Shadowbridge (29 page)

Without a word, he continued his climb up. By now Leodora’s legs ached, and she would have liked to sit and rest for an hour. It hadn’t seemed, she thought, anywhere near this great a climb down through the tower. The smell leaking out from the underworld grew more intense as they ascended—a greasy, sour stink it was, too.

As they neared the surface of the span, Diverus paused and pointed to where a makeshift platform butted up along the backside of the tower. They could have stepped off the narrow stairs and into the underworld from there. “This is where I used to climb from. My mother took me up, many times. And then Mother Kestrel, too, when she put me on the dragon beam.”

“The dragon beam?”

“In the bowl—it’s where I learned how to play all of these, though I didn’t know it at the time.” He continued quickly up the steps, as if to be quit of the subject, but she hurried after.

“How long ago?” she asked.

Over his shoulder he replied, “I don’t know, really. A year or more. Bogrevil maintains that I’m seventeen, but he doesn’t really know. When I arrived he thought I was twelve because I’d been starved so long, and I couldn’t have told him in any case, because I don’t know.”

Then he rattled up the last steps and through the rail to the surface. She found him waiting for her, alone. The clients had dispersed back into the lanes and streets of the span.

“You must tell me,” he said, “why you chose tonight to come to the paidika.”

“I was escaping from a situation. I thought if I went there, I could elude someone.”

“You’re not addicted to the afrits then.”

“Afrits,” she repeated, and recalled the vaporous thing she’d glimpsed.

Her ignorance seemed to reassure him. He looked around. People strode past, in every case led by someone with a lamp. He and Leodora alone stood in the shadows. “I must impose upon you,” he said. “I’ve nowhere to go, and I know no one up here.”

Leodora said, “I can help. In fact, I can offer you employment of a sort that will make use of your talent.” A lightbearer approached, and she gestured him over. “Lead us to Lotus Hall,” she said, and handed him a coin in advance, in good faith for the distance he must cover. He lowered his lantern on its pole to check the coin, then tucked it into his tunic and directed them to follow.

As they walked, Diverus said, “Would it be a good idea for me to play music? They might be looking for me, or at least listening. Word will travel.”

She nodded. “Yes, they might. On
this
span anyway.”

“We’re going to another?” The idea seemed to take him by surprise.

“Between your troubles and mine, probably the sooner the better. Have you never been on another span?”

He shook his head. “And what is it you do, sir, if I may ask, that you have a use for me?”

“I tell stories,” she replied, “which seems to have become a far more complicated occupation than I’d ever imagined.”

III
NEW SPANS FOR OLD

ONE

Soter knew that Leodora had eluded Rolend, the love-struck mistress of Lotus Hall, the previous night by fleeing from the hall after the last performance. And he knew she hadn’t yet returned by the time he fell asleep; but he’d no inkling that she had come back with someone in tow, or that the booth now concealed a new member of the troupe.

Pushing his way through the curtain at the rear, he found a boy asleep upon the undaya cases and concluded reasonably that he’d come upon a vagrant who’d chosen the darkness of the unattended booth to sleep off his drunk.

“Of all the damned cheek!” he bellowed, and lunged.

The boy reacted by rolling away from the shout, and fell off the cases. Soter banged his foot against a lute that hadn’t been there the night before and sprawled across the top case. The only thing he caught was the small nay flute that had been lying beside the boy. In pain and frustration he cursed and clutched his leg.

At that point Leodora pierced the entrance behind him. Soter glanced back at her, triumphantly waved the small flute, and cried, “I caught this little thief pilfering from the puppet cases!”

The boy stuck his head over the top of the case. “That’s not true,” he said. “I stole nothing!”

Soter swung back and started to grab at him again.

Leodora said, “He’s not a thief, Soter. He’s a musician. His name is Diverus.”

Soter lowered his arm. “Yes, well. Well. I see now that he’s dragged his instruments in here. But what are you doing, bringing him in here? We don’t need a musician.”

“Don’t need one? Who is it complains to me every night that we won’t be a troupe until we have a
real
musician, because the
smelly runt we’ve hired can barely play to the end of a single performance.
Aren’t those your words?”

Soter recognized that he couldn’t win an argument formulated on his own complaints, and changed his tack. “How do you know a scrawny street brat like this is a real musician?”

And so she told him the story of how she had eluded Rolend by escaping into a paidika in the leg of the northern tower of Vijnagar. “Their claim to fame was their musician, who could play any instrument ever made.”

“Him?” he asked, the word dripping with skepticism.

“That’s right. They were raided and I ran with him. We escaped the raid and the paidika both, and I promised him I would hide him. You won’t find a better musician anywhere in Vijnagar. And for that reason I think we should leave Vijnagar now, before the paidika’s owner hunts us down.”

“First of all,” Soter replied, “we’re not leaving here till I say so. You’re drawing bigger crowds every night. Second of all, please don’t tell me you believed twaddle of that sort, and from a brothel, no less! It’s how they get them in the door, that kind of story.
He’s
some sort of magical musician? Lea, I am amazed at you.”

“It’s not—” she said, but Soter held out the nay flute and said, “Here, boy, play something. Right now.”

Diverus accepted it. He glanced at Leodora. She nodded for him to proceed. He stood up and put the flute to his lips. His eyes closed and his face twisted as if some invisible entity slid beneath his skin. Even in the shadows of the booth, his transformation was evident. Soter tensed as though against an impending blow, though he’d no idea why. The song started softly, gently. It was so seductive, so lovely, that Soter’s eyelids fluttered as if he were about to fall into a trance. Then in horror he identified the tune. It was the one they’d played on
that
span, the one Leandra had danced to. He lunged again at Diverus, yelping “Stop!” as he tore the flute out of the boy’s grasp. “What sort of treachery is this?” Betrayal filled his eyes like tears as he looked from Diverus to Leodora. “How do you know that song? Either of you. You’ve no right—”

“I don’t, sir!” Diverus protested. “I don’t know what song it was, nor where it comes from. It just…it just comes.”

“It’s a
divine
gift,” Leodora insisted. “The music pours through him. I listened to him last night, I
saw
the effect his music had on the clients in that place. On me, Soter.”

“Well,
that
song never pours out again, or he finds himself abandoned on the spot, do you understand?” Soter shouted. He made himself calm down, made his hands stop shaking by lowering them to his sides. He gripped the flute tightly. The choice of that song…how could the boy have known it? Leodora didn’t know. No one left alive knew nor could have found out. It was just a song played by a blind old musician. It had no significance to anyone but him. No, they couldn’t have known. But something did.
Something.

His hand rested against the undaya case, and he snatched it back as if the leather had grown hot. For a moment he stared at it, his mind peeling back the cover, the layers of puppets, the false bottom, until he saw the chalk-white thing lying there. In his vision, it had eyes that opened to stare back at him—eyes that he recognized. The booth suddenly shrank. The sides closed in upon him and the ceiling of the hall was about to crush him flat. He didn’t dare look up at it. He slammed the nay flute on the case, turned and dove past Leodora and out of the booth.

In the wide empty hall, he stood with his head back, gasping the air. The vision wasn’t real, he chided himself. He was letting Leodora’s complaints get to him. She was the one haunted by that figure. Ever since they’d left Bouyan she’d told Soter how she dreamed of being in that boathouse of her uncle’s, of hearing a call as if from the whole ocean—that statue calling her name. There was nothing spectral in it—it was nothing but guilt and homesickness playing on her mind. He should never have consented to her bringing that piece of coral along.

He circled the booth then, putting distance between himself and the memory of the song Diverus had played. He had more than enough guilt to bear without that reminder. He barely noticed the cavernous room around him, the empty chairs, the tables, nor did he see the one figure in the hall: a squat gnomish shape seated at a table in the second row and watching him from under its lowered head until he had almost passed by, only then speaking up. “Stand me a drink for old times, would you?”

Soter stopped in midstep as if time had paused. It wasn’t possible—first that song and now…He came about slowly, warily. Purplish eyes, amused and sharp, met his own. “Grumelpyn?” he said, and drew closer. “By anyone’s gods you haven’t changed a day—it
is
you, isn’t it?”

“Well, if you’ll recall, we age slower than your kind, we do. You’ve changed, of course, but not so’s I wouldn’t know you—I just never expected to find you traveling the spans again, old man. Not after—”

“Yes, not after that.” He took a seat at the table across from the furtive elf. “I was more than happy to stay tucked away forever, but this puppeteer came along, needed managing, and, well, I wasn’t doing anything at all but rotting. So I thought, why not, nobody’s interested in old Soter, and here I am. But you, now, I thought…that is, that last day—”

“A terrible memory, I’ve blocked it from my mind, don’t want to think on that when there have been so many other days worth the memory.”

“Of course,” said Soter. “Now let me stand you a drink for old times’ sake.” He got up quickly and wove his way around the tables and chairs to the kitchen, where neither Nuberne nor Rolend was present. He filched a bottle from below the serving counter and carried it and two cups back to the table, all the while speculating on Grumelpyn’s motives. He was not so damaged from drink that he didn’t remember how he and the elf had parted. It was no cause for camaraderie.

While he poured, Grumelpyn chattered idly. “So, you came from the south of here with this puppeteer called Jax and you’re heading north toward my span. I would never have expected you to venture out again. This Jax is the new Bardsham, heh? And where’d he come from, I wonder.”

Ignoring the questions, Soter raised his tin cup. The elf drew one hand from out of his sleeves, crossed in front of him, and took the cup. His nails were long and sharp. He clinked with Soter’s cup. “This bottle’s on me,” Soter said. “All of it.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “Truth is, since you’ve turned up, I need your help. We are going north, like you said, but I don’t remember the half of it any longer. Been so many years.”

“Well, well. You need a map.” Grumelpyn grinned with sinister delight, revealing unnaturally pointed teeth. “Fifteen years ago you left me to fend for myself against the Agents, and now you think to buy me with a bottle of inferior liquor and to get my help in the bargain, you do.”

“You know that I couldn’t have done a thing for you. You don’t think I wanted to leave you? For cat’s sake, man, it was Bardsham’s idea—the only way he could get away was to misdirect those Agents with a decoy. And afterward there was no sign of you or him, and I’d sworn to look after the child. I’d sworn!”

“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten. You never acted to save your own skin. You were thinking of Leandra’s baby all the time. Dear, sweet Leandra about whom you could never say enough.”

Soter nodded vigorously. “I was, absolutely, thinking
only
of the child. Why do you think I’m with her now?” Too late he realized what he’d said. There was no covering it up.

Grumelpyn tilted his head slyly. “So, then, ’twas a daughter, the baby. And Jax the magnificent puppeteer is she, heh? Bardsham’s daughter, well, well. You should have delivered her to my span, let us take her for a changeling. Could have made a fortune. Your people wouldn’t have known the difference, the parents weren’t coming back, and the replacement child would’ve obeyed your every whim.”

“Changelings are known to be cantankerous if not ungovernable.”

“Lies,” sneered the elf. “Lies and rumors put about by people who renege on their bargains.” He showed his teeth again to ensure Soter got the implicit meaning. “She following in the old man’s footsteps all the way, then, is she really?”

Soter lowered his cup. “Grumelpyn, she’s better’n he was.”

“Oh. My, my. You really should’ve swapped her, then. We likes a good storyteller.”

“Yes, for
dinner.
”

“More lies. Elves don’t eat children. Generally.”

“All the same, I didn’t swap her, so wishes are air. I could have abandoned her to the spans and had done with it, couldn’t I? And I didn’t.” He waved his hand about as if to wipe the air clean of rancor. “Look here, I’ll pay you for your trouble, for a map.”

The elf snorted and set down his cup. “As soon accept coin from a sea slug, I would. I only came here because I had to see for myself if you or Bardsham was connected to this phenomenon called Jax. And now I knows all about it. Wonder who the highest bidder would be for information on his off-spring, hmm? Think there’s anyone left who cares? Might the Agents be about on the spans again?”

“Soter?”

At the sound of Leodora’s voice behind him, Soter stiffened and his heart sank.

Grumelpyn leaned around him, smiling, to look at her where she stood. “My, my,” he said, “I know whose daughter
you
are. Even with that mask on, I know. You’ve red hair beneath your hood, I’m certain.”

Soter could feel her eyes boring into his back, but he remained hunched over his drink as if unaware of her. Grumelpyn rose and extended a hand past him—the one that had been kept hidden in its sleeve. It was shiny and hard as marble. Soter stared past it to the smile, almost a leer, on the little fiend’s face. Grumelpyn watched his reaction.

“You’re an elf,” Leodora blurted.

Grumelpyn glanced about himself, at his torso and arms. “Why, so I am. Imagine that. I must have been transformed.” He gave Soter a look of scorn. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Soter’s frown curled with displeasure.

Leodora said, “I’m sorry, that was rude. I didn’t mean—I meant only that we haven’t encountered any elves before, on the other spans.”

Grumelpyn waved away her embarrassment. “I’m surprised not at all. Few of my kind travel this run of spans. Except for your neighbors to the north, Hyakiyako, these spans are not partial to the elvish, they’re not. And even Hyakiyako just wants us in their parade.” He glanced around the room as if expecting to find some enemies. “If word of your extraordinary performances hadn’t got out, why, I’d have never imagined old Soter was on the spans again. I was just saying.” He leaned forward for emphasis. “Rumor has it you’re the essence of an accomplished performer. I am so looking forward to a few performances, myself.”