Part 48 (1/2)
”Then I promise. May Great Pas judge me if I harm him or permit others to do so.”
”No cut?” croaked the bird. ”No stick?”
”Correct,” Silk declared. ”I will not sacrifice you, or hurt you in any other fas.h.i.+on whatsoever.”
”Pet bird?”
”Until your wing is well enough for you to fly. Then you
may go free.” ”No cage?” Crane nudged Silk's arm to get his attention, and shook
his head.
”Correct. No cage.” Silk took the cage from the table and raised it over his head, high enough for the bird to see it. ”Now watch this.” With both hands, he dashed it to the floor, and slender twigs snapped like squibs. He stepped on it with his good foot, then picked up the ruined remnant and tossed it into the kindling box.
Crane shook his head. ”You're going to regret that, I imagine. It's bound to be inconvenient at times.”
With its sound wing flapping furiously, the black bird fluttered from the top of the larder to the table.
”Good bird!” Crane told it. He sat down on the kitchen stool. ”I'm going to pick you up, and I want you to hold still for a minute. I'm not going to hurt you any more than I have to.”
”I was a prisoner myself for a while last night,” Silk remarked, more than half to himself. ”Even though there was no actual cage, I didn't like it.”
Crane caught the unresisting bird expertly, his hands gentle yet firm. ”Get my bag for me, will you?”
Silk nodded and returned to the sellaria. He closed the garden door, then picked up the dark bundle that Crane had displayed to him. As he had guessed, it was his second-best robe, with his old pen case still in its pocket; it had been wrapped around his missing shoe. Although he had no stocking for his right foot, he put on both, shut the brown medical bag, and carried it into the kitchen.
The bird squawked and fluttered as Crane stretched out its injured wing. ”Dislocated,” he said. ”Exactly like a dislocated elbow on you. I've pushed it back into place, but I want to splint it so he won't pop it out again before it heals. Meanwhile he'd better stay inside, or a cat will get him.”
”Then he must stay in on his own,” Silk said.
”Stay in,” the bird repeated.
”Your cage is broken,” Silk continued severely, ”and I certainly don't intend to bake in here with all the windows shut, merely to keep you from getting out.”
”No out,” the bird a.s.sured him. Crane was rummaging in his bag.
”I hope not.” Silk pulled the blanket from the garden window, threw it open, and refolded the blanket.
”What time are you supposed to meet Blood at the yellow house?”
”One o'clock, sharp.” Silk carried the blanket into the aellaria; when he returned, he added, ”I'm going to be late,
232.
Gene Wolfe
NlGHTSIDE THE LONG SUN
233.