Songreaver (16 page)

The glowing eyes of Raikjaa and his son moved
forward from the shadows, crouching low. As they stepped into the
light again, Garrett and his uncle both gasped in surprise.

Two human men in Chadiri uniforms stared back
at them with shining eyes and the sharp-toothed grins of
ghouls.

"Helps to know a few tricks," Raikjaa's voice
spoke from the Chadiri's lips. Norris's snickering laugh came from
the man beside him.

Chapter Thirteen

That evening, when Max and Cenick learned
that Uncle Tinjin had returned, they cobbled together a rather
impressive party in quite a short time. Cenick pressed Mrs. Nash
and son into service for the meal, and she managed a plate of
sandwiches with a bit of cold chicken and a crock of soft
cheese.

Cenick ran home, returning with a pair of
zombies, carrying a rolled bundle of cloth between them.

Max showed up a bit later with four zombies,
carrying two large canvas rolls.

Uncle Tinjin sat in his parlor and endured it
all with a benevolent smile, letting the young men have the run of
the dining room as they arranged it to their liking. The heavy
doors served to temper the noise of their arguments, though it did
little to muffle Mrs. Nash's scream of horror and the crash of a
serving platter hitting the floor.

Uncle Tinjin leaned forward and frowned. He
turned to Garrett and said, "Perhaps you'd better..."

"Nothing wrong!" Max said, poking his head
out through the dining room doors, "Just a little... not a
problem."

The door closed on Mrs. Nash's angry voice,
sputtering out what Garrett could only assume were Fraelan
curses.

Uncle Tinjin sighed and sagged back into his
chair.

At last the doors opened again, and a
grinning Max Zara called for Garrett and Uncle Tinjin to join them
in the dining room.

The best silver lay out on the table,
surrounding Mrs. Nash's food. A place had been set for Uncle at the
head of the table, and, along the sides, for Garrett, Max, and
Cenick. Two more empty plates lay in front of the two canvas
bundles that Max had brought, both of which now sat, propped
upright in chairs at the table.

Across the far wall, bound between two
witchfire sconces, hung the banner of the Chadiri Raven Legion,
which Cenick had taken in the Battle of Taelish.

"Welcome home, Uncle!" Max said.

Cenick inclined his head with a smile.

Uncle Tinjin stood in the doorway, taking it
in, for a moment. "Is that the banner that flew above the fall of
Jastaa?" he asked.

Cenick nodded. "The Blackbird flies no more,"
he said.

Uncle Tinjin's eyes fell, and then he nodded,
with a sad sort of smile. "Well done, boys... well done."

Cenick shared a triumphant grin with Max.

"So, why are their two dead men sitting down
for dinner with us?" Tinjin asked, indicating the two canvas
bundles with a wave of his hand.

Max blushed and chuckled softly. "Well,
Uncle," he said, "Cenick and I will be leaving for the war again
soon, and it troubled us to think of how much you'll miss us."

Cenick rolled his eyes.

Tinjin stared at Max, waiting for him to come
to the point.

"Ah... so we thought we would give you a
little something to help you remember us." Max moved to stand
behind the canvas bundle nearest him and waved for Cenick to do the
same with his.

Max pulled the canvas from the object in the
chair with a flourish, coughing at the little cloud of dust he
raised in the process. Cenick removed his object's covering a bit
more carefully.

There, each in its own chair, sat two
desiccated bodies, dressed in the purple robes of necromancers. The
one beside Max wore a little golden crown, perched diagonally
across its forehead. The one nearest Cenick had swirling black
lines painted onto its withered face and a ridiculously large
costume dagger tucked into its belt.

Cenick scoffed loudly and yanked the garish
dagger from the dead man's belt, glaring at Max.

"Very amusing," Uncle Tinjin said, "At least
things will be a bit quieter with them around."

"I wouldn't count on that," Cenick said.

Max chuckled.

"Explain," Uncle sighed.

Max pulled a small vial of essence from his
pocket and poured a few drops of the glowing green liquid out into
the palm of his hand. He lifted it carefully to his lips and
whispered something. Then he placed his palm against his throat and
smiled.

Garrett jumped a little when the body wearing
the crown suddenly swiveled its head around to look at Uncle
Tinjin. "Good Evening, Uncle," the dead man croaked. Its voice
sounded faintly like Max's, but distorted and weak.

Max raised his eyebrows and nodded at
Cenick.

Cenick pulled a similar vial from his own
pocket and repeated the trick, causing his own zombie to rattle
out, "Max thinks himself rather clever."

Uncle Tinjin laughed. "I take it this is your
invention, Max?" he said.

Max beamed. "Just a little something I've
been working on for a while. I call them
proxyliches
."

"What is their range?" Uncle Tinjin
asked.

Max shrugged. "No idea," he admitted, "This
will be their first test. I'm hoping we will be able to use them to
communicate from the field with you here."

"A one-way communication?" Uncle asked.

Max grinned, reaching into his pocket again
and pulling out something small and polished white. "Once we've
attuned your voice to this, you will be able to speak with us as
well," Max said.

Uncle Tinjin narrowed his eyes. "What is
that?" he asked.

Max stepped forward, holding it out for Uncle
and Garrett to see. It was a tiny little skull, about the size of a
large egg.

"That's not a squirrel," Uncle said, clearing
his throat with a little cough.

"Grumling," Max answered.

"You killed a grumling?" Cenick said, his
face contorted in disgust.

"No! No!" Max said, "I would never... It's
just that I happened to be out in the forest one day and I came
across this tiny little churchyard with these dainty little
headstones, and... Well, we
are
necromancers, are we
not?"

Cenick shook his head.

"What's a grumling?" Garrett asked.

"Listen," Max said, "it's not important where
I got it, I just needed a sentient being's skull for the attunement
to work, and this seemed the most... portable."

"And we will be able to communicate with one
another from a distance, as though we were together in the same
room?" Uncle Tinjin said.

"Exactly!" Max said.

"Very good work," Tinjin said, "I'm proud of
you. I'm proud of all of you." He raised his arms and gestured for
them to step closer, hugging them each in turn.

"It's good to have you back, Uncle," Max
said.

"It's good to be home," Tinjin answered.

Chapter Fourteen

"Good Morning, Uncle," Garrett said as Tinjin
shuffled into the kitchen wearing one of his most ornate ceremonial
robes and sat down across from him at the table.

He saw the question in Garrett's eyes and
frowned. "I still haven't been able to find all my clothes," he
said.

"I'll check the stuff in the carriage house
again after breakfast," Garrett said, "Oh, and the carriage should
be back sometime today. Cenick was having it repainted black."

Uncle looked confused. "Repainted?"

Garrett nodded. "Whoever bought it at the
auction painted it a different color."

"What color?"

"Lavender," Garrett said.

Uncle Tinjin shrugged. "It might have been a
nice change," he said, "Though, I suppose, black does go better
with the skulls."

"Uh..." Garrett said.

"What?"

"They had all the skulls on it replaced,"
Garrett said.

"With what?" Uncle asked, taking a sip of his
morning tea.

"Little naked babies with bird wings,"
Garrett said.

Uncle Tinjin snorted into his cup.

"I
think
Cenick was gonna have those
removed," Garrett said, "but I'm not really sure about that."

Tom the kitchen zombie shuffled over to the
table and laid a plate of charred bacon and blackened toast in
front of Uncle Tinjin. Tinjin started to thank him and then stared,
wordlessly at the bright blue apron with yellow flowers that Tom
was wearing.

"I'll find something else for him," Garrett
said.

Uncle Tinjin raised his bushy eyebrows and
turned his attention back to his breakfast.

"How are you feeling today?" Garrett
asked.

Tinjin cleared his throat experimentally.
"Quite well, actually," he said, "I shall have to write a letter of
thanks to your ghostly friend."

"I don't think she could read it," Garrett
said.

"My Elvish
is
a bit rusty, but..."

"I mean, how would she hold it to read it?"
Garrett asked.

"You can read it to her," Tinjin said.

"I can't read Elvish!" Garrett protested. Too
late, he saw the little smile at the corner of Tinjin's lips.

"Then this shall be..."

"...an excellent learning opportunity,"
Garrett completed the sentence for him.

"Exactly," Tinjin said.

Garrett groaned and prodded glumly at his
bacon. "Do you think the ghouls were right about there being a
traitor?" he asked, anxious to change the subject.

Tinjin shrugged. "It isn't like the Chadiri
to use spies, but it makes sense," he said, "We have to assume that
anything we do in the city could be observed and reported to the
enemy."

"But, what if..." Garrett began when a knock
at the door cut him off.

Uncle Tinjin stood up, wiped the crumbs from
his robe and pulled the sharply peaked cowl of his dress robe low
over his eyes. Garrett did the same with his hood. Uncle insisted
on making a proper impression on unexpected callers.

They walked together to the entryway and
answered the front door.

A young man in a yellow doublet stood at the
door. He wore a floppy hat with an enormous white feather plume and
an expression of affected boredom. "May I speak with the
necromancer?" he asked.

Garrett looked up at his uncle.

"You may speak," Uncle Tinjin said.

"You are a necromancer?" the young man
said.

Uncle Tinjin frowned. Garrett saw a sharp
retort playing on the old man's lips, but he seemed to think better
of it and answered only, "Yes, I am the necromancer."

"Lord Ignasio would commission your services
in a matter of gravest import," the young man said.

Uncle Tinjin sighed. He looked past the young
man in yellow to where a closed coach, gilded entirely in gold
leaf, waited on the street. Long black streamers hung at its
corners and covered its windows. Likewise, the four white horses
that drew the carriage had been draped with black sashes, as was
the coachman. The page as well wore a band of black silk around his
upper arm.

"I take it that your master has lost someone
dear to him?" Uncle Tinjin asked.

"Yes, of a sort," the page answered.

"Of a sort?"

"His dog, sir," the page whispered, "He loved
it a great deal."

Uncle Tinjin let out a long, slow breath.
"I'm sorry," he said, at last, "I cannot help him."

The page blinked and stammered, "But, it's
what you do, is it not... raise the dead?"

"No!" Uncle said, "I do not
raise
the
dead. I
animate
dead tissue and give it a
semblance
of life. Your master's dog is gone, and nothing in my power will
bring it back. Let him mourn his loss and move on."

"But, sir," the page said, growing flustered,
"You have to help him. It's your job!"

Uncle's eyes went hard. "I assure you, sir, I
do
not, and it
is
not," he said, "Garrett, the door,
if you please."

Garrett shrugged and closed the door in the
face of the sputtering page.

They made it as far as the breakfast table
again when a frantic pounding sounded from the front door.

Uncle Tinjin grabbed a canister of essence
from the shelf on his way to the door, muttering something about a
lesson in manners
. Garrett followed close behind, curious to
see what would happen.

Uncle Tinjin's hand reached for the door when
he suddenly froze.

"Please!" a frail voice cried from beyond the
door, "Please... you have to help me."

Uncle's hand pulled back away from the
door.

"I know you can do something," the man beyond
the door wept, "I just can't let her go like this... Please, you
have to be able to do... something."

Uncle Tinjin's hand closed into a trembling
fist then fell to his side. Garrett couldn't see his face beneath
the cowl, but the anger in the set of his shoulders drained
away.

Tinjin set the canister on the table beside
the door and stood with his hands at his sides and head bowed.

"Please," Lord Ignasio begged, "I need your
help... please. I know you can help her."

Tinjin cleared his throat and wrenched the
door open.

A white-haired man in a yellow coat stood on
the landing, his face streaked with tears. He carried a small
bundle of blue cloth in one arm. "Please help her," he sobbed.

Uncle Tinjin reached out and put his arm
around the old man, guiding him in through the doorway. "Come
inside," Tinjin said, "Let us talk."

Garrett closed the door behind them and
followed as Tinjin led the man into the parlor and bade him sit in
a chair. Tinjin dragged another chair up beside it and sat down as
well. Garrett did his best to remain unnoticed in the shadowy
corner of the room.

"She was so unwell last night after supper,"
Lord Ignasio said, gently patting the bundle of cloth that he held
to his chest, "I thought it was just a tummy-ache, but... this
morning..." He began to weep again.