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An owl arrived. She misted down and became another tasty delicacy wearing not
much of anything. This was not the same sweetmeat as before. This one wore a
different shade of purple.
The blind guys on the street were missing one hell of a show.
The faun guy who actually bore only a passing resemblance to the faun
tribesmen of the Arabrab Forests seemed to bear no prejudice against this owl
girl, nor she toward him. They engaged in a little heavy petting the others
apparently failed to notice.
I began to study the lay of the land.
I wondered if the Goddamn Parrot had gotten away.
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18
Soon I began to suspect that I had outwitted myself. I should have covered
what ground I could. The Shayir lacked no confidence in the help that was
coming.
I eased out of hiding, checked myself. Good. Mud had not clung to whatever
surrounded me. I studied the Shayir. They had stopped poking and chattering,
were looking out of the corners of their eyes or squinting like that might
help them see me better. I guess they could sense that I was moving.
The first owl dropped out of the sky, changed, immediately started slapping
the other girl away from the faun guy, who didn't apologize at all. The huge
guy rumbled like a volcano getting ready to belch, waved his axe. The air
shrieked. Passersby heard and looked around nervously. The owl girl relented
long enough to deliver whatever message she carried. The others looked smug.
Big trouble, Garrett.
What could I do to fool them?
I didn't have a clue. Motion seemed the best course at the moment. I got over
against a wall and drifted northward. Unlike the gods, I discovered, people
who could not see me did not avoid me. Luckily, the guy I bumped was far gone.
He mumbled an apology and stumbled on for another dozen steps before his jaw
dropped and he looked around. I hoped the Shayir were not alert.
Just then some fool opened his front door but paused to yell back inside,
reminding his missus of what a melonhead she was. The lady made a few pithy
remarks by way of rebuttal. I took the opportunity to slide past the guy and
invite myself into a tiny two-room flat that had to be the place where they
made all the garlic sausage in the world. I felt a moment of sorrow on behalf
of the couple who lived there. They hadn't had time to pick up after the Great
Earthquake yet. You know how it is. The centuries just slip away. There was
stuff in there that had mold growing on its mold.
The woman sprawled on a mat on the floor. That mat had been chucked out by
more than one previous owner. She didn't care. She had one arm wrapped around
a gallon of cheap wine while she soul-kissed its twin brother. She seemed
accustomed to having invisible men move through the gloom around her. I
positioned myself where I could watch the street through the peephole in the
door, which was the only window that place had.
Right away I discovered that the skinny geek with wings on his head was
peeking out of an alley half a block to the north. The Shayir spotted him
about the same time, became agitated. The whole bunch surged toward that
alley.
Winghead moved out.
The term "greased lightning" does not do him justice. He was a shadowy
flicker moving between points. The weird herd rumbled after him, hollering and
flailing bizarre weapons.
He had their full attention. I took my cue. I got out of my bag, so startling
my roommate that she actually spilled a precious cup of wine. "Take it easy,
lady. That stuff costs money." I waved good-bye, stepped into the street like
her man before me, walked off like I was just another local going about his
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business. I made believe I had a stone in one shoe. That altered my way of
walking.
It worked.
Three blocks later I could not see an immortal anywhere. I settled into a
trot, headed for home.
With a whoosh Winghead settled in to jog beside me. "Thanks," I told him. He
offered an enigmatic look and flickered into the distance ahead. He was not
hard to track when you were behind him. He just dwindled fast. I slowed to a
pace that didn't mark me out from the crowd. I started feeling smug.
19
Owls have always been birds of ill omen, particularly when they fly by day.
Owls were my first clue that I was, perhaps, premature in my
self-congratulation. But the owls themselves were preceded by the uproar of a
crowd of crows.
Crows are common, and they get rowdy when they get together, like teenage
boys. They get triply rowdy when they find a feathered predator to pick on. Or
two. Two familiar owls in this instance. And the crows were so numerous they
attracted the attention of everyone in the street.
I listened to people talk. Nobody but me and the crows could see the owls.
There was a lot of chatter about omens. It was a trying time. People would [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]