Page 45 of The Tsarina's Favorite
After closing his bag, he took another long look at me.He swept his hand up my shoulder, causing strange discomfort by brushing the feathers in the wrong direction.I side-stepped him, pulling my shoulder away.
“You have a good bloom to your coat.I don’t think your beak needs any coping, but I would like to look.”
He reached over and caught the beak, forcing me to face him.I didn’t fight because I wanted this to be over.He opened the beak and then paused.He did not let me go, but he met my eyes meaningfully.
“You are not built like a bird,” he said.
“What was that?”the guard shouted.
“It has teeth,” the man shouted so that they could hear them.Then he returned his attention to me.“Human teeth,” he said for my benefit alone.He resumed his examination.When he finally released me, he lowered his voice.“Do you speak?”
I didn’t know the mechanics of my nose and mouth becoming a beak.I had not touched it or examined it because then it truly would be part of me.The tsarina had told me I was still a man but in a costume I could not remove, and in that, I had been content to take her at her word.So long as I could still function and eat and communicate, I did not need to examine how any of it was accomplished.I just hadn’t realized that my anatomy, or inconsistent anatomy, might give me away.
In answer, I just stared blankly at him.He doubted me, but he took a step back.
“Now, those talons of yours need attention.”He retrieved a new tool, this one designed, I assumed, to trim claws.My fingers bent, and the tools snapped one by one.“There.Much less dangerous for everyone now.”He dropped the tool back in the bag.“I’ll be back to see how your wound is healing.”
“Is there a reason you talk to the dumb animals like they can understand you?”the attendant asked as the man trudged out of the enclosure, the guard following.
“They are more intelligent than you think,” came the reply.
The guard shot one last wary look at me before leaving completely.
Little did they know.
My wing healed slowly, and I grew impatient with having both wings and arms bound.My shoulders ached from the position, and I lost feeling in my arms even though the bindings on my wrists did not impede my circulation.The man who had done the work checked on me, bringing my daily meals consisting of pails of water and plates of raw meat, and offering the only company I currently enjoyed.Several people peeked into the enclosure over the days, but none of them trusted my restraints enough to venture further.
On the fourth day, several guards accompanied my caretaker.He approached alone, but a complement of guards meant I was going somewhere.He set his bag down and fell into the routine of checking my wing.
“It’s healing nicely,” he said to his entire audience, but he meant it for me.He returned to his bag and dug around, pulling out bands of leather.“I had anklets and jesses made,” he said as he grabbed two of the larger bands and a stretch of leather cording, “so we can get those nasty ropes off you.”
My body froze up.Of course, I looked like a bird of prey.They were going to treat me like one.Even if I would never be used for falconry, I would be subject to all the restraints of it.I had harmed several guards.No one would let me go about unbound now.
“Why don’t you let us muzzle it first?"
Maybe I should want to be muzzled because this was going to happen whether I fought it or not.The urge to beg the caretaker not to do it came on so forcefully that I almost slipped.I managed to catch myself, the wisdom of silence prevailing since I dared not let any of the guards hear lest they find new interest in me.
My caretaker locked eyes with me.“Do they need to muzzle you?”
I maintained eye contact while he ventured to his knees to undo the rope bindings on my ankles.The moment he touched the ropes, I lunged at him.I had no intention of harming him, but the surprise gave him a jolt, and he launched himself back several feet away to keep out of my radius.
The guards didn’t need to be asked to intervene.They wrestled me to the ground so that I could not struggle.They fit the muzzle over my beak and fastened it behind my head before addressing the ropes on my ankles.
“Gentle with it,” the caretaker said as he dusted himself off.“I am unhurt.I startled it.It was my fault.I sometimes forget these things are wild, especially when it’s taken aid with minimal resistance.”
Even prone, I breathed a sigh of relief.He didn’t know, and I had successfully disabused him of the idea of my sentience.
The guards kept my shoulders and legs down while the caretaker unfastened the rope that kept me in the enclosure, and then pulled the rope from my legs.He muttered a curse and ended up putting ointment on them before fastening the anklets.And then the process was repeated with my wrists.
Were falconry anklets on wrists still technically anklets, since in the history of mankind, there had never been a bird with human arms and hands before?
The leather bands on my wrists, although still bound, offered a slightly wider range of movement and did not rub on the healing wounds from my talons.They didn’t let me up right away though, and I strained to see what caused the delay.
“The bewits are larger than the bells,” one of those holding me down said.
“The tsarina wanted them, especially with the history of wandering,” the caretaker said as he fiddled again with my ankles.“Even if they are not proportional.”
The weight and noise told me exactly what was happening.Falconry bells.I hadn’t worn bells as a jester, not traditional bells anyway, although there had been a few on the feathered mantle of my collar.But I would wear them now.I supposed, if I had the option, ankles were less annoying than a collar.
