea, picking at the breechclout I'd loaned him back. "Never mind," I said, feeling almost sorry for him, "that's the way the cards run sometimes." And, with all my strength, I smashed the club into the back of his neck.
	All right? Can I get on with the story now?
	As I was saying... I made my way to the tower's open door. Heart thumping a bit, I stepped out of the wind and into musty darkness.
	Torches cast blobs of light over bare stone walls. I was in a corridor which led to a patch of brightness. I stopped to listen, let my eyes adjust to the gloom. Then I heard the song, drifting along the corridor: 
	...the laughter of children can never be held 
	By silver box or golden band;
	The bird's song dies in the ornate cage
	And the snowflake melts in the palm of the hand...
	It was the voice of a girl. I stood there, transfixed. How can I describe it? ...Well, perhaps I shouldn't try. I can only say that even in my misty state that song of trapped beauty reduced me to tears.
	Blinking, I took silent steps along the corridor. At the end I stopped, still in shadow, and peered into the central chamber.
	Torches high on the walls cast a gloomy radiance. A fire flickered in an iron grate. A table stood at the centre of the carpeted floor, and on it rested a half-empty pitcher of wine, a single glass goblet, the remains of what must have been a rich meal.
	And in a large, leather-covered chair reclined the Lord Periel himself. He was taller than Eladriel, his hair perhaps a little thinner, but he was dressed rather more sumptuously in a cloak of soft leather. As he listened his fingers were steepled before his face and his eyes were closed. I thought I could see a single tear glinting on his eyelid, and my respect for him rose a little.
	Half-hidden to me in my shadowed nook, the girl singer stood meekly before the Lord's table. She entered the chorus of her song again -
	...silver box or golden band...
	- and, fearful not only of detection by Periel but also – oddly - of confronting the source of all that beauty, I stepped forward.
	She was human, but with an almost Elven slimness. Her hair was night dark and plaited around a silver comb. She wore a dress of the purest white silk, and held her hands before her as she sang.
	Her face was downcast... the face of a prisoner, I thought. She can't have been more than seventeen. Her beauty was of an inner, almost ethereal type, and I wanted to cherish her.
	Now the song reached its climax and her voice soared:
	And the snowflake melts in the palm of the hand...
	She reached a high note that seemed almost beyond my hearing, and there was an odd ringing -
	- and the goblet shattered into a thousand pieces. Periel opened his eyes with a start.
	I stepped back quickly. The merchant Lord toyed with the fragments on the table. "Lora," he said softly, "your voice is perfect beyond the dreams of mortals."
	She bowed her head.
	He stood, stretched, gathered his cloak tight around him. "Well, I must retire. Another day haggling with the City Fathers over trade agreements tomorrow. If only I could spend more time at home with my treasures... of which the most exquisite is my Lora. Goodnight, my dear." And he made his way up a staircase that led from the back of the chamber into darkness. I heard a door close softly, somewhere above.
	The girl Lora relaxed once her master had gone. She sat on a stool at the table and began picking at a bowl of fruit, humming softly to herself in that gorgeous voice. As her hands flickered over the fruit I saw how her fingers were encrusted with jewellery. She made a delicate tableau in that gloomy place, a work of art as fine as any of Eladriel's. I just stood there for a while, hardly daring to breathe, drinking in that beauty (and no, Maximilian, I did not notice the sort of detail you're interested in.)
	At last I stepped into the light, fingers to my lips. She kicked over her stool and stumbled backwards, eyes wide. Grapes dropped from her fingers to the carpet. She crammed one tiny fist into her mouth.
	I mimed hush. If she screamed I was finished. I took another step into the room, trying to smile. "I won't harm you," I whispered. "I'm your friend. I'm here to help you."
	She seemed to relax a little. She dropped her hand from her face but kept her blue eyes fixed on mine.
	My blood rushed like a waterfall; and the nearness of that beauty nearly overwhelmed me.
	"Who... who are you?" she asked.
	I sighed. Even her speech had a quality like... like the finest lyre which -
	(All right, all right, I'll get on with it.)
	"My name's Sam Warble," I said. I raised my hat.
	"What do you want?"
	"Another Lord called Eladriel knows that you're being kept here by Periel. And he sent me to you." I sat on her stool, and kept smiling. I told her the tale of my recruitment by Eladriel, and gradually she came forward into the light.
	"But that's awful," she said at last. "How could this Eladriel do such a thing to your mind?"
	I shrugged, trying to look courageous. "I'm not important. What matters now is you, my lady."
	"Are you here to free me?"
	"Would you like that?" I asked gravely. "Does Periel harm you?"
	"Oh, no," she said, with a flutter of manicured fingers. "Far from it. He's a perfect gentleman. He feeds and clothes me well; I have everything I ask for. I don't even have to sing if I don't feel like it." She touched her cheek, shaking her head gently. "I have everything but my freedom."
	I nodded, tears filling my eyes again. "'And the snowflake melts in the palm of the hand...' You were singing about yourself, weren't you? You, Lora, you are that snowflake."
	She covered her eyes delicately. "I am a free spirit who is withering in captivity."
	"Where are you from?"
	"A little village a few days' travel from Marienburg, on the edge of the Reikwald Forest. My family are poor but honest. My father raises pigs."
	"Pigs?"
	"Pigs. One day emissaries of the Lord Periel came riding into the farm on their fine horses, waving their bags of gold at my father..." Fragile shoulders shook, and she wept softly.
	Well, I'll tell you, boys, it was all too much for me.
	I leapt up onto the stool and took her shoulders; her warmth flowed into my hands. "Listen to me. Eladriel didn't send me to free you. He sent me to capture you, to return you to him.
	You'd exchange one gaoler for another. But I'm not going to do it."
	I took her hand and led her towards the corridor - towards freedom. But she pulled her hand from mine and backed into the centre of the room. "What are you doing?"
	"Come with me." I felt my cheeks glow with passion. "I'll free you from the clutches of Periel, but I will not give you to Eladriel. I'll hire horses and return you to your family... Trust me."
	She looked at me doubtfully, toying with a particularly large ring. "You'll return me? What, to the pig farm? And all that dirt?"
	I still didn't understand. "Well, it might be a bit muddy, but it's freedom!"
	Lora ran her hands over the exotic fruit, touched her silken gown. "I was never very fond of pigs," she said thoughtfully.
	"But you're a free spirit who is withering in captivity. And so on." I was getting confused.
	"Oh, I am! I am! It's just..." She giggled. "Well, look, perhaps it would be better if you came back another day. Would that be terribly inconvenient?"
	I couldn't believe my ears. "Come back another... My lady, I am not here to sell potatoes. This is not a routine visit. Do you have any idea what I've been through?"
	She smiled nervously and pushed at stray strands of hair. "It's just that there's so much to pack... Well, you know how it is."
	And then I saw it. "Ah. Yes, Lora. I think I do know how it is." A look of understanding passed between us. You see, lads, she was a songbird who had grown far too used to her comfortable cage. And who can blame her?
	"Perhaps I should come back another day, then."
	She smiled eagerly. "Oh, yes, I think that would be so much better. Thank you for your thoughtful visit - but wait." Suddenly she sounded genuinely concerned. "What about you?"
	"Me?"
	"If you go back to this Eladriel empty-handed, won't he hurt you?"
	"That's a point," I said, my common sense returning painfully. "Yes, that certainly is a point. I seem to be stuck, don't I?..." And then I had an idea. "Or maybe not. I wonder - "
	I pulled out Eladriel's magic wasp-waisted bottle. "Lora, would you mind singing your song again? I think I may be able to trap it in this bottle; there's a spell on it, you see. Perhaps that will be enough for Eladriel."
	A look of pretty doubt creased her oval face. "Well, of course, if you think it will help. But won't my singing shatter the glass? You must have seen what I did to Periel's goblet."
	I scratched my head. "I think you're right. Eladriel's invulnerability spell is designed to ward off impacts, not the effects of a song." I wrapped the bottle in my woollen hat. "Let's hope this will protect it." And then, as I thought through all the possibilities of the situation, I felt a smile spread over my face. "And if this works out, it could be the best solution of all..."
	So, her voice barely a whisper, Lora sang for me.
	Her words reached again into my heart. I clutched the bottle desperately, trying not to make a fool of myself. Once more she reached the final line. "'And the snowflake melts in the palm of the hand..."' I felt the bottle quiver within its woollen cocoon.
	But it held. The last echo died away, and I shoved the stopper into the bottle's neck.
	"Thank you," I said, wiping away tears. "Lora... I will never forget you, and - "
	There was a rumble, a heavy footstep on the stair. "Lora? I heard your voice. Are you all right?"
	Lora's eyes went wide. "Periel!" she hissed. "We've woken him. You must go."
	"Of course." And - after one precious brush of my lips on her hand - I ran down the corridor.
	Eladriel raged. I stood there in his boxy home on Lotharn Street, enduring it; it was like being at the eye of a storm. Beside me, licking her broken lips and cackling, stood the delicious Aloma.
	I tried to concentrate on what Eladriel was saying, looking for an angle. But even now I could barely keep my eyes from a small bottle perched on a ledge behind Eladriel... a bottle that contained the rest of me.
	"What," Eladriel howled, his mouth inches from my face, "is to stop me from snapping you in two right now?"
	I took a deep breath and played my only card. "This," I said, and I held up my prize from Periel's island.
	Eladriel snatched the bottle. "Well?"
	"I could not steal the girl," I said, head hanging. "After all, a half-bred clod like me could never hope to match the brilliance of a Lord like you or Periel - "
	Eladriel grunted. "Don't state the obvious."
	"But," I went on doggedly, "I have brought, as a pitiful consolation, a single song."
	"A song?"
	"Just remove the stopper, my Lord."
	Eladriel, looking puzzled, did so. And Lora's perfect voice drifted into the room.
	I forgot my peril, and tried to relish these last seconds of pleasure. Whatever happened, I would never hear that voice again. Eladriel shook his head, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. And beside me Aloma blew her huge nose into her hand. Some people are just gross.
	The song was nearly over now, and the voice began to climb. 
	... melts in the palm...
	And the bottle shattered in Eladriel's hand. He jumped, startled, and let the fragments fall to the floor.
	I felt a rush of blood and breathed deeply, exhilarated. Because - as I had hoped - there had been a second shattering, like an echo, from a shelf behind Eladriel; and I was whole again.
	Eladriel turned on me with a growl. I fell to my knees and talked fast. "My Lord, I beg for mercy. I did all I could. You did say that a single song from Lora would be enough. And I've given you that..."
	Eladriel towered over me, breathing hard, the lingering beauty of the song obviously wrestling with his basic meanness. Finally he stepped back. "Very well, Sam. Get up. I'll spare you. This time."
	Surreptitiously, moved by an odd impulse, I scraped together a few fragments of the song bottle and pocketed them before I stood.
	"At least I heard Lora once. And I'm sure I can find more uses for you." Eladriel turned and made for the alcove within which he'd placed the second bottle. "But you'd better improve your performance in the future. Remember I still hold your..."
	He fell silent. He'd reached the alcove, and was running a baffled hand through bits of glass. Then he swivelled, his face a rich purple.
	I stood there trying not to tremble, waiting to be struck down by Eladriel's renewed rage. The moment stretched.
	Then, beside me, there was a hideous wheezing sound. It was Aloma laughing. Eladriel and I turned and stared.
	"The sh-song," she spluttered. "It broke the oth-th-ther boshttle and sh-set him free. He'sh tricked you, my Lord..."
	She cackled on. And after a few seconds, wonder of wonders, Eladriel's face creased into a smile. "She's right. You've got the better of me, haven't you? Go on. Get out."
	"What?"
	"Get out!" he roared, laughing. "Before I change my mind."
	I got.
	"...and that's why," Sam Warble finished, "I'm off gambling. Okay?" And he downed the last of his ale.
	Tarquin was rubbing his chin. "Not a bad yarn, I suppose, but it doesn't quite tie up. What's it got to do with the ring?"
	Sam looked surprised. "Why, isn't it obvious? I took the fragments of Lora's bottle and had them set in gold, as soon as I could afford it. Just a little souvenir." And he stroked the ring tenderly.
	Tarquin shook his head and stood up. "No. That's too glib, Sam. Good try. Listen, do you want to come for some food down the Admiral's Galley?"
	Sam smiled. "Not tonight. Leave me with my memories. I'll be all right."
	Tarquin laughed. "Suit yourself."
	The others stood and pulled their coats closed. Maximilian picked up his cards. "Give you a tip, Sam."
	"What's that?"
	"You kept me with you until you got to the ogre. I just couldn't swallow that bit. I mean, who would stake something as unique as a collection of Giant Bat droppings on a pathetic pair of Dragonkin? I ask you." Shaking his head, he followed the rest.
	Sam, left alone, shrugged and studied his ring for a few minutes. Then he blew gently over the inset glass. The shards chimed as if with a hundred tiny voices, and fragments of words could be heard....snowflake melts... laughter of children...
	Jasper came to the table to collect the discarded tankards. "So no one believes your tall stories, eh, Sam?"
	Sam smiled. "They saw right through me, didn't they? I'll just have to try harder. Oh, Jasper - listen, do you know anyone interested in a collection of Giant Bat droppings? Price negotiable..."