Feathertide Read online

  Disappointed, I carried on. The water was never far away, occasionally spilling onto the flagstones in dancing, frothy pools, and, even when it couldn’t be seen, I could still hear it murmuring against the stones. It had the steady breath of a dreamer. In my mind The City of Water was never silent.

  The first person I saw was a man with a wizard’s beard; he was polishing the handle of a vivid indigo-blue door, so bright it made me gasp in wonder. I was certain it was one of the wishing doors Professor Elms had spoken of, but I wasn’t brave enough to ask the man despite his friendly face. I still wasn’t used to questioning strangers.

  Ahead of me, a street came into view. Some of the shops here still had their doors open, but the shopkeepers were slowly gathering themselves in for the evening like autumn fruit, and the bristles of darkness swept people away.

  A woman with a face the colour of a saddle shouted as I waited to pass. She was rummaging in a basket filled with vibrant pomegranates, polishing them against the hem of her skirt, which was as filthy as the ground she sat upon. Without stopping, a man tossed a coin at her feet and she smiled a toothless grin and threw a fruit towards him. He caught it in the air; a playful, timeless ritual and much rehearsed. Smiling, I did the same, and the fruit felt smooth and warm in my hand.

  ‘Uccello Hotel?’ I asked hopefully.

  She waved the way up ahead and I wasn’t sure if she was being dismissive or helpful. ‘Beware of temptation,’ she rasped, gathering her shawls around her shoeless feet, as tiny as matchboxes.

  Endlessly the alleyways wrapped around each other like thin, stretched hollow bones. The further in I walked, the more the silence grew, but I had to keep going. There was no sign of the Uccello Hotel and by now the night was throwing out its confetti of stars in celebration of the darkness. The alleyways wound even narrower, and in places the width between one building and another was so small, I grazed my shoulders trying to squeeze through. I felt more and more uncertain of where I was going. Then something up ahead made me stop and gasp and clutch at my cloak; it looked like a ghost. Suddenly it flapped towards me and I laughed in relief, realising it was just a bed sheet strung up between two iron balconies.

  Occasionally I would see lights flare over doorways, but mostly it was sinister and murky. Every city had a darker side, and this one seemed to be no exception. A little way up, to my relief, I saw that both street and canal widened, allowing two or even three people to now walk side by side without bruising themselves. From here I could see that the water stretched into the open sea. In the lamplit doorway of an inn, women stood in huddled whispers. Here at least, the darkness was perfumed, warm and inviting. Perhaps, at last, I would find a place to stay.

  Rushing forwards, I was aware of something resting on the water. It was a boat, large and looming and strangely familiar. As my eyes fell to the gold-leaf lettering, I felt my feathers ruffle and lift as their meaning became clear. My heart quickened, lurched and then stopped completely – in front of me was The Boat of Floating Freaks and Oddities, close enough to touch. What was it doing here? Had it followed me? But I shook the ridiculous idea from my head, like a rotten apple from a tree. It had been years since I had last seen the boat come to shore and pitch its giant circus tent at the edge of the forest. Whatever reason the boat had for being here, it wasn’t anything to do with me, yet it still made me afraid. Stumbling back into the dark, I turned on my heel, and, with my cloak flapping behind me like a giant wing, I fled as fast as I could.

  My legs finally gave way and I fell panting against a damp wall. Unable to straighten, I searched for a place to hide and staggered into the dark, shallow depths of an alcove. Each ragged, panicky breath caused another stab in my chest and each one made me grimace in pain. When my breathing finally slowed, I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder and slipped back into the endless, empty street. It wasn’t long before I sensed I was being followed, but every time I turned around, all I saw were shadows vanishing into the darkness. I hurried my pace, hoping to lose my pursuer and when I paused to listen for footsteps, all was silent. Perhaps it had just been the echo of my own.

  Just then, a man hurtled out of the gloom towards me. Startled, I cried out and nearly lost my balance before he quickly side-stepped out of my way, with a mutter of apology. Clutched to his chest there was a large jar, and inside danced a strange swirling mist. It was just like the one I had seen years ago in the jar in Lemàn’s room, and I wondered what it was, but, before I could ask, he was gone. The pursuer or the pursued. A love lost or a love found.

  Up ahead, the alleyway widened again, and I found myself back in the empty market square. I had gone around in circles and my search for the Uccello Hotel would have to wait. Exhausted I needed to find a place to sleep.

  Across the watery darkness, a luminous street of shops welcomed me, but I couldn’t reach them; they were too far away. Something scuttled then, a rat or a beggar, or worse. I whirled round just as a hand shot out like a serpent’s tongue, empty and cupped, awaiting my pity. Impatient, it tore at my ankle and as I tried to shake it off, I stumbled backwards and lost my footing.

  I remember falling, fast.

  I remember an icy blast.

  And after that, I remember nothing at all.

  CHAPTER 12

  Slowly opening my eyes, I half expected to find myself lying in my old bed, in my old room, in my old world, but everything seemed strange and unfamiliar. I was surrounded by low, crooked walls on all sides but one; this instead was made of glass, allowing the light to flood in. Through it I could see the city’s roofs rising half-formed and still drowsy, the thick mist slow to lift like the veil of a shy bride. My whole body ached, but I couldn’t remember why. A small scratching sound made me turn my head, and I came face to face with a peacock standing only inches from my face. It was peering at me with mild curiosity before all interest quickly dissipated and it strutted off through an open glass door, which I could see now led into a small courtyard. The peacock reminded me of Marianne’s parting gift and the overwhelming memory of home made my throat constrict.

  As I tried to sit up, my head pounded and it took several moments to blink in my strange new surroundings. The room seemed large compared to the dimensions of the sullen little cabin I had grown so accustomed to, and I quickly realised how full of dust it was, and how stacked with clutter. Towers of books rose precariously in piles, some of which had already collapsed and spilled across the floor like stepping stones. Scattered on the shelves were boxes of candles and pots bursting with flowers and jars of herbs tied in loose, powdery bundles. A straw hat lay upside down on a rickety chair in the far corner, so large I could have curled up and gone to sleep in its crown. The peacock was now outside preening himself in a pale puddle of sunlight. His tail feathers shone with the magnificence of a stained-glass window – no wonder he expected to be worshipped! Then the sudden and unexpected grunting sound of other unseen animals and the warm breath of straw drifted in on the breeze. It reminded me of the farms behind the whorehouse, and the surge of another memory was too much.

  A sudden flicker of movement startled me, and, glancing up, I realised I was staring into a large mirror on a wooden swivel, and at a reflection that was as unfamiliar as everything else in the room. It was me, but it wasn’t. The jumble of my feathers was in such a state, it looked as though I had been mauled by a cat, and left for dead. If I had had wings they would have been broken beyond repair. But what astonished me, more than anything else, was my hair. It fell in soft curls like a half-peeled orange around my ears and I hadn’t even noticed. I had never known myself with hair before and it looked strange. It felt butter-soft and beautiful beneath my fingertips, and I suddenly thought of all the glittery hairpins spilled across Lemàn’s dressing table and how lovely they would look now, fastened in my hair. Professor Elms had been right – there are many ways to measure time without a clock – and although I had lost count of the number of days we had been at sea, the length of my curls told me it must hav
e been many.

  All sound came from outside, but it was a deceptive quiet within, because all of a sudden I heard a loud scrape as though something heavy was being moved across the stone floor of an adjacent room, followed by a moment of silence.

  ‘Rest!’ bellowed a voice from somewhere in the depths of the house, but no one came.

  I reached for the bed sheets and pulled them up around my chin as the heavy thud, thud, thud of footsteps pounded closer. Each one made the shelves shake and sent another book toppling to the floor; even the candles rattled fearfully in their boxes. For a moment, I was reminded of the giants in Lemàn’s stories and I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. When I opened them again, I saw a bear of a woman standing in front of me. Hands on hips, she seemed to fill the room entirely.

  ‘Where’s the boat?’ I mumbled. Something half-formed flashed in my mind, but I wasn’t sure quite what it was.

  ‘You must rest,’ she repeated, kindly this time. Her eyes were lit with the mischief of a child and shone an astonishing blue, like hyacinth blooms gathered after the rain; her skin wrinkled dark like damp sand, and her hair was husky-thick. She could have been a century old or the age of a new mother; it was quite impossible to tell.

  Overcome with dizzy fatigue, I sank back against the pillows. Satisfied that I was at last obeying her request, she tucked the sheet firmly around my shoulders with such affection, it made me ache.

  ‘You remind me of my mother,’ I whispered, my voice weak and hoarse.

  ‘I hope that is a good thing.’ As she smiled, her face shone with kindness.

  ‘It is.’ I smiled too, and closed my eyes.

  Next time, it was the smell of sizzling tomatoes and herbs that roused me from my slumber; someone was cooking. Ravenous, I lifted myself from my pillow and instinctively reached for my cloak, but only my boots sat on the floor and next to them my bag. A quick rummage inside revealed what I already knew; my cloak must have been lost in the water. I pulled the edges of the bed sheet towards me and wrapped myself in its folds. Then, swinging my legs onto the floor, I followed the smell. It led me down a small sun-coloured corridor into an even smaller clutter of a kitchen. The woman was busy stoking the coals in a tiny stove. She greeted me without turning around.

  ‘Feeling better?’

  ‘Yes – much better – thank you.’

  ‘You must be hungry,’ she grunted.

  Without waiting for a reply, she slid a plate of sardines in tomato sauce across the table. It was fish – my favourite – but how did she know? I took it as an invitation to sit down. I ate noisily using my fingers until there was nothing left but a watery red slurp of oil. Then she took a chunk of bread, ripped a piece off and handed it to me.

  ‘Mop up the juice, it’s the tastiest bit,’ she encouraged, her eyes open wide and eager.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said shyly, doing as she instructed until I had polished the plate clean.

  ‘What happened to me?’ I asked, when I had finished.

  ‘I found you in the water,’ she replied by way of explanation.

  I shuddered at the returning memory; of the boat and the hand in the dark and then of falling.

  ‘So, you pulled me out of the canal?’

  She nodded. ‘You weren’t in there long; not long enough for the cold to get into your bones, so I brought you here, stripped you down and wrapped you in every blanket I could find. I see you have forgotten to take one off.’ She chuckled.

  I suddenly felt aware of my feathers, mangled and damp beneath the flimsy sheet, and I felt exposed in the edges of this tiny space. Even though this stranger seemed to fill every room she was in, somehow my feathers felt even bigger.

  ‘Did you find the cloak I was wearing?’ I asked, wondering if she had perhaps pegged it up somewhere to dry.

  She shook her head. ‘Just your bag, which thankfully you dropped on the side before you fell in.’

  I realised then that my cloak had been lost to the watery darkness and, sensing my unease, she spoke to reassure me. ‘Believe me, I have pulled stranger than you from these waters. Ha – the sights I have seen!’ She chuckled again, lifted her own plate’s mountain of fish and tipped the whole lot straight into her mouth. In one gurgling gulp it was gone and a dribble of tomato and oil fell off her chin and back onto the plate. Quick as a cat, she slurped it up and then belched and pressed her hand hard against her chest as though to dislodge some stubborn bone.

  ‘Right then – let’s sort those feathers of yours out.’

  Before I had time to protest, she flung the bed sheet into the corner and began tugging at my back with her large, rough hands. There was none of the tenderness of the whores here. She worked quickly, unknotting and smoothing the feathers as though they were the tangled nets of fishermen, until at last they lay flat against my skin.

  ‘Ouch,’ I yelped more than once, but each cry went ignored. She whistled while she worked, and, with each pull and tug, I clenched my teeth and winced against the pain, waiting for it to be over.

  ‘They are in such a state,’ she tutted to herself.

  When she had finally finished, she pulled the bench closer to the stove, I wasn’t sure she’d be able to squeeze herself into any chair, without having to pop back out again like a cork. She told me to sit with my back to the coals so as to dry my feathers back into shape.

  ‘Thank you,’ I murmured. ‘For saving me.’

  She nodded. ‘You are not the first I have saved, and you won’t be the last.’

  ‘What time is it?’ I asked, suddenly alarmed. I hadn’t given up on my search for the Uccello Hotel and, after yesterday, I knew it wouldn’t be an easy one.

  ‘If you need to go to the market, you’re too late. All you’ll find there now are the ragged, rotten remains of vegetables and piles of stinking fish, no use to anybody but the hunger-scarred cats. Whatever it is you want to buy, I’m afraid it will have to wait until tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t need to go to the market, and I don’t need to buy anything. I’m looking for—’ I hesitated. I wasn’t sure if I could trust her with more. A life lived in a cellar had made me wary.

  ‘You are a stranger in this city.’ More statement than question.

  I nodded.

  Her calm eyes took me in then with their peculiar purple-blue stare. Hot under her gaze, I shifted around uncomfortably. She seemed to be contemplating something important, like I was a riddle that she would win a prize for solving. I remained silent, leaving her to her thoughts. My own eyes scanned the room, distracted at once by a tiny window, a crumbling thick square set deep into the wall, more like a delivery hatch. It was so low that anyone wanting to see in or out would have to crouch down or drop to their knees. I saw then what had really caught my attention, for a small bird had settled on the ledge outside. Tilting my head, I saw it glistening with the faint misty rain which it carried on its feathers. It peered inside and it fixed me with its single, dark inquisitive stare.

  All of a sudden and quite unexpectedly she reached out across the table and grabbed my upper arm between her large thumb and finger and squeezed in a pincer-like movement. I cried out, but before I could twist away, she had already released me.

  ‘Hmm,’ she pondered for a moment. ‘Follow me.’

  Rubbing at my arm, red from her rough inspection, I followed her through the low-ceiling rooms. She seemed to have to stoop to pass through them until we arrived in the square courtyard, open to the sky, where she straightened with an audible creak. The peacock lifted its haughty head briefly, and then resumed pecking at his seed tray; he had already dismissed me once. She led me towards a small pen in the corner, and, lounging within it, were half a dozen scraggy-looking dogs.

  ‘These are my most beloved possessions! My boys!’ she exclaimed, lifting the latch and swinging open the gate. ‘Like you, I pulled them from the canal. Someone had tied them up in a sack and slung them in the water to drown.’ The sound of her voice roused the sleeping creatures and they began to lift their
heads and sniff the air with their wet inquisitive noses. Two of them yawned and stretched out their long taut limbs before staggering to their feet, still groggy from their nap. The others followed until they were all clustered around her, nuzzling against her legs, as she tickled them one by one under their chins, smoothing back their ears and kissing their glistening noses with such adoration, you would think they were her children. She introduced them one by one: Vorias, Levantes, Notias, Zephyros, Afros and Vithos. This was the most knotted, matted pack of dogs I had ever seen, and I felt my nose scrunch in disgust as they slobbered and panted against her ears and mouth. She clearly relished their affection and did nothing to discourage them.

  Sliding the lid off a wooden tub, she pulled out a large sack and emptied the contents onto the ground; half-gnawed bones, apple cores, hard-boiled eggs, chunks of slimy carrots and wilted cabbage leaves. The dogs bounded in delight, and sloshed their way through the rotting debris, while I hid my nose from the stench of decay that spread through the courtyard and drifted high beyond its walls.

  ‘I used to bring in boats piled high with fruit from the Island of Verde, and fill my wheelbarrow with fresh cuts of meat from the farmers’ market, but they turned their noses up at all of it, preferring this instead … unbelievable!’ She chuckled to herself. ‘Now I wait under restaurant windows for them to throw out their leftovers, catching them in my nets and hauling them back home.’