by ich du
"But that's awful," she said at last. "How could this Eladriel do such a thing to your mind?"
I shrugged, trying to look courageous. "I'm not important. What matters now is you, my lady."
"Are you here to free me?"
"Would you like that?" I asked gravely. "Does Periel harm you?"
"Oh, no," she said, with a flutter of manicured fingers. "Far from it. He's a perfect gentleman. He feeds and clothes me well; I have everything I ask for. I don't even have to sing if I don't feel like it." She touched her cheek, shaking her head gently. "I have everything but my freedom."
I nodded, tears filling my eyes again. "'And the snowflake melts in the palm of the hand...' You were singing about yourself, weren't you? You, Lora, you are that snowflake."
She covered her eyes delicately. "I am a free spirit who is withering in captivity."
"Where are you from?"
"A little village a few days' travel from Marienburg, on the edge of the Reikwald Forest. My family are poor but honest. My father raises pigs."
"Pigs?"
"Pigs. One day emissaries of the Lord Periel came riding into the farm on their fine horses, waving their bags of gold at my father..." Fragile shoulders shook, and she wept softly.
Well, I'll tell you, boys, it was all too much for me.
I leapt up onto the stool and took her shoulders; her warmth flowed into my hands. "Listen to me. Eladriel didn't send me to free you. He sent me to capture you, to return you to him.
You'd exchange one gaoler for another. But I'm not going to do it."
I took her hand and led her towards the corridor - towards freedom. But she pulled her hand from mine and backed into the centre of the room. "What are you doing?"
"Come with me." I felt my cheeks glow with passion. "I'll free you from the clutches of Periel, but I will not give you to Eladriel. I'll hire horses and return you to your family... Trust me."
She looked at me doubtfully, toying with a particularly large ring. "You'll return me? What, to the pig farm? And all that dirt?"
I still didn't understand. "Well, it might be a bit muddy, but it's freedom!"
Lora ran her hands over the exotic fruit, touched her silken gown. "I was never very fond of pigs," she said thoughtfully.
"But you're a free spirit who is withering in captivity. And so on." I was getting confused.
"Oh, I am! I am! It's just..." She giggled. "Well, look, perhaps it would be better if you came back another day. Would that be terribly inconvenient?"
I couldn't believe my ears. "Come back another... My lady, I am not here to sell potatoes. This is not a routine visit. Do you have any idea what I've been through?"
She smiled nervously and pushed at stray strands of hair. "It's just that there's so much to pack... Well, you know how it is."
And then I saw it. "Ah. Yes, Lora. I think I do know how it is." A look of understanding passed between us. You see, lads, she was a songbird who had grown far too used to her comfortable cage. And who can blame her?
"Perhaps I should come back another day, then."
She smiled eagerly. "Oh, yes, I think that would be so much better. Thank you for your thoughtful visit - but wait." Suddenly she sounded genuinely concerned. "What about you?"
"Me?"
"If you go back to this Eladriel empty-handed, won't he hurt you?"
"That's a point," I said, my common sense returning painfully. "Yes, that certainly is a point. I seem to be stuck, don't I?..." And then I had an idea. "Or maybe not. I wonder - "
I pulled out Eladriel's magic wasp-waisted bottle. "Lora, would you mind singing your song again? I think I may be able to trap it in this bottle; there's a spell on it, you see. Perhaps that will be enough for Eladriel."
A look of pretty doubt creased her oval face. "Well, of course, if you think it will help. But won't my singing shatter the glass? You must have seen what I did to Periel's goblet."
I scratched my head. "I think you're right. Eladriel's invulnerability spell is designed to ward off impacts, not the effects of a song." I wrapped the bottle in my woollen hat. "Let's hope this will protect it." And then, as I thought through all the possibilities of the situation, I felt a smile spread over my face. "And if this works out, it could be the best solution of all..."
So, her voice barely a whisper, Lora sang for me.
Her words reached again into my heart. I clutched the bottle desperately, trying not to make a fool of myself. Once more she reached the final line. "'And the snowflake melts in the palm of the hand..."' I felt the bottle quiver within its woollen cocoon.
But it held. The last echo died away, and I shoved the stopper into the bottle's neck.
"Thank you," I said, wiping away tears. "Lora... I will never forget you, and - "
There was a rumble, a heavy footstep on the stair. "Lora? I heard your voice. Are you all right?"
Lora's eyes went wide. "Periel!" she hissed. "We've woken him. You must go."
"Of course." And - after one precious brush of my lips on her hand - I ran down the corridor.
Eladriel raged. I stood there in his boxy home on Lotharn Street, enduring it; it was like being at the eye of a storm. Beside me, licking her broken lips and cackling, stood the delicious Aloma.
I tried to concentrate on what Eladriel was saying, looking for an angle. But even now I could barely keep my eyes from a small bottle perched on a ledge behind Eladriel... a bottle that contained the rest of me.
"What," Eladriel howled, his mouth inches from my face, "is to stop me from snapping you in two right now?"
I took a deep breath and played my only card. "This," I said, and I held up my prize from Periel's island.
Eladriel snatched the bottle. "Well?"
"I could not steal the girl," I said, head hanging. "After all, a half-bred clod like me could never hope to match the brilliance of a Lord like you or Periel - "
Eladriel grunted. "Don't state the obvious."
"But," I went on doggedly, "I have brought, as a pitiful consolation, a single song."
"A song?"
"Just remove the stopper, my Lord."
Eladriel, looking puzzled, did so. And Lora's perfect voice drifted into the room.
I forgot my peril, and tried to relish these last seconds of pleasure. Whatever happened, I would never hear that voice again. Eladriel shook his head, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. And beside me Aloma blew her huge nose into her hand. Some people are just gross.
The song was nearly over now, and the voice began to climb.
... melts in the palm...
And the bottle shattered in Eladriel's hand. He jumped, startled, and let the fragments fall to the floor.
I felt a rush of blood and breathed deeply, exhilarated. Because - as I had hoped - there had been a second shattering, like an echo, from a shelf behind Eladriel; and I was whole again.
Eladriel turned on me with a growl. I fell to my knees and talked fast. "My Lord, I beg for mercy. I did all I could. You did say that a single song from Lora would be enough. And I've given you that..."
Eladriel towered over me, breathing hard, the lingering beauty of the song obviously wrestling with his basic meanness. Finally he stepped back. "Very well, Sam. Get up. I'll spare you. This time."
Surreptitiously, moved by an odd impulse, I scraped together a few fragments of the song bottle and pocketed them before I stood.
"At least I heard Lora once. And I'm sure I can find more uses for you." Eladriel turned and made for the alcove within which he'd placed the second bottle. "But you'd better improve your performance in the future. Remember I still hold your..."
He fell silent. He'd reached the alcove, and was running a baffled hand through bits of glass. Then he swivelled, his face a rich purple.
I stood there trying not to tremble, waiting to be struck down by Eladriel's renewed rage. The moment stretched.
Then, beside me, there was a hideous wheezing sound. It was Aloma laughing. Eladriel and I turned and
stared.
"The sh-song," she spluttered. "It broke the oth-th-ther boshttle and sh-set him free. He'sh tricked you, my Lord..."
She cackled on. And after a few seconds, wonder of wonders, Eladriel's face creased into a smile. "She's right. You've got the better of me, haven't you? Go on. Get out."
"What?"
"Get out!" he roared, laughing. "Before I change my mind."
I got.
"...and that's why," Sam Warble finished, "I'm off gambling. Okay?" And he downed the last of his ale.
Tarquin was rubbing his chin. "Not a bad yarn, I suppose, but it doesn't quite tie up. What's it got to do with the ring?"
Sam looked surprised. "Why, isn't it obvious? I took the fragments of Lora's bottle and had them set in gold, as soon as I could afford it. Just a little souvenir." And he stroked the ring tenderly.
Tarquin shook his head and stood up. "No. That's too glib, Sam. Good try. Listen, do you want to come for some food down the Admiral's Galley?"
Sam smiled. "Not tonight. Leave me with my memories. I'll be all right."
Tarquin laughed. "Suit yourself."
The others stood and pulled their coats closed. Maximilian picked up his cards. "Give you a tip, Sam."
"What's that?"
"You kept me with you until you got to the ogre. I just couldn't swallow that bit. I mean, who would stake something as unique as a collection of Giant Bat droppings on a pathetic pair of Dragonkin? I ask you." Shaking his head, he followed the rest.
Sam, left alone, shrugged and studied his ring for a few minutes. Then he blew gently over the inset glass. The shards chimed as if with a hundred tiny voices, and fragments of words could be heard. ...snowflake melts... laughter of children...
Jasper came to the table to collect the discarded tankards. "So no one believes your tall stories, eh, Sam?"
Sam smiled. "They saw right through me, didn't they? I'll just have to try harder. Oh, Jasper - listen, do you know anyone interested in a collection of Giant Bat droppings? Price negotiable..."
THE VOYAGE SOUTH
by Nicola Griffith
The night was thick and hot, glossy foliage twined dense and motionless over the waterway; all Ariel could hear was the soft plash of oars and the steady creak as she and her sister leaned forward then back, pulling their boat deeper into the trees. It was the first time she had rowed a boat since she and Isabel were young enough to run wild on the de Courtivron family estates. She could see nothing. The air was heavy with evening heat and the drifting perfume of forest orchids. There was a storm coming.
"Here."
The boat scraped along the overgrown jetty. Among the trees, there was a crumbling statue. It was strange, half man and half woman. One of the arms was missing. The features were still beautifully clear and fine.
They climbed out; Isabel looped the rope through an iron ring Ariel had not seen.
"This way. There's a path."
This was not the first time Isabel had been here, then. The realization changed things. Ariel was not used to knowing less than her younger sister.
She stopped to adjust her beltpouch then followed Isabel along the path. Rotting leaves deadened her footfalls.
Ariel recognized only one person: the red-haired younger son of a family who, like the de Courtivrons, were summering in the higher ground by the forest, away from the heat and stink of bustling Quenelles. Isabel seemed to know everyone.
Separated from her sister, Ariel wandered around the clearing. Someone offered her a pipe: Stardust. The druids of the old religion used it, she knew that much. The smoke was rich and satisfying; as it snaked down her throat, she imagined it turning different colours, curling pink and mauve through her lungs. She drank some wine but ate nothing; by now, the food looked too beautiful to eat. She smoked some more.
The people looked beautiful, too. Torchlight made their eyes glitter like stars, cold and far off. Their clothes had become gauzy and insubstantial, like her own. She rubbed her shift; it ran between her thumb and forefinger like milk. She smiled.
"Ari." Torchlight turned Isabel's hair into a shimmer of hot gold. "Come on," she held out her hand, "it's beginning."
The clearing was full of people and torches. Shadow licked and fluttered across bare arms and legs, across faces that were all turned in one direction. On the far side of the clearing stood another statue. This one was whole, and splendid. The right arm, the woman's arm, held a jewelled sceptre. The right breast, a woman's breast, was bared. The nails of both hands and both feet were gilded.
And people were queuing before a man who held a small clay pot.
"Olla milk," Isabel breathed, "all the way from Araby." Her eyes were round, brilliant blue. "It costs more than a princess' dowry."
Ariel hardly heard her; she drifted in her own private dream. Then she was standing before the man. Like the statue, his chest was bared on the right side. She watched muscle move smoothly under his skin as he raised the bowl, dipped his fingertips, touched them to her lips, the inside of her wrists. Numbness spread across her face, up her arms. Colours writhed. Waves of silver washed through her head. She wandered off into the trees.
The moss was cool. She pushed her fingers past it and deep into the loam. The earth was a soft-breathed beast who held her fingers in its mouth. She lay on her back. It was so dark that she could not see where the tops of the trees met the sky. Thunder grumbled; she was sticky with sweat. Music wound thin and light between the trunks.
Voices. She turned her head slowly. The red-haired man and a woman slipped through the trees; Ariel recognized Isabel. She watched, invisible.
Isabel's clothes fell to the ground one by one, like butterflies. From the folds of his tunic, the man produced a small pot. He held it in his palm. Isabel shivered as he dug out a glob of the olla milk.
"The cost..."
"I've found a source that's cheap, Isabel, cheap. Imagine being able to do this every week," he smeared the white stuff over her neck, "every day."
Isabel moaned.
"Imagine: every night Isabel." He dug more out of the pot, smoothed it between her breasts, down over her stomach. He knelt. Isabel sagged against him as he rubbed more into the pale skin on the inside of her thighs.
Ariel turned away. Her cheek was wet; she let herself drift away from the here and the now.
Whimpering and the sound of retching dragged her back. She turned her head. The red-haired man was crouched on the moss, wiping his mouth.
"Isabel?" he panted, then heaved again. Nothing came up but milky drool. "Isabel?"
He levered himself to his feet, shook her. "Oh, gods."
He swayed, then staggered off into the trees. Ariel listened to his crashing progress fade. She went to her sister.
Isabel lay on her back. Her mouth was stretched open, her feet and hands twisted inward. She was locked in a frozen muscle spasm. The pot, almost empty, nestled by her hip.
"Nuh," she said.
Ariel concentrated on her own breathing, the way her chest filled out and her stomach rounded when she took a particularly deep breath.
"Isabel? Bel?"
Isabel's eyes were open. Ariel waved her hand in front of them. Nothing. She picked up the pot, sniffed it, put it in her beltpouch. Light and thunder cracked across the sky sending shadow flickering across Isabel's face, like a smile. The first raindrop fell on Isabel's thigh and Ariel watched it trickle over the tiny white hairs on the pale skin, then fall onto the moss.
"Nuh," Isabel said again.
"Yes, baby, I know." She picked up the shift, began to untangle it. "I won't let you get wet." The front was moss-stained. "Put your hands in here." She tried to pull Isabel's arm straight, pushed it through the sleeve. "And the other one." She buttoned up the front. "Where are your sandals?"
Rain sheeted down. Ariel could not fit the sandals over her sister's twisted feet, so she took them off and put them carefully down on the moss, side by side. Rain dripped from her nose, her chin. Isabel choked.
"We've got to get you home, Bel."
Then the storm hit.
Later, she never really knew how she managed to take Isabel under her armpits and haul her upright. Wind punched through the forest roof, beating branches against trunks and leaves against branches; rain plastered the hair to her head and washed over the forest floor, endless as a waterfall. Isabel's heels left two neat tracks in the mud as Ariel dragged her backwards down the path.
There was no other way to get Isabel into the boat than to tumble her in and climb in after. The waterway, swollen by the rain, pulled the boat to the limits of its restraining rope. In the distance, the river roared.
The rope was wet, difficult to handle. She pulled and pushed, pulled again carefully, worrying at it methodically until the knot began to loosen. She unshipped the oars and tugged sharply at the rope.
The river took them in its fist.
High up, the window was open and sunshine dappled the whitewashed walls of the sickroom. A servant stood by the window, fanning the bed. Ariel listened to the trees rustling below. The draught blew a strand of golden hair across her sister's eyes but Isabel did not blink; Ariel leaned over and brushed the hair away. For the first few days after the accident, she had refused to leave Bel's bedside, frightened she would miss some movement, some sign that Bel was waking up, getting better.
"Ari." Michel, her brother, stood by the door. "Dr Gauthier is here."
She stood. "Dr Gauthier."
"Ariel." He nodded to her, then moved to the bedside. He took Isabel's pulse, looked in her eyes, palpated the tendons along her arm.
"Help me turn her over."
He tapped her back and drew his finger along the soles of her feet. There was no response. Using what looked like a wooden horn, he listened to her breathing. He straightened.
"She's getting worse, isn't she?"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
She stared out of the window, listening to the trees. "The olla was contaminated?"
"Yes."
She turned to face him. "What with?"
