Boy watched from the shadows as Old Ardi unlocked the door. He stopped in the entrance. ‘I am sorry to have to do this, child,’ he said. The guard had a long thin knife hidden behind his back.
Boy cried out. ‘Wait!’ he said, and stepped into the light.
Old Ardi reeled backwards with fright, dropping the knife. ‘Who are you? What are you doing here,’ he said in a shaky voice.
‘Old Ardi, this is my friend Boy,’ Oriole sang.
Old Ardi looked at Oriole in shock. It was the first time he had heard her speak.
‘The singing tongue! Am I dreaming?’ he said.
‘I came to save Oriole,’ Boy replied.
‘There is no saving anyone who has the singing tongue. The Lord Chancellor himself came down this evening to see if I had carried out the King’s command and said it must be done by dawn. I have no choice.’
‘The King ordered no such thing,’ said Oriole. ‘The Lord Chancellor lied to you.’
Old Ardi looked at Oriole and then at Boy.
‘Listen, Old Ardi,’ said Boy. ‘I know you don’t want to hurt Oriole so I have come up with a plan.’ He dipped into his bag and pulled out the tongue.
Oriole stepped back in disgust. ‘What is that?’
‘It’s just a sheep’s tongue,’ said Boy. ‘But it could look human if you put it in a box with some cloth around it. I don’t think the Lord Chancellor will know the difference. What do you think?’
Old Ardi shook his head. ‘I don’t know if that would work. What’s he going to say when he sees she has escaped?’
‘That’s easy,’ said Boy. ‘We’ll make it look like Oriole fought you, knocked you to the ground and ran away. Then we’ll escape on the rubbish wagon.’
‘Please, Old Ardi,’ Oriole said. ‘I would rather you plunge that knife into my heart than never be able to sing again.’
Old Ardi looked down at Oriole’s small face. She was so young. An innocent child. What does it matter if I die? he thought. I am old. And all at once a memory, a glimpse of how the city used to be, came to him. A memory of a time before the Fell. Old Ardi rubbed his brow. His head began to hurt. His hand crept inside his vest and touched the little embroidered pouch with the orange tassel that nestled against his skin. His heart grew lighter.
‘No, you two, just go. I will invent something to tell the Lord Chancellor. You’d better follow me though. I’ll take you out another way to catch the wagon.’
‘Oh, thank you, Old Ardi,’ Oriole said, and she stood on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss.
Before the last gong of dawn, two small shadows slipped unseen onto the rubbish wagon as it trundled out through the Palace gates.
‘Is this your nest?’ Oriole asked, squeezing into the alcove that was barely big enough for one.
‘I come here when I want to get away from Panther.’ It was the first time Boy had shown anyone his hideaway in Burnt Water Lane.
Oriole’s eyes widened. ‘You live with a panther? Oh, I have only ever dreamed of those beautiful creatures.’
‘Panther is not a real panther,’ said Boy, smiling, confused. ‘That’s just his name. And he is not beautiful.’
‘If we were in the Forest of Birds,’ said Oriole, ‘I would weave you a garland from the leaves of the ancient Banyan tree and you would wear it around your head so that all the creatures would know you are brave and strong.’
Boy felt his face redden. Luckily it was dark in the alcove. Nobody had ever called him brave before. ‘It was Panther who raised me. Rabbit lives with us too,’ he said.
‘I also have no parents,’ Oriole said, wistfully. ‘Mellow raised me. He’s a Wishbird. He taught me the language of humans and told me stories and gave me dreams about how good and how bad humans can be.’
‘You keep talking about birds, but I still don’t understand what they are,’ Boy said. He never tired of listening to her sing-song voice.
‘They are the most wonderful of all creatures. They have wings that are like arms that lie beside their bodies, and when they stretch them out they can fly. Why, they are such wonderful fliers there is no match for them in all the world.’
‘Are they like insects then?’ Boy said, trying to make a picture in his mind.
‘Birds are warm to touch; insects are cold. Birds have beating hearts like we do but feathers all over their bodies.’
‘I hope I will see a bird one day,’ said Boy.
Oriole felt tears forming. She had come such a long way and had only succeeded in getting herself put in prison. ‘I came here to speak with the King so that I might save Mellow, for he is ill. But that has all gone wrong. I do not know what to do now.’
‘There must be some other way to save your Mellow,’ Boy said, trying to comfort her. ‘I am the best light-finger in Soulless. I know a lot of people and hear things. I can ask around.’
‘Light-finger? What is that?’
‘I steal things from people’s clothing without them knowing,’ Boy said proudly.
‘Oh, that sounds like a game I play with Mellow! He hides things and I hunt for them. He says it improves my powers of thinking.’
‘This is not a game. It’s how Panther, Rabbit and me live. The stuff I steal Panther sells. That’s how we survive.’
Oriole put her head to one side. ‘Mellow taught me that it is wrong to take something that does not belong to you.’
‘If you can get away with it then it’s okay. That’s what Panther says.’
‘Well, that Panther is wrong,’ Oriole said, firmly.
‘No, he’s not. He’s very smart.’ Boy turned his head away and frowned. This girl who he had just saved from death had no right to tell him what was right and what was wrong. ‘You don’t know what it’s like living in Soulless,’ he said. ‘It’s mean and hard. If you want to survive you have to be mean and hard too.’
Boy’s voice suddenly sounded cold and this worried Oriole. ‘I am sorry, Boy,’ she said, touching his arm. ‘I do not know what it is like to live in a city, especially one like Solace, where people never smile. In my Forest I dig for roots or pick fruit from the trees. I do not need money. I do not need to light-finger. Please, let us not speak of it any more. It makes me hurt inside.’
‘It hurts me inside too,’ he said, turning to face her again. ‘Do you want to see my treasure?’ He rummaged up his sleeve, took out the silver box and opened it.
‘Why, this is a feather, Boy,’ Oriole said, excitedly, holding up the turquoise blue treasure. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘I found it when I was light-fingering the other day.’
Oriole suddenly lifted her head. ‘What was that?’ she said, as a mournful groaning sound came from above.
‘It’s the city walls. They make funny noises when the wind blows a certain way.’
‘They sound so sad,’ said Oriole, ‘like the dying breath of an old tree before it falls.’ She clutched the ragged blanket Boy had put about her shoulders. ‘I do not want to be sad so I will give you a song, Boy. Close your eyes now and open your heart.’
Oriole opened her mouth and the most beautiful sound Boy had ever heard poured out of her. So this was singing!
He closed his eyes and listened, and as he listened a forest grew in his own mind, tree by tree, until it spread to fill every space. In and out of the branches birds of every colour fluttered about. He saw morning mist lying in a thin sheet above the ground and a sky smudged with pink and orange clouds. As the notes ascended, Boy floated up to the tallest and oldest tree in the forest, where he sat in a nest held fast in its branches. From there he could see the wide stretch of plain all the way to the purple mountains beyond. Boy sat there, entranced.
When Oriole’s song was over, he opened his eyes and stared at her silently.
‘What is the matter?’ she asked. ‘Did you not like my song?’
‘No, it was beautiful. It was as if I was dreaming but awake.’ Then he tilted his head. ‘But I have heard something like it before, Oriole.’
Boy squeezed his eyes tight, trying to remember. Then he suddenly opened them. ‘It was in the Demon Monster’s mansion! And I remember something else, too. The man I stole this feather from had a hook scar on his face. He and the Demon Monster are the same person!’
‘A song, a feather and a hook scar. These are all signs, Boy,’ Oriole said excitedly. ‘Tomorrow you will take me to the Demon Monster’s nest.’
Boy did not tell Oriole about the Demon Monster’s reputation for eating children, nor did he mention the moving statues in the garden. Instead, hiding his fear behind a brave face – for had she not called him brave and strong? – he led Oriole across the city to the market place and to the small hole in the wall.
He kept a careful watch for Panther in the weak dawn light, for he knew he would be hunting him down. Boy had never stayed away this long before. But he would never go back, not now. Oriole had shown him a different path and he knew it was the right one to follow. Even if it meant leaving his treasures behind, she had given him so much more – hope, song, long-forgotten memories and love. And he still had his most precious find – the turquoise feather in the silver box.
Parting the weeds, Boy crawled through first and then called to Oriole to follow.
‘It is a forest!’ she cried with delight when she stood up on the other side of the wall. She smiled as she looked around, but her smile soon faded.
This forest was different. In the Forest of Birds the trees chatted when the sun came up and murmured as it went down. In the Demon Monster’s garden the trees stood silent.
‘Even the trees are sad in the City of Solace, Boy,’ she sighed. ‘That is because there are so many walls to block them in. Walls inside walls inside more walls . . .’
‘There has to be walls,’ said Boy. ‘Nobody would know where they belonged or what belonged to them and everything would be a mess.’
‘There are no walls in my Forest. Yet everything that lives in it knows its right place.’
Boy shivered. ‘Sounds a bit scary. You know, Oriole, you’re saying the name of the city wrong. It’s Soulless not Solace.’
‘I am calling it by its old name. I like it much better, don’t you?’
Boy didn’t know what solace meant, but he didn’t want to let Oriole know that, so he just shrugged his shoulders.
‘Solace is when you are sad or in distress and someone comes to comfort you,’ said Oriole, as if reading his thoughts.
‘That is a much better name,’ Boy agreed. ‘Come on. The Demon Monster’s mansion is this way.’
Boy led Oriole along a path littered with leaves and small twigs that snaked through the trees. He couldn’t help but notice how loud his own footsteps were compared to hers. She was behind him and yet he couldn’t hear or feel her presence at all. It was as if she was a shadow or one of those creatures with wings . . . what did she call them? Birds. Yes, a small bird flying with her feet not touching the ground.
There were fruit trees. Boy could see them clearly now that it was daylight. Oranges hung like round lanterns from the branches. And red apples, too, some the size of small melons. In all his travels through the City of Soulless, Boy had never once seen a fruit tree. All the fruit sold in the market was brought in by the travelling merchants.
Soon they came to the clearing. Oriole clasped her hands to her chest when she saw the statues. She ran to the middle of them, first turning to face the giant tortoise, then the tiger sharpening his claws on a tree, then the dragon. And lastly she turned to the many-limbed beast. Her face grew pale.
‘Careful, Oriole,’ Boy said, standing back at the edge of the clearing.
‘Who turned this bird into stone?’ Oriole’s voice was strangely unmusical as she touched one of the wings. ‘Was it the Demon Monster?’ She felt a darkness grow inside her and her skin begin to prickle. It was a new feeling that she did not like at all.
‘They aren’t real; they’re statues,’ Boy said, although he still wasn’t sure himself. ‘A stonemason carved them out of rock.’
Oriole sighed. ‘There are so many things I need to learn about the Outside.’ She began climbing the statue, stepping on one wing to get higher and higher until she was sitting astride the creature’s neck. ‘Is he not magnificent, Boy?’
Boy nodded, though he was still watching for that glint of life in the creature’s eye. He was relieved when Oriole climbed down and walked on ahead.
The Demon Monster’s mansion at night had appeared small and dark and threatening. In the daylight, Boy could see that it was a two-storey building made from stone and honey-coloured wood. There were five lattice windows covered with rice paper that ran along the top floor and a verandah stretched across the front.
They walked quietly up to the house.
‘How do we get into his nest?’ Oriole whispered, pushing on one of the windows. Her finger accidentally broke through the rice paper and she put her eye to it.
‘What do you see?’ Boy asked at her shoulder.
‘A fire, table, chairs. But no Demon Monster,’ she replied. ‘I am going to knock on the door.’
Boy kept close to Oriole in case she needed protection. There was the scrape of a chair and footsteps approaching the door. And then it slid open.
Oriole looked up in surprise. Standing before them was a beautiful lady in a dress of apple-green silk with a pink-and-blue border of embroidered butterflies. Over the dress she wore a vest with a collar of white fur. Her face was a perfect oval with brown eyes that sparkled and her hair was swept up into a swirling knot and fastened with a gold pin, a tiny filigree bird dangling off the end.
Oriole was so taken by the woman’s beauty that she could not utter a sound. At last she said, ‘My name is Oriole and this is Boy. We were wondering if the Demon Monster was in his nest.’
The lady visibly started.
‘She means: Is Uncle at home?’ Boy said sheepishly.
The lady tilted her head at Oriole and smiled, which made the tiny filigree bird dance and twirl.
‘Wait here,’ she said, then turned with a giggle and walked into the mansion.
‘You mustn’t call him Demon Monster,’ Boy said.
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s rude.’
Oriole was confused. ‘But that is what you call him.’
‘We don’t know his real name so we’ve always called him Demon Monster,’ said Boy. ‘Call him Uncle, that’s the polite way, all right? Shh . . . she’s coming back.’
The Demon Monster appeared at the door with the beautiful lady beside him.
‘She sings, Uncle . . . like a little bird. She is the one. Say something, Oriole dear. Say something so my uncle can hear.’
Boy couldn’t understand what was happening. He looked at the Demon Monster, then at the lady, then at Oriole. It was almost as if they all knew each other.
‘Uncle,’ Oriole began in her lovely musical voice, ‘I came to the City of Solace to find a way to save the King and thereby cure our Mellow.’
As Oriole spoke, the old man unknitted his brow and the scar on his cheek turned into a circle as he smiled.
‘My dear,’ he said with affection, ‘we have been waiting for you for a very long time.’
How strange the people of the Outside are, Oriole thought, looking up at the Demon Monster. Some are sunny and clever like Boy, who is still so young. Some are dark and full of poison like the Lord Chancellor, who is supposed to serve the King but only serves himself. And some are old and very wise but are called Demon Monsters.
‘Come, Oriole. I am Lady Butterfly, ’ said the beautiful lady, ushering her inside. ‘I will make some refreshments. Children are always hungry, are they not? I have no children of my own, but every time I see a child there is food in their little hands.’ She turned with a swish of green and pink silk.
Oriole followed Lady Butterfly and the Demon Monster into the house. When she could not feel Boy behind her she looked over her shoulder. He was hanging about the door,
hands in his pockets, head bowed.
‘Come, Boy,’ she beckoned. ‘What is the matter with you?’
Boy shook his head. ‘Lady Butterfly didn’t invite me,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll wait for you in the market square.’
‘Are you two children coming or not?’ Lady Butterfly suddenly appeared behind Oriole.
‘Yes, we are coming.’ Oriole smiled at Boy. She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.
A plate of crisp, flaky pastries filled with lotus-nut paste was placed on the table. Then hot spring-onion pancakes sprinkled with salt. And after that, Lady Butterfly served up a bowl of sweet walnut soup infused with scented cassia flowers.
Boy was a common thief who had lived off the pickings of others for most of his life. He had never eaten such delicacies before. He bit into a small bun and licked the sesame seeds off his fingers. The porcelain bowls and plates the food was served on were so fine he could almost see through them. Each one of these must be worth a lot of money, he thought. It would be easy to slip one under my vest to take back to Panther. But then he looked at Oriole and the thought slipped away as quickly as it had come.
‘Eat up. There is more,’ Lady Butterfly said.
Oriole ate with small delicate bites. Every so often she glanced up at the Demon Monster. He had a kind face, and she wondered why everyone was afraid of him. He sipped tea silently, occasionally spitting out the long green leaves onto the table. Oriole was longing to ask him about the King and Mellow. He seemed such a wise man – surely he would know what to do. But his eyes were looking inwards like Mellow’s did when he was thinking, and she knew to leave him be.
After Lady Butterfly had cleared away the dishes, the Demon Monster finally spoke. ‘My name is Lord Taku and I would like to tell you a story,’ he said.
Lady Butterfly sat down beside him, hands resting in her lap, her head tilted. A soft wind blew through the lattice window, making the fire in the hearth dance. The room grew so quiet that Oriole saw a little grey mouse peep out of a hole in the floorboards, thinking everyone had gone to bed.
The Wishbird Page 5
