Songreaver

by Andrew Hunter

  The muffled sounds of conversation sounded from the entryway then grew quiet.

  “Garrett!” Cenick shouted.

  “I’ll be right back,” Garrett whispered.

  He found Cenick standing in the doorway beside a lean porter with the insignia of the Pikestat Auction House embroidered on his sleeve and a foul look on his face.

  The auction house man looked at Garrett. “Where do you want all this stuff… sir?”

  Garrett looked past the two men in the door to the line of wagons blocking the lane in front of Uncle’s house. “Um, deliveries around the side, please,” Garrett said, hooking his thumb in the direction of Uncle’s side gate.

  The Pikestat man hurried to comply, evidently anxious to be done with the whole sorry affair.

  Garrett moved to the door to watch the wagons full of stolen goods lurch into motion.

  “Did you have something to do with this?” Cenick asked him.

  “Maybe,” Garrett answered, cautiously.

  Cenick raised one bushy eyebrow then hastened off to open the receiving gate at the side of the house.

  Garrett leaned against the doorframe and watched the wagons roll past, a little smile on his face.

  Chapter Nine

  Ghausse padded to a stop in front of the little shop at the end of the alley. Glistening rivulets of water still ran down the glass of the front window as the streaks left by a cleaning rag dried slowly in the cold, damp air. There did not seem to be quite as many cages in the window of the pet shop as he remembered, and the tiny, luminous creatures within them did not burn as brightly as before. The wind whistled between the rooftops, smelling faintly of ash, the breath of Padras, cold as death.

  Garrett patted Ghausse's back and slid down, his new boots crunching through the thin crust of a late-season snow. He smiled, remembering the way he used to hesitate every time he stood before this door. He put a gloved hand on the door handle and pushed it open.

  Marla stood at the counter with her back to the door, singing softly. She fell silent at the sound of the bell and turned, smiling when she saw him.

  "Garrett!" she said.

  "Hi, Marla," he said. He gave her a puzzled look. "What are you doing?"

  A line of cages in various sizes lined the countertop. Inside each one, some small fae creature lay, hardly moving, its light faded almost to darkness.

  Marla touched one of the cages, her face sad. "We lost quite a few while I was gone," she said.

  Garrett looked around the dimly lit shop, surprised at the number of empty cages lining the shelves.

  "Wasn't that guy supposed to feed them?" Garrett asked, crossing the floor to stand at Marla's side.

  "Oh, Klavicus did stop by regularly," Marla sighed, "but many of these creatures survive on hope alone, and I never realized just how... hopeless Klavicus can be."

  Garrett shivered at the memory of the gaunt elder vampire who worked as the doorman at the Thrinnian Embassy. If he had to look at that face every day, he might fade to death too. He looked with sympathy at the tiny creatures huddled in their cages, at the brink of death.

  "Can you save them?" Garrett asked.

  Marla frowned. "I was hoping that a song might cheer them up a little," she said, "but I'm afraid we may have lost these as well."

  Garrett felt a tightness growing in his throat. The thought that Lampwicke might be somewhere, huddled inside her silver prison and slowly fading into darkness...

  He cleared his throat and said, "Be'laudre fau'len ches nadre ka."

  One of the fairies lifted its head slightly from his tiny forearm.

  "What are you saying?" Marla asked.

  "It's the only fairy joke I know," Garrett said, "Lampwicke taught it to me. The funny part is Gessnedra va'zuule."

  The little fairy stared up at him, his golden eyes blinking twice. Then a tiny, sparkling laugh sounded from the cage, and the fairy's body blushed with rosy flame.

  "What does it mean," she asked.

  Garrett shrugged his shoulder. "I don't really get it," he said, "something about a dragonfly stealing your hat."

  "Fairies don't wear hats," Marla said.

  "Maybe that's why it's funny," Garrett said.

  The laughing fairy reached out, taking the bars of the cage in his hands and pulled himself to his feet, swaying slightly. His color flared and then blazed, a bright golden hue. He tilted his head back and laughed, long and loud. The fairies in nearby cages stirred, little pulses of color lighting up the shadows of the shop.

  The fairy at last stopped laughing and bowed his head. His diaphanous wings buzzed like a hornet's, and he stretched his spindly limbs. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, his color deepening to a rich, brassy sheen. At last, he stepped away from the bars and opened his eyes again.

  The little fairy lifted his right hand to Marla in what looked like an obscene gesture of defiance. He looked at Garrett and gave him a vicious grin and a wink.

  "Well... I guess that's better," Garrett said.

  "He certainly seems to have recovered," Marla said with a frown.

  The angry fairy paced around his cage, calling out to the others, shouting words of encouragement in Fae. A few of them in cages nearby lifted their heads and listened. Others simply curled into little balls with their tiny hands over their pointed ears.

  "Thank you, Garrett," Marla said, "I think we might save a few more because of you."

  Garrett smiled. "I wish I could do more."

  "What can I do for you?" she asked.

  "Oh," he said, "I was hoping that you might have something to eat for Ghausse."

  Marla's hand went to her lips. "I'm sorry," she gasped, "I forgot you still had him."

  "Yeah... I mean, that's not a problem," he said, "I really like him... I just don't have a lot of meat lying around at the moment. Cenick keeps bringing stuff from the market... but Ghausse eats a lot."

  "Don't worry," Marla said, "You can leave him here, and I'll take him back to the embassy when I go home."

  Garrett's heart sank. "All right..."

  Marla smiled at him. "You can come visit him whenever you want," she said, "I'm sure he'd like going for a ride with you now and then."

  "Yeah," Garrett said, feeling a little better, "I'd really like that."

  "In any case, I'm sure he will be glad to see Hauskr and Reigha again," she said.

  "They made it back all right?" Garrett asked.

  Marla nodded. "Any word from Warren and his father yet?" she asked.

  Garrett shook his head. "I'm worried about them, but Cenick says it will still be a while before they could be expected to return."

  "And everything is all right between the necromancers and the sisterhood?" she asked.

  "Oh, yeah," he said, fumbling with the toggle clasp of his shoulder bag, "that's kinda why I'm here."

  She watched as he searched through the contents of his bag and drew out a flattened roll of parchment.

  "Max and Serepheni got the church to buy back all of our zombies for us," he said, handing her the parchment, "We just have to track down the people that bought them and give them these."

  Marla unrolled the letter, reading it. Her eyebrows lifted. "This must be costing them a fortune," she said, handing the parchment back.

  "Yeah, I guess," Garrett said, "but I think I know where Caleb is, and I was on my way to pick him up now."

  Marla grinned. "Can I come with you?" she asked.

  "Yeah," Garrett said, "should we bring Ghausse?"

  "No, he can stay in the back of the shop until I get back," she said, "He should have plenty to eat."

  "You keep wolf food here?" Garrett asked.

  Marla hesitated. "Not exactly," she whispered, looking around the shop at all the empty cages.

  "Oh," Garrett said.

  ****

  Garrett looked down at the address that Cenick had transcribed for him, and checked it again. He looked at Marla. “This is the right place,” he said, “I think.” He stoo
d, looking up at a gilded placard, depicting a needle and thread, above an ornately carved wooden door bearing the name of Claudian Marigold, Master Tailor.

  Marla smiled. “Let’s go in,” she said. She wore a sapphire blue cape with a lace collar over her gray coveralls, and a floppy blue hat shielded her face from the gray light of day. When she smiled, she could almost pass for any of the other light-deprived young ladies shopping along the lane.

  Garrett, however, was glad to step into the tailor’s shop to escape the stares cast his way by the well-to-do of Wythr’s Upper City. The exiled nobility and wealthy merchants of the city seemed to have already lost whatever patriotic zeal still lingered among the Lower City folk regarding the heroes of the Northern Campaign.

  The warm, golden light of glass oil lamps filled the shop within. Long racks of fine clothing hung to either side of the door, with a narrow lane leading between them to the counter at the back of the room. A rotund, red-faced man with a wreath of wispy white hair around his bald pate looked up from a bolt of lavender silk he was unrolling on the counter before him. He smiled a broad, honest smile and nodded his head in greeting.

  “Good day!” the man said, setting aside the bolt of cloth and hurrying around the counter to meet them. He had the slightly wobbly gait of a man with perpetually tired feet.

  “Good day,” Marla returned his greeting, crossing her hands over her chest and bowing slightly.

  The tailor’s eyes widened a little and he stopped abruptly, giving them both a surprisingly graceful bow. “My Lady,” he said.

  “Mister Marigold?” Garrett asked.

  The tailor straightened. “At your service, young master,” he said, the smile returning to his face.

  “I, um,” Garrett hesitated, scanning the shop for any sign of Caleb, or anyone else at all. It seemed empty but for the racks and racks of expensive suits and coats.

  “We are looking for a… friend of ours,” Marla said, “that may have been, accidentally sold to you at an auction.”

  Marigold looked confused, then his face went suddenly pale. “Oh, no!” he gasped, “I knew that it had to be a mistake!”

  “A mistake?” Garrett said, “Is Caleb all right?”

  Marigold blinked. “Caleb? Is that his name?”

  “Yeah,” Garrett said, “though actually his real name was Kurtz, I think, before he died.”

  A low moan came from somewhere in the back of the shop.

  “Caleb?” Garrett called out.

  The moan answered, louder now.

  Mister Marigold gave them both a pained look. “I’ll take you to him,” he sighed.

  He led them through a small door behind a curtain into an extremely cluttered back room. There, among the stacked bolts of cloth and spools of thread, stood Caleb the zombie, draped from head to toe in a half-finished suit of powder blue silk.

  Caleb turned his milky eyes to Garrett with a piteous expression of relief and groaned again.

  “Hi, Caleb,” Garrett said.

  Caleb lifted his hands stiffly from his sides with a long ribbon of measuring tape draped over his left shoulder and down to his wrist.

  Garrett stifled a laugh. Marla hid her smile with the back of her hand.

  “I’m not in trouble, am I?” Marigold asked.

  “Huh?” Garrett said, “Oh no! It was just a mistake, and you’ll get back whatever money you paid for him.” He pulled the writ of recovery from his satchel and handed it to the tailor.

  “Ah,” Marigold said, his face gloomy, “I knew this deal was too good.”

  “What do you mean?” Marla asked.

  He smiled at her. “It’s just that, for a long time I was thinking about getting someone to help me with the fitting. I had an old wooden mannequin that I brought with me from my homeland, but… I thought something like this might help me work faster.”

  “Where are you from?” Garrett asked.

  “Muldenia,” he answered.

  Garrett looked at Marla. She looked puzzled.

  “Pardon me, but isn’t that part of the Chadirian Empire?” she asked.

  Defiance flashed in Marigold’s eyes. “Muldenia is Muldenia!” he said, then his face softened, “but, yes, you are right… please don’t hold that against us.”

  Marla tilted her head slightly. “Muldenia was conquered by the Chadiri nearly a century ago,” she said, “When did you leave?”

  Marigold looked at the floor. “Six years ago,” he said, “they passed an… edict. They said that all… true Chadiri should show their devotion in every aspect of their lives… even the way they dressed. They outlawed every color but red and black.”

  “They outlawed colors?” Garrett scoffed.

  Marigold nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. “They passed around this chart to all of the town’s tailors and dye merchants, which shade of red was acceptable and which was not. It was insane!”

  Garrett laughed. “Yeah, they really like red!”

  Caleb gave them a pleading groan.

  “Have they ever done anything like this before?” Marla asked.

  Mister Marigold shook his head. “Not in all my days, nor my father’s days, nor his father’s. If you bow to the altar of Malleatus and praise his name on the holy days, who cares what color you wear the rest of the year? At least that’s the way it used to be, now...” He wiped a tear from his cheek with the corner of his ruffled sleeve. “I couldn’t live in a world with only one color. You understand?”

  Garrett gave him a sympathetic smile, and Marla patted him on the shoulder.

  Caleb moaned loudly. Garrett couldn’t be certain, but he thought the zombie was rolling his eyes.

  Marigold turned, sniffling slightly. “He was such a good helper… such good balance,” he said.

  “You think so?” Garrett asked, “I was telling my Uncle the same thing. It really seems like he’s more… human than the other zombies.”

  “Ah, so you made this zombie?” Marigold said.

  Garrett nodded, smiling proudly.

  “Very fine work!” Marigold said, “Perhaps I might purchase Paulio here from you, in the proper fashion?”

  “Paulio?” Garrett asked.

  “Oh, pardon me,” Marigold said, “Just the name I had given… Caleb here.”

  Caleb made a noise that might have been a whimper. The measuring tape slipped from his slumping shoulders.

  “Oh… sorry,” Garrett said, “Caleb really isn’t for sale… he’s my friend.”

  Mister Marigold nodded. “I understand,” he said, “Though, if it is ever possible, I would be interested in commissioning another such fine zombie from you… if that is possible.”

  “Oh… yeah,” Garrett said, “My Uncle makes zombies all the time. He should be back in a few days, and I can give you his address.”

  Marigold smiled and shook his head. “No,” he said, “I want you to do it. A master always recognizes the work of another master!” He clapped his hand on Garrett’s arm.

  Garrett blushed. He nodded. “Yes sir, I’d be glad to,” he said. He thought for a moment. “Um, I’m not sure exactly when I could though. I’d need a body, and my ghoul friend is out of town right now.”

  Marigold burst into laughter, then, seeing Garrett’s blank expression, cleared his throat and begged pardon. He looked, sadly at Caleb, still draped in bits of blue silk laced with chalk lines. “I wish I could have finished this last piece,” he sighed, “Paulio was such a good helper.”

  “Well,” Garrett said, “I guess we could wait here while you finished.

  Mister Marigold’s eyes brightened. “You would do that for me?” he asked.

  Garrett looked at Marla, and she nodded.

  Marigold’s eyes glittered with happy tears.

  Caleb threw back his head and let out a hopeless moan.

  ****

  “It just seems odd to me that the Chadirians would make such a radical change in policy,” Marla said as they walked together down the avenue in the flickering light o
f the street lamps.

  The other shoppers gave them a wide berth, but Garrett didn’t care about their stares anymore. He had Caleb back.

  The gangly zombie walked alongside Garrett, looking for all the world like a pallbearer in his new suit of gray wool, woven with an understated herringbone pattern. Mister Marigold had insisted on giving it to him as a parting gift. Garrett had almost accepted the tailor’s original offer of the bright, salmon-colored tunic and pants, but something in Caleb’s expression had caused him to insist on the gray.

  “You don’t find that odd?” Marla asked.

  “What?” Garrett asked.

  “That the Chadiri would suddenly make everyone start wearing the same color?” she said.

  Garrett shrugged. “I dunno. They’re crazy. What do you expect?”

  Marla frowned. “But why now?” she asked, “What has changed that they would do this? From what I’ve read about the Chadiri, they hold to tradition with an almost fanatical devotion… well, I suppose it is fanatical, they being fanatics, after all… my point is, they don’t do new things.”

  “Maybe they’re afraid we’re winning and they need to… I don’t know… get everybody more excited about Malleatus?”

  Marla shook her head. “This was six years ago,” she said, “We weren’t winning then.”

  “Maybe somebody new got put in charge of telling everybody how to dress,” Garrett said, “and they really, really like red.”

  Marla chewed her lip. “Yes, that does seem the obvious conclusion, doesn’t it?”

  “Really?” Garrett said. Most of the time, he just kept Marla talking long enough for her to figure things out for herself. He wasn’t used to coming up with the answers on his own

  Marla laughed. “Yes, but does it go deeper than that?” she asked.

  “I don’t…” Garrett’s voice trailed off when he realized that Caleb wasn’t walking beside him anymore, “Hey!”

  They turned to see Caleb standing in front of an alley they had just passed. The zombie was staring down the alleyway, his head tilted slightly to one side, and swaying gently on his feet.

  “Caleb,” Garrett called out, “What are you doing?”