"Information for information. A fair trade. I see you are rapidly learning the ways of our town. No, I didn't come looking for a story, though in the past I've walked further on that quest. I am here on my own in attempt to insure with my presence that the Beysa is not overcharged too outrageously for the boat you're building."
He quickly held up a hand, stopping Monkel's protests before they could begin.
"I am not accusing you specifically. Lord Setmur, though we both know the expenses you reported to the Empress yesterday were inflated. I expected it would happen when I recommended your project to the Beysa, and so far the exaggerated charges are well within acceptable limits. Since you are usually out with the fleet, you have no way of knowing that I visit the wharf every day to create the illusion that work and expenses are being monitored. I like to think it will help my countrymen to keep their greed in check, thus avoiding the scandal of an audit or the challenge which would certainly result if they were left to find the upper limits on their own."
Monkel dropped his eyes in embarrassment and bewilderment. Along with random violence, he still had difficulty comprehending the easy way graft was accepted, if not anticipated in Sanctuary.
"My encounter with you today is a chance meeting spurred by my own curiosity upon seeing you ashore at this hour, nothing more," Hakiem finished. "Now for your half of the bargain. What, besides illness, could keep you from the fleet? I trust you have not chosen a wharfside back-alley for a sick-bed."
In response, Monkel held up a small stick with a length of fishing line wrapped around it.
Hakiem frowned for a moment, then followed the line with his eyes as it extended down the alley. A fine fishing net was hanging there as if for drying, and scattered on the ground under it were pieces of bread and fruit.
"It looks asif..." Hakiem fixed Monkel with a puzzled stare. "Fishing for birds? For this you abandoned your duties with the fleet?"
"It will be a gift... for a lady. I thought it would impress her more than something I had simply purchased."
"But aren't the beyarl sacred to your people?"
"Yes, but I was hoping to catch..."
Monkel's voice trailed off, but Hakiem had heard enough to finish the thought.
"... one of Sanctuary's birds." The oldster seemed vaguely troubled. "There is no law against it, probably because no one has thought to try it before. Are you sure. Lord Setmur, that such an undertaking is wise? Wild things are usually best left wild."
Monkel laughed. "That's a strange thing to say to someone who makes his living pulling creatures from the sea."
"Catching and killing for food is one thing. Trying to tame..."
Hakiem broke off speaking and laid a hand on Monkel's arm. Monkel looked, and jerked his line in almost the same instant, a reflex not unlike setting a hook.
A piercing scream and a flutter of wings announced his success as a dark bundle of feathers struggled vainly to escape the net's folds.
"Got it!" Monkel exclaimed, rising to his feet. "My thanks, Lord Adviser: your alertness has speeded my success."
Hakiem shook his head as he turned to go.
"Do not thank me yet," he said darkly. "This tale's not over, if it has even begun yet. I only hope its conclusion is to your liking."
Monkel heard none of this, for with the urgency of youth, he was already moving to secure his prize... or rather, what he felt sure would be the means to his prize.
As the days stretched into weeks, Monkel had more than one occasion to question his choice of gift for Uralai. The bird staunchly refused to be tamed.
Closer examination of his catch had shown a bird unlike any Monkel could recall having seen, though admittedly he had spent little time studying land-birds. It was roughly the size of a raven, though its vaguely hooked beak would lead some to think of it as a hawk, and black as the sea at night. Dominating its features was a pair of bright yellow eyes which seemed at once soul-piercing with their analytic coldness, and smoldering with an ill-repressed fury that one normally only sees in a death match with a blood enemy.
When Monkel gave the bird the freedom of his quarters it began methodically breaking every item vaguely fragile and several he had thought beyond damage. When he packed the few remaining valuables away, the bird countered by leaving its droppings on his clothes and bedding and gouging and splintering his furniture with its beak.
As to Monkel himself, the bird's attitude varied. Sometimes it would flee in terror, crashing headlong into the wall in its efforts to escape, and at other times it would fly in his face, screaming its outrage while contesting his right to even enter the room. Mostly, it would play coy, letting him approach with outstretched hand only to flutter away to wait again on another perch... or better still, climb onto his hand momentarily, then use its beak in a slashing move to draw blood from his hand or face before taking to the air.
The bird thought it was terrific fun. The thoughts of Monkel himself, with an increasing number of scars and half-healed wounds adorning his features and appendages, are best left unrecorded save to note that he often found himself wondering if the bird was edible. At this point in their duel, simply killing it would have been an insufficient expression of his frustration.
The final breakthrough was triggered by a conversation with one of his clan members. Clan Setmur was growing more and more concerned about his attempts at bird taming. Not only was it leaving him in a perpetually foul mood, it was drawing unwanted attention to the wharf community. Whether his friends at the captains' table had let the news leak or if Hakiem was not as retired from storytelling as he claimed was inconsequential. What mattered was that it was now common knowledge on the streets of Sanctuary that one of the Beysib fishermen had caught a black bird and was trying to tame it. Curiosity seekers appeared in a surprising array of rank and status. Barflies and S'danzo seers, petty criminals and self-proclaimed emissaries of the crime-lord Jubal all were asking questions with varying degrees of subtlety regarding the bird and its trainer. Once, a dark mysterious woman reputedly never seen by the light of day was heard to make inquiries.
To one and all, clan Setmur claimed ignorance, but, as a normally quiet private people, they were distressed at this sudden notoriety. Having failed in their efforts to convince Monkel to abandon his task completely, they instead plied him with every bit of advice they could think of to bring his project to a successful and, above all, speedy conclusion.
Thus it was that Monkel was approached by Paratu, one of his cousins, as their ship approached Sanctuary after a day's fishing.
"Have you considered treating the bird like a person?" she said without preamble. "Perhaps it resents your attitude."
Monkel found himself smiling in spite of himself.
"Whatever led you to that idea?"
In response, Paratu gestured toward the city.
"I was recalling what you told us when we first arrived at this hellhole... about dealing with the residents of Sanctuary. You said we shouldn't think of them as animals. That if we treated them as people, they would respond as such and everyone would benefit. Well, your advice worked, and it occurred to me that, like the people, the bird is from the city. Maybe the same approach would work for you now."
"There's one problem with that, Paratu. The bird is an animal."
"So are the people," she said, staring at the town. "They respond to respect, and I frankly doubt you could find more than a handful that are any smarter than your bird."