The Bird of the River Page 6

  “We have a place to sleep, and a warm blanket each, and we had dinner tonight.”

  “We have a place to sleep, and a warm blanket each, and we had dinner tonight, and we’ll have breakfast tomorrow.”

  “And who knows what, when summer comes?”

  “And who knows what, when summer comes? And summer is coming soon.”

  Nothing more was said for a while. Eliss assumed Alder had gone to sleep.

  “ ‘Summer’ just means something nice, right?” said Alder suddenly. “Because it’s already summer, and it’s just hot.”

  “That’s right. ‘Summer’ means . . . it means better times are coming.”

  “I hope so,” said Alder.

  When she thought he was asleep at last, Eliss put her arm around him.

  She was awakened twice during the night by shouting as boats came down the river. One boat belonged to a Mr. Ingot, an itinerant barber. Eliss knew this because Mr. Turnbolt demanded he identify himself. She was about to go back to sleep when Mr. Ingot shouted that he was fleeing from Synpelene because it was under attack from bandits. Then there was a lot of muttered conversation, and Eliss’s heart raced. She relaxed a little when she heard Captain Glass give the order to bring up weapons and arm all the men on the night watch; he sounded so calm she thought there must be no immediate danger. All the same, she could not fall asleep until she had worked out an escape plan. If bandits attack, I’ll wake up Alder and we’ll grab a life preserver, and we’ll slip overboard without making a sound, and float downriver until we come to a town. . . .

  The second time she woke it was just starting to get light. The wind had shifted and the smell of smoke was everywhere. Someone was yelling across the water. Eliss heard Mr. Turnbolt yelling back, “Did they beat them off?”

  “Yes!” shouted the stranger from the passing boat. “Caught eight of them in the sewer tunnels under the forest gate! They’d just put the heads up on the gate when I left there. It’s all mopped up now.”

  “Is the fire out?”

  “No. Getting there, though. The greenies seem to be doing it.”

  “Good.”

  Eliss never really went back to sleep after that. She dozed fitfully and dreamed that bandits were running along the riverbank, and she was trying to explain to Alder about the life preserver, but he was afraid to go into the water because the headless bandits were in there. . . .

  Synpelene was a walled city, closed up even on the side that fronted on the river, though there were docks outside the wall. This morning, under sunlight stained red by smoke, its river gate was wide open, but there were no boats moored on the copper-colored water. The Bird of the River came slowly up and anchored at the first dock.

  Eliss, watching from the masthead, was very nearly on eye level with the armed women on the city wall. None of them went so far as to fit arrows to their bows, but they were red-eyed and grim as they contemplated her. From her high perch she could look into the city. There she saw stone towers smoking like chimneys, their roofs burned away, and far beyond the black expanse that had been forest scarring the green. It still smoldered along its distant margin, dark plumes rising up here and there. Like the smoke, the screaming of mourners rose from within Synpelene.

  Eliss was climbing down when she heard other shrill voices raised. She looked down and saw Wolkin and Alder, confronted by a crowd of the other children. Just as Wolkin took a swing at someone, Mr. Riveter noticed and started across the deck for them. Eliss reached out, grabbed a rope, and slid the rest of the way down to reach them first. She hit the deck with a crash but managed to keep her feet. The children, startled, backed away in silence.

  “That was neat,” said Wolkin, round-eyed.

  “Are they calling you names again?” Eliss spoke to Alder, rubbing her palms against her tunic.

  “No.”

  “What’s going on here?” demanded Mr. Riveter. The other children backed away.

  “We were just going to go ashore and look at the bandit heads,” said Wolkin.

  “And that meant you had to fight someone?”

  “No, but—” Wolkin avoided looking at Alder. “Alder didn’t want to go, and Talmey asked him if he was scared, and Boley said he better not go because he might see his daddy’s head up there. So I told Boley I’d punch his face.”

  “Stop doing that!” said Alder furiously. “And—and I’m not scared to go look at the heads. Let’s go look at the heads!”

  “Nobody’s going anywhere until we get landing clearance,” shouted Mr. Riveter. He waved his arms. “Seven hells! Both of you sit your butts down on that deck and stay there until I tell you you can get up! All of you kids! Line up on deck and sit down and stay there and the first one I catch fighting I’ll drown with these two hands, do you understand?”

  Grumbling, the children assembled and sat. Mr. Riveter stared around wild-eyed, looking as though he’d punch someone’s face himself, until Captain Glass came slowly up the companionway. The captain surveyed the row of children without comment. He looked over the side at the scum of ash floating on the water, and sighed.

  “Shall I organize a shore party, sir?” Mr. Riveter saluted. Captain Glass nodded.

  “Get landing clearance. Find out what happened. Offer them the lumber from the snags. See if they can sell us any provisions. And, here—” He opened his wallet and passed a pair of gold pieces to Mr. Riveter. “Get me wine if they have it.”

  “This far up the river they’re more likely to have whiskey, sir.”

  “Then get me as much whiskey as that’ll buy. Double the watch and keep them armed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The captain turned and went below again, just as a door in the river gate opened and the landing master emerged. He was pale, with a bandaged head.

  “Bird’s master!” he called.

  “Yes, sir.” Mr. Riveter ran to the rail.

  “Any trouble downriver?”

  “None, sir. Permission to anchor and come ashore?”

  The landing master eyed the logs stacked on the Bird’s deck. “Granted. You have the liberty of the town.”

  “What happened?”

  “Shellback,” said the landing master, and spat. “He’s got an army now! You never saw so many murdering bastards in your life. And half of them were demons. They just kept coming out of the trees. The only thing that drove them off was the fire.”

  “Demons! You don’t think he’s made friends with—you know—” Mr. Riveter jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the black mountain. The landing master gestured to ward off evil.

  “Gods defend us, who knows?” His voice was hopeless.

  The heads were too far up on the gate to see much detail, and the women on the ramparts wouldn’t let them come for a closer look. Eliss could tell that three of the heads were, indeed, the heads of demons, with protruding tusks, and their matted hair looked more like fur. Alder went very pale, staring up at them, but he did stare. Wolkin went pale too and after they had turned around to walk back across town he suddenly ran into an alleyway and threw up.

  “Puke in your own street, why don’t you?” shouted a man from a ladder, where he was pulling down burned thatching. Wolkin, emerging hastily from the alley, drew breath to say something rude, but Alder grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away.

  “Let’s not make anybody angrier,” he said. “People have enough to be angry about.”

  Eliss nodded somberly. She saw, now, why Synpelene had built such a high wall around itself, and why the bandits had tried to take it anyway. It was a town of goldsmiths. Signs hung at ground level before each house, saying things like A. Cutwire, Assayer or Smith & Sons’ Filigree Specialists or Steelbrace’s Fine Jewelery Designs—Step In, Prospective Buyer! However welcoming the signs were, each house was like a miniature fortress, with narrow slits for windows and iron doors. Most of them were shut up tight today. Armed guards wearing different house liveries were on duty before them, leaning against the iron do
ors or pacing back and forth.

  The town’s inn, on the other hand, was a smoking ruin now. Though its windows had been barred with wrought iron, its front door had been wrenched away and was nowhere in sight. Three walls remained but the fourth was a tumbled mass of bricks in the courtyard of the house next door. The inn’s sign hung drunkenly from a bracket, still informing the world that The House of the Golden Portal served fine food and drink. Under the sign bodies were laid out in a row, covered with an assortment of curtains, blankets, and one charred tapestry.

  The owner of the premises sat on his front step, staring dully into space with one eye and occasionally fingering the bandage that covered the other eye. Eliss was surprised to see Krelan sitting beside the innkeeper, looking sympathetic. The innkeeper was speaking in a monotone:

  “No, they didn’t batter the door down. The bastards had a key. One of my keys. Can’t think how they got one, but they had it. They wrenched it off its hinges afterward and took it with them. They must have thought it was made of gold, because of the gilding. What kind of idiot does something like that except a demon? It weighed a ton. That was a good door. I hope they carry it for miles before they realize it’s gilded iron. I hope they all get hernias.”

  “I expect they went straight for your wine cellar,” said Krelan. “Being demons.”

  “No, actually,” said the innkeeper. “They went straight upstairs for my guests.” He swiveled his eye at the bodies. “The first I knew of anything was hearing one of them scream. I was sound asleep in my own room. Come out on the landing and here’s all these thieves throwing luggage about. Mr. Meltsilver had five cases of merchandise he’d bought for his shops in the cities, a fortune in jewelry, and the cases broke open falling downstairs, just raining gold bangles. And Mr. Touchfire, he was a banker, he had a crate of gold ingots . . . and . . . Mr. Smelter was a gem dealer, he’d brought stock with him to sell . . .”

  “What evil fortune,” said Krelan. He reached into a pouch at his belt. “I hate to impose on you on this black day, but I wonder if you’d look at something and tell me if you recognize—”

  “Come on,” muttered Alder, tugging at Eliss’s sleeve. “Wolkin is sick. Let’s go back.”

  “I just ate some bad fish, that’s all,” said Wolkin as they walked on. But there were more bodies laid out in the town square, visiting prospectors who’d been robbed and had their throats cut, and Wolkin clutched Eliss’s hand as they passed them. He was crying silently by the time they reached the river gate.

  That night Eliss lay awake in the tent, trying to forget what she’d seen. Both the town and the river were quiet—the mourners had fallen silent at last—but the heat was stifling. Mr. Turnbolt and the town’s night watchman were having a conversation in low voices, and the sound carried clearly enough for Eliss to hear every word.

  “No, they got in through the sewer. No one can tell how they got the grate off. Came just before dawn. At first we thought it was only a handful, but they kept swarming, like beetles.”

  “Ugh! One comes out of a crack, you kill it, and three more run out?”

  “Just exactly like that. Except we couldn’t catch them. Not until the end. We fought them off all day. They kept setting fire to roofs. It was like a war in the streets, I can tell you. And there were more of them in the woods! All hiding in the trees, like Yendri.”

  “Were any of them Yendri?”

  “No. Not that I saw. But they were in the trees. Not all demons, either. Some of them were us.”

  “Shellback’s one of us.”

  “The bastard. He was the one gave the order to set fire to the trees. Cover their retreat.”

  “Now, I heard it was your people fired the trees, to drive them off.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Landing master.”

  “Doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  Eliss turned over and tried to pull her blanket over her ear, to shut out the conversation. Krelan’s bag had slid forward, in danger of toppling on her face. She shoved at it. Something small fell out of the bag, landing with a clatter beside her.

  Eliss picked it up and peered at it. It was a miniature portrait, done on an oval of ceramic. She couldn’t make out any details in the darkness. Shrugging to herself, she thrust it back in Krelan’s bag and pulled the drawstring tight.

  The next day dawned bright; a wind had risen just before morning and swept out the smoke, freshening the air. Drogin emerged from the windmill and leaned against it, warming his long back on the sunwarmed planks. He raised the boxhorn to his mouth and played a sad, sinuous melody, trailing out across the sleepy water.

  The Bird of the River was making ready to leave when Synpelene’s gates opened. Two figures emerged and hurried across the docks. One was cloaked, in spite of the heat, carrying a heavy bag. The other was the town’s mayor, in his yellow robes with a golden chain of office.

  “Bird of the River!” he called. “I must speak to your captain.”

  Eliss, halfway up to the mast platform, stopped in the rigging to stare. Mr. Riveter, who had been shouting orders for setting the sail, turned.

  “Er . . . captain’s indisposed,” he said. “I’m first mate. What do you want?”

  “I want you to take on a passenger,” said the mayor. “I’ll pay his passage.”

  “But we’re a diving barge, sir. We don’t take passengers.”

  “Will you make an exception? Name your price,” said the mayor. “He has only to go to the village of his people. He won’t be with you more than a week or two.” The man beside him dropped his hood, revealing himself as a Yendri in a white robe. Mr. Riveter made an involuntary noise of surprise.

  “This is Mr. Llemlin Moss, he operated our bathhouse here, and I can personally attest that he is a good and trustworthy man,” said the mayor quickly. Mr. Riveter scratched his beard.

  “If he’s good and trustworthy, why are you in such a hurry to get rid of him?”

  The mayor glanced back at the gates. “Public feeling is running high in the wake of this catastrophe. Some of our citizens fail to distinguish between demons and Yendri, you see, and there have been—foolish and unfortunate words. Painted on the walls of Mr. Moss’s establishment. So we thought it best to ensure Mr. Moss’s safety before any further incidents could occur.”

  “He didn’t have anything to do with the raid, though, did he?”

  “Of course he didn’t!” The mayor looked shocked. “He’s a disciple of the Green Witch!”

  The Yendri winced and, in a quiet voice, said, “The Unwearied Mother.”

  “Oh,” said Mr. Riveter. “All right, then.”

  “Good!” The mayor drew out a small pouch weighted with something heavy and threw it across to Mr. Riveter, who caught it and peered into it. His eyebrows shot up his forehead.

  “Right. Yes. Step aboard, Mr. Lichen.”

  “It’s Moss.” The Yendri picked up his bag and walked up the gangplank. Two of the polemen drew it inboard the moment he stepped on deck. The mayor of Synpelene raised his hands.

  “Now-gods-witness-that-I-have-performed-the-duties-of-a-righteous-man-toward-the-stranger! Safe voyage, Moss!”

  “But I wasn’t a stranger,” said Mr. Moss, but not as though he expected anyone to pay attention.

  Eliss climbed the rest of the way up to the platform. As the anchor was lifted, as the tillerman edged the Bird out into midstream, she watched Mr. Riveter lead the Yendri to the locker where spare tents were kept. There was a lot of gesticulating and conversation she couldn’t hear, for Mr. Moss had a low voice and Mr. Riveter seemed to lower his to keep him company.

  She saw Alder crawl out of their tent and stand up, staring openmouthed at Mr. Moss. Mr. Riveter, noticing, turned to him and handed him a bundle of tent fabric. He gestured at Mr. Moss, said something, patted Alder on the shoulder, and hurried away from them.

  Eliss dutifully watched the river and caught two unmarked snags that day. While the Bird lay to and divers wen
t down, she watched the deck. During the first stop Mr. Moss sat beside his tent and Alder sat near, talking earnestly to him. During the second stop Mr. Moss was not in evidence—perhaps in his tent—and Alder and Wolkin were sitting together on the aft deck, chattering like birds.

  The fair wind continued. By nightfall they had made many miles upriver, leaving behind the shadow of desolation over Synpelene.

  “His name is Llemlin and he’s a holy man,” Alder said as Eliss ate her supper. He was so excited he had barely touched his. “I mean, sort of a holy man, but not like one of ours—I mean—yours. He’s very quiet and he doesn’t have visions or tell people what they ought to do. He just helps people. He had a bathhouse where people went to get poisons out of themselves and he had a medicine garden in pots. He says he’s a—” Alder hesitated over the unfamiliar word. “A disciple of this holy lady. She lives up on the black mountain and she defeated the Master of the Mountain by just looking at him so he fell in love with her and had to stop being evil. And so did all his demons.”

  “But the demons are still killing people,” said Eliss. “Eat your supper. It’s getting cold.”

  “He says those are somebody else’s demons, not the Master of the Mountain’s. He let me help him put his tent up, did you see? And he says, the holy lady is like our mother. My mother, I mean.”

  “Your mother was Mama,” said Eliss.

  “I know,” said Alder. “I meant the Yendri’s mother. Because I’m a Yendri.”

  “You’re a Yendri too,” said Eliss. “You’re still my brother.”

  “Only half,” said Alder. “The Blacksmith isn’t my father.”

  “Yes, he is.” Now Eliss was shocked. “He’s the father of all of us. You’re a Child of the Sun, even if you don’t look like one.”

  Alder shook his head stubbornly. “Nobody ever said that before. People always say, ‘Look at the greenie!’ Well, I am one. I don’t like covering myself up to hide it. And—and I’m never going to do it again, either.”

  Eliss knew better than to argue with him when he was being obstinate. When he’d been little and hadn’t wanted to go somewhere, he’d dig in his heels and stand as though rooted to the spot. More than once Falena had lost patience and said, “All right, I’m just going to leave you there,” and walked away down the road. Eliss had trailed behind her, looking over her shoulder in growing panic, and in the end she would always have to go running back to get him. Even then, Alder would never move; Eliss had always had to pick him up and carry him, or drag him as he’d gotten older and heavier.