The Demon Cycle Series Books 1 and 2: The Painted Man, The Desert Spear. Peter V. Brett

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      ‘That was a good performance,’ a voice congratulated as Rojer counted the lacquered wooden coins in the hat. Nearly three hundred klats! Keven would not pester them for a month.

      ‘Thank you …’ Rojer began, but his voice caught in his throat as he looked up. Masters Jasin and Edum stood before him. Guildsmen.

      ‘Where’s your master, Rojer?’ Edum asked sternly. He was a master actor and mummer whose plays were said to draw audience members from as far as Fort Rizon.

      Rojer swallowed hard, his face flushing hot. He looked down, hoping they would take his fear and guilt as shame. ‘I … I don’t know,’ he said. ‘He was supposed to be here.’

      ‘Drunk again, I’ll wager,’ Jasin snorted. Also known as Goldentone, a name he was said to have given himself, he was a singer of some note, but more importantly, he was the nephew of Lord Janson, Duke Rhinebeck’s first minister, and made sure the entire world knew it. ‘Old Sweetsong is pickled sour these days.’

      ‘It’s a wonder he’s kept his licence this long,’ Edum said. ‘I heard he soiled himself in the middle of his act last month.’

      ‘That’s not true!’ Rojer said.

      ‘I’d be more worried about myself, if I were you, boy,’ Jasin said, pointing a long finger in Rojer’s face. ‘Do you know the penalty for collecting money for an unlicensed performance?’

      Rojer paled. Arrick could lose his licence over this. If the guild brought the matter to the magistrate as well, they could both find themselves chopping wood with chained ankles.

      Edum laughed. ‘Don’t worry, boy,’ he said. ‘So long as the guild has its cut,’ he helped himself to a large portion of the wooden coins Rojer had collected, ‘I don’t think we need to make further note of this incident.’

      Rojer knew better than to protest as the men divided and pocketed over half the take. Little, if any, would actually find its way to the coffers of the Jongleurs’ guild.

      ‘You’ve got talent, boy,’ Jasin said as they turned to go. ‘You might want to consider a master with better prospects. Come see me if you tire of cleaning up after old Soursong.’

      Rojer’s disappointment lasted only until he shook the collection hat. Even half was more than he had ever hoped to make. He hurried back to the inn, pausing only to make a single stop. He made his way to Master Keven, whose face was a thunderhead as the boy approached.

      ‘You’d better not be here to beg for your master, boy,’ he said.

      Rojer shook his head, handing the man a purse. ‘My master says there’s enough there for a tenday,’ he said.

      Keven’s surprise was evident as he hefted the bag and heard the satisfying clack of wooden coins within. He hesitated a moment, then grunted and pocketed the purse with a shrug.

      Arrick was still asleep when he returned. Rojer knew his master would never realize the innkeep had been paid. He would avoid the man assiduously, and congratulate himself on making it ten days without paying.

      He left the few remaining coins in Arrick’s purse. He would tell his master he had found them loose in the bag of marvels. It was rare for that to happen since money became tight, but Arrick wouldn’t question his fortune once he saw what else Rojer had bought.

      Rojer placed the wine bottle by Arrick’s side as he slept.