Lawrence Watt-Evans - Taking Flight

Irith turned at the sound, and the drunk looked blearily upward at the trio.

“Irith!”

Kelder looked down in astonishment.

The drunk was staring at Irith’s face. He dropped the empty bottle he had held clutched in one hand and reached up toward her.

“Irith,” he said, “you’ve come back!”

Irith stared down at the weathered face, the red nose, the bloodshot eyes, the dirty, ragged beard, and the matted hair. She dropped Kelder’s hand and stepped back.

“Eeeew,” she said.

“Irith, it’s me,” the drunk said, scrabbling against the paving stones as he tried to get his feet under him.

Asha dropped Kelder’s other hand and backed away.

“Listen, old man…” Kelder began.

“Irith,” the drunk called, ignoring him, “don’t you remember me?” With one hand on the pillar, he got to his knees. His foul breath reached Kelder’s nostrils.

“Remember you? I never saw you before in my life!” Irith replied angrily.

“Yes, you did,” he insisted. “It’s been years, the gods know, too many years, but you knew me, all right, don’t you remember?” He made it to his feet, panting, his hand still on the pillar. “Don’t you know me?”

He stared at her blank face, no flicker of recognition showing, and suddenly shouted at her, “Don’t you know me?”

“No!” Irith screamed back. “I never saw you before!”

“Listen, old man, you leave her…” Kelder began, trying to push between Irith and the drunk. He was uncomfortably aware that the confrontation was attracting attention; several of the wine merchants were staring, and assorted other people were turning to see what the disturbance was about.

The old man, with strength truly astonishing in one so decrepit, shoved Kelder rudely aside and took a step toward Irith.

She shrank back, and her wings appeared suddenly. She stretched them, as if to take flight, to escape this loathsome apparition, but the tips brushed against the arcade’s vaulted ceiling. She glanced up, startled, at the prisoning stone, then looked around, panicky, at the people, staring at her from all sides, watching her intently. Her wings vanished.

“Get away from me!” she cried. “Everybody get away!”

Kelder, recovering from his surprise, thrust himself at the old drunk, arms outstretched, and knocked him off-balance.

“Irith!” the drunk cried. “Irith!”

Irith turned and ran, down the shadowy arcade, her white tunic flashing brightly as she passed each lamp, then fading into the next patch of darkness.

“Follow her!” Kelder barked to Asha. Tired as she was, the girl obeyed, scampering after the fleeing shapeshifter, while Kelder pushed the drunk up against the pillar.

“Irith!” the drunk called again, looking after her, paying no attention to Kelder.

“Listen,” Kelder began.

The drunk burst into tears. “No,” he wailed, “I can’t lose you again! Irith, come back!” He tried to shove Kelder aside.

“Damn it!” Kelder said, as he stumbled back against a stack of crates. He grabbed at the drunk’s tunic, and pulled the old man down with him.

“Let me go!” the old man bellowed, trying to tear loose. “Let me go after her!”

“No,” Kelder shouted back, holding on tight.

Sobbing, the drunk swung a fist at his face; Kelder dodged easily.

The drunk swung again, and this time Kelder had to loose his hold in order to avoid the blow. Cursing, he dodged. The drunk stumbled to his feet and began staggering in the direction Irith had gone.

Kelder sprang up and charged after him, tackling him from behind and knocking him heavily to the stone pavement.

The drunk’s words had become incoherent babbling by this point, but his actions were clear enough; he was trying to get up, get away from Kelder, and continue his pursuit of Irith. Gritting his teeth, Kelder hauled off and punched him squarely in the nose.

The old man’s head snapped back against a heavy cask, making a sound like a slammed door-a very solid door. Blood trickled from his nose, and he slid to the ground, dazed.

Kelder’s knuckles stung from the impact, and he was very worried indeed lest he had killed the old man-he’d heard somewhere that drunks had brittle bones.

This particular drunk was made of sterner stuff than that, for he didn’t so much as lose consciousness completely. He did lie stunned for a moment, but then shook his head, trying to gather his muddled wits.

By that time Kelder was back on his feet, and the instant he was sure that the old man had not been killed or crippled he spun on his heel and sprinted after his companions.

A moment later the drunk was out of sight, and Kelder was as good as lost in the mercantile maze of columns and courtyards. He slowed to a stop and called quietly, “Irith?”

Asha’s voice answered him.

“This way, Kelder!”

Following the sound, he made his way through another fifty yards or so of market and into an alley-he had finally left the Bazaar and entered the city proper. He found Asha crouched in the mouth of the alley, watching in all directions at once.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

She nodded.

“Where’s Irith?”

Asha jerked a thumb in the direction of the alley’s gloomy depths. Hesitantly, Kelder crept into the darkness.

“Irith?” he called.

A cat meowed, somewhere ahead.

Something touched Kelder on the back, and he started, then realized it was just Asha, following him.

“She said there’s a tavern down the far end of this alley that she likes,” Asha whispered.

Kelder nodded an acknowledgement. “Irith?” he called again.

“Here,” she answered, stepping out of the darkest shadows ahead. Kelder could still only see a dim outline, but he was sure it was Irith. “Is he gone?”

“He’s back there somewhere,” Kelder said. “Um … I hit him.”

“Good!”

Kelder was surprised at the heat in Irith’s response. “Where are we?” he asked.

“Horsebone Alley, it used to be called,” Irith said. “I haven’t been here in years. There’s a real nice tavern around the corner at the far end, called the Crystal Skull-that’s where we’re going.”

“The Crystal Skull?” Kelder asked, glancing back at Asha and seeing only a small, dark shape.

Irith nodded, then realized that that was probably not visible. “Yes,” she said. “The owner had this big chunk of quartz that looked sort of like a skull. He kept it on the mantel.”

“Oh,” Kelder replied. That sounded harmless enough. In general he didn’t like the idea of patronizing businesses with morbid names, but in this case he decided to trust Irith’s judgment. Holding Asha’s hand he followed the dim outline of the shapeshifter down the alley and around the corner.

“No torch,” Irith remarked, startled, when they were out of Horsebone Alley and into a broader but equally unlit thoroughfare. The shadows here were not as deep or threatening; the faint glow of the lesser moon and the stars poured down, and some of the light of the marketplace slopped over the rooftops and into the street. She pointed to an unlit doorway. “Over there,” she said, leading the way.

Kelder followed, an uncomfortable, uneasy feeling stirring in his belly.

The doorway was broad and deep; above it an iron bracket projected straight out from the rough stone, with empty rings where a signboard had once hung. To either side of the doorway were black iron sconces, also empty; there were no signs of torch or ash, and even the smokestains on the wall appeared to be weathered, rather than fresh. It was plain to Kelder that this place was not open for business, but Irith ignored the signs and marched straight into the gloom of the entryway.