The Bird of the River

by Kage Baker

  Captain Glass reached the shrine. He set up the vessels at the statue’s feet and poured out liquor, perfume, and fruit. Then he coiled up the rope and laid it in the basket, sending the basket floating back toward the Bird of the River with a push. Shoving away from the edge of the shrine, he leaped like a fish and dove down, down through the transparent water, so far down that his image distorted into nothing human. Eliss and Krelan stepped to the rail involuntarily, peering down.

  “That looks dangerous,” said Krelan in an undertone.

  “He never drowns,” Wolkin whispered loudly, in reply. And now indeed the gigantic shape was rising back through the sunlit water, fast and faster, shooting to the surface at last in a fountain of glassy water drops, a white roiling shower, and the captain shook himself, half out of the water as he gasped for air. He laughed as he sank back and struck out with his immense arms, swimming forward, to where they waited for him on the deck of the Bird.

  After that they raised anchor and sailed off for the lakeshore, where there was a special dock for the Bird of the River.

  “You’re not going ashore, in case someone tries to murder you again,” Mr. Riveter said to Krelan, as the Bird’s cablemen threw out fenders and moored her at the dock. “Got better sense than that, I hope.”

  “I hope I have good sense, sir,” said Krelan meekly.

  “Good. Because we can’t have you getting—” Mr. Riveter was distracted by several men who had been waiting on the dock, advancing up the gangplank the moment it was laid down.

  “First Mate Riveter?” The foremost of the men saluted. “Karkateen Municipal Navigation Maintenance presents its compliments. What does the Bird require?”

  “Oh, good—I’ve got a list—” Mr. Riveter slapped himself absently as though feeling for pockets, but as he was only wearing his customary loincloth, no list was found. “It’s in the logbook. I’ll fetch it out. And, er, we’ve got a slow leak in the aft starboard hull—couple of planks need replacing, and likely a new weld on the coppering—and—er—”

  People were lining up to go ashore. This was the halfway mark for the Bird’s long journey, and no one would be paid until they were all the way downriver again, at the sea, but it seemed everyone on deck had a way to earn a little money in the meantime. The musicians all had their instruments with them, bound for street corners where they might busk, or for taverns willing to hire short-term entertainment. Salpin winked at Eliss as he shuffled forward in line, his concertina under his arm. Mrs. Ironlatch and several others among the women carried great stacks of baskets they’d woven from peeled and split snag-roots, or boxes inlaid with bits of mussel shell, or useful oddments like spindles or knitting needles, carved from bone or horn.

  “Here,” said Krelan in an undertone, nodding his head at Mrs. Turnbolt, who was staggering under a high swaying stack of peeled-bark boxes. He approached her, with Eliss following close.

  “Madam, may I just assist you with those? Help you to carry them ashore?”

  “Very kind of you, dear,” said Mrs. Turnbolt with a gasp, relinquishing half the boxes to Krelan. One fell to the deck; Eliss grabbed it up before it rolled overboard, and they went down the gangplank all three without drawing Mr. Riveter’s notice.

  “Where are they going?” Krelan inquired.

  “Just over to that street corner there,” said Mrs. Turnbolt, nodding to indicate direction. “My husband’s cousin runs that shop. He never minds if I set up in front.” By the time they had helped her cross the thronged street, set down her boxes, unfold her little folding chair, and put out her hand-lettered sign, they were well out of sight of the Bird of the River.

  “Right. Come on,” said Krelan, taking Eliss’s arm and striding off purposefully.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The Harbormaster’s office.” Krelan pointed at a tower on the waterfront, some two blocks away. They pushed toward it, through a dense crowd. There were men hawking trays of what looked like dingy pebbles, that they swore, perhaps truthfully, were uncut emeralds; there were other men hawking trays of bright bits of green glass, skillfully cut, and they too swore their wares were emeralds. Yendri grocers had set up barrows full of farm produce, and silently took coin for grapes or radishes. There were artists offering to paint anyone’s likeness in a ten-minute sitting. An itinerant fiddler was playing The Ballad of Falena while his lady friend sang the lyrics and held an alms basket. There were street corner sharpers offering games of Find the Lady on overturned barrels. Prostitutes of both genders leaned in doorways, sizing up the crowds and idly fanning themselves with placards that advertised their rates. There were hot food vendors with their carts offering freshwater prawns or fried bread or beer or smoked fish. Every available square of pavement had been co-opted as an impromptu market stall, and so it took Krelan and Eliss some time to reach their goal.

  Even so, Krelan paused on the doorstep.

  “Do something for me?”

  “What?”

  “Will you go in? All you need to ask is whether the Fire-Swift docked here. Get them to show you the ledger entry, if you can. Just in case my brother thought to have this place watched as well.”

  “Now that occurs to you,” Eliss grumbled, but she gave his hand a squeeze and, pulling up her shawl, climbed the stairs to the office.

  Within the office it was anything but crowded, or bustling either for that matter. All was silent but for the steady plink-plink-plink of the water clock. A young man in uniform was seated on a high stool at the counter, slumped forward on his elbows and staring out the window at the lake. He cast a lackluster glance Eliss’s way when she came in, and abruptly sat straight.

  “Yes, miss!” Hurriedly he closed up a tablet. It looked as though he had been writing poetry. “May I be of assistance, miss?”

  “Do you have the log of boats that have put in over the last six months?” asked Eliss, in her Pentra voice.

  “Of course, miss!” The clerk slid a bound codex across the counter to her, and almost pulled it back when it occurred to him to ask, “Er—why?”

  “I’d just like to see if my brother’s boat put in here,” said Eliss, taking hold of the ledger to prevent its removal, and thumbing back hurriedly to the month or two following the spring equinox.

  “I can undoubtedly find it for you,” said the clerk, making a halfhearted effort to take possession of the ledger once more.

  “Quite all right, sir.” Eliss tightened her grip on the ledger with one hand while running her finger down the column of entries. The Sweet Duchess, the Handalak, the River Mist . . .

  “What’s your brother’s boat’s name?”

  “Well, that’s the problem,” Eliss improvised. “He has two. I’m not sure which one he took out, on that particular sail.” The Fire Goddess, the Indomitable, the Sprite . . .

  And then it was there, just under the Sprite: the Fire-Swift, captained by Encilian Diamondcut, accompanied by one manservant. There was her docking entry and there was her date of departure, one week later. The destination given was Silver Trout Landing.

  “Here it is!” exclaimed Eliss, releasing her clutch on the ledger. “He took the Sprite. Thank you, sir. I’m so relieved!”

  “Was there a problem?”

  Eliss mimicked a gesture she’d seen Krelan use, the import of which was that this was a private matter and better not discussed. “A family concern only, kind sir. Thank you.”

  “I mean, if I could be of any further assistance,” stammered the clerk, “I’m only on duty another two hours. If you require anyone to escort you anywhere—or we could go somewhere for dinner—”

  “Oh.” Eliss looked at his flushed face in surprise. “Oh, no. Thank you, but I—I have a friend with me.” Now she was blushing too. Hurriedly she drew her shawl around her head and went out, and ran down the stairs.

  “Why would someone ask me out to dinner when he doesn’t even know me?” she said to Krelan.

  “Because you’re probably the loveliest girl he�
�s ever seen,” said Krelan morosely. “When are you going to figure that out?”

  “I’m ordinary!”

  “You are the least ordinary girl I’ve ever known,” said Krelan. “And you can act as though you’re plain as long as you like, but sooner or later you’ll have to learn to deal with men acting like fools around you. You’re beautiful.”

  Eliss stared at him, too surprised to be angry. Men always tell women they’re beautiful, she told herself hastily. Doesn’t mean it’s true. They just do it to get their way.

  “Were you able to learn anything?” Krelan asked in a more normal voice.

  Eliss told him about the ledger entry. He sighed and shook his head.

  “So we know they got this far, and we know they both left. And we know Encilian never made it back as far as Silver Trout Landing. Which would mean he was killed somewhere in between there and Latacari. Probably near where the Fire-Swift sank, because she couldn’t have traveled far with that hole in her hull. And I’m sure Encilian was dead before she was scuttled.”

  “And Waxcast might have gone anywhere after that,” said Eliss.

  “That’s right.” Krelan sagged into a sitting position on the steps. “Ye gods. I’ve got to go over the whole route again, looking for him. And somehow keep from getting killed before I can find him.”

  He looked so tired and hopeless Eliss sat down too and put her arms around him.

  “We’ll find him! Look how much you know now, that you didn’t know setting out. You know his name. It’ll be all right.”

  “Very kind of you to say so.” Krelan patted her hand absentmindedly. Eliss summoned her courage.

  “Look,” she said. “We could go somewhere for dinner.”

  “I suppose we could.”

  “And we could buy you a hat! It’ll make you harder to see. If people are here looking for you, they’re looking for a man in a hood, aren’t they? They won’t expect a hat. Come on!”

  “All right.”

  She pulled him to his feet and they threaded their way among the tight-packed shops along the waterfront, dodging between barrows and braziers until they found a stall where hats were stacked in leaning columns, felt blanks with wide ragged brims. It took some arguing to convince the hatter that Krelan didn’t want his hat trimmed, shaped, or decked with any particular band or cockade. When they were finally able to leave the stall, Eliss looked at Krelan in his new hat and thought: Holy gods, he looks like a mushroom. But it makes his face harder to see.

  “Well, this will come in handy when the rains begin,” Krelan said with a wry smile, tilting the brim back to peer at her. She smiled back, aware of a painful twinge.

  I’m in love with him. I’m in love with this funny little man who’s in all the trouble in the world. At least now I understand Mama a little better. . . . This is just the sort of thing she would have done, and I always hated it and wondered why she couldn’t love somebody ordinary like a shopkeeper. Somebody who wasn’t trouble.

  But none of those men were Krelan. . . .

  He slipped her arm through his and they wandered together through the crowd, looking for a place with tables where they might eat.

  “There’s the fish market up ahead,” said Krelan, pointing. “That’s a good bet. They buy fish straight off the boats. Shall we go there?”

  “Why not?”

  The eating-houses were all built up on stilts above the stalls, and their rear balconies hung out over the edge of the wharf, so that diners above could crumble bread into the water for the ducks and the occasional far-ranging seagull. Eliss watched a squabbling crowd of waterfowl scattering in all directions as a fishing boat came in to dock behind one of the restaurants.

  The boat drew her eye for some reason, even after the birds had fled. It was a small boat, trailing its empty nets. No one stood on her aft deck making offerings to Brimo by throwing unwanted catch to the birds. No one stood aft at all. There were only three men visible in the bows. Two busied themselves with throwing out fenders and tying up. The third man waited until the mooring was secure and then stepped from the bow onto the wharf, in one easy bound. Without so much as a word or glance at his companions, he walked ashore. He wasn’t dressed like a fisherman. . . .

  “That’s Shellback.” Eliss gripped Krelan’s arm. There was no mistaking the thief; he wore the striped tunic they had last seen him wearing in the Bank of Krolerett. Eliss had seen the same hard handsome face several times since, in nightmares.

  “What?” Krelan followed her gaze. She felt an electric thrill run through him as he spotted Shellback, who crossed in front of the fish market and began to make his way along the pavement, not quickly but purposefully. “Oh. Oh, thank you, gods.”

  He started to disengage Eliss’s arm from his own.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I have to follow him,” said Krelan in a low voice, straining to keep sight of the striped tunic through the crowd. “He knows Waxcast. Maybe Waxcast is here. Maybe he knows where he is.”

  “But that was just an idea!”

  “It’s a good idea and the only one we’ve got. Go back to the Bird,” Krelan called over his shoulder, starting away from her. Eliss ran after him.

  “Are you crazy?” she cried. Krelan paid no attention, ducking and weaving through the throng, vanishing but for his immense wide-brimmed hat. Eliss followed him doggedly, silent now as she kept Shellback in sight. Shellback moved steadily forward along the wharf, looking neither to right nor left, ignoring the cries of the hawkers who offered him fried food or cheap jewelry. He knows where he’s going, she thought.

  Abruptly Shellback was crossing the street that paralleled the wharf, dodging between the moving pushcarts and people carrying baskets. Krelan’s hat dodged after him, and Eliss shoved her way through the moving mass to keep both of them in sight.

  There: Shellback had passed a vendor’s stall where wooden chests of all sizes were set out. Suddenly he turned, doubled back, and inspected the chests briefly. He took a smallish ironbound one, slung it under one arm, and tossed a coin to the vendor. By the time he started on his way again, Krelan was no more than five paces behind him, and Eliss had nearly caught up with them both.

  On along the wharf, out of the market district now, and the crowds were thinner. Only expensive boats lay docked at the wharf here, and all the shops were across the street. There were ships’ chandlers and a few restaurants of the hushed and expensive kind. Between the blocks long streets struck straight up the hill, where stone houses sat, one above another on terraces overlooking the lake. Eliss craned her neck back to see the mists rolling down from the mountains, bruise-colored with all the water they bore, obscuring the tops of the trees and the highest houses.

  When she lowered her gaze, she saw Shellback making his way up the nearest street, walking flat-footed to accommodate the steep incline. Krelan had halted at the corner and was peering up after him. Eliss caught up with Krelan at last. He turned and started when he saw her. “I said go back to the Bird!”

  “No! That’s a murderer! He wouldn’t think twice about killing you,” said Eliss, but Krelan had already turned his attention on Shellback again, watching as the thief climbed steadily. Krelan’s face was pale and set, unsmiling.

  “All right,” he said in a neutral voice. “But you’re not going to like me much after today. Assuming we both survive.”

  He grabbed a paling out of a garden fence and crouched over it, as though he were an old man leaning on a walking stick. “Take my arm and lead me up there,” he ordered. “Pretend I’m your aged father or something. And don’t take your eyes off him.”

  Eliss obeyed, clutching Krelan’s arm. They crept up the street. Shellback was high above them now, climbing steadily, never looking back. He isn’t wary in the least, thought Eliss, he doesn’t think anyone would follow him here. But what’s the box for?

  They had risen into an area of fine houses, with palanquins set under open stalls in each garden. Of course they don’t wa
lk here, they’re too rich. They have servants carry them up and down these hills. . . . What’s the box for?

  Eliss worried at the question, perhaps to keep her mounting terror at bay. A loose end, Shellback’s little ironbound box. Like the bank box was a loose end. Lord Encilian’s baby gold in there, all his personal jewelry. Except for his serpent armlet. Because the serpent armlet would not fit. So he was still wearing it when Waxcast had cut off his head and thrown his body in the river.

  Why didn’t he cut off the arm too and take the armlet? But he hadn’t. There hadn’t been a mark on the body, other than the nibbling of crabs. No dagger wounds.

  How do you get someone to kneel down and have their head cut off? Maybe by a ruse? What’s that down in the water? Look, my lord, can you see it? Perhaps you had better bend down to look. Or maybe Waxcast had drugged his lordship? That would be easy. A cup of wine, my lord? Is my lord drowsy with the heat? Will my lord lie down?

  But the armlet was heavy gold, costly. Why not remove it, before Encilian’s body was rolled into the water?

  How high they had climbed. The noise of the lakeside market had been left behind. Up here it was deathly quiet, with only the sighing of the wind bringing the mist across the housetops. Wealthy places were always so quiet. Eliss nearly glanced over her shoulder to see how high they had climbed, but resisted the urge. Shellback must be going to stop soon. The grand houses were fewer up here, the gardens green and dripping with mist. It was almost like a Yendri place. She wondered where Alder was right now. If something bad were to happen, would he ever hear about it?

  Nothing bad will happen, she told herself. We’ll see where Shellback goes and then we’ll go back to the Bird. Or I’ll go back, and let Krelan do whatever he’s going to do. And pray to the holy gods he survives. That’s all I can do, really, isn’t it? I spent my whole childhood afraid of Mount Flame bullies and the things they do. How stupid would I be, to get mixed up in their business again? And Mama would always wipe her eyes and tell me I didn’t understand.