“Indeed,” said the goose on the left.
“Welcome home, Master Reginald,” said the goose on the right.
They turned their small black eyes on Glorious.
“You seem to have a wolf,” said the left goose.
“We were not informed there would be a carnivore visiting,” said the right goose.
Glorious grinned. “I would not pick a fight with such brave warriors,” he said. Summer, listening, thought that there was a faint emphasis on I, as if he had almost said “Even I” and then thought better of it.
The geese and the wolf studied each other for a very long moment.
“Indeed,” said the goose on the left.
“Then we shall pick no fight with you,” said the goose on the right. “Follow me.”
Glorious dipped his head an inch and they passed between the brick pillars, following the goose.
“Would you really not pick a fight with them?” asked Summer in an undertone.
“Geese are perilous creatures,” said Glorious. “A flock of geese can kill a foolish wolf.” She felt a soft rumble through his chest. “Though I am not foolish, and two is not a flock. But we have other concerns for now.”
Summer had always been a little frightened of the large flocks of geese that sometimes gathered on the school lawn. They hissed like angry cats and did not seem at all wary of humans. But she had also thought that her fear was just because she was afraid of everything. Hearing Glorious describe them as perilous made her think that perhaps she wasn’t just a coward after all.
The goose ahead of them turned its long neck and winked at Summer.
And apparently they have good hearing, too…
The goose led them down the road. It was narrow by human standards, more like a paved footpath than a street. Broad green lawns rolled out around them, studded with trees, fountains, perches, and something that looked like a giant wicker gazebo.
The house itself was shadowed in the dusk, but there were lights in many of the windows. The doors were flanked with lamps. There were three sets of doors, one per story, but only the bottom one had steps. The upper two were ringed with perches. A bird stood at attention besides each set of doors.
A footman, thought Summer, and then, No, a footbird, and then …a wingbird? Maybe?
The goose dipped its head to the footbird or whatever it was, and the bird hurried to open the doors.
Glorious paused at the foot of the steps. “It is getting late,” he said. “And I would rather not change inside your home, however grand, Reginald.”
“No, no,” said Reginald. “Not the thing at all. Houses inside houses! Terrible damage to the millwork. Here, stay out here with him, will you? He’ll turn into a very nice cottage in a few minutes.”
This last was to the guard goose. The goose tilted its head for a moment, gazing at Reginald in bafflement, then said, “Very well, Master Reginald.” To the footbird, it said, “Please take the master and his guests to quarters. Lord Almondgrove will wish to see them, but not in all their dust.”
“Quite right,” said Reginald cheerfully. “Wouldn’t want to pester the pater in a crumpled waistcoat. Glorious, give a howl if you need anything at all.”
Glorious shook his head, looking amused. “I shall need a very large breakfast in the morning,” he said simply. “There is too much prey about, and I would be a poor guest to hunt any of it.”
“Right!” said Reginald. “Huge breakfast! Sausage and kippers and eggs and ham.”
“Sure,” muttered the weasel, “give him eggs...”
Summer slid off the wolf’s back and he trotted off beside the goose guard. The two of them went side-by-side, and Summer heard the goose say something too low to hear, but which made Glorious growl with laughter.
The foot-bird gestured. Reginald and Summer followed him through the door.
The door opened into a grand entrance hall, the sort of extraordinary tiled room that was designed to make an impression on a visitor. It looked like the sort of room Summer had seen in mansions in movies.
Unlike those rooms, however, there were no stairs. The upper level was lined with perches and immense windows, but where a human mansion would have had a giant staircase with gilt banisters, this hall had only empty space.
Well, of course. They’ve got wings.
“Now, then,” said Reginald to the foot-bird, “this is my friend, Miss Summer. She’s from a different world. Tough as a nut, game as a pebble, but probably wing-sore by now.” He paused. “Err—foot-sore?”
Summer stifled a laugh. He’d probably call foot-men wing-birds. We’re all trying our best, though...
“Certainly,” said the foot-bird. He stamped a foot on the ground and his claws made a hollow knocking sound.
Servant-birds appeared. One plump bird, a mourning dove with a white lace cap, approached Summer. “If you’ll follow me, miss…”
“Go on,” said Reginald. “You’ll be so clean and well-fed when I see you next that I’ll hardly know you. And I’ll have a clean waistcoat.”
The valet-birds twittered in what sounded like relief.
Summer followed the dove.
They went through a large door on the side of the hall, and then a smaller door, and then a corridor lined with quite small doors indeed. The doors were set high in the wall, nearly six inches off the ground.
The dove opened the door. Summer stepped carefully over the threshold.
It was a small room, or perhaps it only seemed small because there was so much furniture in it. The bed was very large and completely circular. There was a wooden screen in one corner and a basin on a stand in another, a door in the far wall, and a wardrobe so large that you could have fit most of Narnia inside it.
Though I hope not, thought Summer, a bit wearily. Orcus is quite enough excitement for me at the moment…
The servant-bird smiled at her, mostly around the eyes. “Just you take off those dirty clothes, mistress, and we’ll get them washed for you”
Summer was thrilled at the thought of getting her clothes washed—the valet-birds tried very hard, but her t-shirt was still showing a great deal of wear, and her underwear didn’t bear thinking about—but she was worried about the blanket Donkeyskin had given her. It looked so grubby and travelstained, surely they’d want to throw it away?
“It’s very important I get this back,” she said. “I know it doesn’t look like much…”
“Cultural dress of your people,” said the servant-bird. “I quite understand, mistress. We’ll treat it very carefully. In the meantime, we’ve some clothes for non-birds here…”
She gestured to a screen. Summer went behind it and took her clothes off.
The clothes for humans, or at least human-shaped people, came in several varieties. One was rather like a sari and the other was rather like a bathrobe—shapeless, but belted in the middle. The sleeves had gigantic openings. The armholes went down nearly to Summer’s hips.
I suppose they’re used to fitting wings through them. They probably think these are quite tight!
She tied the sari-like fabric around herself, then pulled the bathrobe on over it. She had to roll up the cuffs on the sleeves several times and they still dangled past her wrists. She felt like a very small child playing dress-up.
She took the lock and the acorn and the turquoise stone out of her jeans and put them in a pocket in the robe. There didn’t seem to be any place to tie the cheese-sword.
“There you are!” said the servant-bird cheerfully. “Would you like a dust bath, or oil or water?”
“Um,” said Summer. “Water?” She was rather curious about the dust bath, actually, but water seemed easier.
“Right this way, mistress.”
The water bath was oddly shaped. It was very shallow and very wide, a tiled pool six feet wide but barely four inches deep. Summer had to scrub herself and crouch down to rinse.
Like a birdbath, she thought. And then, Well, of course it is!
She was
just starting on her hair when the servant-bird came back. Summer yelped, but the bird bustled in with such cheerful professionalism that it was hard to feel embarrassed. “Fresh towels and oil for your fur if you need it.”
Summer had no idea what to do with the oil, if anything. She used regular soap on her hair. There weren’t any combs, so she raked her fingers through it and heard it squeak.
She dried herself off with a towel and then climbed into the robes again.
The servant-bird clicked her tongue at Summer and helped her tie the sari rather more securely. Apparently there was a trick to it. The over-robe was easier. The weasel, who had been napping, grumbled inside her pocket.
“I’m afraid we have no footwear for you,” said the bird. “Human feet are very complicated, are they not? But now, if you are ready, Lord Almondgrove will see you before dinner.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Summer followed the servant-bird to the hallway, where she was handed off to a butler-bird, who took her through the halls and up a staircase. “Forgive me,” said the bird, as they climbed. “The library is on the second floor, and the approach for the non-flighted is…less elegant.”
It looked plenty elegant to Summer. The stairs were shallow, if narrow, and the wooden paneling on the walls was so dark that it was nearly black. Sconces in the shape of fantastic beasts coiled up the panels, shooting oil lamp flames from their mouths.
The butler-bird turned right at the top of the stairs and led her to a set of doors. They were open at the top, like French doors, and the butler-bird had to open the bottom for Summer to step through.
It was a library, and it was incredible.
For one thing, it was completely vertical. The room itself was only about the size of the dining room in Summer’s house back home, but it went up and up for stories on stories. Each wall was lined with bookcases, and perches ringed the room at intervals so that a bird could stand anywhere they chose and reach a book easily with beak or talons.
There were hundreds of books, probably thousands. At least as many as there were in the school library. They smelled like leather and expensive words.
“Miss Summer,” announced the butler-bird, “of another world.”
“Heyo, Summer,” said Reginald, who was lounging on a low couch. “Quite the thing, isn’t it? Didn’t I tell you?”
The other bird in the room turned toward her.
He was also a hoopoe, wearing a black waistcoat. He was larger than Reginald and heavier, but his feathers were still bright. There was a faint milkiness to his eyes, as if he were in the very early stages of going blind.
He could still see her, though, because he smiled and dipped his crest. “Miss Summer. My son has told me much about you. You honor us with your presence.”
“Oh,” said Summer faintly. She stumbled through a bow, thought at the last minute that it was probably supposed to be a curtsey, realized she didn’t know how to do one, and wound up bowing twice. “Are you Lord Almondgrove? I mean—of course you are. Sir. Thank you. Everything’s lovely here. The bath was very nice.”
She closed her mouth, feeling embarrassed. She’d never met a Lord before. Well, there was Reginald, but he didn’t really seem to count.
Fortunately, the elder hoopoe did not seem offended. He smiled again. “Come in, come in. Reginald tells me that you are seeking to end the menace to our world...and that you are a delightful travelling companion and staunch in defense of your friends, and that the Forester likes you. Which are all most excellent qualifications, but I would like to ask a few questions, if I may.”
“Uh,” said Summer. “I mean, yes, sir.” She looked around for a place to sit and eventually settled on something that looked like a footstool. Lord Almondgrove was on a perch at a reading stand, rather like a lectern, so she had to look up to meet his eyes.
“Is it true that Baba Yaga sent you?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Summer. “She had a house with chicken feet and a skull on the door. Everybody says it was Baba Yaga. There can’t be very many women with houses with chicken feet around, can there?”
“Not many, certainly,” said Lord Almondgrove. “Not in this world, at least.”
Summer cast about for something else to say. “She gave me a talking weasel. She said she was sending me to find my heart’s desire. I don’t think that’s a weasel, though. Err, no offense.”
“Feh,” muttered the weasel. He poked his head out of her pocket and looked up at Lord Almondgrove. “It was Baba Yaga for sure. She sat in a chair made of bones, and she smelled like the wasting death of dreams.”
“Told you,” said Reginald. “The prime article herself!”
“Mmm,” said Lord Almondgrove. “I would not be quite convinced—not that I believe that you are lying, Miss Summer, but because all the worlds are full of charlatans, and someone might be foolish enough to impersonate Baba Yaga herself. But I am told that Zultan Houndbreaker has pursued you, and that he has begun the burnings again, which means at least that he believes you have been sent to change things.”
He fluffed up his feathers. “To pull Zultan’s feathers, I’d dare a great deal, I confess.”
Summer gulped. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
The elderly hoopoe held out a clawed foot and turned it—maybe yes, maybe no. “Not so dangerous as it used to be. I do not know how much Reginald has told you…”
“Hardly anything!” said Reginald proudly. “Wouldn’t cut a wheedle and pretend I knew more than I did.”
“I wish you wouldn’t use that dreadful cant,” said Lord Almondgrove. “It makes you sound like a common criminal in a hedgerow.”
Reginald grinned and winked at Summer. “Doing it up too brown, pater!”
The senior Almondgrove rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, whatever that means. I could wish you’d paid more attention—what if you have to inherit someday?”
“Perish the thought! My sister’ll be twice the Almondgrove I am.”
Lord Almondgrove shook his head. Summer got the impression that this was a conversation they’d had many times before. “At any rate,” he said, turning back to Summer, “the matter of Zultan. He had an army once, long ago, when he took down the Tower of Dogs. In those days, we lived in fear of him, and no one dared defy him too openly. But the Tower did not fall easily. He broke his army against it, and it was only the Queen that brought it down in the end.” He tapped a claw on his beak. “He has no army now. He raised the first one with promises and wight-liquor, and people have learned to be wary of both now. So now he has only his little warband, a dozen strong. Dangerous enough in their way, but not enough to make war against members of the Dawn Chorus.”
“But what is Zultan?” asked Summer. This question had been gnawing at her for days now. “Is he a—a—” She stopped herself short of saying person. “—A human?”
I’m learning. I hope.
Lord Almondgrove shuffled on his perch. “Hard to say,” he said finally. “But no, I don’t think so. Not unless humans live much longer than I think. The Tower of Dogs fell long, long ago, before I was born, but Zultan still goes on.”
“What were the dogs?” asked Summer. Here at last was someone who seemed able to answer questions, and to answer them clearly, without wandering off into strange cant, like Reginald, or into wild philosophies she didn’t quite understand, like Glorious. “I mean—we’ve got dogs in my world, or things we call dogs, but they don’t build towers or roads.” (It occurred to her that she had not seen a dog anywhere in this world.)
Lord Almondgrove leaned forward, his crest flattening down a little with interest. “Really! Can you describe them for me?”
“Uh.” Summer found herself making a few aimless hand gestures. How do you describe a dog to someone who’s never seen one? “Like a wolf,” she said, thinking of Glorious. “But smaller. And they don’t talk. And they walk on all fours, and people keep them as pets.”
Almondgrove let out a loud chck-ck-ck laugh. “No, no! Not the same as ou
rs at all, then.”
“Fancy keeping a dog as a pet!” said Reginald. “They’d have you up on charges, assuming you could find one.”
Lord Almondgrove smiled tolerantly. He considered for a moment, then raised a claw. “Easier shown than described, I think. Wait a moment.”
He flew upward, into the higher reaches of the library. The railings around the edges of the bookcase served as perches. Lord Almondgrove landed on one and ran a wing along the edge of the books. “Ah, there we are.” He pulled a book from the shelf and flew back down to the main perch, setting the book on the podium.
The book was leatherbound and opened the opposite way from books Summer was used to. There were notches along the sides where bird claws could fit easily.
He opened the book up. Summer couldn’t read the writing; it looked like bird tracks going in different directions, or like the runes that she had seen in school when her class did a unit on Norse mythology.
But there were also pictures, and Lord Almondgrove found one in short order. He turned the book toward her.
The dog in the picture stood on his hind legs, like Summer, though he seemed to be walking on his toes. He was very tall and thin, with enormous upstanding ears. He looked rather like a greyhound, or like the African wild dogs that she had seen in nature documentaries. His tail was short and curved, with a plumed tip.
“No,” said Summer. “I’m afraid our dogs don’t look anything like that.”
Lord Almondgrove nodded. He turned the pages, showing her other pictures—more dogs, laboring together. They wore various clothes—tunics, armor, strapped sandal-like footwear. Often there was a tower in the background.
Near the end of the book, there was a final picture. Lord Almondgrove closed the book, sighing, before Summer could see it. “And then the Tower of Dogs fell, to Zultan and the Queen. And there may be no more dogs in Orcus. I have not seen one since...well, since I was younger than this young scapegrace here.”
“You saw one?” said Reginald, looking up. “You’re not that old, pater. Thought they all died with the Tower.”
Summer in Orcus Page 15
