Feathertide Page 3

  My eyes opened wide at the sight of the babbling crowd; I had never seen so many people all at once. It was more exciting than the first time I had tasted caramel. More vivid, more wonderful, more everything. I had only ever seen a snapshot of the world before, through the oblong shape of my window: hurrying feet blurred by rain; a clogged gutter; a patch of grass; and, of course, my beloved pear tree. Now it felt as though the window had widened and opened up into a whole new world, instead of one of halves. Suddenly, it felt overwhelming, as though I had stuffed too much caramel into my mouth, too much to swallow all at once. I grew dizzy watching the groups of children dart between the stalls, playing a breathless game of chase, jousting each other with icicles they’d snapped off doorways. I was fascinated by two girls who were hopping up and down on squares of chalked numbers cleared of snow. The bobbles on the tops of their hats danced merrily as they played their game. Boys with their icicle swords came swerving towards us in a rush of excitement and Lemàn quickly ushered me away into an area crammed with stalls of fruit and vegetables, flowers and herbs.

  The marketplace had a row of little huts, which looked as if they had been made out of gingerbread. A girl suddenly shot out of the crowds towards me and for one terrifying moment I feared she was the lonely woman from Lemàn’s story. I breathed a sigh of relief as she ran straight past me and into the open arms of a smiling man. ‘Papa! Papa!’ she cried happily, snuggling her face into the warmth of his coat. He picked her up and spun her round and their laughter filled the marketplace. She would never be lonely as long as she had her papa, I thought. Putting her back on her feet he knelt down and pulled something from his pocket. It was a fabric doll with tumbling golden hair like curls of breakfast butter, but instead of legs it had a tail made of sequins, which dazzled against the snow. The little girl’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open in a gasp of delight as she squeezed it to her chest as if it was the most precious thing she had ever been given. Standing there, watching them, I felt a stab of envy in my quills, and I wished I had someone to welcome me like that; someone to spin me high into the snowflakes; someone to give me such a beautiful thing as a doll with a tail. It was the first time I really wanted a papa of my own, and that was the beginning of everything.

  A lady was labelling chunks of cheese on wooden boards and another wobbled on a stool with a clutter of saucepans at her feet. We walked further into the square, crammed with traders and shoppers. An old man was sitting in front of what looked like a black bubbling cauldron, ladling something into tin cups without handles. Lemàn took one from his frosty fingers and I glimpsed shapes floating in the hot dark as she lifted it to her lips. I shuddered in horror and turned away, convinced he was serving dark magic potions filled with floating frogs’ legs and bats’ wings.

  Lemàn walked and drank, holding the cup tightly, finding comfort in its warmth. She stopped to rummage through a pile of flannels and, remembering not to stay too close, I shuffled along to the next stall. Something made me stop; a smell I couldn’t quite place. I scanned the stall, my eyes finding nothing but a jumble of hand-carved wooden toys and piles of linen.

  ‘Lemàn, Lemàn,’ I hissed, tugging at her coat, forgetting we were meant to stand apart.

  ‘What?’ She didn’t hide the irritation in her voice, as she dropped her change into a knotted purse. Then she kicked at my feet to remind me to keep my distance.

  I stepped away. ‘What is that smell?’

  She sniffed the air like a hunting dog. ‘It’s just cinnamon, now arm’s reach remember.’

  But it wasn’t cinnamon I could smell; it was something else. I knew the woody sweet smell of cinnamon; Lemàn sprinkled it over the cooking pears whenever she baked. This smell wasn’t sweet at all; it was all salt and brine and reminded me of supper.

  I kicked at a little pile of fallen snow and trudged after Lemàn, who was scooping chestnuts into a brown paper bag, which she dropped at my feet as she moved on. I knelt to pick it up and felt inside; each one like a hot coal warming the ends of my fingers. I lifted one out, cracked half open from the heat and dug my thumb into the shell until I felt the release of soft sweet flesh. Digging a little more, I broke it open and crunched it in my mouth before throwing the shell to the ground. I had become distracted and deep in thought, and for one terrifying moment I couldn’t see Lemàn anywhere. Then my eyes found her up ahead, dawdling at the last stall giving me the chance to catch up.

  ‘Arm’s reach. Arm’s reach,’ I repeated to myself, as I rushed towards her. I was trying my best. Just then something else caught my eye and my feathers prickled as I turned to look at a glittering silver display. I wrinkled my nose; the salty smell was so much stronger now. Lemàn was watching me out of the corner of her eye and saw me approach the stall of silver.

  At first, I thought they were trays of shiny coins piled high, one on top of the other, but I soon realised they weren’t coins at all; they were scales, hundreds and hundreds of tiny scales, all smooth and wet and glistening. The only scales I knew belonged to the dragons in Lemàn’s stories, and I thought perhaps one had been hunted and its pelt brought here for sale. Then I noticed the eyes with their protruding blank stares and I gawped in horror and fascination. As I reached out my hand, I heard Lemàn’s voice so close I could feel the warmth of her breath, and I stepped away.

  ‘They’re just fish,’ she replied impatiently, ‘brought here from the sea.’

  To me, fish came in soft white chunks next to my potatoes at supper time. I hadn’t seen fish with scales and eyes before.

  ‘Can you take me to the sea?’ I asked.

  She shook her head, frustrated that I was not remembering to stay within arms’ reach, but then something inside her seemed to soften and collapse like an undercooked cake. She looked down at me with a heavy sigh, and there was pity in her eyes.

  ‘Ah, very well … follow me.’

  Quickly, she led me away from the huddle of huts down a wide sweeping path where there was no longer any trace of snow. We followed a long crumbling wall and with every step the salt smell grew stronger and stronger until it tingled on my tongue. I felt my feathers fluff in anticipation of what was waiting for me, and I had to pull my hood tighter still for fear they might unfurl like ferns from within.

  Over the wall I could see the bustle of boats, all lined up like restless, tethered creatures waiting to be set free. I breathed in a lungful of the fresh tangy air, grateful to be able to rinse my body of the fetid stench of the whorehouse. A gull screeched overhead and instinctively I ducked for fear it would swoop down and carry me off in its talons. Lemàn laughed, and came to a sudden stop.

  ‘Here it is,’ she said, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. For a moment, she stood still, peaceful, lost in her own thoughts.

  But when I looked out, I gasped and flew under Lemàn’s skirt for fear we had reached the very end of the world – one more step and we’d fall right off.

  ‘What is it?’ I whispered.

  She didn’t answer straight away and seemed to have forgotten I was there. I tugged sharply on the hem of her skirt to remind her.

  ‘It’s the sea, of course. It’s where all those fish came from.’

  For so long, I had heard the whores and their visitors speak of the outside world and all of its wonders, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw as I lifted the hem over my head and tentatively peered out. There were merchants down below, passing crates and boxes, loading and unloading boats with a clattering haste, and I could hear the splash of an anchor. Beyond them a grey-blue stillness gleamed far into the distance, much further than I had ever imagined possible. At first, I thought it was the deflated wrinkled bag of a giant balloon spread out before me, but as I peered closer, I watched in wonder as the wind conducted the waves. Being outside felt like a miracle.

  In the distance, I saw a blemish on the horizon, slowly spreading like a bruise across the water. I realised it was an approaching boat with three large blue striped sails flapping triu
mphantly in a breeze of its own making. Even from so far away, it was much larger than any of the other boats that had already come to rest in the harbour; it must have been carrying a heavy load. As it neared, I saw its sides were painted in a swirl of large golden letters boxed in green. Lemàn hadn’t noticed the dark shape on the water, but when I tugged on her tights to ask her what the letters said, she gasped, stepped back and we both nearly tumbled into the slush.

  ‘Quick! Move!’ she hissed, pulling me to my feet and dragging me back up the hill. She seemed to have forgotten her own rule about arm’s reach, and it wasn’t until we were safely home, with the door shut firmly behind us, that she finally let me go.

  That night I rubbed at my arm where she had held me too tight, and wondered what had made her flee up the hill so fast that I could still hear her heart pounding hours later as she kissed me goodnight.

  I thought the biggest danger was the lonely woman hiding in the forest, not something from the sea. It wasn’t until years later that I learned what that boat carried, and then everything changed.

  CHAPTER 4

  After my first taste of freedom, Lemàn announced that it was too great a risk to go outside. It felt like I had been given a gift that I couldn’t keep. I sulked and stamped my feet in sullen silence, refusing to give in, until finally a compromise was reached: I would be allowed to leave, but only once a year on my birthday. Still, I was disappointed – it wasn’t enough – and so Lemàn decided that if she couldn’t take me out into the world, then she would have to bring the world inside to me

  A few weeks later, I met Professor Elms. He arrived carrying a small leather satchel. I remember thinking that the world must be a very small place if it could fit inside there, and be tucked so neatly under his arm. He was a peculiar-looking man, small and hunched at the shoulders, yet sprightly in his step. He wore a waistcoat embroidered with stars and his trousers were neatly pressed, yet he still managed to look crumpled. His face was a map of age, but his eyes glittered knowingly behind thick-lensed spectacles. It was the face of a kind man.

  I watched him with growing curiosity as he methodically unpacked his bag, piling book after book upon the table. I had never seen so many books all at once, each one like a temple of worship and wonder. It was a city constructed of words and knowledge, and it reminded me that a whole world existed beyond the window.

  ‘Lemàn says there are some cities where the fog is so thick it’s just like pea soup. Is that where you’re from?’ I asked.

  My question made him pause for a moment, then he shook his head with a light chuckle. ‘I’m from a place much further away than that.’

  ‘Much further?’ I asked astonished.

  ‘I come from a place without clocks … it is a timeless place.’

  ‘So how do people know what time it is there?’

  He widened his eyes and told me that it wasn’t just clocks that told the time and that time can be measured in lots of different ways: from the curve of the moon or the length of a shadow, the warmth of a teapot, the colour of a tomato, the bristles of a beard or from the soles of a pair of shoes. There, time was measured in every way, apart from by the ticking hands of a clock.

  ‘These are really good,’ he said, admiring my drawings, which covered the walls.

  My eyes flickered over to the pictures and I nodded. ‘I love birds,’ I said. Then, feeling unusually bold, I added, ‘It’s because I am one.’

  The professor smiled. ‘Yes, Lemàn told me all about your feathers.’

  ‘She did?’ I was astonished. She never shared my secret with a stranger.

  As though he could read my mind, he spoke again. ‘I have known her for many years and she has healed my heart. In return I can keep a secret, especially yours.’

  I relaxed. His eyes were shining, polished with kindness. ‘She said they make me beautiful. Do you think feathers make a person beautiful?’

  ‘I think they are a wonderful thing to have; don’t you?’

  I sighed. ‘I suppose so, it’s just …’

  ‘Just what?’ The professor watched me with a frown and waited.

  ‘Lemàn says they are the reason I have to stay hidden down here. That if people see them then they will want to take me away and that makes me feel a bit … a bit sad, I suppose. Do you have any feathers?’

  He laughed. ‘Ah, no … nothing as interesting as that, I’m afraid. I’m just ordinary – skin and hair. In fact, I’ve never met anyone with feathers until you. You are special, and when you find something as unique as you are, why then you must treasure it.’ The professor stopped and peered at me over his glasses. ‘What are you doing up there?’

  When he had arrived, I’d been standing on a chair pulled right up to the window. ’Just watching the birds,’ I replied with a sigh, and I could hear the longing in my own voice. ‘It’s not fair that they get to fly away, yet I’m stuck down here all the time. Do you know anything about birds?’

  ‘There might be a section on them in here somewhere,’ he said, picking up a book and flicking between its pages.

  ‘No,’ I said, jumping down and landing with a soft thud on my scattered drawings. ‘Tell me something you know about them, not something you can read from a book.’

  The professor placed the book back on the table and thoughtfully rested his hand on the closed cover.

  ‘Once I travelled deep into the heart of a forest filled with warm, luminous rain and there I found the smallest bird in the world. It was much smaller than my thumb.’ He held it up in front of my face for inspection. ‘About half the size!’

  I peered closer and then held up my own for comparison.

  ‘It can fly up or down, forwards or backwards and even in somersaults through the air. Its wings beat up to fifty times per second.’

  I felt my eyes widen at the thought of it.

  ‘And did you know that the heart of a bird beats much faster than ours?’

  I wasn’t sure what my heart was – bird or human or something in between. The knowledge startled me, and I felt a small shiver of panic. Did that mean I would live my life twice as fast? I tried to push the fear away, like a dessert plate after a feast.

  Slowly, he filled my head with images of birds made from elaborate drawings and intricate diagrams. I brought even more of my own birds to life with my pencils, and this time they were more sophisticated, each one copied and carefully labelled from a textbook. I stuck them over the other drawings, which now looked ridiculous for being so primitive and childlike. The fairy tales were growing ever distant: a palimpsest of my childhood.

  Professor Elms placed his hand over mine and the pencil dropped from my fingers, rolled across the table and fell to the floor. ‘Do you know the best place to learn about birds?’

  I thought for a moment. ‘From books?’

  Professor Elms shook his head. ‘No. Try again.’

  I shrugged.

  He leaned forwards in his chair, then in barely more than a whisper he spoke. ‘To really learn about birds, you need to go outside.’ But we both knew that going outside was absolutely forbidden unless it was my birthday.

  Professor Elms’ words stirred up my curiosity. Over the months, I learned that his satchel didn’t carry the world, only fleeting glimpses of it. The more he filled my mind with ideas and knowledge, the more of an insomniac I became; even lavender milk wasn’t enough to quieten my mind. There was too much to think about, too much to imagine and explore. One night, unable to sleep, I lay awake thinking about the professor’s words: To really learn about birds, you need to go outside, and each one felt like a bolt slowly loosening and sliding across a door. Finally, after many hours, sleep came in tumbling waves.

  The next day, I woke early, so early the rest of the house was still sleeping. I reached for my cloak and crept from the cellar up the stairs and into the kitchen. I didn’t dare use the front door, but the back door led to the lane away from the town, to the fields and the woods. The door was old and heavy and bolted twic
e, once at the top and again at the bottom. The key waited in the hole, ready for turning. It was only my obedience up until this moment that had kept the door locked. Nervously, I slid open the first one and then, balancing on a stool, I carefully slid back the top one and quietly jumped down. Holding my breath, I twisted the handle and the door creaked open. I paused and waited and listened, but the house slumbered on, and so I stepped outside and into the world. I had forgotten I would need shoes, but as soon as I felt the tickle of the grass between my toes, I couldn’t resist and I knew I wouldn’t go back for them. I propped the door open with a stone and dared myself to just go as far as the gate. I crept through the garden and once I’d reached the gate, I dared myself to go a little bit further – this time just to the bend in the lane; I would be able to see everything from there. It wasn’t until I reached the bend that I saw the sky stretching away in the distance, all lit up in a smouldering orange molten glow. Fearing the world was on fire I fled back up the lane and would have woken the whole house with my screaming, if a hand hadn’t suddenly clapped over my mouth to keep me quiet. At first, I struggled, then relaxed at the sound of a voice I recognised.

  ‘Shhh,’ said Professor Elms, as he slowly removed his hand, and pushed me back through the door.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I gasped.

  ‘I’m always out walking early. I like listening to the dawn chorus, it’s when I get most of my thinking done.’

  I was so relieved it wasn’t Sorren, but I knew my small act of rebellion wouldn’t go unpunished. ‘Please don’t tell!’ I begged. It was one thing to creep from the cellar and wander the corridors, but actually going outside was no longer just bending the rules. It was snapping them in half and crushing them into tiny unfixable pieces.