Uralai's eyes glazed for a moment, which Monkel saw at once as a sign of anger, a signal the Sanctuary fisherman would not recognize. He hastened to intervene before things got out of hand.
"We will be taking our boats out before first light tomorrow. Assuming the Beysa is not planning an early audience, we'll have to see her in the afternoon after the boats are back at the docks."
"... Unless she wishes to reimburse us for a day's catch," the Old Man added with a smile.
Uralai bit her lower lip thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded once in a sharp, abrupt movement.
"Very well, I will so inform the Beysa."
With that, she spun on her heel and headed for the door.
"Wait a moment!"
Monkel rose and started after her, overtaking her just inside the entry way.
"What is it. Lord Setmur?"
"You can't... you shouldn't be walking these streets alone at night. It's dangerous."
"I was told to find you, and this is where you are. It left me little choice if I was to carry out my assignment."
"Perhaps... if I walked you back to the palace."
Uralai arched one graceful eyebrow, and Monkel flushed at her unspoken barb. She carried her two swords crisscrossed over her back and was trained in their use, while Monkel had only his knife.
"Please don't misunderstand me," he stammered. "I was not meaning to imply a supremacy at fighting. It's just that we of Setmur have found that many confrontations can be avoided when we travel in twos after dark."
"And after you see me to the palace? Then you must return through those same streets alone. No, Monkel Setmur. While I appreciate your concern, of the two of us I think I am better suited to survive an unaccompanied journey."
With that, she headed out into the night, leaving him to return to his drink.
"You shouldn't let yourself be bullied that way," the Old Man chided as Monkel resumed his seat. "You were ready to give up a day's fishing just so we could see the Beysa, weren't you?"
"I think the original summons was for me alone," Monkel growled, his mind still on Uralai.
"Of course it was. That's why I thought I'd better deal myself in. You're a good man, Monkel, but too honest for your own good. There are a few items in our expenses that will require a fast wit and a glib tongue to justify."
"Have you been cheating the Beysa?" Monkel said, attentive once more. "That's a fine way to treat a visitor to your shores. Would you do the same thing to your own Prince-Governor?"
"In a minute," the Old Man smiled, and the others at the table joined in the laughter. In Sanctuary, even honest folk had an eye open for anyone with more money than business sense.
Of all the assembled captains, only Haron held herself apart from the laughter. She peered thoughtfully at the young Beysib for several moments, then laid a hand softly on his knee and leaned forward.
"You care for that one, don't you?" she said softly.
Monkel was surprised at her perception. Haron was only a few years younger than the Old Man, and her age-softened features combined with her mannish attitudes had made her almost indistinguishable from the male captains at the table. She watched for and saw different things than the others though.. .like Monkel's reactions to Uralai. He hesitated then gave a small nod of agreement.
"Hear that, boys?!" Haron crowed, slapping her palm loudly on the tabletop. "Our Monkel's in love! That should settle the question of whether or not he's as normal as the rest of you!"
The head of the clan Setmur was shocked and embarrassed by the outburst, but it was too late to do anything to prevent it. In a moment he was the center of attention, being alternately congratulated and teased by the captains.
"Is she any good in bed?" Terci said with a wink... a gesture Monkel had never been sure how to interpret.
"You'll have to bring her down here some night. We'd all like to meet her."
"Fool," Haron scoffed, dealing the speaker a good-natured cuff. "Can't you see anything? She was just here. That little guard with the big tits. It was as clear as seabirds circling over a school of feeding fish."
Writhing under the cross-examination, Monkel deliberately avoided looking at the other Setmur clansmen in the room. He knew they would be staring at him in amazement and/or disgust. Sex was a private subject among the Beysib, seldom discussed and never bantered about publicly.
The Old Man eyed Monkel in quiet speculation.
"A guard from the royal clan Burek?" he said.
Monkel nodded silently.
"What does that mean?" Omat interrupted, half rising and leaning across the table to join their exchange.
"It means Monkel has about as much chance of winning her as you would have of sparking Prince Kittycat's courtesans," the Old Man informed him.
"How do you figure that?" Haron demanded. "They're both Beysib, aren't they? Monkel here's as good a man as any I've met. No one at this table knows the sea as he does. Why shouldn't he have her if he wants her?"
Though warmed by the compliment, Monkel had to shake his head.
"You don't understand. Things are different for us. If she had not been on my boat for the pilgrimage, we would never have met. I couldn't..."
"It's not that different at all," the Old Man grunted. "She's richer and used to hobnobbing with royalty. Marrying a fisherman would be a real come-down."
Monkel surpressed a start as Haron hawked noisily and spat on the floor. Of all the local customs, this was the hardest for him to accept. Among the Beysib, a woman's saliva was more often than not poisonous.
"That's a lot of bird dung. Old Man," she announced. "Just goes to show how little you know about what a woman looks for in a man. Ignore these wharf-rats, Monkel. Tell me, what does she think?"
Monkel gulped half of his drink, then kept staring into the glass, avoiding her gaze.
"I... I don't know. I've never told her how I feel."
"Well, tell her, then. Or, better yet, show her. Give her a present... flowers or something."
"Rowers," Omat sneered, waving his one hand. "The woman's a guard. What would she want with flowers? What would you do if a man gave you flowers, Haron?"
"Well, what do you suggest for a gift? A sword? Maybe a brace of throwing daggers?"
"I don't know. But it should be something she couldn't or wouldn't get herself."
The argument raged on for hours, until Monkel lost it in the memory-deceiving depths of his fourth or fifth glass of wine. Only two points remained in his mind: he should not discount the possibility of marrying Uralai until he knew her thoughts on the matter, and that he should announce his interest with a gift... an impressive gift.
"Are you ill. Lord Setmur? Or didn't the fleet go out today?"
Startled, Monkel spun about in his crouch to find Hakiem standing less than an arm's length behind him. He recognized the Beysa's local adviser from his visits to court, but had never realized the oldster could move so quietly. Of course, Hakiem was a product of Sanctuary's alleys.
"I didn't mean to unsettle you," Hakiem said, noting the Beysib's alarm. "You really shouldn't sit with your back to the mouth of an alley. It can draw the attention of those more bloodthirsty or greedy than curious."
"I... I stayed ashore today."
"I can see the truth in that. You are here and the boats are gone."
Hakiem's weathered face split in a sudden smile.
"Forgive me. I'm prying into matters which are none of my business. I was a tale-smith before your Beysa invited me to join her court, and old habits die hard. My storyteller's instincts say that when the head of the Setmur fishing clan remains ashore while his boats work the fishing ground, there is a tale lurking somewhere nearby."
Monkel regarded his visitor with skeptical eyes.
"Has word of my absence been reported to the palace? Did the Beysa send you to inquire after my health, or did you really come all this way in search of a story?"
The ex-talespinner nodded approvingly.
"Information for information. A fair trade. I see you are rapidly learning the ways of our town. No, I didn't come looking for a story, though in the past I've walked further on that quest. I am here on my own in attempt to insure with my presence that the Beysa is not overcharged too outrageously for the boat you're building."
He quickly held up a hand, stopping Monkel's protests before they could begin.
"I am not accusing you specifically. Lord Setmur, though we both know the expenses you reported to the Empress yesterday were inflated. I expected it would happen when I recommended your project to the Beysa, and so far the exaggerated charges are well within acceptable limits. Since you are usually out with the fleet, you have no way of knowing that I visit the wharf every day to create the illusion that work and expenses are being monitored. I like to think it will help my countrymen to keep their greed in check, thus avoiding the scandal of an audit or the challenge which would certainly result if they were left to find the upper limits on their own."
Monkel dropped his eyes in embarrassment and bewilderment. Along with random violence, he still had difficulty comprehending the easy way graft was accepted, if not anticipated in Sanctuary.
"My encounter with you today is a chance meeting spurred by my own curiosity upon seeing you ashore at this hour, nothing more," Hakiem finished. "Now for your half of the bargain. What, besides illness, could keep you from the fleet? I trust you have not chosen a wharfside back-alley for a sick-bed."
In response, Monkel held up a small stick with a length of fishing line wrapped around it.
Hakiem frowned for a moment, then followed the line with his eyes as it extended down the alley. A fine fishing net was hanging there as if for drying, and scattered on the ground under it were pieces of bread and fruit.
"It looks asif..." Hakiem fixed Monkel with a puzzled stare. "Fishing for birds? For this you abandoned your duties with the fleet?"
"It will be a gift... for a lady. I thought it would impress her more than something I had simply purchased."
"But aren't the beyarl sacred to your people?"
"Yes, but I was hoping to catch..."
Monkel's voice trailed off, but Hakiem had heard enough to finish the thought.
"... one of Sanctuary's birds." The oldster seemed vaguely troubled. "There is no law against it, probably because no one has thought to try it before. Are you sure. Lord Setmur, that such an undertaking is wise? Wild things are usually best left wild."
Monkel laughed. "That's a strange thing to say to someone who makes his living pulling creatures from the sea."
"Catching and killing for food is one thing. Trying to tame..."
Hakiem broke off speaking and laid a hand on Monkel's arm. Monkel looked, and jerked his line in almost the same instant, a reflex not unlike setting a hook.
A piercing scream and a flutter of wings announced his success as a dark bundle of feathers struggled vainly to escape the net's folds.
"Got it!" Monkel exclaimed, rising to his feet. "My thanks, Lord Adviser: your alertness has speeded my success."
Hakiem shook his head as he turned to go.
"Do not thank me yet," he said darkly. "This tale's not over, if it has even begun yet. I only hope its conclusion is to your liking."
Monkel heard none of this, for with the urgency of youth, he was already moving to secure his prize... or rather, what he felt sure would be the means to his prize.
As the days stretched into weeks, Monkel had more than one occasion to question his choice of gift for Uralai. The bird staunchly refused to be tamed.
Closer examination of his catch had shown a bird unlike any Monkel could recall having seen, though admittedly he had spent little time studying land-birds. It was roughly the size of a raven, though its vaguely hooked beak would lead some to think of it as a hawk, and black as the sea at night. Dominating its features was a pair of bright yellow eyes which seemed at once soul-piercing with their analytic coldness, and smoldering with an ill-repressed fury that one normally only sees in a death match with a blood enemy.
When Monkel gave the bird the freedom of his quarters it began methodically breaking every item vaguely fragile and several he had thought beyond damage. When he packed the few remaining valuables away, the bird countered by leaving its droppings on his clothes and bedding and gouging and splintering his furniture with its beak.
As to Monkel himself, the bird's attitude varied. Sometimes it would flee in terror, crashing headlong into the wall in its efforts to escape, and at other times it would fly in his face, screaming its outrage while contesting his right to even enter the room. Mostly, it would play coy, letting him approach with outstretched hand only to flutter away to wait again on another perch... or better still, climb onto his hand momentarily, then use its beak in a slashing move to draw blood from his hand or face before taking to the air.
The bird thought it was terrific fun. The thoughts of Monkel himself, with an increasing number of scars and half-healed wounds adorning his features and appendages, are best left unrecorded save to note that he often found himself wondering if the bird was edible. At this point in their duel, simply killing it would have been an insufficient expression of his frustration.
The final breakthrough was triggered by a conversation with one of his clan members. Clan Setmur was growing more and more concerned about his attempts at bird taming. Not only was it leaving him in a perpetually foul mood, it was drawing unwanted attention to the wharf community. Whether his friends at the captains' table had let the news leak or if Hakiem was not as retired from storytelling as he claimed was inconsequential. What mattered was that it was now common knowledge on the streets of Sanctuary that one of the Beysib fishermen had caught a black bird and was trying to tame it. Curiosity seekers appeared in a surprising array of rank and status. Barflies and S'danzo seers, petty criminals and self-proclaimed emissaries of the crime-lord Jubal all were asking questions with varying degrees of subtlety regarding the bird and its trainer. Once, a dark mysterious woman reputedly never seen by the light of day was heard to make inquiries.
To one and all, clan Setmur claimed ignorance, but, as a normally quiet private people, they were distressed at this sudden notoriety. Having failed in their efforts to convince Monkel to abandon his task completely, they instead plied him with every bit of advice they could think of to bring his project to a successful and, above all, speedy conclusion.
Thus it was that Monkel was approached by Paratu, one of his cousins, as their ship approached Sanctuary after a day's fishing.
"Have you considered treating the bird like a person?" she said without preamble. "Perhaps it resents your attitude."
Monkel found himself smiling in spite of himself.
"Whatever led you to that idea?"
In response, Paratu gestured toward the city.
"I was recalling what you told us when we first arrived at this hellhole... about dealing with the residents of Sanctuary. You said we shouldn't think of them as animals. That if we treated them as people, they would respond as such and everyone would benefit. Well, your advice worked, and it occurred to me that, like the people, the bird is from the city. Maybe the same approach would work for you now."
"There's one problem with that, Paratu. The bird is an animal."
"So are the people," she said, staring at the town. "They respond to respect, and I frankly doubt you could find more than a handful that are any smarter than your bird."
Monkel had laughed openly then, but later gave the suggestion serious consideration.
Starting that very night, he began talking to the bird... not with the simple commands of a trainer, but open conversation as one would have with a close friend. He spoke of his previous life, of his fears in coming to this new land, and of his achievements thus far in his period of clan leadership. He told the bird of the elegance of the Beysa's court and of Uralai's beauty. Once he got started, talking to the bird became an easy habit, for, in truth, Monkel was a lonely man made lonelier
by the pressures of leadership.
To his amazement, the bird responded almost immediately ... or, to be accurate, it stopped responding. Instead of flying in terror or slashing at his face, it would sit quietly on his hand, head cocked to one side as if hanging on his every word. Soon, he became bold enough to set the bird on his shoulder, where it was in easy reach of an ear and an eye. The bird never betrayed this trust. If anything, it seemed to glory in its new perch and would flutter quickly to Monkel's shoulder as soon as he entered the room.
After a week of this, Monkel tried taking it outside and, in a final test, would transfer it to other people's shoulders. Through it all, the bird remained well mannered and tolerant. Though suspicious of its sudden domesticity, Monkel decided it was time to make his presentation. If he waited much longer, he knew he would have grown too attached to the bird to give it up.
"You'll see. She's very beautiful, just like I told you."
The bird regarded Monkel with an expressionless yellow eye, ignoring the sweetmeat he was offering as a bribe.
With an inward sigh, the head of clan Setmur twisted in his chair to peer down the palace corridor once more, then resumed staring out the window.
He had considered presenting his gift to Uralai in the Beysa's court, but his confidence sagged and he decided to wait and catch her coming off duty. He still had lingering fears about the reliability of the bird's manners, and while a mishap while presenting it to Uralai would be embarrassing, the same slip in front of the Empress would be a disaster.
"You'll like it here," he murmured, more for his own reassurance than for the bird's. "It's definitely a step up from fighting for gutter scraps. I'll bet any bey art-those are our own holy birds-would envy the treatment you'll..."
A soft footstep reached his ear, and he looked again to see Uralai approaching. All of his fears and insecurities ascended to his throat in a tight knot, but he steeled himself and rose to meet her.
"Good evening, Uralai."
"Monkel Setmur. What a pleasant surprise." Her voice was nearly musical when it wasn't speaking for the Beysa. "And what a lovely bird."
Wings of Omen tw-6 Page 27
