Fanuilh by Daniel Hood (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) 📗

that Burns was older than Coeccias, the thin hairs that straggled across his bald head a dirty gray.

"I suppose, yes, just let me tune it."

"It'll need no tuning, sir."

Shrugging, Liam picked out the first few notes of "The Lipless Flutist," and heard that Burus was right. Encouraged, he went on more confidently, and the servant joined in soon. After a few minutes, the rust in Liam's fingers wore away, and the two matched each other. Coeccias started singing the most common verse once they had run through the main theme twice. His range was poor, and he shouted more than sang, but the words came out clear and loud, and the words were the most important part of "The Lipless Flutist." Liam entered the singing almost right away, and though the mix of the two men's voices was hardly pleasant, it was not outright offensive, and seemed to fit the ruder lines quite well.

The variations on the song's basic theme—the adventures of a flute—player with no lips—were almost endless, and Coeccias and Liam diverged radically after three verses. The Aedile tried to return to the beginning, but Liam went on, into a verse he had once heard in Harcourt. Coeccias joined him on the refrain, though, and they brought the song to a rousing finish, shouting and laughing, with the heavy official jigging across the parlor.

Laughing, Liam flexed his fingers, pleased that he had remembered how to play. Another thing he had not done in a long time.

"Y'have a fair hand for the lute," Burus commented, cheeks red from playing the furiously paced song.

"And y'have a saucy, impertinent tongue, rascal!" Coeccias shook with laughter and clapped his servant on the shoulder, rocking the slighter man.

"I only learned because of that song," Liam said. He had indeed learned to play because of "The Lipless Flutist," taking up the lute to fill long hours on deck and as a way to remember the countless verses that had amused him in taverns and wineshops and camps in a hundred lands. He smiled at the pervasiveness of one song, and recalled a particular version.

"There's a variation to it, if you'd like to hear it." Coeccias loudly left no doubt that he was in favor of it, and Burus smiled indulgently.

He led them through the variation, called "The Lipless Flutist and the One-Armed Lutist," laying out each new line for Coeccias to roar along. He included a few of the special rills that went along with mention of the Lutist, and found Burus accompanying him easily, while Coeccias clapped with drunken joy. They sang the new verse twice, and then paused, drinking much more cider and laughing with the Aedile as he tried and failed to remember the lines Liam had just taught him.

"You' 11 write them out for me, Rhenford," he said angrily, and then called for another song.

Liam began one of the few others he knew, a sailor's song, high-spirited but relatively clean for the normally filthy genre. Burus picked it up effortlessly, and added a number of flourishes that enhanced the simple melody. As he bent his head to check his fingering, Liam marveled at the gnarled old servant's skill. He was a true musician, not a dabbler like Liam, who had only learned individual songs and not the theories or ideas behind them. He could play the songs he knew, but Burns could learn a new one easily, and make it better.

They played two more songs that Liam knew, and Coeccias remained silent, staring fixedly at a space between them. When they were done, Liam bowed over his lute at Bums.

"You're a fine player, Bums. A really fine musician."

The servant flushed and scowled, and the Aedile roused himself from his stupor to take another gulp of cider and fix his attention on the lute Liam held.

"And so he should be, Rhenford! My father had the teaching of him, and my father was the rarest that ever served the office of Duke's Minstrel!"

Burus's scowl deepened, but he did not speak angrily. "That lute was his," he said, pointing with his flute, "and though you do it no disgrace, he was as far your master as a king is a swineherd's."

"Aye, a rarer there never was, a rare man for a song," Coeccias muttered morosely, and then suddenly burst out laughing. "And the rankest time-server and flatterer the Duke's court ever saw! How think you I came to my own office? Son of the Duke's favorite, and good for naught but chucking tosspots into the street-so off with him to Southwark, and create him Aedile!"

"Y'have done credit to it, Coeccias," the old servant said mildly, and the Aedile nodded firmly.

"Truth, I've done my all, and few could do better. But go to, another song!"

Bums began a slow, mournful song, a dirge to Laomedon, the God of the W odds Beyond. He peered questioningly over his flute, but Liam shook his head and smiled, carefully putting the beautiful lute back into its case before refilling his mug.

The pot was finished by the time Bums had gone through four more songs, three of which Liam did not recognize. Finally, the servant put aside his flute and drained the last of the only cup he had taken.

"If there's nothing else, I think I'll to my cot."

"No, naught else, good Bums, beside my thanks." Coeccias seemed to be over his earlier wild drunkenness, and nodded gravely at his servant's bow.

Liam whistled after the old man had gone, now far worse off than his friend. The haze was fully extended now, and he was glad the pot was empty, because the thought of even another sip made his stomach ache.

"He's a fine musician," he whispered in awe.

"Truth, a fine man as well."

Unsteadily, Liam made his way to his feet. "It's time for me to go."

Coeccias did not argue, but he did stand and open the door for him with a wide smile.

"Y'are no poor player yourself, for all Burus's roundabout way of saying it. Y' ought to come