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that he was afraid that her bravery (better not call it "foolhardiness") would be stronger than her fear, and
she would end up in trouble 
No, that doesn't sound right  better say that she would be so intent on finding truth that she
might find herself in some situation she hadn't expected.
He didn't even sit down; he stayed where he was,standing with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting
for her to come back. Waiting to hear her footsteps, returning. Waiting for her to appear in the open
doorway.
And kept waiting, staring at the wood of the hallway outside the door.
When it finally dawned on him that she really wasn't coming back, it was too late, of course. She was
long out of reach; he had no idea where this Gypsy enclave was, so he didn't even have a clear idea of
where she was heading.
His initial reaction was a resumption of his anger. He stormed over to the doorway, slammed the door
and threw himself down onto the bed. And there he waited, certain she would not be able to get into this
Gypsy enclave 
She has no sense of responsibility, dammit! The only people she thinks are important are Free
Bards and Gypsies  she doesn't care about anyone else. She's as bad as Padrik! He thinks
nonhumans are nonpersons, and she thinks the same of anyone outside her little circle. . . .
Hours passed; the anger burned itself out. Fear replaced it, turning him sick with anxiety for her. By the
time the bells tolled for midnight, he was certain something terrible had happened to her. Maybe the
Gypsies had turned her over to the Cathedral Guards; maybe they had taken matters into their own
hands. Maybe she had been arrested for being out on the street after midnight. Maybe a common thief
had knocked her unconscious, or even killed her!
Maybe someone had attacked her and she had used magic to defend herself, and now she was facing a
judge forthat .
He sat on the bed until the candle burned out. He was sleepless with tension, waiting to see if dawn
would bring her back. His throat ached; his stomach twisted and churned, sending bile into the back of
his throat. His skull throbbed with headache, and his eyes burned with fatigue. And above it all was
helplessness  the knowledge that she was in a situation he couldn't discover, with people he didn't
understand, and that his damnable stuttering speech would keep him from even asking a stranger about
her.
When dawn came without her, his heart plummeted further, and he flung himself off the bed to stare at
the rising sun with weary, aching eyes. There had to besomething he could do!
Too restless with anxiety to stay in the room any longer, he tried to think where the best place might be
to hear any news. Ardana's? No, she wouldn't be open for business yet. The Warren? Maybe; but he
didn't want to venture in there unless he absolutely had to.
Finally he could only arrive at one answer; the Cathedral. Criminals were often displayed near there, in
the stocks  though what she could possibly do to get herself arrested as a common criminal 
She could manage. Just by not going along with a Constable if he stopped her to question her, I
suppose
There was always gossip, the circulation of rumors among the merchants. By now he and Robin were a
familiar sight, and many of the other merchants were friendly with the two of them. Maybe one of them
would have heard something.
But I am supposed to remain "mute". . . .
He changed, splashed some water on his haggard face, and hurried down to the stable to get the wagon.
The sooner he got to the square, the better.
The sun was barely above the level of the rooftops; the courtyard was still in shadow, and frost covered
the cobblestones. He was too early for the stable handsand had to wait, pacing, in the frigid courtyard.
He could have gone back to the common room to eat while he waited, but he could not even bear the
thought of food at the moment. His stomach was so knotted up he was nauseous.
He took the reins of the horses and mounted to the driver's seat as soon as they brought up the wagon.
It took all of his self-control to keep from galloping the horses down the street, to the market-square; he
wanted to be there so badly that it seemed to take hours for the horses to walk the short distance to the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]