“Thought so,” said the book. “Where else would you expect a high-flying bird like Claviger to go? Upstairs.”
It was a long and difficult climb. Each step was thick with vegetation, and the travelers had to negotiate a brook that descended the length of the stairs.
They rested on the little mezzanine where the staircase changed direction. Mr. Cavea was at the front, carrying the book, his explorer’s suit becoming more and more filthy. The bird sang at them to hurry, and Deeba and Hemi and the utterlings did their best to obey. The three utterlings helped each other, clambering silently over each other’s bodies in a constant chain of themselves.
“I wish I could do that,” Deeba said. Hemi raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh shut up,” she roared. “Not with you.” At the top of the stairs they stopped again. Through the thick leaf-cover they could see doorways on either side of the hall, and at its very end a window. Only a little daylight could struggle through the leaves that covered it and reach them.
Three times they had to move fast. A sinuous green creeper emerged quietly from under a nearby door and wrapped around Hemi’s leg. It tightened and, shaking its leaves, hauled him towards the doorway, which opened onto darkness. He fell and gripped the roots around him. It was only his phantom heritage that saved him. Hemi strained, and Deeba saw the vine tighten on his trousers as the flesh beneath went semi-incorporeal. With a grunt of effort, Hemi dragged his half-ghost limb out of the thing’s grip, leaving it with only a torn patch of his trousers in its trendril.
From the next door came a horrible slobbering roar, and a long, vicious-looking claw curled around the frame. Hemi and Deeba pulled the door closed on it as fast as they could, and heard a screeching and a bulky wet body slamming against it on the inside.
Little raccoony-skunky things watched them as they panted. Deeba stopped to examine fat berries in the thickets over her head, only to scream in disgust as the thumb-sized nuggets squirmed and she realized they were not fruit but leeches. “Run!” she shouted as the revolting sluglike things stretched their pliable bodies towards them.
“Quick!” said the book. They staggered as fast as they could along the first-floor hallway, Hemi and Deeba hurrying the utterlings along, just in time to avoid a shower of the bloodsucking things. Behind them was a patter of plops as the leeches landed.
“We’ve actually got quite lucky,” the book said. Deeba and Hemi looked at it incredulously. “Given the number of things that live in this forest.”
Mr. Cavea sang.
“It’s not too much farther,” the book translated. “The other birds told him. All of them know where the parakeets and whatnot live. He’s had a look.”
Cavea pointed. Through gaps between low-hanging foliage Deeba saw a door at the end of the corridor.
“So…is it going to give us this feather?” Deeba said. “Can we just ask it?”
“Doubt it,” the book said.
“Why? Do you know it? Does it have a reputation?”
“It’s just that’s rarely how things work out with this sort of thing,” the book said. “It’s normally trickier than that. That’s why they’re tasks.”
Cavea’s bird trilled.
“We’d better have a backup plan, then,” the book translated. They stood silently for some moments.
“Bling, Diss,” Hemi said thoughtfully. “How well can you climb?”
When they pushed the door, it opened onto a tiny room full of greenery. It was little more than a cubicle. To one side, brimming with water, tiny lilies, and water snakes, was a sink, its taps coiled with the roots of plants. The ceiling was surprisingly high, and was thick with branches above a dangling bulb. It rustled with life.
In front of them, rising like a deserted little temple from the undergrowth, below a dangling mass of creepers, was the toilet. Clear water gurgled over the rim of its ceramic bowl, wound its way along the floor, under the door, down the corridor and the stairs.
“We’ve found the source of the river,” whispered the book.
Jutting from the wall of plant life, the square cistern was just visible. Among the hanging vines dangled its chain.
“Go on then Diss, Bling,” Hemi whispered.
“Just in case,” Deeba added. “Might not need you. But if you hear your names…” The utterlings nodded. They knew what to do.
They crept into the foliage on opposite sides of the tiny room and began to climb, Bling with its hooked claws, Diss with its six little paws. They stayed as hidden as possible under the leaves.
Deeba, Hemi, Cauldron, and Cavea stepped forward and stood in front of the forest toilet. Cavea hefted the book and sang, and hidden in the branches, scores of birds answered in harsher voices.
“He’s calling the keyfeather-bearer,” the book whispered. “Really giving it some flowery stuff. ‘You most honored bird of paradise, of whom it is written in the book,’ et cetera. The other birds are laughing.”
Cavea seemed to be having some sort of argument. His human body cupped its hands to either side of the cage, like a man shouting, and the bird sang loud. Its unseen cousins answered.
“And they look so sweet…” said the book in a shocked tone.
The avian bickering went on, and Cavea grew more and more agitated, until all of a sudden, scores of birds dropped out of the leaf-cover and surrounded them, perching on ledges and branches.
They were parrots, cockatiels, macaws, and cockatoos, ruffling their feathers and calling raucously from nasty-looking beaks. They all spoke at once in ugly voices, and Deeba had to put her hands over her ears.
“They’re telling Cavea to show proper respect in the Claviger’s court,” she could just hear the book say.
“Um, Cavea?” said Hemi, and pointed up.
A bird was perched on the rim of the toilet tank, watching them. It was a parrot, and it was huge. It cawed once, gratingly.
It was absolutely beautiful, a vivid patchwork of reds, blues, and yellows. As it shuffled on its feet and eyed the travelers, several of its smaller companions swept around it in a quick aerobatic dance.
“So where’s the…” Deeba started to ask. As she spoke, several of the birds raised crests on their necks and heads. Vivid colors swung upwards into temporary tiaras, in the center of each of which was a large, bright feather shaped like a key.
The one adorning the big parrot was huge.
“Never mind,” Deeba whispered.
64. Alpha Male
Claviger’s head-feather smoothed down again, and was invisible in his plumage. Deeba stepped forward.
“Don’t bother,” the book said. “He doesn’t speak any Human.”
“Cavea, could you translate?” Deeba said. The caged bird nodded. “Parakeetus Claviger, I presume,” Deeba said, and waited for Cavea to whistle. “Pleased to meet you. Sorry to crash round yours like this. I’m sure you know about the Smog, Mr. Claviger. I want to ask if you’ll help us fight it.”
The parrot cawed, and Mr. Cavea whistled.
“He says no,” the book said.
“Who does?” said Deeba.
“Parakeetus Claviger.”
“But…why did you wait for Cavea to say it? Do you understand Bird or not?”
“Yes. But Claviger has a strong parrot accent I can’t make out.”
Deeba rolled her eyes.
“And…he says no? Claviger?”
The parrot called again, and Cavea twittered.
“Yes, he says no. He says he knows what you’re going to ask for, and we can’t have it. He says we should be ashamed of ourselves, wanting to take his crest. The males all use them to show off, and when they’re being aggressive. He says without it he won’t be a hit with the ladies. He says, uh…that the chicks dig his threads. Don’t look at me like that, Deeba, that’s what he says.”