Kingfisher(79)

The eye, luminous and huge, seemed to stare into the bottom of her mind. But all it would have seen, she realized shakily, was a battered, stained old pot, worn beyond use, and most likely found under a sink in the Kingfisher Grill, catching a leak in the pipes.

He let her go abruptly. Sage had vanished somewhere inside herself, standing motionless, unblinking, trying to make herself into air, nothing more noticeable or important.

Stillwater picked the utensil out of the machine, and shook it, listening to its inner rattlings. He put it under the table. When he spoke again, he sounded as calm and reasonable as ever.

“You should make more of those bites for us, since Sage likes it so much. Yes, Sage. Go ahead and let them in.”

Carrie kept the small bites coming for a couple of hours, sometimes using Stillwater’s machines, sometimes the ugly, magnificent pot.

Finally, the last diner left; Sage closed the door, and Carrie came out to help clear the tables, while Stillwater tidied his machines. Finished, he left the rest of the cleanup to Carrie and went out, as usual, to walk and think about tomorrow’s lunch, since the restaurant was closed for supper that night. Carrie put plates in the dishwashers, hand-washed the bar glasses, and scrubbed and polished the pot until she saw the gentle glow of its fires.

She put it in its favorite corner and stood for a moment, listening. Stillwater hadn’t returned yet. The washing machines were running, full of napkins and tablecloths, which meant that Sage was back in the old bank office, adding up receipts.

Carrie turned, contemplated Stillwater’s small, gleaming army of machines.

She went to work.

She took the pot with her when she finished.





24


Pierce was sitting at the Kingfisher bar late in the evening, alone and waiting for Friday or Carrie, whichever came first, when he became aware of a stirring in the air beside him, a shift of the empty barstool. Fingers gripped his arm. He turned, looked into a white, thin face with the wolf’s pale, luminous eyes. Carrie, he realized with a start; still he did not entirely recognize her.

“You’re a knight,” she said, getting to the point without bothering to say hello. “At least you look like one. And you know something about magic. You knew which knife to steal.”

He flushed. “I’m giving it back, I swear—”

“I meant that you saw the magic in it. The mystery. I need help. Isn’t that what questing knights are for?”

“I suppose. I didn’t really listen to the instructions. Of course I’ll help, whatever it is. Can I buy you that beer?”

She nodded, raising a finger at Tye, who lifted an empty glass in greeting and slid it under a tap. Pierce, studying her hollow, resolute face, wondered at the changes in it.

He said abruptly, “It’s Stillwater. Isn’t it?”

“Don’t say that name,” she breathed. “Not in here. He’s got a history, here.”

“Carrie,” Tye said, setting her beer down. “Haven’t seen much of you these days. Working too hard?”

“Thanks, Tye,” she said, giving him a smile that he didn’t return. His eyes, behind his glasses, seemed opaque, his thoughts withdrawn to some distant place. He didn’t look at Pierce until Pierce spoke.

“Tye. About the knife—”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll settle up later. You okay for now?”

“For now, thanks,” Pierce answered, and Tye moved away, swatting at a cruising fly with his bar towel. Above him, the mobile of hanging Fools’ heads swayed and turned as someone else came in. Pierce was silent until a couple settled at the other end of the bar, and Tye went to greet them. Then he said softly, “They know. Don’t they? That you’re working for him?”

Carrie gave a brief nod, huddling over her beer, dropping words into it as though they would dissolve with the beer bubbles. “He destroyed this place,” she whispered, “and left them all spellbound. Not even my father could drive him out of Chimera Bay. He couldn’t enchant my father, though. My father saw clearly enough what was going on. Like you do, even though you’ve never even met—never—” She paused, asked bewilderedly, “How on earth did you find your way to that restaurant? I thought you’d left town.”

“I blew a tire and hit a tree. I stayed downtown while my car was being fixed. Skulked, more like it, so that I wouldn’t run into anyone here. I don’t know why I wanted that knife. I just did. So I took it. Then I wandered by that restaurant and saw something else I wanted.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you just naturally drawn to trouble, or do you go looking for it?”

“How would I know? I’ve never left home before.”

“Well.” Her voice went thin again, almost inaudible. “She could use your help. We both could. Very much. You saw what he wanted you to see. The way he wanted you to see her. He did that to me, too. To everyone in this place. He shows you a face to fall in love with, then he starves you. You can never have it, and you can’t live without it.”

“Sage,” he breathed, suddenly cold. “Is she—”

“Not like him. No. She could use some rescuing.” She linked her fingers around her glass but didn’t lift it; she hadn’t taken a single sip. “She’s trapped. So am I. But at least I know now what I’m looking at.”