Chapter 208: A Song Of The Past (1/2)

”Yes sir, that's what they all say.” He chuckled. ”Now then. Where do you come from?”

”We… are not from WaterWay,” Chang Chang said quickly. ”We came in on a caravan. Our village was dying. Everyone was leaving, so we thought we'd come here, to start anew.”

Bao nodded gravely. ”Aye, that's the story among many of us. And here we are”—he waved his rag-draped arms expansively—”in WaterWay mighty, a city that looks precious little like a city and smells a bit like the rotting bowels of a once-fine ship. Alas, the bards, how cruelly they exaggerate!”

There was a smattering of applause and rude gestures from the beggar folk. Shouts of, ”Save it for the real performers!” Boa said throwing up his hands and laughing. ”Eat hearty, all of you,” he said, and he waddled off to find his own bowl. ”We're fed and clothed and grateful, and the troupe's comin' in. What more could kings ask for?”

”The troupe?” Chang Chang said. But Bao was gone, and the others were immersed in their own conversations. The temporary distraction of their arrival had passed; the people seemed to be waiting for something. They kept shooting glances at the bow of the ship, but Chang Chang saw nothing except a stack of rotting crates. Rats weaved among the loose boards.

”Surely Saragui doesn't provide food and entertainment for 'em,” Zu Ruo said. ”Not when he'd just as soon be killin' 'em.”

They looked to Ju Feng, but the young cultivator shrugged. ”They seem in high spirits, which is more than I expected. Perhaps one of them is a musician.”

Bao came around again to collect their bowls. Chang Chang tugged on his rag cloak. ”Are they waiting to see a show?” she asked politely.

He grinned. ”Aye, lass, the best in WaterWay , though we're the only folk knows it. Sit you all right here and see what there is to see.” He patted her arm and settled back on the ground.

A crow flew over their heads, descending into the ship to pluck a rat from one of the crates. The bird was large and sleek, with oily black eyes that watched the beggars even as it snapped the rat's neck. Chang Chang cringed.

The sun had risen outside the ship, but a shadow fell across Chang Chang and the rest of the crowd. She looked up; more crows were flying in an uneven formation, clustering close and snapping at each other as they dived down into the belly of the ship.

Instinctively, Chang Chang ducked. The birds flew over her head and landed on the rotting crates. The air filled with restless caws, but a hushed silence had fallen over the beggar folk. Every face, including Hatsolm's, was tuned in rapturous attention to the crows.

”What's going on?” Chang Chang whispered to Ju Feng.

”Halt your lips, you ungrateful lot!” shouted a voice that made Chang Chang jump.

A crow's head stretched, its black feathers shrinking into pale flesh. The bird stood up on two spindly legs, which lengthened and shed more feathers. The creature shook itself, and was suddenly not a bird any longer, but a boy, a boy grown from the body of a crow. The ungainly creature hopped up on one of the crates and surveyed the crowd.

”Are we the show this night or not?” the boy demanded. He looked to be about eleven years old—human—with greasy black hair tucked under a brown cap. A crow's feather rested behind his ear like a quill. His eyes shifted around like restless insects, never settling on one object. ”Answer me, dogs! Are we the entertainers?”

”Ho!” A chorus erupted from the beggar folk. For a breath, Chang Chang thought she was back in the Haven.

”They're new arrivals, Wang, not true Drawn Cloaks,” said Bao. ”Give them a chance.”

The boy regarded Chang Chang's group with interest, his gaze fixing on each of them in turn. ”They're false fronts,” he said.

Ju Feng glanced up sharply. He'd avoided eye contact with the boy until that instant. Not due to fright, but because he never gave it much thought. ”We're only seeking shelter, the same as any person here,” he said. ”What of you? What do you have to say for yourselves?”

The boy hopped from crate to crate, his arms spread. ”Do you hear, friends? He wants to know who we are.”

The crows flapped their wings in a grim chorus, and suddenly the air was full of feathers. When the black shades fell away, a dozen men and women stood where the crows had been.

Chang Chang gasped. The crates were gone, transformed into a wide, foot-high stage that stretched from the port bow to the starboard. The boy pranced from one end to the other, pulling lit torches from a bag at his hip. He placed them in sconces at the edges of the stage. Their fiery brilliance lit up the suddenly shadowed hold. It was as if all the sunlight had been sucked from the ship, replaced by torches that gave off light but no heat.

”They can't be real,” Chang Chang whispered to Ju Feng. ”It's mystical arts. Dreams ans Illusion.”

”Complex magic that can transfigure and interact by itself, all for a crowd of beggars?” Ju Feng said. ”No one would take such trouble.”

”Then what are they?” Chang Chang asked.

It was Bao who answered. ”Ghosts,” he said.

A woman strode to the center of the stage and pulled a lute from her back. She began to play a lively tune for a pair of jugglers that somersaulted onto the stage. They tossed a dizzying handful of colored balls into the air and caught them before they gained their feet. Hatsolm laughed and clapped. The beggars were enraptured.