"Mercedes Lackey & Rosemary Edghill - The Bard - 03 - Spirits " - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

from the pockets of the passers-by, but only by those who had it to spare. More of a reminder, really, to
be courteous.

If you like what you hear, and can spare the money, drop a coin or twoтАФif not, pass on, pass on.
...

And no one with a New York City busking license was a Bard. Except, of course, him.

A sense of urgency hit Eric in the gut: not only did he want to catch this unknown Bard and find out who
he was, he wanted to get to him before he was busted! He hurried towards the platform. The transit
cops, who were supposed to enforce the busking licenses, could be along at any moment. Some of them
were inclined to turn a blind eye towards the occasional violator, if he was good, if the cop in question
liked that particular kind of music. So how many of them like bluegrass?

Eric shoved his way towards the cluster of people around the source of the music, and shouldered his
way into the magic circle, ignoring the indignant looks of the two he squeezed in between. тАЬWhen true
simplicity is gained, to bow and to bend we shall not be ashamedтАФтАЭ his mind supplied the words to
the tune.

The busker was a tall young man, built like a linebacker. Eric took it all in with a single glance. Blond.
Longish hair, jeans, faded blue work shirtтАФand that indefinable something that said тАЬnot from around
hereтАЭ to city-trained eyes. He had an open, friendly face and piercing blue eyes, which held a promise of
friendship out to the entire world, if only the world was wise enough to accept it. His banjo case was
open at his feet, money in it, as he ran leisurely fingers through the intricate patterns of the old song. An
old Army surplus duffle bag rested at his heels.

And the banjoтАФ The banjoтАФglowed. Not that anyone other than Eric or an elf would have seen the
glow. The strings were a network of silver-fire, and blue afterimages danced along the pattern of the
buskerтАЩs darting fingers.

An enchanted banjo?

There were legends of enchanted instruments in the ancient days. The traditional songs were full of
examples. Flutes made from a BardтАЩs bones. A harp strung with the hair of a murdered girlтАФ

No, thatтАЩs a bit too grisly. Nothing like that here. More like . . . an enchanted sword, forged for a
paladin. I didnтАЩt know there was anyone left Overhill who could do work like that.

Not that he knew, yet, that the banjo had been made here. But if it were elvenwork, he would have
sensed that, and EricтАЩs Bard-trained senses caught no trace of Otherworldly craftsmanship here, just
innate human magic.

A stir caught his attentionтАФthe glimpse of a uniform hat down by the turnstile. The transit cops.

The busker finished his song and coins and a couple of bills dropped into his banjo case, accompanying a
spatter of applause. And in the pause, Eric pulled out his busking license and propped it in the side of the
banjo case, very visibly, then got out his flute. He opened the flute case and put it behind the banjo case,
and began fitting his instrument together as he stepped to the side of the very surprised banjo player.

тАЬYou need a license to play down here, friendтАФIтАЩve got one, and you just became my partner,тАЭ Eric