Kingfisher

by Patricia A. Mckillip

  I can see you, she told it. Todd Stillwater, whatever he is, can’t. All he sees when he looks at you is another of his machines. Point taken.

  Sage came in, for a taste, as she usually did. Carrie handed her a bite from the rows lined on parchment paper. Sage wondered aloud about the time; Stillwater, whose attention was focused down the gullet of a machine, did not seem to hear. Waiting, Sage popped the bite into her mouth.

  She chewed once, then stood transfixed, as though she were listening to music she had not heard in years or remembering a life she had misplaced.

  She closed her eyes, chewed again. “Chocolate,” she whispered. “Cherries. Licorice. Raw beef, raw onion. And one last— Oh. Yes.”

  Stillwater raised his head. The utensil in his hand dropped into the working machine and it made a noise like metal wrapping itself into knots.

  Then his hands were on Carrie’s shoulders, his face flowing in and out of other faces, other expressions, mostly furious and even more frantic.

  “Where is it?” he shouted. “Where is it? It’s mine! I rescued it—it belongs to me!” Shocked, she couldn’t find her voice. His hands tightened; he focused an enormous, leaf-green eye on her that held a predator’s senseless, malignant glare. “Where?” He shook her, then let go of one shoulder and raised his hand, shrieking, “Where? Is? It?”

  “Where is what?” Carrie gabbled back, terrified. “I don’t even know what it is! I just—I gave—I had it in my pocket—One of my bites from the Kingfisher Grill.”

  “No. You come here first—”

  “I went in early to help Ella make cherry tarts for supper. Things were lying around. I just— So I just made something. Ella liked it, so I brought a piece here. I don’t know why you’re shouting at me. I don’t have anything of yours. Everything in here is yours.”

  The eye, luminous and huge, seemed to stare into the bottom of her mind. But all it would have seen, she realized shakily, was a battered, stained old pot, worn beyond use, and most likely found under a sink in the Kingfisher Grill, catching a leak in the pipes.

  He let her go abruptly. Sage had vanished somewhere inside herself, standing motionless, unblinking, trying to make herself into air, nothing more noticeable or important.

  Stillwater picked the utensil out of the machine, and shook it, listening to its inner rattlings. He put it under the table. When he spoke again, he sounded as calm and reasonable as ever.

  “You should make more of those bites for us, since Sage likes it so much. Yes, Sage. Go ahead and let them in.”

  Carrie kept the small bites coming for a couple of hours, sometimes using Stillwater’s machines, sometimes the ugly, magnificent pot.

  Finally, the last diner left; Sage closed the door, and Carrie came out to help clear the tables, while Stillwater tidied his machines. Finished, he left the rest of the cleanup to Carrie and went out, as usual, to walk and think about tomorrow’s lunch, since the restaurant was closed for supper that night. Carrie put plates in the dishwashers, hand-washed the bar glasses, and scrubbed and polished the pot until she saw the gentle glow of its fires.

  She put it in its favorite corner and stood for a moment, listening. Stillwater hadn’t returned yet. The washing machines were running, full of napkins and tablecloths, which meant that Sage was back in the old bank office, adding up receipts.

  Carrie turned, contemplated Stillwater’s small, gleaming army of machines.

  She went to work.

  She took the pot with her when she finished.

  24

  Pierce was sitting at the Kingfisher bar late in the evening, alone and waiting for Friday or Carrie, whichever came first, when he became aware of a stirring in the air beside him, a shift of the empty barstool. Fingers gripped his arm. He turned, looked into a white, thin face with the wolf’s pale, luminous eyes. Carrie, he realized with a start; still he did not entirely recognize her.

  “You’re a knight,” she said, getting to the point without bothering to say hello. “At least you look like one. And you know something about magic. You knew which knife to steal.”

  He flushed. “I’m giving it back, I swear—”

  “I meant that you saw the magic in it. The mystery. I need help. Isn’t that what questing knights are for?”

  “I suppose. I didn’t really listen to the instructions. Of course I’ll help, whatever it is. Can I buy you that beer?”

  She nodded, raising a finger at Tye, who lifted an empty glass in greeting and slid it under a tap. Pierce, studying her hollow, resolute face, wondered at the changes in it.

  He said abruptly, “It’s Stillwater. Isn’t it?”

  “Don’t say that name,” she breathed. “Not in here. He’s got a history, here.”

  “Carrie,” Tye said, setting her beer down. “Haven’t seen much of you these days. Working too hard?”

  “Thanks, Tye,” she said, giving him a smile that he didn’t return. His eyes, behind his glasses, seemed opaque, his thoughts withdrawn to some distant place. He didn’t look at Pierce until Pierce spoke.

  “Tye. About the knife—”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll settle up later. You okay for now?”

  “For now, thanks,” Pierce answered, and Tye moved away, swatting at a cruising fly with his bar towel. Above him, the mobile of hanging Fools’ heads swayed and turned as someone else came in. Pierce was silent until a couple settled at the other end of the bar, and Tye went to greet them. Then he said softly, “They know. Don’t they? That you’re working for him?”

  Carrie gave a brief nod, huddling over her beer, dropping words into it as though they would dissolve with the beer bubbles. “He destroyed this place,” she whispered, “and left them all spellbound. Not even my father could drive him out of Chimera Bay. He couldn’t enchant my father, though. My father saw clearly enough what was going on. Like you do, even though you’ve never even met—never—” She paused, asked bewilderedly, “How on earth did you find your way to that restaurant? I thought you’d left town.”

  “I blew a tire and hit a tree. I stayed downtown while my car was being fixed. Skulked, more like it, so that I wouldn’t run into anyone here. I don’t know why I wanted that knife. I just did. So I took it. Then I wandered by that restaurant and saw something else I wanted.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you just naturally drawn to trouble, or do you go looking for it?”

  “How would I know? I’ve never left home before.”

  “Well.” Her voice went thin again, almost inaudible. “She could use your help. We both could. Very much. You saw what he wanted you to see. The way he wanted you to see her. He did that to me, too. To everyone in this place. He shows you a face to fall in love with, then he starves you. You can never have it, and you can’t live without it.”

  “Sage,” he breathed, suddenly cold. “Is she—”

  “Not like him. No. She could use some rescuing.” She linked her fingers around her glass but didn’t lift it; she hadn’t taken a single sip. “She’s trapped. So am I. But at least I know now what I’m looking at.”

  “What can I do?”

  She drew a breath. “Come for lunch tomorrow. Anytime after one—he should be open by then. I might need someone to fight for me.”

  “What are you planning?” he asked, startled.

  “I made some changes. I’m not sure about anything I did, or can do. But maybe, while you’re there, you’ll think of something. If nothing I did works.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Does Merle know you’re doing this?”

  Her taut face warmed unexpectedly at the name; she almost smiled. Again, Pierce glimpsed the wolf in her eyes. “I haven’t told him. But he’ll know.”

  Pierce was silent a moment, absently running his finger around the lip of his glass and remembering Sage, her easy smile, her fairy tale face, the long, rich fall of her hair, so heavy,
so full it could belong only in the realm of the imagination. The beer glass refused to sing; he dropped his hand, said hollowly, “I spent those two or three days in Chimera Bay trying to get back in to see her. Trying to outsmart the restaurant. But always when I went there, no matter what time of day, no matter what day, it would be closed. If he sees me coming, I might not be much help to you. He might just lock the place up.”

  “Maybe you can melt in with the lunch crowd. And if not—we’ll have to think of something else. But try. Please? Just remember: If he actually lets you in the door, don’t eat anything.”

  “Of course I’ll try.” He reached toward his back pocket, caught Tye’s eye, and gave up on that thought. “He won’t let me pay for anything,” he murmured ruefully. “Not even my mistakes.”

  “You’re family,” Carrie said. “Your mother has been calling Lilith ever since you left home. She knows you’re here.” He stared at her, aghast. “You could invite her to lunch. I’m just saying,” she added as he stood up. “We need all the help we can get.”

  “Believe me,” he said grimly, “joining me for lunch is the last thing she’ll do if she finds out who else I’m inviting.”

  —

  He was amazed any number of times before he actually saw Sage’s face. The small, elegant restaurant stayed on its corner as he approached it and did not shroud itself in mist. The door opened when he thumbed the latch. There were actually diners inside, filling most of the tables, as though there were nothing at all extraordinary about the place. He saw Sage standing with her back to him, speaking to a table of four, most likely telling them what they were going to have for lunch. Then she turned, and above all, he was astonished at the sudden, pleased smile on her face.

  “You came back!” she exclaimed. “We hoped you would. Todd asked me to tell him if I ever saw you again, so that he could make something very special for you. Now let me see. Where can I put you?”

  Pierce glanced around, found his father and brother at a table in a corner near the bank vault. “With them,” he said. “They’re waiting for me.”

  “Oh, that’s perfect. As you can see, we have so many guests today.” She paused briefly, her attention snagged by his clothes, or by the scrutiny he gave her face. A line, the faintest thread of thought, formed and vanished on her brow. “I don’t remember that you were a knight,” she said slowly. “I remember—someone younger.”

  “I’m a kitchen knight,” he answered wryly, and realized, as he heard himself, how it was true.

  She said nothing, bowed her head, showing him her perfect profile against her shining hair, and led him to the table.

  Val glanced up from his phone as Pierce sat; his pale blue, burning gaze homed in on his brother, and then on the tall, lovely server. “Are you all here now?” she asked, then paused, as though distracted from a script. “You look so much alike.”

  “They’re my sons,” Leith said with satisfaction, and her eyes widened, as though even she, the sorcerer’s enchanted wife, recognized the man behind the gossip.

  “We might have other friends coming,” Val told her cheerfully. “They’re very rowdy. You probably shouldn’t let them in.”

  “As long as Todd cooks, he will feed whoever comes in. We’ll find room. Have you had a chance to read the menu? It’s unusual, but everything he cooks is wonderful; you won’t be sorry about letting him choose. And we have an amazing new cook working with him. Our well-kept secret. We hide her in the shadows so no one can steal her away. What would you like to drink?”

  “Water.

  “Water.”

  “Water.”

  “Perfect. I’ll let the kitchen know you’re ready.”

  “Who else did you invite?” Pierce asked Val softly when she was out of earshot.

  Val picked up his cell again, and fingered through it. “I’ll show you.”

  There was, oddly enough, what looked like real bread on the table. Both Val and Leith had broken a piece on their plates, scattering a deceptive path of crumbs onto the cloth. Pierce, eyeing the board with the tiny loaf on it, felt a sudden urge to taste it, find out if it was real. Val raised his eyes from the phone, narrowed them warningly at his brother.

  “She’s very beautiful,” he murmured. “I can see why you came back here.”

  Pierce opened his mouth, found no coherent response in his head. I came back to return a knife, he thought. I came back to show you what a fish fry is. I came to rescue a cook who asked to be helped. I came because I couldn’t not. “She’s not what you see,” he said shortly. “That’s why we’re here. What are you looking at?”

  Val turned his phone around, showed him an image. It was of a huge cauldron, polished so that it seemed to shine from within by its own brilliant, mystical source. Every inch of it held pictograms, ancient writings, birds, fish, animals both legendary and extinct. Light filled the cauldron, spilled out and around it in a swirling pattern that curled through the air as it flowed upward. It was fashioned, Pierce guessed, out of solid gold, and looked big enough to steam the three of them together.

  “That should do it,” Val said with satisfaction.

  “Should,” Leith agreed, smiling.

  “What’s the name of this place again?”

  Pierce pushed the Stillwater’s menu under his nose. “But what is it?”

  “In life? About as big as my fist. It lives in a Severluna museum. I added a few things to it.” He worked silently a moment, then put the phone down and leaned over the table, his head very close to his brother’s. “I’m certain that’s what our lunch is made in. Don’t you think so? I just sent the image to Niles Camden and Prince Ingram. They’re still in town. I saw them last night in a brew-pub. We got into a philosophical argument. Or was it metaphysical? I can’t remember who won.”

  Pierce, gazing at the golden, shining pot, swallowed dryly, his eyes prickling with wonder. “You’re diabolical.”

  “Thank you. We can only hope they take the bait.”

  Sage came over to them, carrying a tray. She set down three glasses of water, three small plates, and a slightly larger plate holding three layered ovals of jewel-like colors, and three little cones made of what looked like frozen gold foam, out of which black pearls or fish eggs spilled over frozen waves of white. “Something special to waken your appetites,” she said. “Enjoy.”

  She left them staring warily, bemusedly, at their lunch. “Now what?” Val breathed. “We forgot to think about this part.”

  “Use your uniforms,” Leith murmured. “Surely you don’t have an arsenal in every opening.” He guided a cone toward his mouth, dropped it adroitly down the sheath in his sleeve.

  “Magic,” Val said wryly, and disappeared a cone somewhere under the table.

  Pierce picked up one of the oval bites. It teased him with its half-recognizable layers. Fresh raw tuna, it suggested. Candied lemon peel. The thinnest slice of rose-golden peach. Roasted purple beet. A mouthful of mysteries. A chord for the palate. Carrie made it, he thought. How could it harm?

  “Don’t,” Leith said very softly, “even think about it. You warned us, last night. Remember why.”

  There was a shriek from the kitchen; it sounded like a machine being tortured. A human shout followed it, then a muffled thump. Something shot out from between the bank vault’s closed curtains, skimmed a tabletop or two, then flattened itself against a far wall above the heads of two transfixed diners. A formless clot of translucent purple slid very slowly, inch by inch, down the wall, leaving an oddly glistening trail of green.

  The two diners leaped up, overturning their chairs. The vault curtains whipped open, and Pierce finally saw Todd Stillwater’s face.

  It seemed, for a blink, oddly layered, like his bites. The self-deprecating face of an inhumanly comely god fallen to earth was stretched, at the temples and eyelids, over a bulky, twisted, sunken-eyed tree burl, which had bee
n hastily pulled over something else entirely, with pallid skin glistening like decaying mushroom and clinging tautly to a white frame of bone, through which yet another face drifted like a dream or a memory of a wild, ancient, darkly haunting beauty.

  In the next blink, the layers collapsed under the perfect, disingenuous human face, reassuring in its concern for the dismayed crowd of common mortals.

  “I am so, so sorry.” Even his voice was perfect: resonant, sweet, expressive. “We’re having a little trouble with the kitchen equipment. Please. Don’t feel you have to leave. We’ve gotten the trouble under control. And I’m more than happy, in apology for your inconvenience and distress, to cook lunch for all of you for free today. If you—”

  There was another explosion. Stillwater whirled; the frozen diners waited. But nothing flew out this time. The thing creeping down the far wall detached itself with an audible squelch and fell on the floor.

  Someone laughed. Then everyone was laughing, bent over their plates, wiping their eyes, sliding out of their chairs. Stillwater, mingling apology and relief in his smile, took his apron off and tossed it over the mass. Sage appeared between the curtains. Her own face had lost its cool serenity. Pierce saw the anxiety, the wariness in it, as she hurried across the room toward her husband.

  Pierce rose, turning against her wake, and stepped quickly through the curtains.

  The vault, a wine cellar now, opened at the back to the expanse of kitchen beyond. It looked peculiar at first glance. It lacked essentials, Pierce realized. Like pots and pans. Grills. An oven. Mostly it held a large table covered with machines, one of which Carrie seemed to be trying grimly to stab to death with a pair of tongs.

  She jumped when she saw Pierce. “What are you doing back here?” she hissed.

  “Can I help with that? I’ve seen machines like these in Severluna.”

  “No, you haven’t. There are none, anywhere, like these. They turn perfect food into air. Air into art. You didn’t eat anything, did you?”

  “No. What are you doing?”