BLUEMANTLE by Karen Langston (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud TXT) 📕

looked up at the pin-hole gaps in the canopy above. “There are probably Watchers overhead, recording your little performance. What will it earn you? A medal? Promotion? Bring in the ‘Music Makers’, dead or alive. We know there’s a price on our heads. Estrin knows that too. He shouldn’t have shown you the shaft.”

“He saw the tattoo. He believed me.” Dent shifted to one side, reaching a hand inside his shorts pocket. He pulled out a piece of paper, roughly folded. “I forgot. He asked me to give you this.”

The three Troubadours looked to each other. It was Chief who stepped forward to take the note. She slowly unfolded the paperback’s torn page and read Estrin’s scribbled message. Her eyes widened as she reread the words. Bend Sinister and Pale Dexter rushed to her side to inspect the cause of her alarm.

“This is remarkable news,” said Bend Sinister, still staring at the note. “I had feared there was no other able to take on the role.”

“I know of Ursel,” said Chief. “She was a friend of Bluemantle’s. And she is one of mine.” Her eyes brightened. “This changes everything, does it not?”

“How?” said Pale Dexter. “Whilst I agree that this is wholly unexpected, our hand has been forced. We’ve left. The Scene is no more. Regrettable as it is, what good could Bluemantle do now?” He turned towards Dent, face flushed. “Assuming its former creator and champion has perished, that is. The A took him, didn’t they? Raided his quarters. Is he alive? Or have you tired of his silence and brought his torture to a merciful end?”

“I… I don’t know. I’m not aware of any raid. But that doesn’t mean anything. I sat on the Council of Command, but its governance is a charade. Between the two of them, Wulfwin and Blix do what they like. Also, I wasn’t involved in detention or interrogation, so I don’t know who they’re holding. Apart from…”

“Yes?” pressed Pale Dexter.

“A woman. Two days ago. I was forced to watch…” He faltered, sickened by the memory. “But the man behind Bluemantle? He’d be high value. If they did have him, he’d most likely be in Itherside Hold. If he’s still alive, that is, which I doubt. Not if you think he wouldn’t break.”

The three Troubadours bowed their heads, their grief renewed by the implication.

Chief broke the mournful silence. “Then this brave offer of Ursel’s proves a timely lifeline. Yes, we have left Wydeye. But that decision was born of little choice, was it not? With Bluemantle restored, we’d have options. We could still communicate with our followers, spread word of a show.”

“And where would we perform that show?” said Pale Dexter. “Underground is lost to us. The Authority will have scoured those caves. Our home, our sanctuary, is destroyed. And there is nowhere overground that can evade their detection.” He turned to Dent, face taut. “That’s right, isn’t it, Allear? You’ve got overground sewn up so well you can hear a goat dream.”

Dent hung his head, eyes down, and nodded.

“Then we take it with us,” said Chief. “The Scene is the people, not the place. If we had Bluemantle, we could reach new audiences. Build a new following. Connect.”

“We don’t need Bluemantle to do that elsewhere. If we ever found a new audience, we would have no cause to rely on coded messages, created by an emissary risking all in the act. But there’s the rub. You know this. We’ve always known it.”

“What?” asked Dent. “Why can’t we just go elsewhere?”

“We?” echoed Pale Dexter.

Bend Sinister intervened, speaking softly to Dent. “You don’t remember. Before we each came upon Wydeye, we were travelling minstrels in search of an audience.” He explained how the four Troubadours and their players had come to find Wydeye after untold years of searching. “Nowhere else did people connect with our music. And it’s this connection on which our survival depends. That’s why, over time, we feared the worst for you. We clung on to blind hope for so long, until the impossibility forced us to replace hope with grief.” He looked at Dent, blinking. “You haven’t performed in over two decades. Without that to sustain you, it’s a miracle you’re alive.”

Dent shook his head, unable to account for his survival.

A silence fell on the camp. The players sat dazed, overwhelmed by the unexpected return of one of their own. The retinue of followers hung back, uncertain of their place in such unfamiliar territory. Dent closed his eyes, grappling with the pieces of two different puzzles.

By that time, dawn had dissolved into a new day. The dell provided dappled shade – welcome shelter from the sun’s full force. Insects buzzed, filling the silence with light-winged industry. The horses snorted, pulling at their tethers, swatting flies with their tails.

The Troubadours looked to each other, then rose and withdrew to the edge of the camp, out of earshot. Still, they kept their voices low, with an urgency sharpening their register. “We’re wasting time,” said Pale Dexter. “We should have been on the move at first light.”

“But this news has changed things, surely?” said Bend Sinister. “We would be wise to pause and reassess.”

“What’s there to reassess? We’ve nowhere safe to play. While that remains the case, we’ve no option but to leave.”

“We still don’t know if we’ll find anywhere else to settle. If it was just us, we would find reserves to keep searching. But our retinue? They have made great sacrifices by coming with us. We have a responsibility to consider their welfare.”

Chief spoke up. “The same stalemate. Don’t you see? This is why Ursel’s offer could open doors. Create alternatives, in place of this hopeless situation.”

“I admire your determination,” said Bend Sinister. “But even if Bluemantle could play a part in some way, the fact remains that the person who has offered to take it on, at immense personal risk, is currently incarcerated. Without Ursel, we are left with nothing more than the blind hope that has led us thus far.”

“I