The Bird of the River

by Kage Baker

  “That would be the Garnet,” said the shop owner, counting out his change. “Next to the temple. Expensive, though.”

  “I’ll risk it,” said Krelan stiffly.

  They walked on down the street. “You’re going to ask whether your lord stayed there?” Eliss inquired.

  “That was the plan.” Krelan’s footsteps slowed as they came to Garnet House. He looked up at its porphyry columns, looked down at his shabby tunic. “Hmmm. I ought to have changed in the clothier’s.”

  “Do you want me to do it? I’m dressed a little better.” Eliss gestured at her shawl. Krelan looked startled at the idea, but intrigued.

  “Let’s see how you do,” he said, and passed her the little portrait of Encilian. She looked at it closely for the first time. This is the man who killed Mama, she thought, and then scolded herself for being morbid. Still, Encilian looked like the sort of person who wouldn’t have cared if his death had brought about the accidental death of someone else. Handsome, but the portrait’s painter had caught the nasty expression in his eyes. He wore sky-blue silk, with the gold serpent armlet of the Diamondcuts bunching up the silk on his upper arm.

  Eliss took a deep breath. “Let’s go.” Adjusting her scarf, she walked in through the big double doors of the Garnet. Krelan skulked after her.

  She saw at once that, however splendid its porphyry columns were on the outside, inside the Garnet was nothing like the white hotel at Silver Trout Landing. The lobby was full of prosperous families who had come on pilgrimage and business travelers, just a little shabby at the edges. Somewhat less intimidated, Eliss made her way to the front desk and smiled at the clerk.

  “I’m wondering if you can help me, sir,” she said, trying to speak with Pentra’s precise diction. The clerk raised his eyebrows in inquiry, and Eliss held up the little portrait. “This is Lord Encilian Diamondcut. My brother’s his manservant and I’m trying to find him. I think his lordship stayed here, a few months ago. Would it be possible for you to look in your books and tell me when?”

  “Oh! We did have one of the Diamondcuts here, I remember.” The clerk dove under the counter and brought up a ledger. “Yes. Just a moment . . . here. Two weeks before Spring Equinox. Yes. Here’s the entry. ‘Lord Encilian and manservant.’ He only stayed one night, as I recall. Not happy with our accommodations.”

  “And this is such a nice hotel!” Eliss exclaimed. “But then, my brother told me his lordship was,” she lowered her voice, “a bit difficult to please.”

  The clerk rolled his eyes in agreement. “ ‘The higher the birth, the thicker the mattress he requires,’ ” he quoted softly.

  “Actually my brother wasn’t sure whether he’d remain with his lordship or not. I wonder if the man with him was my brother after all. Does your book give the servant’s name?”

  “Oh, no, miss. Just says ‘manservant.’ ”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “I remember the man, though. Handsome. Looked a bit like his master.”

  “Yes, that sounds like my brother. My brother’s handsome.”

  “I thought to myself, ‘Hmmm, his family must have worked for his master’s family a long time,’ if you know what I mean.”

  “So he was still with him here. Thank you so much, sir. My mother was a bit worried,” said Eliss, aware that beside her Krelan had stiffened. As they went out to the pavement again she saw that he looked angry.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “That insolent bastard!”

  “But he was nice!”

  “He insulted the Family.”

  “What, just by saying your lord was picky? You’ve said worse about him.”

  “It’s different when I say it. I have privilege. Who in the nine hells is he, a miserable desk clerk, to imply things about the Family?”

  “ ‘Imply things’?”

  “Specifically all that about the servant’s family having worked for the Diamondcuts a long time, nudge nudge, if you know what I mean,” said Krelan, still fuming.

  “No, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “He was suggesting the servant was a Diamondcut bastard. Which was why he looked like Encilian.”

  Eliss looked askance at Krelan. “So . . . you’re saying rich men never go to bed with their servant girls and get them in trouble.”

  “No.” Krelan kicked at a pebble. “Just that a common clerk has no business talking about the affairs of his betters.”

  “They do, though. All the time. And now you know that your lord was here and so was the servant, and you even know what the servant looked like. Which you didn’t know this morning. So there’s no point being so angry.” Eliss looked up at the temple. “Here! Let’s go in. You can pray for help.”

  Grumbling, Krelan let her drag him inside. “You were very good in there, by the way,” he added in a whisper, as they stood in the gloom letting their eyes adjust. Eliss made a sarcastic half-curtsy and, spotting the Father Smith’s chapel, made her way in and found a seat. Krelan sidled in after her.

  Eliss closed her eyes and breathed in deep, letting her irritation evaporate. Father, this is your child Eliss. I know I told you I was trying to take care of my brother, Alder, but things have changed and . . . he’s gone. I tried hard, but he needed to go with the Yendri. Even so, he’s one of your children too, whether he thinks he is or not, so please watch over him and keep him safe, because I can’t anymore.

  And please let Mama sleep all right in the Fire Garden. Or . . . wherever she went, like maybe off with my father under the sea. Like in Salpin’s song.

  And . . . I can’t ask you to help my friend Krelan with what he’s doing, because he has to kill somebody, and I know you don’t like things like that. But can you please keep him safe too? Except for what his family does, he’s nice. And funny. And smart. And handsomer than he thinks he is. Except that mustache looks really awful on him.

  And . . . that just leaves me, Father. But I’m all right. I don’t need anything. I’m working hard.

  She opened her eyes and looked up at the painted wall, where the Father Smith was depicted as he most commonly appeared: in the long coat and wide hat of an itinerant blacksmith, a looming figure the color of a storm cloud, features indistinct except for the eyes. The eyes were set with glass and had a light behind them, and the forge in front of the Father’s figure was a real forge, an anvil beside a dish of coals glowing dim under a gray fur of ash, with a dish of blessing tokens next to it. As Eliss watched, a priest shuffled into the chapel and leaned down to blow on the coals. They flared bright a moment, underlighting his face. He stood patiently by the forge until Krelan and Eliss got to their feet. They went to him and bowed their heads for his blessing.

  “The gift of iron,” he said, touching an iron token to the coals and presenting it to Eliss. “The gift of iron,” he repeated, giving a token to Krelan.

  “We thank you for iron,” they chorused, and went out. As they crossed together under the great dome, Eliss saw a new chapel going in at one side. The painter was climbing down from his scaffold. Looking past him Eliss could see on the wall the unfinished image of a Yendri woman, draped in white but with one breast bare, standing among white lilies. Krelan, curious, ducked his head to look in.

  “The Green Witch,” he whispered. “In our pantheon, now. Talk about changing times!”

  As they emerged from the temple, Eliss saw the street vendors’ carts lined up along the lane in front of the market quarter. She could smell grilling sausages and spiced dumplings. Her mouth watered as she remembered all the times in her childhood in which she had been dragged hurriedly past carts like these, because there was no money to buy anything. Gleefully she realized she had money now.

  She touched Krelan’s arm. “Let’s not go to a restaurant. Let’s eat from the carts. Doesn’t that smell good?”

  “If you like,” said Krelan in surprise. They wandered along the carts a long while, sampling the sausages grilled with onions and peppers, the little dumplings filled wi
th minced meat and spices, the freshwater prawns fried in batter. Everything was delicious. Krelan stuck a couple of shrimp tails on his fingertips and did a bizarre little dance for her with his fingers, making Eliss laugh until she had to wipe away tears. Full and happy, they walked back down the hill to the harbor arm in arm.

  “Whoops,” said Krelan, as he spotted the Bird of the River. “I was supposed to buy a keg of whiskey.”

  “There’s a shop.” Eliss pointed.

  “The very thing.”

  A few moments later they resumed their walk, with Krelan carrying the keg of whiskey on his shoulder. As they came to the gangplank, so did Mr. Riveter, accompanied by a city official. Mr. Riveter’s eyes widened as he saw them.

  “Excuse me, your honor,” he said, bowing to the official, and darted close and grabbed Krelan’s arm. “You’re only bringing his whiskey now? Get it in to him, quick!” he muttered.

  “Aye, sir.” Krelan hurried aboard after them. Eliss followed, noticing that such of the crew as was on deck had retreated to the far larboard side and were gazing toward the companionway with worried expressions. Mr. Riveter led the official to the Fire-Swift, and Krelan and Eliss went down the companionway with the keg.

  Eliss felt an impact within her ears the moment her foot touched the deck, pressure like a silent explosion. The air was hot and dense, breathless. The captain’s door was visibly vibrating, rattling on its hinges as they watched. Something very big, somewhere, was growling.

  Krelan’s eyes were perfectly round. He cleared his throat and tapped on the door. “Captain Glass, sir?”

  Something struck the other side of the door, hard. Something spoke in a thick roar. “WHERSSSS IT?”

  “Er. I’ve brought your drink, sir.”

  Now Eliss could hear breathing like a bellows laboring. When the voice spoke again it was a little clearer, though its fury was still palpable.

  “LEAVE IT AND GO! NOW!”

  “Aye, sir!” Krelan set the keg down in front of the door and turned. Together he and Eliss ran up the companionway. Looking back, she saw the door open and something greenish—not a tentacle, surely! Surely only a hand looking strange in the funny twilight!—snaking out to pull the keg inside. Mr. Riveter, wringing his hands as the official walked around the Fire-Swift making notes on a tablet, glanced over at Eliss and Krelan as they emerged on deck and wiped sweat from his brow.

  Their salvage claim was accepted, after the official climbed into the wreck and went through all the Fire-Swift’s lockers. He gave Mr. Riveter a receipt, told him he’d file the notification, and had the wreck removed with a crane to one of the warehouses on the waterfront.

  “What happens now?” Krelan asked, watching the dark bulk of the wreck swinging in its cables against the sunset light.

  “They store it for us,” said Eliss, leaning on the rail beside him. “If it works the same way it works with sea wrecks, they notify the registered owners and ask them if they want to buy it back from us. Either they do or they tell us we can keep it. Either way, we get some money.”

  “Distasteful.” Krelan turned away.

  “Would you rather we held a funeral for it? Dress it up nice, hire an orator to say ‘This was a fine boat, and pleased the gods’?”

  Krelan smiled. They were both a little uneasy, though, as they walked past the companionway. It was quiet down there now.

  They began taking their meals together even when there wasn’t anything to discuss, sitting companionably side by side of an evening as they ate rice and peas or noodles or stew. Mr. Pitspike only prepared about four different dishes for the general crew, and they made a running joke of coming up with fancy names for them, a new one each time the same dish came round in its monotonous cycle.

  “Ah! And tonight it’s . . .” Krelan inhaled the steam rising from his bowl of little rubbery dumplings in broth. “Hmmm. Semolina Delights in the Saleshian Style, with a dense sauce of Imitation Sea-Dragon.”

  “How do you make Imitation Sea-Dragon sauce?” Eliss wanted to know.

  “Duck broth with extra salt and a fish head thrown in and a lot of chopped parsley to make it green.” Krelan slurped the broth. “Mmm. Wouldn’t hurt to add some wine.”

  Eliss found herself admiring the way his slender fingers cupped the bowl. She looked aside and tilted her own bowl to drink. You just miss having someone to take care of, she told herself. You’re not really falling in love. You looked after Alder and Mama all those years, and Krelan looks so pathetic sometimes you want to take care of him too, and you can’t get used to being alone, that’s all. But she liked the way he sat with her as they shared their meals, not too close, not too far away.

  “Can I eat with you?” They looked up and saw Wolkin, glowering as he clutched his bowl.

  “Have a seat, hero.” Krelan patted the deck. Wolkin folded up in a sitting position beside them, his lower lip still stuck out.

  “What happened?” asked Eliss.

  “Nothing. Except I was just playing a little with this monster I made with a piece of Mama’s bread and I just pretended it was climbing on Tulu and she yelled and hit me so I hit her back. But she hit me first. But Daddy made me eat someplace else anyway.”

  “Can’t hit girls, hero.” Krelan shook his head.

  “But she hit me first.”

  “But you’re stronger than she is. Aren’t you?”

  “Not when we were babies,” said Wolkin. “She used to be bigger than me. Then I got bigger.”

  “My point exactly. Now you’re bigger, and you’ll stay that way. Heroes don’t hit their sisters, even if their sisters hit them first. And the same for any other girls.”

  Tell that to Uncle Steelplate, Eliss thought bitterly, except that Mama never hit him at all. Then she chided herself, wondering why she was still thinking about Uncle Steelplate after all these years. “What exactly did the monster do when it was climbing on Tulu, Wolkin?”

  “It bit her.” Wolkin looked sheepish. “Then it jumped in her bowl and splashed her.”

  “Would you have liked it if somebody had done that to you?”

  “I guess not.”

  “There you are, then.”

  “So, hero . . .” Krelan looked sidelong at Wolkin. “Why doesn’t Captain Glass ever go ashore when we put in at a town?”

  “Because he gets drunk.” Wolkin picked out a dumpling, ate it, and licked his fingers. His eyes widened. “Oh! And you went and forgot to bring his booze the other night, and he got mad! And everybody could hear him snarling in there, and there was green stuff coming through the walls!”

  “There was what?”

  “It’s like . . .” Wolkin waved his hand and ate another dumpling. “See, he’s been a river captain for so long, he’s got river water in his blood? And drinks a lot of Yendri brandy too. And maybe the river water in his blood makes river-weeds in there. And when he has to go without his booze for too long, maybe all the . . . the green stuff sweats out of his blood. I was sick once and sweated yellow stuff. It was sort of yellow anyhow.”

  “There was green stuff coming through the walls?”

  Wolkin nodded. He slurped his soup and picked out another dumpling with his fingers. “Where’s your spoon?” Eliss asked him, but he just shrugged. Krelan set his bowl down and leaned forward.

  “Why does the captain get drunk when we put in at a town?”

  “Well, there’s a lot of stories,” said Wolkin thoughtfully. “Like he was in love with this girl, and they had a baby, only she left him? So he made a vow never to set foot on land again until someday when she comes back to him? Or, like, she died and he swore never to set foot on land because she died on land? But some people say he’s under this curse. That if he ever sets foot on shore again, because he’s doomed to sail the river forever until he, I forget what, something happens, anyway if he ever sets foot on shore he’ll turn to dust. Because he’s hundreds and hundreds of years old really.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, he’s real
ly old. I heard my daddy tell Mama that he was sailing the Bird when he was a boy, my daddy I mean. Was a boy. And Captain Glass was on the river even back then. And he never looks a day older.” Krelan lowered his voice dramatically. “And some people say he offended the holy gods and—oh, wait, that’s why he’s doomed to sail the river forever.”

  “Doesn’t explain why green stuff came through the walls,” said Krelan, raising one eyebrow. Wolkin made a noncommittal noise as he stuffed dumplings in his mouth.

  “Maybe he’s just a demon,” said Eliss. “They shift shape sometimes.”

  “And it would certainly explain the drinking.”

  “Demons drink booze all the time,” agreed Wolkin through a full mouth. “My daddy was saying to somebody about the bandits, the Shellback ones, that every place they’ve attacked, it’s always their demons who get killed? And that’s because they go straight for the booze or, erm, other things and don’t pay enough attention to fighting. And that’s why there’s so many demon heads on the walls.”

  “That’s undoubtedly true.” Krelan rubbed his chin. “But I think that means Captain Glass can’t possibly be a demon, then, can he? He’d be drunk all the time. A demon wouldn’t be able to pay attention to anything long enough to be a ship’s captain.”

  “They aren’t all like that,” said Eliss. “We lived in a town for a while where there was a sorcerer who had a demon servant. It lived in his house and even wore some clothes. It loved numbers. Maths problems, you know? It kept all the accounts for all the shopkeepers in town. It calculated the Duke’s portion taxes at the end of the year too.”

  “I’ve heard some of them are like that,” Krelan said. “They get obsessed with things.”

  “It could talk too. Sometimes people would call it a Yendri and it would get mad. He would get mad. It was a man demon. He said anyone who was too stupid to know the difference between him and the Yendri deserved to be eaten.” Eliss shook her head, remembering the demon. His skin had been yellow as flowers, and his eyes like a pair of faceted emeralds.