Ghoulish Song (9781442427310) (11 page)

Luce broke into a sly grin. “The interesting question isn't ‘Which came first?' Language and music were the very same thing in the long ago. I think it might be more interesting to ask ‘Why did they split in two?' And I don't have an answer for that one. But here's the compass point of this chart I'm sketching for you: You can say with music what you can't say otherwise. You can understand with music what can't ever fit into words. And you can shape music to reshape the world, just as words do in charms and curses. Sailors learned that first.” Luce proudly tapped the tip of her nose with one finger. “We sang chanties to the rhythm of oar and hoisted sail. It's madness to trust your own weight to a bit of bark adrift on water. It's only ever possible to face up to that madness with a song. So we made the music necessary to hold a barge together—or a bridge. The madness of the bridge, of walking and living and building whole houses high above the River, is only possible with
many
songs. You can hold anything together with the proper tune—or you can tear it apart.”

Kaile mulled over the shape of these unfamiliar ideas. She listened to River waves as they smacked against the side of the hull.

Luce frowned. She cocked her ear to catch the same noise. “Flood's coming soon,” she said. “Might even arrive tonight and smash this silly tub before we get back to the
docks.” She slapped the barge railing behind her. Then she looked sheepish. “Probably not, though. I'm sure we'll be fine.”

The sailor took out her lute and played a cheerful sort of River chanty—something to hold the barge together. Otherwise they passed the rest of the trip in silence.

When Cymbat finally steered the barge against a pier, they docked directly underneath the empty Baker's Cage. Kaile peered through the fog to make sure it was empty. She was glad that punished bakers didn't need to spend the night caged. Mother would be back in it tomorrow morning, though—unless floodwaters came in the night and washed away the Baker's Cage first. Kaile hoped that that might happen.

“There,” said Luce as she tied up the moorings. “Smooth as butter mixed with greatfish fat.”

Then Cymbat turned around, caught sight of Shade in the corner, and started to scream.

THE SHADOW SHIED AWAY
from the drummer and screamed back at him.

Luce dropped to a crouch and pulled a fish-gutting knife from her boot.

Kaile waved her hands in the air and shouted for everyone to please calm down.

It took a long time for this to happen, and even then the calm was fragile. Cymbat wouldn't go anywhere near Shade, or vice versa, and Shade wouldn't go anywhere at all without a steady source of light.

Luce agreed to bring a lantern, and took the largest one down from its pole.

“Do you have any spare lamp oil?” Kaile asked. “Ours ran dry.”

“I'm afraid not,” Luce admitted. “Poured the last of it into these lights this afternoon, when I felt the fog coming in.”

Shade made an unhappy noise. She didn't say anything else as she followed Luce and Kaile down the barge ramp, carefully keeping inside the lantern's warm glow.

“Come on, Cymbat!” Luce called behind them.

Kaile heard the drummer squeak and mutter as he followed from a distance. She also heard the wood and metal sounds of barges rocking themselves to sleep at night.

Luce squinted, trying to see through the fog. “Few enough are docked here tonight,” she said. “Good. Most of the captains must have gone looking for a safer harbor.”

“What about the
Cracked Drum
?” Kaile asked.

“Not worth worrying about,” said Luce. “It sinks all the time. Then the drummer spends a few days building it again. Now, let's see if anyone is still renting out carriages after nightfall. I'd rather not walk up the ravine roads myself.”

Southside “carriages” were former wheelbarrows, built to move the stones of Broken Wall to wherever they might be needed—and then repurposed to move people around. Most had a simple wooden bench bolted into the wheelbarrow basin. Sometimes the benches had cushions on them, but usually not.

A carriage signpost stood at the base of the switch-backed road to Southside, and two wheelbarrows stood waiting underneath it.

“I'll need to rent them both,” said Luce with a long sigh. “I don't think Cymbat will willingly ride in a carriage with your disembodied shadow.”

Kaile said nothing. She recognized both of the wheelbarrow pushers, and both of them recognized her. Old Jibb looked quickly away. Brunip stared openly. He raised his iron arm a little bit, as though about to wave—but then Jibb kicked him with his spring-shaped leg, and Brunip let his arm drop.

“Hello, gents,” said Luce, walking right up to them with a sailor's swagger. “I'll need to hire the both of you: one carriage for myself and the girls—and the
girl
, I mean—and one for the distracted fellow coming up behind us. Please take us all to the Beglicane house on the Fiddleway.”

She gave each of them a bit of silver. It was more money than she needed to give, but it put to rest any objections that the two might have about carrying Kaile. Old Jibb still wouldn't look at her, though.

Luce climbed into the first wheelbarrow. Kaile followed, and Shade quickly and silently came last. Kaile sat in the middle, the sailor and the shadow to either side. Neither of the wheelbarrow pushers seemed to notice Shade at all—either because they couldn't see her, or because they were too busy not noticing Kaile by willful effort.

Cymbat settled himself into the second wheelbarrow, still grumbling unintelligible things.

Without a word, the wheelbarrow pushers set off. Old Jibb set a steady pace despite his spring-shaped leg.

“These two are from Broken Wall,” said Luce, her voice low.

Kaile nodded.

“They know you,” said Luce, “but they think you're a dead thing.”

Kaile nodded again.

Luce snorted. “No tip for either of them—especially since I've already overpaid.”

Kaile shook her head. “Not their fault,” she whispered. “It was nice of them to come to my funeral.”

“If you say so,” said Luce.

The carriages climbed up the ravine and passed through the Broken Wall neighborhood, each familiar landmark made unfamiliar in the dark and the fog. They followed the winding and uneven Southside roads to the Fiddleway gatehouse, which always stood open. They passed under the gatehouse and onto the bridge.

The vast length of the Fiddleway stretched out over the River and connected the two halves of Zombay. Houses and shops lined the sides of it, and the Clock Tower stood over all the rest. Kaile could see the clock glowing through the fog above them. She saw lights flicker in a few house windows. She saw no one else out on the street.

This clearly bothered Luce. “Someone should be out here,” the sailor said in an angry, worried way. “That boy with the glass harpsichord should be out here. It's his shift tonight. The flood is coming. We should have at least one musician playing at all times. Here I am, sailing off into the fog to bring us more auditionable material just so we can have every possible musician on deck, and now I find the bridge empty and silent. This isn't right. And I could swear I just heard a scraping sound. I should be hearing music, and instead I hear unpleasant scraping sounds. Did you catch that?”

Kaile listened, but she couldn't hear either music or unpleasant scraping sounds—only the metal-rimmed wheels of the wheelbarrow carriage as they fought with the road surface and found every bump.

“This is the place,” Luce said loudly. “Drop us off here.”

The wheelbarrows stopped beside a grand-looking house across the street from the Clock Tower. Kaile had seen the house many times, but she hadn't ever noticed it before. This close to the clock it was difficult to notice anything other than the clock.

The clockface showed a stained-glass landscape and thick glass clouds to match the actual weather. A glass moon passed through the clouds to show the time.

It was late. Kaile rarely ever stayed up so late, and this
particular day had been both full and strange, but somehow she wasn't tired. She felt as alert as a plucked string—though she also felt out of tune, and hungry. Her stomach complained.

Luce dismounted from the wheelbarrow. Kaile followed, and Shade came after.

The sailor gave her thanks to Brunip and Old Jibb, but she didn't offer either one of them a tip for their trouble. They both hurried away into Southside without complaint.

Kaile watched them go.

Luce took a key from around her neck and unlocked the great wooden door of the grand-looking house. “Come in, come in,” she said. “Cymbat won't come near the entrance while your shadow stands nearby, and we've been out here in the clammy weather for long enough. Come in.”

The inside of the house looked warm and well lit. Shade darted in first. Kaile followed. The grumbling drummer crept inside eventually. Luce came last.

The Beglicane house was large for a bridge home—large enough to have a full entrance hall with a sweeping double staircase carved in red stone. Cracks cut across the painted plaster walls and faded murals, but it still looked like a stately and respectable place. Candles burned in mirrored sconces on every wall.

“Welcome to the Beglicane estate,” said Luce.
“Pegomancy Beglicane built this place a few hundred years back, when she grew tired of life as a pirate queen. She couldn't set foot on either side of the city, so she stormed the bridge, built the very largest house, and started the Fiddleway's sanctuary tradition. The Guard still can't place anyone in irons if they're standing on the bridge, and that was all her doing.” She looked around, still seeming worried and disgruntled. “Where is everyone? Cymbat, find our guest something to eat. I can hear her stomach grumbling. I'll go check in with the Master upstairs.”

Cymbat disappeared through a side door. Luce climbed the stairs quickly, her strides swallowing three steps apiece.

Kaile closed her eyes and took in a slow breath. She was welcome here. For the very first time since her funeral, she had been made welcome. She stood in a warm, dry place, far from the Kneecap and far from the hayloft she had woken up in. She soaked up this feeling and tried not to think about Old Jibb rushing off, bouncing with the uneven rhythm of his spring-shaped leg. She tried not to think about Brunip's bulk jogging alongside. Two familiar pieces of her own neighborhood had hurried away from her, and she tried not to think about that.

The drummer emerged with a small loaf of bread and a glass of very light ale. He didn't give them to Kaile. He set them on the floor nearby and backed away.

“Um, thanks,” said Kaile. She picked them up. Shade reached out a tentative hand and took the shadows of the bread and glass.

Cymbat gave a yelp and hurried away again, leaving Kaile alone with her shadow.

This isn't nearly as good as Broken Wall bread,
Shade whispered, chewing.

“Not nearly,” Kaile agreed. Whoever had baked it hadn't bothered to cut gills in the top, so the finished loaf looked lumpy and awkward. It also tasted like dust and paper. She devoured it anyway. The light ale was refreshing, at least—though of course Mother's brew tasted very much better.

“They want me to audition,” she said aloud, tasting the idea. “They want me to play for the bridge.”

I hope you get to,
Shade whispered.
But you probably won't.

“What makes you say that?” Kaile demanded. “I played a tune that every bridge musician heard. I chased a ghoulish thing away with a counting song.”

An annoying counting song,
said Shade.

“That was the point. That's why it worked.”

This will be different.

“How?” Kaile asked, but Shade finished the crumbs of her shadow-bread in silence and then changed the subject.

I wonder where that ghoulish thing is.

“It's probably still on the Kneecap,” said Kaile. “No passing barge will give it a lift, not willingly. It'll pace around and sing to itself until the River rises and puts the drowned things back to bed.”

You don't know that,
said Shade.
You have no way of knowing that. You're just making up something comforting.

“Of course I am,” Kaile admitted. “But it won't work if you point out that that's what I'm doing.”

I can't help it,
said Shade.
I hear the flummery and bluster in your voice, and I can't help but point it out. I always have—you just never paid attention before. Go back to ignoring me if you'd rather.

Kaile had been feeling rather confident about her audition, but Shade made that confidence collapse like a soufflé stabbed with a sharp stick. Kaile felt an ache where confidence used to be.

“Go away,” she snapped. “Get away from me. Go cower in some little patch of candlelight.”

Kaile stalked away from her shadow and pretended to look at the wall murals. Most of them showed idyllic scenes of drifting barges. None of them showed the noise and smoke of piracy. Kaile supposed that the old pirate queen had had enough noise and smoke by the time she built this house.

She did not see Shade leave, but when she looked around, Shade was already gone.

Kaile felt one pure moment of nameless panic. It surprised her. She should have felt relieved to get a bit of a break from her shadow's disparaging whispers. She told herself to feel relieved. Instead she searched the room, looking for Shade.

Kaile barely noticed when Luce Strumgut descended the staircase.

“Time for your audition,” the sailor said. “Nibbledy, the Master of Music and the Fiddleway Revels, will hear you now.”

Kaile laughed a nervous laugh. “Nibbledy?”