The First Binding, page 35
The sound of their names came to me as I thought of them, bringing a small fist over my heart to grab it. I didn’t wince, but the pain lingered.
“What do you think, little bird—cheep-cheep—about our newest find?” Mithu motioned toward me with a hand.
The child resting on the cushion gave me a look through half-shut eyes, clearly still holding on to sleep. He held the stare for a moment longer before sinking further into the soft folds of the mat below him. “S’dunno.”
Mithu rubbed the boy’s back before getting up and beckoning me. “Come-come. Time to meet those who can be your new family.” He didn’t wait for me to come to his side as he moved toward one of the archways at his right.
I quickly fell in step behind him, casting one last look over a shoulder to the two boys. Both returned my gaze with varying intensity.
Juggi maintained a look that told me I was not welcome and he would be keeping an eye on me. Likely both.
The other child’s stare reminded me of a cat out to bathe in the sun, unconcerned with much beyond their own contentment. Yet, an awareness still sat in it. He weighed me with a practiced disinterest.
I reevaluated which of the two boys might come to be a problem in that instant. Juggi hadn’t bothered to hide his feelings. But the other boy knew how to play pretend, and if that was the case, he could hide a great deal.
That could prove troublesome over time.
Mithu slipped a hand over my back, easing it up to a shoulder and squeezing hard. The action pulled me away from my suspicions and back to our walk as we brushed aside a rug hung to serve as a curtain in the arch.
Red walls gave way to a staircase of gray and dull stone. Simple, rough, and showing no signs of ever having been smooth. Mithu led the way, pausing halfway up. He eyed me sideways. “You’re quiet.”
I nodded.
“That’s not what I meant.” He pointed down at the stone. “Look at it.”
I did, unsure what he had in mind.
A moment passed before he finally decided to explain. “I’m wearing shoes. You are not. Sometimes when I find little lost birds and bring them here, these steps tell me about them, hm. Some come from places where they were treated to honeyed milk and almonds. Places with sugar rice pudding and their hands and feet rubbed with creams. They’re soft, and that’s not their fault. These steps tell me so, though. You walk like you don’t feel them. That tells me something else. No sounds, no faces. Nothing.”
I remained silent.
“You are no stranger to walking barefoot and over hard roads.” It wasn’t a question. “I think Juggi is wrong about you. You will make a marvelous little sparrow.”
I still didn’t know what that meant, and anything I’d tried to quietly glean so far from Mithu’s home told me little else but that he had two boys staying here. Notably not his sons from the way they looked. But I kept from pressing him on the subject for now.
We made our way up to the second story, walking beside each other despite the narrow width of the hall only leaving a few inches of free space on either side. The walls were of the same red brick as below, and the length of the passage had one defining trait to it: doors.
I counted nearly two dozen going down just one side of the hall, and just as many on the other.
Mithu must have picked up on the question settling in my mind, for he moved past me, knocking on one of the doors. He didn’t stop for it to open, moving on and continuing the action at some of the others. The movements carried an odd and measured beat to them, almost like he performed this ritual daily. Mithu completed the little circuit, making his way back to where he’d started, not looking at me as he waited.
All of the doors clicked a few breaths later. They opened in unison and one child per room stepped out into the hall, some raising balled fists to grind the sleep away at their eyes. I could hardly tell them apart from Juggi at first glance. It was as if they’d been deliberately dressed and had their hair tailored to be copies of the young boy. All that set them apart were the small features of their faces: deviations in their noses, ears, and of course their eyes. Things not all people bother to pay attention to at first look, possibly seconds and thirds.
Children are often the ignored voices and bodies of the world.
“The little ones don’t start singing and working until midday. We’ve woken them earlier than what they’re used to, new sparrow.”
I wanted to point out to Mithu that I hadn’t done a thing to rouse them from their sleep, and that I certainly hadn’t become one of his little birds. “And what is their work, Mithu … sahm.” I caught myself in the moment forgetting to add the honorific and decided to do so. It might have gone overlooked, but something told me a man like Mithu would appreciate the touch of respect.
If he noticed my hesitation, he didn’t comment on it. “Every nest of birds has their secrets, little one. If you want to know ours, you’ll have to wait to find out.”
The children had finally wrung themselves free of their sleep-driven stupor. All of them shot me looks without directly focusing their gazes on me. A practiced skill, one I’d taught myself watching Khalim’s tutelage of other actors. Too much a coincidence for them to have all come across that on their own.
Mithu’s been teaching them stagecraft. Why?
The weight of the looks grew, and I did everything I could to appear as ordinary as possible. Quite the task considering I was a new face standing beside the only adult within the building. One who obviously held power and control over all other lives here.
Mithu whistled and gestured to the stairs at the other end of the hall. “Cheep-cheep, birds. Cheep-cheep. Let’s go beyond your roost and to the canopy, hm? Time to welcome another bird and see if he wants to stay.” Mithu left no room for any protest, moving first and letting everyone fall into a neat tight line behind him as he walked upstairs.
I followed at the end of the pack. Or I thought I did. The uncanny awareness one has when being watched filled me. I didn’t turn fully, shifting slightly to one side as I moved up the first step. A glance out of the corners of my eyes showed me the young nameless boy I’d met after Juggi.
He moved perfectly in step with how I had, masking the sounds of his feet under my own.
Either it had been marvelous luck, something I’d lost faith in all too recently, or a deliberate effort on his part. I figured the latter, and kept it in mind that Mithu’s little birds carried more secrets and odd training than I’d originally thought.
Maybe I traded one danger off the streets for another. I could have run. The two boys who’d been left at my back couldn’t pose enough of a threat to bar me from escaping, no matter what little tricks they’d learned. But Mithu had dozens of children, and they moved almost like puppets on strings for him.
I didn’t know Keshum’s streets well enough to elude anyone, much less find a safe place to keep to myself should I get away.
The truth was, I needed him. There are few options for a penniless child of no worthy caste in the Mutri Empire. And what little there were for me usually led to early graves.
I gave the light-footed boy one last look before heading after Mithu.
The stairway led to a short hall only long enough to boast three archways along the wall, each just large enough for me to squeeze through. A pair of copper doors blocked the way ahead. They’d patinated to a color I’d later come to associate with some seas, a motley green flecked with blues and splashes of brown.
None of the children who’d first come up were in sight, and the same went for Mithu.
I went over to the doors and brought the base of a fist against them, hoping I’d done the right thing.
They opened, and two of the children from earlier moved to either side of me. Their stares remained fixed on one another like I didn’t exist.
The proceeding room had been painted a deep brown that held a sparkle that seemed to move with the light as my eyes tracked it. It held all the promise of gold in that extra color. Candles flickered at the edges of the room and hanging rugs kept out the morning light from the arches along one wall. A child sat before each of the little flames—motionless, making the fire seem livelier by comparison. Mithu sat at the far end of the room, resting comfortably on thicker and more ornate cushions than those on the first floor.
A man stood to either side of him, each a shocking departure from everyone else seen in Mithu’s home. Where all of the children could have been copied from a single painting, the two men did not follow that convention.
“Don’t let Askar and Biloo frighten you, little bird. Come-come.” Mithu beckoned me with a hand.
Askar and Biloo held all the similarities of a starveling alley cat and an overfed pig taught to walk upright. The first man’s eyes contained the sharp brightness and quickness of a feline’s. A brown touched with hints of gold. And his mouth held a self-satisfied smile that showed off too much of his canines.
He wore an open vest, too short to cover his torso, revealing places where his ribs pressed against his skin. His pants looked like they only held themselves up by the lengths of twine he’d fastened around his waist. A clean-shaven man with short curly hair that made him look like a skeleton upon which a furry animal had died.
It would be kind to say Biloo was twice the man Askar was when he was easily three times that. He wore no shirt, the broad of his body covered in green and russet-brown swirls of ink. Kahlri, a common skin dye made from a plant and its dried roots. Every breath took effort on the man’s part as he labored in the action—loudly. His hair fell in perfectly straight lengths behind his shoulders, an oily sheen tingeing the black of his locks. His eyes seemed too small for his face, and they looked utterly unconcerned with the goings-on of the moment.
I eyed both men, not wholly believing Mithu’s words about being free of fear around the pair. They had only one clear purpose: to scare people. Either away from Mithu, or into his favor.
Which means he’s probably just as dangerous. He came to you alone and handled those white-eyed men without help.
“Cheep-cheep. Come-come.” He motioned again, and I heeded the invitation, moving within four steps of him. Mithu smiled and nodded more to himself than me.
There are many little terrors in the world. Some come from open dangers, from things you know will hurt and things that mean to. Some come from old pains promising—threatening—to visit you again. You don’t know when or how, but the thoughts are there, and they are frightening. And lastly, there is the quiet fear that comes with waiting. The unease that comes from unknown things to come. All you do know is something will happen. That it’s out of your control, and that it can go entirely the wrong way for you.
And you’re standing there, a young boy, alone.
I did that and silently held on to the fears of what was to come, waiting for Mithu to prove them false or true in the next moments.
He reached over to a bulb of baked clay fixed to a tube. Mithu held its flexible stem in one hand, slipping it between his lips and taking a deep puff. Smoke seeped out through his mouth and nose and brought with it a smell like dying coals and weak cinnamon. He coughed several times and leaned back, eyelids fluttering. “Mhm. What do you think of my home so far, little bird?”
My life in the theater had taught me that appearances are deceiving. A lesson as true then and there as it has been throughout my life, wherever I ended up. Mithu’s home was no exception to that rule. But I kept that thought to myself.
“It’s nice.” The short and simple answer couldn’t buy me any trouble, I figured.
“Is that all it is?” Mithu took another puff followed by a shorter cough than before. “It’s a home for many lost little things like you.” He waved toward the children. “Isn’t that right, sparrows?”
They mimicked his earlier cheeping.
He grinned. “See? They are fed, they are clothed, and they all have spaces to themselves, which is what every little bird needs. Would you like that? I’m thinking you would.” Mithu brought the stem to his mouth for another inhale, but stopped short, tipping its head toward me instead.
He wasn’t wrong. A home, any safe place would have been a boon. If not for the obvious reasons of food and water, to keep me from Koli’s sight and grasp. At least until I was ready to do something about him.
“It would be nice. I do need a home.” At the thought of the last word, home, another ache filled my chest. A numbness took hold of my brain and, for a time I lost track of, I felt distant from myself, like I watched everything unfolding from over my shoulder. It was almost like being in the folds of my mind with none of the acute focus.
Mithu clapped a hand and the noise jerked me out of the slips of my mind. “You’re dancing, little bird.” He tapped the tip of the stem against an open palm. “Come to the point. Would you like to have a new family? To have work and purpose. To do what we do?”
And there was my opportunity to finally press him over that matter. “What exactly do you and your little … um, sparrows do?”
A small chorus of laughter broke out among the children and Mithu fixed them with a look that silenced them.
“My little sparrows pick up the excess material burdening the people in Keshum, and of course those who pass through it. Trader, traveler, wealthy dullard—squabbler. We’ll take the shoes from a cobbler. Fruit and veg, bowls of stew. Whatever’s to take. Whatever you can do. Some run, some sing, and all with eyes open for each and every shiny thing.”
“You’re thieves.” The words left my mouth with a harshness I hadn’t accounted for, but whatever edge my voice held, Mithu ignored it.
“We’re alive. We work when and where we can. We eat what we can. And we lay our heads at night on beds of our own. Which is more than the world has ever cared to offer any of us. And it looks to be more than anyone has offered you, hm?”
I saw no point in replying to that as the truth couldn’t have been more evident. Mithu and I knew my situation for what it was, and no words could clarify it any better than a simple look.
He took my silence as agreement before inhaling another puff of smoke. “So”—a thin stream of clouds filtered out through his lips—“I ask again, would you like to join my little family of sparrows?”
I thought back to what Mithu had said in the alley he’d pulled me from. “Koli took everything from me. Took my family. My home. My…” I trailed off before telling him of my dreams and studies under Mahrab. “Everything.” My hands balled tight and the fire that filled my core pushed away any fear I held of the two men at Mithu’s sides. “I want to see him pay for it. I want to hurt him—to lose everything I lost … and more. I want to kill him.”
You would think the pain of the night before, too new and fresh, would keep a child rooted in fear and hoping for forgetfulness. That I couldn’t reach for anything other than the urge to shut it all away. I’ll tell you now: Few things can anger quicker than a child who’s been wronged. Few things can trade fear and hopelessness in a moment for a senseless wrath than a young boy who’s had everything taken from him. A child’s mind and heart are wonderful … and terrible things at times.
Mithu held my look—unflinching. Silence built within the room, and a few of the sparrows, as well as Askar and Biloo, shot various looks at the leader of their group. He ignored them all, keeping his quiet attention on me alone. Another breath passed and he spoke. “We both want that. I wish to see it done. And I will. Will you be there for that day, little sparrow?”
A spark kindled within the folds of my mind and I grabbed hold of the candle and the flame, letting the resolution and strength flood me when I answered him. “I will.”
Mithu rocked in place, throwing his head back as he burst into clear and bright laughter. “Cheep-cheep, little one. Welcome to your family of sparrows. Learn to sing and steal well and quick. You start work tomorrow.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
CLUTCHERS, WHISTLERS, AND SPEAKERS
No ceremony or welcome followed my admission into the ragtag family of thieves. The sparrows dispersed without any prompting from Mithu, and the man himself rose and came to my side. He placed a hand on my shoulder and eased me toward the doors. “Let’s show you to your home inside home…”
I picked up on the meaning of his lingering quiet. “Ari. My name is Ari.”
Mithu led the way without a word, guiding me back down to the floor with the row of doors. We stopped at the first one closest to the stairs up to the third story. He opened it. “This is where you’ll put your head down at nights. Some of them at least. I don’t know if I’ll make a morning bird of you yet. Maybe you are one who sings and plucks best at night. We’ll see. For now…” He gently pushed me through the doorway.
Light poured into the room in uneven beams, filtering through an iron lattice covering the arch high in the wall opposite me. The opening would have been just enough for one of the sparrows to crawl through whenever they saw fit were it not for the metal barrier.
A wooden frame took up most of the left-hand side of the room. Tightly woven string and hemp ran between the structure to form a solid place on which to rest. Its width could easily have slept two of Mithu’s sparrows with some space between. And there was at least another full head of room for me to lie in it with relative comfort. Something I never imagined.
Mithu pointed to the foot of the bed to where a wicker trunk sat. “Your clothes will be there. We will have Small Kaya see to that later. And this is what I promised you earlier.” He moved by me to the corner, kneeling by a box, the construction of which outdid anything else in the room.
It had been made of solid wood, rich and dark, oiled well and carrying the warmth of sunlight across its grain. A brass lock, just as polished as the rest of the box, pulled my attention. Mithu produced a key and clicked it open. “Every boy needs a place for his treasures, and this is yours. Here is the only key to this. My gift to you. Of whatever you take for me, some things you’ll keep for yourself. This is the way and law of sparrows. But you must show me all things first, yes? Remember that. Treasures you brought from your old life are beyond this law. Build your collection well, Ari-cha.” He moved into the doorway, quiet and watchful.
