Taruson set up his stage on the cobbles three hundred paces from the palace doors, close enough that the guards could hear every note and far enough that they would not bother chasing him off. The platform was a small one he had built himself, ringed with glowing light-tubes and flanked by two old service-bots he had rewired to bow on cue. He tuned his guitar, a mythril-bodied thing strung with elvish silk, and watched the great gate at the end of the avenue. Copper kings stared down from its marble pillars, none of them goblin. Taruson was a goblin, in a green velvet coat that cost him a season of street tips, and he meant to be the first of his kind named bard to the royal court of San d'Oria. He had filed the petition four times. Each time a clerk returned it stamped with the same red mark: NO SPONSOR. A petition to play at court could not be read by the chamberlain until a noble of standing signed for the petitioner. No noble would sign for a goblin. Taruson had spent the last month writing to every minor lord whose address he could find. Twelve had not answered. Three had sent refusals. One had sent his letter back with a boot print on it. So he played where the nobles had to pass. He played a Sarutabarutan air, then a dwarven march, then a piece of his own that climbed and turned like a stair. A small crowd gathered. A washerwoman cried. A child set down a baby kappa in a wet shell and clapped until the creature blinked at the noise. Carriages slowed. None stopped. On the fourth evening a thin woman in a grey riding cloak stood at the back through three full songs. She did not clap. When Taruson finished, she walked to the stage and asked to see the guitar. He handed it down. She turned it over, checked the maker's mark inside the soundhole, and gave it back. She said her name was a name he had read in court rolls: a baroness with a small estate and a smaller purse, recently widowed, recently snubbed. She said she would sign his petition. She said her price was half of any title coin he earned for one year, and a song written for her late husband. He agreed before she finished the sentence. She signed the paper on the lid of his guitar case, under the light of the stage tubes. The next morning a runner brought him a sealed reply from the chamberlain's office. The petition had been read. He was granted an audition before the court steward in eight days. The note added one line in a different hand: the steward had a known dislike of string instruments and a known dislike of goblins. Taruson folded the note, put it in his coat, and went to find a room he could practice in without being thrown out.