Their formula was well practiced. From rehearsing their act while traveling between destinations, to the rudimentary Thieves’ Cant that Bird had taught his companion for subtly sharing information about nearby marks, even the practical logistics of staying at a close but different establishment to ensure a margin of safety. It was all planned to the finest detail. Even the sequence of activities had a prescribed order; perform first, accept what they give then take what they don’t, while probing for information somewhere in between. A twinge of guilt hit him as he thought about Whydah. She didn’t love everything about this lifestyle. Given her choice, she’d rather be more permanently settled somewhere, likely in one of the cities, attending Bard College instead of relying on pickpocketing fans. She loved the music and loved making it. He could tell she was most at peace when they were performing. But circumstances pushed them in this direction, for now at least.

Brought back to the moment by her voice, Bird refocused on the room.

“A fair bit of darby among the pigeons here tonight. Green hat has the bourg front left, red beard on the right, six pm”

Her vocabulary is really coming along nicely. She’d just told him she was already seeing several worthy targets. In particular, the man with the green hat had his coin purse in his front left jacket pocket while his red-bearded companion carried his on the right. They were both seated at the table directly behind him.

“I’ll make a rum bob out of you yet my friend! Remember, no rust tonight, keep your eyes open for tin or yellow”

She flashed him her trademark “Do I look like an idiot?” glance in response.

“I‘m well aware…I thought you might have to try and pay for the lamb with buttons, I was ready.” She smirked, referencing her ability to cast an appropriate illusion.

“Wouldn’t be the first time!” he quipped.

The two of them continued to debrief on the various marks and targets around the bar for the next few minutes before Bird got up and left the pub under the guise of relieving himself. His real purpose, however, was to take a look around the backside of the building. Always secure another way out…just in case. Closely facing the pub’s rear wall, and fully playing the part, he clocked the kitchen door already propped open to mitigate the heat. Short run from there to the woods. That’ll do.

He gave Whydah a barely perceptible nod as he returned to the table, communicating more with the deliberate blinking of his eyes than head movement. They were in good shape.

Almost as if waiting for him to return, Gella landed chaotically at their table with two plates of food in tow, having deftly and quickly maneuvered her way from the kitchen, through the crowd, with practiced competence.

“Two specials?” she said breathlessly settling next to their table.

Whydah smiled and adjusted her posture to lean back in her chair, making room for the plate in front of her.

“That’s us”

“You’re the musicians – right?”

“Well, I am, he tells stories”. Totally judgment-free.

Gella’s head came up as she considered the response.

“Separately, or at the same time?”

“Same time.”

“That’s different. So, the music and the story go together.” She turned to Bird.

“But you’re not singing?”

“Nope”

“Sounds interesting, I haven’t seen that before!” Gella smiled. “I’ve got a bit of a break in the rush, so I’m going to get you guys all set up now, should be done by the time you’ve finished your meal”

“Thank you,” Whydah said as Gella nodded and navigated her return journey to the kitchen as deftly as she had come.

Silence fell between the two travelers as they tucked into their meal, hungrier than they recognized and pleasantly surprised by the savory nature of the lamb. True to her word, Gella began shuffling extra chairs, empty barrels, and small sacks of dry goods to re-expose the stage floor at The Barrel’s east end. Her activities drew a few curious looks from those who hadn’t heard her father announce the entertainment, their heads swiveling around to identify the source of her activity.

Whydah lifted her head from gobbling the last of her potatoes to see Bird already reclining his posture and smoothing his whiskers, plate empty in front of him.

“Looks like we’re almost up,” She said, nodding over Bird’ left shoulder.

He sighed “As much as I would rather keep my ass right here on this bench, I suppose it’s part of why we’re here. Open with the origin story as usual?”

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“Works for me. I’m thinking lute tonight, they look like a lute sort of crowd.” Thank Gond she didn’t choose the pipes!

Whydah was a master of multiple instruments, always carrying a lute, a harp, and a strange wind-powered device called the bagpipes. Unfamiliar to him, he found their sound to be harsh and their melody a bit stilted. Thankfully they didn’t come out of her pack very often. The lute was the perfect choice tonight. Her picking skills and ability to instantly adjust its volume (unlike those pipes!) always worked well with the build of his tales and the rise and fall of his acoustics.

The audience had grown somewhat since their arrival. Bird estimated nearly thirty-five people at the tables or milling by the bar. His heart began to beat faster, as it did before every performance. This was his true calling. He was often a thief, sometimes an assassin but he was always a showman. There was nothing quite like the feeling of the crowd's adoration, the applause, the laughter.

With the smiling nod from Egon, as he moved past them from the bar, they took their cue to follow. Downing the dregs of their ale and grabbing their packs, the pair fell in line behind him towards the now spacious stage area. Showtime!

Whydah carefully freed her lute from its strap on the outside of her backpack and Bird did a couple of vocal warm-up exercises as Egon took center stage and got the crowd’s attention.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” he repeated a couple of times in increasing volume to bring all eyes to him. “We have a very special treat for you tonight – troubadours – and professional ones at that!” A mild murmur and sporadic applause rose from the now attentive crowd.

“Please give them a big Barrel welcome” and Egon himself started the applause that was mimicked by several patrons. An easy room. Wonderful.

Egon stepped aside as Bird took center stage his feline grin in full form, energy up, motions exaggerated.

“Let’s give it up for our gracious host – Mr. Barrel and the finest server this side of the Glimmerstones – Gella!” Bird returned the favor of starting the applause and the crowd responded directly. Get them to applaud their friends first. It makes the transition easier.

“My name is Bird and my diminutive soloist is called Whydah” He made a flourishing gesture to his partner who had now taken up a seated position to his left, lute in hand.

“Don’t let her size fool you though, she can shred that lute like an ogre on a pony!” A few chuckles, not bad.

“I see the confusion on some of your faces, yes I am a Tabby” Bird exaggeratedly stroked his whiskers. “And yes, you heard me correctly, my name is Bird. Singing Bird in fact. In my culture, we use only the second name in a familiar greeting, so please, call me Bird. Only my mother calls me Singing Bird…usually when she’s unhappy with me.” A few chuckles.

“Despite the foreshadowing of my name, I am not going to sing for you tonight. Hold the pause for suspense. What we do would be better described as storytelling done to music. Hopefully, you will find it both amusing and entertaining, and if you do, we would greatly appreciate any generosity you feel appropriate.” He expertly spun an old felt hat he had been holding into the air, landing it three feet in front of him on the edge of the stage area.

On cue, Whydah began to lazily pick a five-note melody on the lute in repetition, tapping the instrument’s body in between to establish a slow beat in accompaniment to the music.

Oh yeah! There’s the juice!

Bird immediately felt the familiar rush of the magic that accompanied her music when she so chose. His confidence, already high, swelled euphorically, his head cleared, and his focus sharpened. It was something he had experienced many times, in a fight, a delicate negotiation, or, like today, when delivering a performance. It always took him to another level.

“Now with the introductions out of the way, let me tell you a bit about how a dashing, young Tabby like myself came to be performing for pub coins in the Kingdom of Shan. Believe it or not, performing arts were not my first calling...”

He paused dramatically letting the melody repeat and then resumed.

“.. I used to be a bit of a burglar and a pretty good one at that, until one job where I was asked to steal a horn that was rumored to have magical properties… of a phallic nature… if you know what I mean!”

Matching his tempo to Whydah’s wandering lute, Bird made an exaggerated gesture just below his waist and received a few salacious interjections from the crowd. They’re taking the bait.

“This particular horn happened to be owned by a truly reprehensible human being we’ll call... Lord Snobble Pompington.”

Several more chuckles. Nothing galvanizes a working-class audience faster than an entitled, rich antagonist. I’ve almost got them.

“Wealthy? Absolutely. Powerful…unquestionably. You see Pompington senior, his father, just happened to be one of the political elder statesmen of my fair city. A real servant of the people. Junior, however, contributed absolutely nothing to society and spent evenings drinking and carousing, courting any creature with a pulse and the appropriate…equipment.” The tabby raised his cupped hands to his chest, simulating the presence of breasts. More laughter. They’re mine now.

“He used his stature as a tool of coercion and a means of avoiding the consequences of his words and actions. Needless to say, he left a wake of bitter and resentful, if sexually satisfied, females littered across the city’s noble community”

I’m really cooking tonight! His verbal articulation was flawless. His timing with the melody; impeccable. With her spell enhancing his delivery the local rabble didn’t stand a chance.

“And that’s where I come in….”

For the next twenty minutes, the feline troubadour expertly spun his yarn as Whydah deftly adjusted her melody in volume, composition, and cadence. Perfect balance. As he built the suspense leading up to the burglary, her picking danced in a soft speedy compliment. The crowd hung on the edge of their seats. As he reached the climax of being unable to resist blowing the magical horn and being stunned by the awkward ‘growing’ outcome its magic produced, she slid a hammer note up the neck that mimicked the described effect. They’re eating it up!

By the time he got to describing the opposite effect simultaneously befalling poor Snobble (mid-tryst no less!), they were falling off their chairs with laughter. They’re ours now.

The tale finished where it began; with the same lazy melody. Time to bring it home with the sympathy play.

“…and that is why I fled my home for these fair shores and began life anew as a humble performer.”

His head bowed in resignation as he let the last few words tumble from his lips, Whydah striking her final note in perfect timing.

The crowd roared in appreciation. Without lifting his head from the dramatic finish, Bird felt a strong sense of accomplishment and involuntarily his lips spread into a cat-like grin. He could see and hear coins being added to the hat on the floor. Tonight’s “Give” would be strong. It remained to be seen how bountiful the ‘Take” portion of their formula would be.