Glass Swallow (4 page)

‘Please, don’t take too long. I’m really worried about her.’

‘I know—and it’s natural. Goldie’s your first bird. We all worry too much about our first.’

Helgis sighed, realizing his brother was not going to come with him until he was good and ready. He often complained that Peri was as immovable as the peak of Mount Bandor; even now, as he stood ankle-deep in the mud, his shoulder-skimming black hair tied back with a leather thong, his long limbs relaxed, there was no budging him until he was finished. Yet Peri had a sure hand with the birds that kept even the tricky ones, like the falcon he was now flying, obedient to his will. Helgis wished he had even a fraction of his patience.

Peri caught his brother’s envious look and smiled inwardly. He knew his little brother thought him always the capable one. Helgis had announced only the night before that he wanted to be exactly like Peri when he grew up, much to the amusement of the rest of the family. They all anticipated that Helgis’s hot temper might not allow it. But Peri loved his little brother dearly and hoped he could live up to the high opinion Helgis held of him.

‘You’d best move to a safe distance,’ Peri said gently.

‘I’ll get out of your way then.’ Helgis jumped from tussock to tussock to reach the shelter of a rock. ‘I’m clear.’

Peri slowly began to spin the lure above his head, the piece of rabbit meat tied to the end humming in the wind to tempt the falcon on the wing. He put aside the problem of Helgis’s sparrowhawk for later attention, concentrating on the task at hand. Would the bird respond? The crotchety falcon had been almost impossible to train so as a last resort had been given to him to straighten out. Peri guessed a previous handler had mistreated the creature or failed to be consistent with his rewards; it had developed an unpredictable and malevolent streak, as likely to dive for the trainer as the meat lure.

‘Come on, beauty,’ he urged the hunter. He was the bird’s last chance: if it didn’t respond to him, then it would be destroyed, a thought which made Peri want to rage at the unfairness of life. The only birds of prey the Magharnan Master allowed near his capital, Rolvint, were those under the control of the falconers.

With a contemptuous loop over the crag, the peregrine flaunted its superb flying skills. It skimmed along the ridge, teasingly suggesting that it planned to continue on until it was out of sight. Then, finally, as if sensing that even Peri’s patience was running out, it turned and rocketed towards the lure, as fast as an arrow from a longbow. It made a perfect grab for the meat, landing it on the grass.

Now the test: could the handler separate it from the lure? If the falcon ate the kill, it would never do as a hunter. It had to be trained to let go of what it had captured. Peri moved closer, slipping off his jacket, then threw it over the lure, making it seem to the falcon that it had ‘disappeared’. He then cast a small chunk of meat within easy reach. Would the falcon let go of the prize it still gripped but could not see, in favour of the reward that was very visible on the ground a pace away? The falcon raised its ebony eyes, its expression one of resentment, but then hopped off the lure to pluck the titbit from the grass. Next Peri held out his gauntleted hand with another larger piece of meat. Rogue gave him a cold look but flapped up to snatch this reward too, allowing Peri to secure the bird in place by the jesses attached to its legs. Back under the falconer’s control, Rogue was too busy eating his treat to worry that Peri was putting away the much larger feast on the end of the lure.

‘Phew!’ exclaimed Helgis, jumping out from behind his refuge. ‘I never thought I’d see Rogue follow orders.’

Usually unruffled by anything that happened on the training grounds, Peri could not disguise his delight. ‘I didn’t think I’d live to see it either. He’s been the most difficult bird I’ve ever had to train.’

Helgis hooted. ‘Oi, Rogue, you scrawny old thing! You owe Peri, you know. Without him, you’d be cat’s meat.’

The raptor looked up from its meal, fixing the twelve-year-old boy with a disdainful glare.

‘I don’t think he’s grateful,’ noted Helgis.

‘No, it’s not in his nature,’ agreed Peri.

‘About Goldie—’

‘I’m coming, I’m coming, sprout. Just let me hood Rogue and we’ll head back to the barracks.’

Peri subdued the falcon with a tiny leather hood, allowing it to keep its reward in its talons. He was comfortable with Rogue’s weight on his arm; like the rest of his family, he almost felt undressed unless he had one of his birds along for the ride. He headed back to where he had left his horse in the shelter of an oak tree; Helgis’s pony grazed alongside. Peri had expected to see an escort of at least a couple of other lads from the compound, but Helgis had apparently made the journey alone.

‘Does our father know you’ve come to find me?’ Peri asked shrewdly.

‘Not exactly.’ Helgis mounted then waited while his brother put the falcon in its travelling basket.

‘So you’re beyond the compound without permission and on your own?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Hmm.’ It was not Peri’s way to scold his younger brother, preferring the boy to reach his own conclusions about the recklessness of his actions.

‘But you’re out here alone,’ Helgis argued.

Peri raised a brow, his dark brown eyes solemn.

‘Yes, I know you are trained to defend yourself—and you’ve the falcon as well—but it’s broad daylight: it’s hardly likely that the bandits would pick on me, is it?’

Peri clicked his horse into motion. The gelding began a smooth trot back down the mountain road, picking a safe route through the potholes and fallen stones.

‘I mean, I’m just a boy. I suppose they might have wanted Apple.’ Helgis patted the piebald pony as she gamely tried to keep up with the long legs of Peri’s chestnut. ‘I know people are desperate—but we’re close to Rolvint—bandits don’t come here, do they?’

Nutmeg splashed across a stream. Peri hadn’t wanted to chance the rotting bridge. He waited on the far bank for Helgis and Apple to reach them.

‘The Master’s guards no longer patrol out here, Helgis,’ he explained, gesturing to the appalling state of the highway. ‘There’s no money to pay for enough of them. A group of pilgrims from the coast was attacked on this very spot only last week. Three of them died. The rest walked to the capital barefooted and wearing only their shirts.’

Helgis grimaced. ‘That’s terrible—attacking pilgrims, I mean. Isn’t anyone safe?’

Peri knew his point was now made and waited for Helgis to realize. It didn’t take long.

‘So I’m not safe either, am I?’ Helgis shuddered and urged Apple into a faster trot. ‘Let’s get home, Peri.’

The falcon men’s barracks were situated beyond the city walls in the graveyard district. Their role as carers for birds of prey made them unclean to other Magharnans so they occupied this ground with others of their class, the refuse collectors, dog handlers, butchers and undertakers—anyone who handled the dead, or creatures that killed. Peri always thought it strange that while the higher classes were quite happy to consume the carcasses caught by the hunting birds and prepared by the butchers, they despised those who did the work to bring the food to their table. Where did the nobles and merchants think the fine meats covered in rich sauces came from if not from the ugliness of the slaughterhouse or the bloody reality of the hunt? He was thankful he did not have to live with such hypocrisy at his home.

The barracks themselves were basic but comfortable, as far removed from the extravagant buildings of the city-within-the-walls as you could get. His home’s thick stonework, low slate roof, and stubby corners made it appear like a common earthworm squirming below the soaring butterfly architecture of the palaces, temples, and squares of Rolvint. The designers had attempted to make the city appear worthy of its god-ruler; nothing low or base was allowed inside; fountains must spring in the market places, trees blossom in the streets, houses be full of light and air. Arches and fretwork abounded, making the city from a distance look as if it was worked from lace. Raised with the prejudices of his outcast class, Peri had come to distrust the appearance, thinking such artistry wasted when people in the surrounding countryside could not travel on sound roads or even rely on the law enforcers to do their job. He suspected it was all a fine icing on a very stale cake.

Hefting the saddle off his sturdy Nutmeg, he shook his head at his own thoughts. He would have to be careful. It might be safe to think such things in private, but if he dared voice them he would be in trouble. The Master hated dissent.

Helgis had already broken the news of Rogue’s success when Peri ventured into the communal kitchen. His father was cooking at the open hearth in the centre while his mother helped his younger siblings with their schoolwork on a table under an open window. Other people were gathered in the spacious single storey building, each group occupying their allotted place, together yet separate for the evening family time. The bird handlers used three trestle tables set up on the eastern side of the fireplace; butchers congregated to the west. The hunters lounged around tables arranged in a sociable square, their tools and weapons hung on the southern wall behind them. To the north, in what should have been the darkest corner, the refuse-collectors assembled, their patch brightened by a collection of odds-and-ends gathered in the course of their work: mismatched drapes, cracked china, and battered copper pans polished to a shine. The scavenger families all slept elsewhere in huts scattered around the compound, but most preferred to spend their waking hours in this room where there was warmth and company.

Peri’s parents looked up and stopped what they were doing to congratulate him.

‘My boy,’ smiled Katia Falconer, kissing his cheek proudly.

‘Have some stew,’ growled his father, shoving a bowl in his hands. A man of few words, everyone understood that Hern meant this as approval and reward, feeding his son just as he would treat one of his falcons when they’d behaved well.

‘I’d best see to Goldie first,’ said Peri.

‘Nonsense,’ his mother replied, patting the bench, ‘that bird will wait ten minutes. Helgis is worrying unnecessarily.’

Peri’s brother frowned, not wishing to gainsay his mother, knowing how handy his father was with a wooden spoon administered to the top of a cheeky boy’s head. ‘Am not,’ he muttered.

Hern let this pass; he had already dealt out to Helgis a week’s long punishment of extra chores for going to the mountain pass without permission. ‘Any trouble?’ he asked Peri, returning to his cauldron.

He shook his head and sat down. ‘All quiet. But I saw no patrols either. You would’ve thought they’d increase the guard on the mountain passes now they know there are bandits out there.’

His youngest sister, a girl of four called Rosie, crawled on to his lap.

‘Leave your brother alone,’ called his mother as she marked sums drawn on a slate.

‘It’s all right, Ma, she’s no trouble.’ Peri stroked his sister’s head, her dark eyes glowing with adoration. Awkwardly he ate the stew, taking care not to drop any on her, which was made all the more difficult by her wriggling.

‘Well done, Bel.’ His mother kissed her eldest daughter for getting all her sums right. She ushered Bel away to eat before returning to her subject. ‘I don’t understand it. They’re spending money in the city on that new palace as if there is no tomorrow, while all around us things are falling apart.’

She did not dare say any more in this public space, but Peri and his parents thought it was a criminal waste what the nobles were doing when the harvests had been so bad this year. Merchants had begun hoarding grain and the poor could no longer afford to buy it. The rich were living as extravagantly as usual, indeed to even greater excess as if they were afraid that if they stopped, they too would starve.

‘I meant to say, Pa: the bridge to the pass needs serious work. Don’t use it if you go out that way.’ Peri ruffled Rosie’s hair and put her to one side. ‘I’ll come and say goodnight,’ he promised, ‘but for now I have a sick bird to see.’

Rosie stuck her thumb in her mouth and nodded solemnly.

Helgis danced along beside Peri as he made his way to the mews. It was Peri’s favourite place in the barracks, a long, specially designed building where the birds could rest in comfort on their perches, in groups or alone as suited their species. Rogue was already back in his niche, his flint-blue feathers gleaming like polished steel as he roosted on his ledge, next door to Bel’s merlin.

‘Obedience tired you out?’ murmured Peri, stroking the bird lightly, savouring the rapid beat of the tiny heart under the pale breast feathers.

Goldie was lodged a few niches along. As Helgis had said, she did not look her usual bright self, her ribbed stomach feathers yellowed, her dark brown coat flat and dull. Peri lifted her from her perch and sniffed the top of her head, alert for the smell of sickness. The bird nestled closer, strange behaviour for the usually proud sparrowhawk.

‘Not eating, you say?’ he asked.

‘No.’ Helgis showed him the untouched food bowl.

Peri wrinkled his nose: there was an unpleasant tang in the niche, the ground below the perch soiled. He crumbled apart a casting expelled from her crop, finding fur and bone inside the hard pellet. ‘Did you clean her out this morning?’

‘Of course,’ bristled Helgis. ‘She was really stinky.’