The Bird of the River

by Kage Baker

  “He’s still moving! Kill him!” someone shouted. There was a thump and a snarl that faded into a gurgling noise. Eliss heard the heavy tread of boots walking on broken glass.

  “They blew out the back wall!”

  “Smith, take your men and go after them. Maybe they’ll drop the loot.”

  “Did they kill them all?”

  There was a pause. “Gods below, they killed everybody.”

  “Not us,” yelled Krelan. “We hid in here!” He rolled away from the door just as it was kicked open. Eliss looked up into the eyes of a grim-looking guardsman with a cocked crossbow. She burst into tears.

  It was, as Krelan afterward told her, the best thing she could have done.

  They were marched to the Krolerett Civic Hall, which was doing double duty as a temporary barracks, and questioned at some length by the officer who had stood out in the street and attempted to bargain with Shellback. Once Krelan had presented his tablets, the questioning was done in a quieter tone of voice, but was no less intensive.

  “You stated the thief identified as Shellback said, quote, ‘They don’t have a, er, militia. He said they didn’t have any militia. I’ll, er, kill him,’ unquote,” said the officer, reading off the tablet whereupon he had been taking notes.

  “That’s what he said,” agreed Krelan wearily. Eliss sat staring into Mrs. Riveter’s market basket. Onions, radishes, herbs, a bag of cough and cold tea, a jar of sweet syrup, Krelan’s old sandals. And, buried under them all, the box he had been about to open when the thieves had attacked.

  “Who do you suppose he is?” The officer lowered the tablet and looked at Krelan.

  “You’re asking me? I would think it was their informant. Whoever it was told them you had a bank and no walls around your town.” Krelan rubbed his eyes.

  “So you think we have a traitor in our midst?”

  “No,” said Eliss. Both men turned to look at her. “If it was somebody who lived here, he’d know you have a militia now.”

  “That’s true,” said Krelan. “Wouldn’t it be more likely it was someone who passed through here a few months ago, before all the trouble started? You don’t have walls. The town is wide open.”

  “Krolerett has always been an open town, young sir,” said the officer, with a faint edge to his voice. “It facilitates trade.”

  There were shouts from the hallway outside. The officer looked up. “Excuse me a moment,” he said, and got up and left the room.

  “You should probably not say anything else unless you’re asked,” said Krelan. “But you made a good point.”

  “Thanks so much,” said Eliss crossly. “It ought to be obvious that somebody—”

  She halted, as more puzzle pieces came together, and couldn’t believe how blind she’d been. “This whole summer,” she said in a faint voice. “Oh, gods below, every place we’ve been—think about Synpelene! We—”

  The door opened and the officer came back in, trying not to grin.

  “Did you catch them?” Krelan inquired, with a warning look at Eliss.

  “No.” The officer dropped into his chair and leaned back. “But we got the loot. They’d dropped it into a hole and covered it with branches, and kept going. Deep hole, had to have been dug beforehand. Same with the cut branches. So they planned all along to leave it and come back. Because, who’d try to run three leagues weighed down with gold?”

  “Congratulations,” said Krelan. The officer shrugged.

  “We still lost five good citizens.”

  “May we go now?” asked Eliss.

  “Soon,” said the officer. “The merchants of Krolerett thank you for your assistance in this matter. We appreciate your public spirit. We would just like to verify that you did in fact arrive on the Bird of the River. As soon as we hear from her captain, you will be free to go. Would you like any tea?”

  “Yes, please,” said Eliss.

  “You, sir?”

  “Thank you, yes.”

  The officer left the room again. Krelan grabbed Eliss’s hand. “What about Synpelene?”

  “What if your lord hired his servant when he was in Synpelene?” said Eliss. “If a lot of people named Waxcast live there? What if the servant’s been working with Shellback the whole time? Think about it. Every place we’ve been that’s been attacked, your lord and his servant had been there. What if he was using your lord to get inside the rich places, so he could find out where the expensive stuff was and where the weak places were? And then he passed the information on to Shellback!”

  “But . . .” Krelan’s voice trailed off as the implications hit him.

  “Think about it! Think what happened at Synpelene! Somebody who knew the town made it easy for the thieves. The sewer grate was unfastened from the inside. That hotel where all those poor men died, didn’t the innkeeper say the thieves had gotten hold of a key somehow?”

  “And Encilian stayed there,” said Krelan slowly. “The innkeeper remembered him. And the man would have carried his master’s key while they stayed. He might have made a copy.”

  “He must have! And everywhere else they went ashore, he would have been prying into each town’s secrets. He knew where the safe was at Bluestone, and the armory and even the jewelry shop. He knew about the water cannon on the docks. He knew a lot about Silver Trout Landing, because they stayed there a month, and he must even have told Shellback about that lord and his boat, what was his name, Lord Chrysoprase? He knew how many servants they had and I’ll bet he knew where all the valuables were kept,” said Eliss.

  “And the little towns with nothing much of value haven’t been attacked,” said Krelan. “And there’s nothing worth much at Latacari except iron, and nobody steals that.”

  “But we know they stayed here. They opened an account at the bank together. The servant must have talked him into it somehow. And while they were in there he had a good chance to look around. But that was months ago, before the town bought a militia. Which they probably did because of all the other attacks. Which was why Shellback said what he did, what was it? ‘He said they didn’t have a militia.’ He was talking about Waxcast.”

  “Maybe he was.” Krelan narrowed his eyes.

  “And when Waxcast had learned as much as he could . . . then he must have thought he didn’t need your lord anymore. So he killed him and threw his body in the river. And he sank the boat to make it look like river pirates had done it.”

  “But he took his head,” said Krelan. “Why do that?”

  Eliss thought about it. “Maybe to make it look like a vendetta killing? Maybe to keep the body from being identified, if it washed up somewhere? But then he’d have taken the snake armlet too . . . I haven’t figured out all that part yet.”

  “But you may be right,” said Krelan. “And if you are, it makes my job easier. All I have to do is find Stryon Waxcast, and exact retribution.”

  His face was like a stranger’s as he said it, cold and remote-looking. Eliss shivered.

  “Do you think he might be in Karkateen?”

  “He might be. I’ll certainly have to look for him there,” said Krelan, turning as the door opened. The officer came in, closely followed by Mr. Riveter, who had thrown a tunic on in his haste but forgotten to put on shoes.

  “You’re free to go,” said the officer. “All vouched for.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Krelan, and when they were outside on the pavement he added, “That was fast. We never got our tea.”

  “Captain said to go into town and find you,” said Mr. Riveter, his eyes wide. “Captain said you’d got into trouble. Actually opened his door and put his head out to tell me. Then I came up the hill and there were all these guards standing around putting demon heads on poles in the center square. I asked one what was happening and he said to go ask at this office. I went in and asked and the one in charge says, ‘Who did you say you were?’ I thought I was going to be arrested!”

  “I suppose they’re all edgy because of the robbery,” said Krelan.
The streets were still so crowded, what with people standing about watching the demons’ heads going up on poles, that the three of them fell into single file as they made their way along the pavement going downhill to the river.

  “I don’t ever remember a summer this bad for thieves,” Mr. Riveter said, half over his shoulder as he walked in front. “I heard the Master of the Mountain got married, thought to myself, ‘At least that’ll keep him home nights,’ and lo and behold here’s this new one Shellback pops up, and to make things worse he’s working the river.”

  Krelan said something in agreement. Eliss didn’t hear what, exactly, because her attention was captured by the man in the wide-brimmed hat, who darted out of an alley as they passed it. He had a knife in his hand. He lunged toward Krelan from behind.

  Eliss screamed and threw herself at him. Krelan turned just as the blade entered his side, rather than his lower back. Eliss shoved the attacker, driving his head into a wall. From somewhere within the folds of his clothing a pastry cone flew out and hit the wall too, and the sugared almonds cracked like crossbow bolts as they scattered on the bricks. Krelan, having spun around with the blade still in his side, ran his own knife up under the man’s ribs.

  “Do you wish to file a claim of vendetta?” intoned the officer. Krelan, grunting as Mr. Riveter bound up his side, shook his head.

  “Was this killing the result or continuation of a vendetta?”

  “I suppose it might be. He was a professional. Carried no identification.”

  “All right. Under Krolerett Civic Ordinance Number 302, Subsection 5, you have the legal right to claim trophies including but not limited to the assailant’s weapon, clothing, footgear, ears, head, organs of generation, fingers and or hand, or hands. Do you wish to petition for any or all of the above?”

  “I do not.”

  “Under Subsection 6, you then have the right to make recommendations with respect to the disposition of the assailant’s corpse.”

  “I waive that right.”

  “Very good. We’re all through here, then, sir, except for you just signing this tablet releasing the Krolerett Civic Body from any responsibility in regard to the matter of your assault.” Flipping open a tablet, the officer held it out to Krelan while retrieving a stylus from his belt and offering it with the other hand. Krelan took them both, signed, and gave them back. Smoothly the pair of temple deacons moved in with their stretcher and removed the huddled body of the assassin, covering his face with his hat. He had been an ordinary-looking man. Eliss, staring at the broken pastry cone and candies on the pavement, thought: he never got to finish them.

  Her sympathy evaporated, however, as Krelan got effortfully to his feet and went pale. He nearly fell. Eliss and Mr. Riveter both grabbed for him.

  “I think I’d like to go lie down for a while,” said Krelan in a faint voice.

  “Come on.” Mr. Riveter crouched and got his arm around Krelan’s legs, and swung him up in his arms like a bundle of twigs. “Seven hells! You can’t weigh any more than Wolkin. I’ll just carry you.”

  “Well, this is embarrassing,” observed Krelan as they proceeded down the street.

  “You can’t walk. You’ll have to come back to my room,” said Eliss. “I can sleep on the floor. Krelan, that’s the second time someone has tried to kill you!”

  “You aren’t going ashore again without a whole false beard on,” said Mr. Riveter. “Told you that mustache wouldn’t disguise a damn thing! Next town we’re at, you write to your father and ask him how much longer this vendetta is likely to drag on, eh?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Krelan.

  “But—” said Eliss. He caught her eye and, almost imperceptibly, shook his head.

  They weren’t able to speak privately until Krelan was stretched out on Eliss’s bed in the cabin and had been visited by Mr. Pitspike, who insulted Krelan extensively before forcing him to swallow a pint of chicken broth laced with bull’s blood and treacle and departing with a sarcastic remark concerning Krelan’s new boots.

  “This is a comfortable bed,” said Krelan thoughtfully, when they were alone.

  “Why would somebody try to kill you?” said Eliss. “For no reason at all!”

  “Oh, there’s always a reason,” said Krelan. His voice was light and careless, but he was still pale, and seemed shrunken somehow. Eliss suddenly saw what he would look like as an elderly man. If he lives that long. It wrung her heart.

  “But what reason? Who knew you were going to be in Krolerett, besides me?”

  “Ah. That’s the question, isn’t it?” Krelan shifted on the pillow. “Nobody on the Bird knew we were going ashore until we decided to go. It’s no one on the Bird, I’m fairly certain.”

  “But who would want you dead in the first place?”

  “My brother, for one.”

  Eliss looked at him, astounded. “Why?”

  “Business,” said Krelan. “Family business, I mean. I inherited a lot of money, considering I’m a younger son who doesn’t amount to much. My brother got to be head of the family, but his inheritance doesn’t quite meet his needs. If I die, he gets it all.”

  “That’s horrible!”

  “Well, I can see his point. He has two children. He’s always assumed I could never find anyone to marry me, so the implication there is that I’ll fritter my fortune away on jolly pastimes. Also I’m smarter than he is, and he’s never trusted me . . . and he has two little boys to protect.”

  “You mean he thinks you’d kill them?”

  Krelan shrugged. “It’s happened before, in our family. Among the Diamondcuts too. There’s a reason we’re called their shadows. And there’s an awful lot of inheritance involved, you see.”

  “But . . .” Eliss sagged into a sitting position on Pentra’s bunk. “You’d never do such a thing.”

  “I wouldn’t, no. I like my nephews. I’d cheerfully leave my inheritance to them, if I could do it on my deathbed at a respectable age. But my brother can’t be expected to take my word for that.” Krelan gave a wan smile. “It all makes sense. That’s why I was nearly killed in Prayna, even though I’d given all the right passwords. He must have arranged for someone in the business to be watching for me. In fact, that must be why he saw to it that I was stuck with this job in the first place. Send me off to the back of beyond on a miserably difficult quest. Get me out of the way so I can be killed on the quiet. And here I thought he was just testing my skills.”

  Eliss thought bleakly of her own family. Maybe we weren’t so terrible after all. At least we loved one another. “You wrote to your brother at Latacari,” she said. “So he knew you were still alive there.”

  Krelan nodded. “I wonder if Mr. Sugared Almonds has been following me on the way, waiting?”

  “Can’t you go to the Diamondcuts for protection?”

  “Oh, gods, no. Something like this is far beneath their notice. All the Family wants to hear from me is whether I’ve done the job I was sent out to do. Hmmm . . . and they’ll want to know about that poor waitress. If she’s carrying Encilian’s bastard, they’ll make provision for it.”

  “Who cares?” Eliss cried. “Krelan, your brother’s trying to have you murdered! What are you going to do?”

  “My job, if I can,” said Krelan wearily. “What else can I do? That’s the only part I don’t understand. He could have had me poisoned at home, if he wanted to get rid of me. Waiting until I’m on a job for the Family to murder me puts the job itself at risk. That’s disloyal. My grandfather would have disowned him for it. I can’t tell you how many times we had it drummed into our heads, that the Family came first . . . we’re nothing without them.”

  “That’s stupid,” said Eliss vehemently. “They’re nothing but a lot of rich people who quarrel all the time.”

  But Krelan shook his head. “I remember when I was . . . oh, I can’t have been more than three or four. My grandfather took me by the hand and led me up from where we lived into the Family compound. We went into this dark hall
, and he had to light a lantern and carry it as we went. It was the Family’s portrait gallery. Paintings of all the lords and not a few of the ladies, going right back to the Four Wars. He held up the lantern and there was this high noble face above me in the circle of light. ‘That’s Harrik Diamondcut, first of the Family,’ said my grandfather, and proceeded to tell me all about how Lord Harrik escaped the ambush that did for his father and lived to found his own great house, and amassed a mighty army. Lord Harrik went after the man who’d given the order for the ambush, though it was twenty years after and the man was living rich and quiet in Ansilatra. Lord Harrik hunted him down and burned his house, and . . . did other things. ‘That’s vengeance for you,’ my grandfather said.

  “He led me down the gallery, stopping in front of each of them. I thought they were the gods. He told me all their stories. Lord Sarprit, who won the Battle of Conen Feii. Lord Rask, who killed his own brother over an insult to his lady wife. Lady Jarethna, who married a lord of the Quickfires, and when she learned her husband was plotting to implicate her father in treason against the Duke, she killed him and her three children by him too, and went home to her father’s house. Lord Karthen, who burned the granaries at Troon and all the harvest fields for fifty leagues around.

  “ ‘There’s greatness, there’s power, there’s honor for you,’ said my grandfather. ‘And one of your ancestors, boy, was always there at hand. One of us found Lord Harrik’s enemy for him. One of us set fire to the enemy’s tents at Conen Feii. One of us managed the poison for Lord Rask, and then killed himself after, because Lord Rask’s brother was a Diamondcut after all, and that was right, you see. One of us arranged to get Lady Jarethna out of her husband’s family’s compound and safe home. One of us took the torch from Lord Karthen and did his will with it. You’ve got proud history in your blood and bones, boy,’ he told me.