The Eagle And The Nightingales

He certainly didn't expect that out of the drab little starling at the front door!

Finally she reached the top of the stairs, the balcony overlooking the dance floor, and the hallway leading off of it. Though the hall muffled some of the echoing noise from below, she couldn't help but notice that her room was just not far enough from the balcony for it to do much good. She put the harp down to open her door; set it inside and turned on the light, then closed the door behind her. The din outside vanished, cut off completely once the door was closed. She sighed with relief; her one worry had been that she might be kept awake all night by the noise. Evidently the Deliambren had thought of that, as well.

She set the harp safely in the corner, and reached for the plate that released the bed. It swung down, gently as a falling feather, and she fell into it.

And got up immediately at a tapping at her door. She answered it, frowning; had someone followed her up here, expecting the kind of entertainment that Kyran had sworn she would not have to provide? If so, he was going to get a rude surprise. Nightingale did not need a knife or a club to defend herself; her Lyncana friends made a fine art of hand-to-hand combat, and while she was a mere novice by their standards, she was confident that there was not a single human, no matter how large and muscular, who could force himself upon her. Many had tried in the past, and many had ended up permanently singing in higher keys.

But when she opened the door, there didn't seem to be anyone there_until she dropped her eyes.

'Evenin' snack for ye, mum,' said a tow-headed urchin with a pair of ears that could have passed for handles, holding up a covered tray. He had to shout to be heard over the bellows and cheers from the dance floor below. 'Boss figgered ye'd be hungered.'

She wasn't about to argue; she took the tray from the boy with a smile, and before she could even thank him, he had scampered away down hall to the staircase, nimble as a squirrel and just as lively.

Hmm. My first reward for a job well done? That could be; she wasn't going to press the point. She was hungry despite a few bites taken here and there during the breaks in performing. After all, she hadn't eaten since noon, and that was a long time ago!

She took the tray over to her bed, set it down, lifted the cover, and nearly fainted with delight.

There was quite enough there, in that 'snack,' to have fed her for two days if she'd been husbanding rations. A tall, corked bottle of something cold_water beaded the sides and slid down the dark glass enticingly_stood beside a plate holding a generous portion of rare roast meat, sliced thin and still steaming. Three perfect, crusty rolls, already buttered, shared the plate with the meat. Very few humans would have recognized the next dish, which resembled nothing so much as a purple rose, but she knew a steamed kanechei when she saw it, and her mouth watered. To conclude the meal, there was a plate of three nut-studded honeycakes.

Her stomach growled, and she fell to without a second thought. When she finished, there was nothing left but a few crumbs and a blissful memory.

Following Deliambren tradition, she took the tray to the door and left it next to the wall, just outside. As she looked up and down the hallway, she saw another tray or two, which meant that she had done the right thing. The shouting from below had died down somewhat, but it sounded rather as if the drummer for the musical group was having some kind of rhythmic fit, and the audience was clapping and stamping their feet in time. She closed the door again quickly.

Why is it that the drunker people become, the more drumming they want? Maybe the alcohol blunts their ability to enjoy anything subtle_like a melody.

She had intended to read some of her own notebooks of nonhuman songs_but after that wonderful meal, and especially the light, sweet wine that had accompanied it, she could hardly keep her eyes open. So instead, she slipped out of her gown and hung it up with a care for the delicate cutwork; drew her nightshirt on over her head, turned off the light and felt her way into bed. She hardly had time to settle herself comfortably, when sleep overtook her.

'Therefore, my friends and brothers,' the young Priest said, earnestly, his brown eyes going from one face below him to the next, 'Yes, and my sisters, too! You must surely see how all these things only prove the unity of everything in the Cosmos_how God has placed the warmth of His light in every heart, whether the outer form of that heart walk on two legs or four_be clad in skin, hide, scales, or feathers_whether the being call God by the Name that we know him, or by something else entirely! What matters is this, only: that a being, whatever form he wears, strive to shelter that Light, to make it shine the brighter, and not turn his face to the darkness!'

The homely young Priest signaled his musicians and stepped back with a painfully sincere smile. Nightingale slipped out of St. Brands Chapel just as the tiny_and obviously musically handicapped_choir began another hymn- song, slipping a coin into the offering box as she passed it. She stepped out into the busy street and blended into the traffic, squinting against the bright noon light.

This was the fourth Chapel she had attended in as many days, and it had her sorely puzzled. In the other three_all of them impressive structures in 'good' neighborhoods_she had heard only what she had expected to hear. That only humans had souls; that nonhumans, having no soul to save, had no reason to be 'good.' That if they had no reason to be good, they must, therefore, be evil.