Songs for Naughty Children
Posted: Sat Apr 23, 2005 7:10 pm
Tottespiel had had no idea how much he would enjoy performing for the urchins of Skullport. The mere notion had at first, were he to admit it, caused a strange churning in his stomach. He was, momentarily at a loss. Sing for children, while The Priestesses of Elistraee fed them on a street corner? The very notion of the thing was nearly beyond his imaginings.
All the same, that was precisely what it was he found himself doing. He sang and smiled at the small, grubby audience, with their darting eyes, and tattered clothing. But then he SAW them. Really saw them for the first time as something other than obstacles in his path or pickpockets at his side. He watched them transported, their hollow eyes gleaming as they pictured the images about which he sang. They did not just hear.
They did not merely listen. They understood and believed; for a moment it was they who lived in his songs and he had ceased to be. While he sang, it seemed, they were free of Skullport and their lives, and their woes, and their everyday struggles. They were, when he considered it later, the most sincerely appreciative audience for whom he had ever performed. They did not just desire his songs for a backdrop to conversation and a distraction from whispered connivances. They wanted the songs for the songs. They needed them.
And so it was, later that he found himself back amongst them on his own, singing and distributing sweets. Tottespiel, the brooding bard who was no one of any signifcance, a person of no importance, was among these waiflings Someone. And he liked it.
Later the two of them discussed it.
"What are you doing, An'Anzi?"
"Singing for the children, Tottespiel."
"And to what end? Have they any gold to give? Prestige? Influence? Are they not but the overlooked detritus of carelessly breeding rivvil, overrunning the streets even as do the rats of the sewers? What purpose does it serve?"
"Must everything serve a purpose? Must every action have a motivation? Why can you not let me simply enjoy this? I enjoy singing for them. They enjoy my songs. I have even heard some of them singing bits of my songs as they went about their bussiness. So there! Fame! They flatter my pride even as the Ladies of Skullport disregard me, as if I were some sort of dancing rothe: less aware of whether it is done well than that it is done at all! They listen, really listen. Is that not enough?"
"I do not wish to crush your enthusiasm, An'Anzi, merely to encourage you to use that formidable mind of yours for something besides a notebook. You must learn to think. Dead or not, I remain commited to your education. If only for the fact that should you die through some carelessness, we shall then both cease to be, shan't we?"
"Think? Think on what? I am but singing for children, many of whom are orphans, and many of whom may well be collected up by the slavers and sold away. They are not even Illythirii children."
"No, they are not. And as such, how swiftly will they grow? And when grown what skills will they have? Think. Children of the street who are clever enough to survive to adulthood must surely have some usefull qualities. Those who survive will be the exceptional ones. And as such, might in a short time be valuable allies. The rivvil do learn quickly. All that they require is the right instructor, nau?"
"You are suggesting that we educate them?"
"Win them over, An'Anzi. You have the talents so to do. Aide them. They know so little of kindness, that if you show it to them, they will consume it more rapidly than the sweets you have given them. And they may well remember it."
"So I may sing for them? And feed them?"
"And teach them... Make your songs instructional. Tell them tales that will inspire them. Win their love, thier trust, and their loyalty. It is a small investment that may one day prove to be of great value. And if it comes to nothing, you will have lost little and entertained yourself in the interim."
"Then we have found an audience, Tottespiel."
"Xas, An'Anzi, I suspect we have."
All the same, that was precisely what it was he found himself doing. He sang and smiled at the small, grubby audience, with their darting eyes, and tattered clothing. But then he SAW them. Really saw them for the first time as something other than obstacles in his path or pickpockets at his side. He watched them transported, their hollow eyes gleaming as they pictured the images about which he sang. They did not just hear.
They did not merely listen. They understood and believed; for a moment it was they who lived in his songs and he had ceased to be. While he sang, it seemed, they were free of Skullport and their lives, and their woes, and their everyday struggles. They were, when he considered it later, the most sincerely appreciative audience for whom he had ever performed. They did not just desire his songs for a backdrop to conversation and a distraction from whispered connivances. They wanted the songs for the songs. They needed them.
And so it was, later that he found himself back amongst them on his own, singing and distributing sweets. Tottespiel, the brooding bard who was no one of any signifcance, a person of no importance, was among these waiflings Someone. And he liked it.
Later the two of them discussed it.
"What are you doing, An'Anzi?"
"Singing for the children, Tottespiel."
"And to what end? Have they any gold to give? Prestige? Influence? Are they not but the overlooked detritus of carelessly breeding rivvil, overrunning the streets even as do the rats of the sewers? What purpose does it serve?"
"Must everything serve a purpose? Must every action have a motivation? Why can you not let me simply enjoy this? I enjoy singing for them. They enjoy my songs. I have even heard some of them singing bits of my songs as they went about their bussiness. So there! Fame! They flatter my pride even as the Ladies of Skullport disregard me, as if I were some sort of dancing rothe: less aware of whether it is done well than that it is done at all! They listen, really listen. Is that not enough?"
"I do not wish to crush your enthusiasm, An'Anzi, merely to encourage you to use that formidable mind of yours for something besides a notebook. You must learn to think. Dead or not, I remain commited to your education. If only for the fact that should you die through some carelessness, we shall then both cease to be, shan't we?"
"Think? Think on what? I am but singing for children, many of whom are orphans, and many of whom may well be collected up by the slavers and sold away. They are not even Illythirii children."
"No, they are not. And as such, how swiftly will they grow? And when grown what skills will they have? Think. Children of the street who are clever enough to survive to adulthood must surely have some usefull qualities. Those who survive will be the exceptional ones. And as such, might in a short time be valuable allies. The rivvil do learn quickly. All that they require is the right instructor, nau?"
"You are suggesting that we educate them?"
"Win them over, An'Anzi. You have the talents so to do. Aide them. They know so little of kindness, that if you show it to them, they will consume it more rapidly than the sweets you have given them. And they may well remember it."
"So I may sing for them? And feed them?"
"And teach them... Make your songs instructional. Tell them tales that will inspire them. Win their love, thier trust, and their loyalty. It is a small investment that may one day prove to be of great value. And if it comes to nothing, you will have lost little and entertained yourself in the interim."
"Then we have found an audience, Tottespiel."
"Xas, An'Anzi, I suspect we have."
