A Knight Of The Word

Had she done that by speaking to him as she had? Had she given him enough cause to re-examine his situation? She couldn’t be sure. But she knew now that she had to find out.

She climbed the steps past a small Mexican restaurant and a series of shops to Western Avenue, then turned up toward Pike Place Market. She knew where she was from the time she had spent studying the map of Seattle. Pike Place Market was a Seattle landmark, a long, law building that consisted of stalls and kiosks and display tables that were leased by vendors of fresh fish, fruits and vegetables, flowers, and crafts. Western ran below the market through warehouses and buildings chat had been converted into microbreweries, restaurants, retail shops, and parking garages. The street sloped steadily upward from where she left the hill, passing beneath several overpasses that connected the waterfront to the market and the surrounding shops. The crowds had dissipated to a scattering of people working their way between the parking lots and shopping areas. She wondered anew where it was that Arial was taking her.

They passed a ramp leading down into an open-sided parking garage that abutted the expressway, and the sound of passing cars was a dull whine of tires on concrete. Then a park came into view. It was a small park, barely more than an open space with a grassy knoll at its center, clusters of small trees, and a sidewalk winding out from the street to a railing that overlooked Elliott Bay. Wooden benches lined the sidewalk and quarter-slat telescopes pointed out toward the Olympics. A juncture of streets leading down to the Market from the city fronted the little park, and traffic crawled past sluggishly in the afternoon sun.

A blue and red sign at the edge of the lawn proclaimed that this was —Victor Steinbrueck Park.

“Here,” said Ariel.

Nest walked up into the park for a closer look, drawn by the vista of the bay and the distant mountains, by the bright, sunny mix of blue water, green trees, and white-capped mountain peaks.

She glanced around at the people in the park. They were an eclectic group. There were schoolchildren clustered at the railing with their supervising teachers and parents. There were shoppers on their way to and from the market. Businessmen and women were reading newspapers and magazines in the warmth of the sun as they munched sandwiches and sipped coffee.

But mostly there were Native Americans. They occupied the majority of the benches, particularly those fronting Western. They sat together in small groups on the grassy knoll. One or two lay sleeping in the sunshine, wrapped in old blankets or coats. They were a ragged, sullen group, their copper faces weathered, their black hair lank, and their clothes shabby. The ones sitting on the benches fronting the sidewalk on Western had placed paper cups and boxes in front of them to solicit handouts from passersby. They kept their faces lowered and their eyes on each other, seldom bothering even to look up at the people they begged from. Some drank from bottles wrapped in brown paper sacks. Must were men, but there were a few women, as well.

Nest turned to find Ariel, to ask who it was that they had come to meet, but the tatterdemalion was gone,

“Hello, little bird’s Nest,” someone growled from behind.

She knew the voice instantly, and even so she couldn’t quite believe it. She turned around, and there stood Two Bears. The Sinnissippi was as ageless and unchanging as John Ross, his copper-coloured features blunt and smooth, his fang hair ink black and woven into a single braid, and his eyes so dark they seemed depthless. He wore the familiar army fatigue pants and boots, but here, where it was cooler, he also wore a heavy jacket over a checked flannel shirt. The silver buckle of his belt was tarnished and the leather scarred. He was as big and imposing as she remembered, with huge shoulders and thick, gnarled fingers. He was a solid and immutable presence.

“O’olish Amaneh.” She spoke his Indian name Fatefully, as if it were made of glass.

“You remember,” he said approvingly. “Good.”

Are you the one I’m supposed to meet?”

He cocked his head, “I don’t know. Have you come here to Meet someone, little bird’s Nest?”

She nodded. “My friend Arial brought me. She said…”

“Your friend? Have you come with a friend? Where is she?”

Nest looked around. “Gone, I guess. Hiding.”

“Ah, just like your friend in the park five years ago. Mr. Pick.” Two Bears seemed amused. His broad face creased with his smile. All your friends want to hide from me, it seems.”

She coloured slightly. “Maybe you frighten them.”

“Do you think so?” He shrugged, as if disclaiming responsibility. “You’ve changed, little bird’s Nest. Maybe I can’t call you that anymore. Maybe you’re too old, too grown up.”