The Book of Water

by Marjorie B. Kellogg

  “If you could bring them here, you can take them there, and you certainly will know your way around when you get there.”

  N’Doch has to admit that’s also true.

  “Secondly, Baraga’s not the big man in the City that he is in town.”

  “So? It’ll just be someone else after us.”

  Djawara dips his head doggedly. “Thirdly, your Visitors’ gifts will allow them access as free as any.”

  “What gifts?”

  “The Visitor Earth’s great Gift of Stillness, which renders him invisible.”

  “More like a big rock. I’ve seen that one.”

  “A rock to you, who can sense his presence. Invisible to most of the world.”

  N’Doch shrugs. He has no way to deny this. “And the other one?”

  “The Visitor Water is a shape-shifter. Didn’t you know?”

  “What’s a shape-shifter?” But already, he does know. He sees the blue dragon in his mind, slimming to fit the close passages of the derelict tanker, lengthening to reach the high clerestory windows. “How much can she shift?”

  Djawara spreads his hands in front of him, seeming to inspect each finger carefully. “Why don’t you ask her?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  She’s waiting for him when he slouches out into the dark front courtyard, full of cheb and sweet tea and questions he’s not sure he wants to ask.

  She’s crouched catlike, facing the door, and the big brown guy is nowhere to be seen. N’Doch can’t decide whether he feels like he’s on some kind of weird first date or like he’s facing the Mother Superior of his Catholic grammar school. He’s never been alone with her before. The dragon, Water—he forces himself to think of her by name—is both winsome and officious, both animal and somehow more than human, and the real problem is not so much that he doesn’t want to relate to her but that he doesn’t know how.

  He stares at her and she stares back. He wonders if he should think of her as a woman, if that would be a healthy thing to do, or for that matter, if it’s what she would want. He’s had friendships with women before, though not many, a few older women musicians he wanted to learn from. Mostly, sex got in the way. Either he wanted it, or they did, or both did but not for long. And then, the relationship was blown. It’s okay with the girl—she’s way too young and anyway, she wants to be his sister. With her, he’s already put sex from his mind. But Water is a grown-up, and definitely feminine. So what kind of relationship are they supposed to have? He tries to imagine having sex with a dragon. Pretty kinky all right.

  He’s still staring at her when she begins to sing to him. Not out loud, and he’s glad of that. Any song this hot would alert Baraga’s sensors immediately. The beauty of it lays him out. Even the raucous birds have quieted. In the back of his mind, the bizarre thought is born that it’s the dragon who should be the big pop star. And he could make it happen, if he could just get her into a studio. . . .

  But in his heart, he knows this is music for his ears only. His music. Someday he might remember it and write it down, polish it up for public consumption. But for now, he’ll just listen.

  When she’s done, she’s still staring at him. He feels awkward, reading expectancy in her bottomless gaze. He wonders why she isn’t talking to him, then realizes he’s the one who’s withholding. He hasn’t allowed that inner letting-go that lets her voice into his head alongside the music that seems to invade willy-nilly with a power all its own. He decides he’ll wait a while yet, and sing her some of his songs. It’ll be like foreplay.

  He starts with a lightweight piece, about a man trying to discover if his wife’s been unfaithful. It’s his usual opener when he plays in the market square. The shoppers don’t want anything too serious while they’re busy bargaining. It’s better when he has his ’board hooked up, though he’s done it plenty of times without, since he can’t always afford to recharge his battery pack. But he likes the melody even without. It has a certain plaintive comic sweetness to it, especially the chorus, which he’s really getting into, singing away with his eyes closed, when he happens to steal a glance at the dragon to see how she’s taking it. He nearly stops breathing.

  There, right in front of him in his grandpapa’s courtyard, in place of a silver-blue dragon, is a pathetic crumb of a man, big-nosed, stooped, a little pudgy, a lovesick nerd casting his droopy eyes about in helpless suspicion exactly as N’Doch had imagined the guy when he wrote the song. He’s speechless. He doesn’t understand what’s happening.

  The image dissolves, or rather, re-forms before his very eyes into a silver-blue dragon. The process is not instantaneous and watching it makes him definitely queasy. When she’s fully herself and staring at him again, he’s still speechless, and without a defense left in the world.

  —Did I get it right?

  It’s all he can do to nod.

  —Let’s do another one.

  Her voice in his head is light and brisk, oddly familiar. Not unlike his own, but with an added undertone of Well-it’s-about-time-we-got-down-to-business.

  “Umm,” says N’Doch, mostly to see if he can still produce a human sound.

  —It feels pretty good. Hardly tires me out at all.

  “Umm,” he says again, then clears his throat. “Feels good?”

  —You don’t have to speak to me out loud, you know.

  “Maybe not, but you know, I’m sort of used to it, okay?”

  —Certainly. For now.

  “Yeah. For now. So, um, then you’re not used to doing this, is that what you’re telling me?”

  —How could I be, without you around to sing the songs?

  N’Doch is rendered inarticulate again.

  —I knew it from the moment I first breathed air. I’ve been trying to explain it to you, but you just wouldn’t listen.

  “Ummm. Oh.” He knows now why her voice is familiar. She sounds a lot like his mother used to, before she gave up on him. “Sorry.”

  —Oh, I understand how hard it is at first. It’s hard for me, too, figuring all this out by myself. My brother’s not much help, you know.

  “Your brother?” Oh, the big guy. “Really? Why not?”

  —Well, he’s very gifted, of course, and he has a very great heart. But he’s still so young and he’s like, hopelessly old-fashioned.

  Deep inside N’Doch, absurdity finally brims over. He starts to laugh. First it’s a chuckle, then a snort, then an outright belly laugh. It’s what he’s been needing and he lets it build and peak and still go on, like he’s gonna laugh his guts out and with them, all the confusion and resentment and tension he’s choked back since he first felt the dragon’s hold on him. When he’s finally done, he’s breathless and gasping.

  —It’s not a joke, you know.

  This starts him laughing again, but he’s got it under control, barely. “You really are my dragon, aren’t you!”

  —What else did you think?

  “I mean, the way you talk and all.”

  —What’s wrong with it?

  “Nothing. Hey, girl, nothing at all. And you know, you are so right. I should have listened to you earlier. Things woulda made a lot more sense!”

  Now Water is wearing particularly self-satisfied expression but N’Doch is too relieved to care, now that he sees he’s not going to have to talk the old-time talk and walk the old-time walk in order to get along with this critter he’s been tied to by no will of his own.

  “So. This shape-shifting thing. You wanna try it again?”

  —You bet. I need the practice.

  He goes with a different song this time, one of his favorites, about a beautiful woman he met once, walking along the beach. She’d just fallen crazy in love with some guy or other, and that’s what made her so beautiful, passion that consumed her so much, she could spend an hour with a total stranger, telling him all about it. It was like living poetry. Totally unself-conscious. N’Doch had envied her. He wanted to be in love like that, still does and—as he watches the dragon’s ani
mal form slip and change and then reshape itself into the exact image of the woman on the beach—he thinks maybe he is. It won’t be like being in love with a real woman, he knows that, but at least he has a clue about what to do with all these crazy feelings he’d been having. He wonders if this is how the girl feels about her dragon.

  He lets the song finish, trailing out the last note. He can’t help but sing it seductively. The beach woman smiles at him and melts away.

  N’Doch grunts and averts his eyes. “I think I’m not gonna watch while you’re doing that.”

  —Why?

  “It’s . . . well, it’s kinda gross when you’re in between one thing and another, you know? Can’t you do it, like, faster?”

  —NO. That is, not yet. I’ll . . . work on it.

  She’s a lot less brisk than usual and he sees he’s hurt her feelings. “Hey, look, it’s awesome that you can do it. It’s mega, you know?”

  —But you don’t like process, only results.

  “No, I . . . hmmm.” N’Doch decides he’ll have to ponder that one for a while. “How long can you hold a shape? Only while I’m singing?”

  —Maybe. I don’t know.

  “And you don’t get worn out or anything?”

  —Not so far.

  N’Doch nods to himself. Once again, the old codger is proved right. But he’s not about to point that out to anyone. “So, tell me. Why do you think you’re here?”

  —Something terrible is happening.

  “Where? How? O God, o God!” He laughs, ’cause her tone is suddenly so dire and serious. Then it begins to work on him a little. “Wait, you mean, to me? You’re here, like, to protect me?”

  —No, jerk. Something much bigger than that. Something much more terrible, if you can imagine such a thing.

  He answers her sarcasm with a snort. “Girl, something terrible is always happening. Bombs, wars, plagues, famine, you name it. How much more terrible can it get? And so what? Ain’t nothing you can do about it, ’cept move quick and avoid it when you can.”

  —No. There is always something you can do. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.

  To N’Doch, this is pure blind faith, kind of like religion and just as stupid. Which means there is no point him arguing it with her. But he can’t let her off too easy. “So you’re here to save the world, huh? If you ask me, which you didn’t, you’re way too late. But I guess you’re not likely to be talked out of trying.”

  —No.

  She looks at him, he thinks, a bit sadly, and despite his bravado, he feels a definite pang, a sense he’s let her down.

  “Hey, listen, you’re into that, fine. I got nothing better to do.” He’s trying to lighten things up a little. “I don’t know too much about saving the world, but I can take care of the little things. Like, I got it all figured out how we’re gonna get you into the City.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Papa Djawara insists on giving the girl the privacy of the house, so he and N’Doch bed down on the cooking porch. N’Doch doesn’t really mind, though he feels he has to grump a little bit so she sees it’s not his idea to cater to her. But there are enough mats and cushions to soften the hard slab and the faint coolness of the concrete is actually a relief. And it’s a novel and nostalgic pleasure to be able to sleep outside and not really worry too much about having his throat slit in the night. He figures the dogs will kick up a ruckus if anyone comes around. He’d have a dog in town, if it wasn’t so hard to keep one fed. He sleeps well into the morning and is waked only by the racket of Djawara among his pots, eagerly preparing the midday meal. He’s surrounded by silvery piles of fish.

  “They’re perfect!” he croons, scaling and gutting and laying out the fillets to dry. “They brought them this morning! Isn’t it wonderful? Fish for a month! I’ve never seen such fish!”

  “Baraga’s,” says N’Doch sourly. “Just hope he hasn’t got each one tagged with a tracer.”

  The prospect of fresh fish cheb has made Djawara mellow. “Now, that is paranoid.”

  “He’d do it. He’s really touchy about holding on to what belongs to him.” N’Doch scratches, looks around. “So where’s the girl?”

  “The Lady Erde is inside, looking at books.”

  “The Lady Erde?” N’Doch mimics mincingly.

  “Your companion is a baron’s daughter, did you know that?”

  “Yeah, so she told me. Rich girl. But hey, that was back in 900 whatever, and she didn’t bring any of it with her.” Except of course, one big red stone set in silver. How come his dragon didn’t come with a jewel? “She’s no better’n me now.”

  Djawara smiles. “Of course not. But if you bear in mind that she’s grown up being treated as if she was, you might understand her better.”

  “I don’t need to understand her. Long as she doesn’t mess with me, we’ll get along fine.”

  “I see.” Djawara lays several thick white fillets in his rush steamer and fits it on top of his biggest pot. He carries it carefully out to the cook fire.

  “What’s she want with books, anyway?” N’Doch calls after him from the shade of the porch.

  Bending over the steamer, Djawara shakes his head. “Are you always this truculent?”

  “No, I . . . c’mon, Papa, I just woke up.”

  “No wonder your mama didn’t mind when you left home.”

  N’Doch blinks at him. “I haven’t left home.”

  “Well, that’ll be news to your mama.”

  That slows him down a little. “Yeah? Well, I guess it’s true I haven’t been around much.” But he’s always thought at least she missed him. Certainly he’s liked knowing she was there if he needed someone to take care of him.

  He’d like to discuss this further, but the girl comes out of the house with a stack of open books in her arms, and N’Doch doesn’t see that his family problems are any of her business. She greets him politely and sets the books down on the edge of the concrete, then takes the top one out to Djawara at the cook fire and starts questioning him about it. N’Doch sees all the books are open to pictures.

  “So, what’s she wanna know?”

  “Everything.”

  N’Doch laughs. “Guess we’ll be here a while after all.”

  Djawara studies the page she’s held up and answers her in detail. She nods thoughtfully and goes back for another book. Djawara says, “She’s trying to find her footing in an unfamiliar world, my boy. Seems she’s not had much help from your direction.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m doing the best I can.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  Stung, N’Doch turns away into the house. Already, he’s searching instinctively in his head for the dragon. He’s pretty sure she’ll be glad to see him, even if no one else is.

  * * *

  Waking early, Erde had found herself surrounded by the mage’s extensive library. She studied the books from her pallet on one of the cushioned benches. They were not at all like the books she knew and she longed to touch them. But one did not just go fingering a mage’s books, it wasn’t wise, so she kept her distance until she heard Djawara puttering about outside. Then she went out to greet him respectfully and ask if one of his magical tomes might contain a searching spell to help them locate the Summoner.

  The old man laughed gently. “There’s no magic in these books, daughter. Only the magic of knowledge.” He led her back inside, then picked out a fat one and handed it to her.

  Erde received the shiny, colorful object in reverent hands. The bindings were hard and smooth but worn, she could see, with serious and important usage. It did not seem to be made of leather, but it did have a pretty design of leaves embossed in fading gold on the top cover. She glanced at Djawara and when he nodded permission, opened the book carefully. Bright illuminations greeted her, exotic fruits and flowers and trees, full of fine realistic detail without a trace of brushwork. Turning page after page, she sighed in wonder and admiration.

  “That’s a natural history of the region,”
he explained. “It describes the local plant life.”

  Erde nodded. His herbarium, then. Every mage must have an herbarium.

  He pulled down another, larger volume. “This one’s an atlas. Maps of the world.” He flipped through the pages. “Ah, yes, here we go.” He took the plant book from her and laid the big atlas in her lap. “This is modern Germany.”

  At first, the page in front of her was just a maze of colored blocks and lines. She couldn’t even recognize it as a map. Then he traced out the long sinuous snaking of the Rhine and asked her to name a few familiar places. The first one they located was Köthen.

  The dragon calls him to come join her, she’s under the trees, but N’Doch won’t go into that place after her. It’s just too weird. She says it’s too hot and dry in the yard for her, so each stays where they are and N’Doch sits down in the less mysterious shade of the lemon tree and sings his songs to her until Djawara calls him for the midday meal.

  When they’re seated once more around the communal bowl, with the dragons listening in from the trees to translate and N’Doch’s mouth is watering so from the sweet smell of steamed fresh fish in tomato sauce that he can hardly concentrate, Djawara announces that he knows someone in the City who might be able to help them.

  It’s news to N’Doch that his old uncool grandpapa knows anyone in the City at all.

  “It’s been many years since we were in touch, but we were good friends then and she was a gifted woman of great promise.”

  “Good friends, eh, Papa Dja?” N’Doch grins at him, trying for a moment of male bonding.

  Djawara smiles. “Not that kind of friends, my boy. Her interests lie elsewhere. At least, they did at the time.”

  N’Doch nods. He knows what that usually means, but he wonders if the girl does. He wonders if they had women who love women back in 913. He hopes so, ’cause if not, he’s not sure he wants to be the one to explain it to her. Like, what if she’s that way herself and doesn’t know it? He wouldn’t want to get caught making any kind of value judgment. Not that he minds it himself or anything. Chacun à son goût. He just considers it a waste of good women.