Butcher Bird

Spyder suddenly wanted very much to be out of the river and done with Berenice. The towering city walls, through which they soon passed, also seemed to be made of water. Not ice, but liquid water, pulled upward and carved into imposing barriers. If all that water ever came down, Spyder thought, it would wash the city away.

Lulu was already out of the water when the rest made it to the walkway. She helped Spyder out and he grabbed Shrike. The Count leaned down and practically lifted Primo from the water. The little man bowed in thanks.

"Where to?" Spyder asked.

"Uptown Saturday Night," said Shrike.

"You know some weird shit, girl."

"That's an old movie, right? It just popped into my head. That happens here."

As they walked along the marble concourse beside the canal, Spyder asked, "Earlier, why did you say that we're lucky we followed the river?"

"There are four entrances to Berenice. Water, air, fire and earth. Fire is the memory of violence and war. Air is the perpetual hurricane of anger and lost souls. Earth is a freezing mountain of despair and fear."

"The memories of the drowned are like the welcoming arms of your family compared to what lives in those other places," said Count Non.

"Wonder what would've happened if I'd tossed in a handful of Alka-Seltzer back there?" asked Lulu. "Would it piss those dead guys off or make 'em feel better?"

Thirty

A Universal Joke

Their clothes dried quickly in the bright sun, and by the time they reached one of the great boulevards that divided Berenice into its local parishes, no one would have guessed that they'd had to swim into the city.

From the interior, Berenice was much more impressive than it had seemed on the approach. At each corner of the boulevard was a whitewashed ziggurat topped with a gilt sun, angled to catch the light at different times of the day. Crystal globes hung from polished streetlamps. Spyder counted a dozen large bronze statues to different gods on the one street. Who knew how many there were on the others? Handsome residents came and went from temples and tailor shops, butchers and herbalists, paying no attention to the travelers. The street on which they stood was paved with pale pink flagstones, but green, yellow and sky-blue streets intersected it.

"Okay, we're here, somewhere. What do we do now?" asked Lulu.

"Let us not sleep, as do others; but let us watch and be sober, putting on the breastplate of faith and love; and for a helmet, the hope of salvation," Count Non said.

Spyder looked hard at the Count.

"St. Paul's First Epistle to the Thessalonians," he said.

"Yeah, I was just about to say that."

"We need to find stables or a market," said Shrike. "Some place big, with professional traders. And remember, you can't tell the wandering memories of people from real humans simply by looking at them."

"Then how do we know who we're talking to?" asked Spyder. "How do we trade for anything?"

"It's a question of attitude," Shrike said. "If you're talking to the memory of a trader, his responses will be mechanical and rote. A memory isn't active. It can't really do or say anything new or original. A human trader will be more eager and unpredictable."

"Makes sense."

"I'm going to go alone," said Shrike. "A poor blind girl can sometimes count on a pity discount."

"You'll be able to find your way back here?" asked Spyder. "Maybe you should take Primo as backup."

"I'll be happy to accompany you, Butcher Bird. And a one-armed man with a blind woman might evoke even more pity from an anxious trader."

"All right," said Shrike. "We'll meet back here in two hours. Can I trust you three to find your way back?"

"Don't worry, I'll look after Lulu and the little brother," said the Count.

Spyder felt a pang of awkwardness as he and Shrike went off in different directions. He felt, somehow, that he should give her a goodbye kiss or something, but simultaneously wondered if he was supposed to acknowledge anything between them at all. In the end, they both went their own way.

They walked three abreast through the strange town, Spyder near the street and Lulu near the buildings. Count Non walked between them. "The first time I ever went to Tijuana on my own, I got lost," said Spyder. "Ended up in this shantytown somewhere up in the hills. This place went on and on. Plus, it was one of those days where you don't wake up hungover, you wake up still drunk. So, I'm wandering around, trying to figure out a way back to town, and this kid, a student, starts chatting me up. He wants to practice his English. Only whenever I ask him how to get back downtown, he suddenly can't understand me. I tell him to fuck off and keep walking. But these Tijuana shantytowns are like a goddam anthill. Houses made of broken cinder blocks, cardboard and big cans of vegetable oil pounded flat.