“You would lodge in Gawdy Town?”
“If it pleases you, sir.”
“Our laws are strict against vagabonds and strollers. Well, get you in, Lovel, my lad, and your sister with you. You make no tarrying, I gather.”
“But to make a little money for the road, sir.”
“Well, try the ‘Painted Lady,’ my man. It is the merchants’ tavern.”
He gave them something very like a solemn wink, and then turned aside to talk to a sea-captain who wanted to quarrel about the port dues.
The strolling singers entered Gawdy Town by the sea-gate, and chose a winding street that went up toward the castle. Lambert carried himself with a jaunty and half-insolent air, fluttering his ribbons and making grimaces at the people in the doorways.
“Do you remember your name, sweeting?”
“Am I a fool, Gilbert!”
“God save us,” and he glanced at her impatiently, “but you have forgotten mine! Lambert Lovel, brother to Kate Lovel. Be wary; the Crookback has spies in every port.”