Page 95 of Son of a Witch (The Wicked Years 2)

The weather was with them, at least. Day after day the sky was peerless blue, if pinion-quaking cold. Under snow squalls or rain clouds the Conference would have fumbled. But they always had the chance to move on: this kept the smaller birds brave.

They came at last to the highland valleys and white wastes of the Arjiki stronghold of Kiamo Ko. Liir did not care to alight there, but the nights were drawing in earlier and earlier, and he had no choice but to see it as a blessing.

His rump sore, and almost unable to uncurl his spine from the arched position in which he flew, he landed on the cobbles of the courtyard with 220 of the smaller Birds, while the larger ones waited formally outside for an invitation. The monkeys shrieked, though whether it was out of terror or welcome, Liir couldn’t tell. Chistery met him at the top of the steps to the main hall.

“I suppose you’ve asked me, for old time’s sake, to join you,” he said. “I’d come if I could. But I don’t think my wings are up to it.”

“You can’t have had news of our intentions,” said Liir.

“You’re a message, that’s all,” said Chistery. “No one can watch you raveling and unraveling up the columns of mountain air without knowing you intend to be seen. I’ll tell you, my heart was in my throat though, as you came nearer. I thought to myself, It’s Elphaba herself.”

“No, it’s only me,” said Liir. “How’s Nanny?”

“Past her prime. For the fourth decade in a row, I’d say. She’s having a sandwich of egg and dried garmot. Do you want to go up?”

“I suppose I’d better. May we stay here?”

“You needn’t ask,” said Chistery, slightly hurt. “Until someone else comes to claim it, the house is yours.”

Nanny sat up in bed, looking gently at her bread crusts. When she saw Liir, she smiled and patted the bedclothes. “Don’t worry, I won’t wet,” she said. “I’ve already gone.”

“Do you know who I am?” asked Liir.

“Ought I?” She didn’t sound worried about it. “Is it Shell?”

“Decidedly not.”

“Good. I didn’t like Shell very much.” She held out the pieces of bread. “I saw the Birds coming, and I saved them something from my lunch.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“Actually, the bread was a bit stale. But maybe they won’t notice. It’s nice to see you again, whoever you are. Just like old times.” She patted his hand. “I never could tell what was going on then, either, but now I don’t mind so much.”

“Nanny?”

“Hmmmm?” She was beginning to drift off to sleep.

“Did you ever hear of someone named Yackle?”

One eyelid of Nanny’s cocked open. “Might have done,” she said warily. “Who wants to know?”

“Only me.”

“Days a lifetime ago are clearer to me than today. I don’t even know what sex I am anymore, and I can remember what I got in my Lurlinemas basket when I was ten. A tin cannikin full of colored beads—”

“Nanny. Yackle.”

“I met someone named Yackle once,” said Nanny. “I always remembered it because her name reminded me of jackal. Like the jackal moon, you know.”

“Where?”

“She had a little commercial enterprise, if you call it that, in the Emerald City. The Lower Quarter, downslope of Southstairs, if you know where that is.”

“I do.”

“I went in to have my tea leaves read and to ask a question about Melena. Your grandmother.”

Liir didn’t bother to correct her.

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