Cloak and Dagger

Dirt and Yoshi have little trouble locating the Phoenician Tabernacle. Although the facade is the same basic metal frame as most every other building on the station, it has been reworked into its traditional dome-like shape using spare parts and scrap scavenged from any number of sources—not unlike the repair-job witnessed by Dirt on the titanic ring out in space. The Phoenicians believe in reusing things.

What’s more, Dirt spies a familiar inscription above the doorway: Holy Phoenix, Child Eternal. Are those joyful little dancing lights around the phrase a part of the sign, or only in Dirt’s mind? Does it matter? Should it matter? And was that a faint giggle on the breeze from the doorway, or only the gentle chiming of bells that was so plentiful in every corner of this area?

Inside, a soft light illuminates a circular chamber, which slopes gently down in a series of concentric platforms to a central bottom floor. All around each of the rings are arranged low stools and mats for visitors to rest on—indeed, several visitors appear merely to be sleeping—and a few are occupied by attentive guests. In the middle of the bottom floor a single bird, a tall, snow-white crane, sits in a meditative position. In the church that Dirt would visit on occasion with his father, one person would usually be talking while everyone else listened, but here no one seemed to be talking at all. The few birds paying attention seemed focused on the crane in the middle, but his eyes were closed. Although motionless, he leaned slightly forward with his hands on his knees—an active, energetic position.

***

Just before Yoshi is able to enter the tabernacle, he feels a small pair of claws tugging urgently at his wrist.

"Kebo-Sa, brother!" the small lizard hisses, "Beware! The Red Queen sees. She knows. Thy kebo-tet! If you must enter, leave thy dagger with me—it will be safe with Rupo! And you will be safe from the Red Queen’s brood."

"Rupo" holds out a pair of nervous claws, gesturing again at Yoshi’s dagger. His neck frills, though relaxed, ripple with agitation. He could be on the level—but he could also simply be a clever thief.

***

None of the birds present (or the few humans, obviously) look like Cardi. He could potentially be posing as one of the unfortunate nest-less birds sleeping under blankets against the wall, but it would be difficult to find out without potentially causing a scene. As well, there appear to be more rooms at the back of the space, behind the seated crane.

Right away, a red-robed monk approaches Dirt and Yoshi with a deep bow.

"Welcome, brothers," the monk whispers warmly. "Have you come to worship? I can help you find seats. I can also offer you water and a simple meal, if you have need."

Rupo licks his eyeballs nervously. His claws click together in agitatation.

"You are brave, brother," he says, a little resentfully, "or foolish! Safer to buy thy dagger back from the pawn-broker than to lose it to the Red Queen, methinks—he he! Always better to lose out to a true Kebo brother than to succeed in the company of infidels. He he he."

With a final furtive giggle, Rupo melts away into the crowd to chase a more gullible mark.

"But of course," the monk replies, "you may sit wherever you like… and please, let me know if I may assist you in any way."

Dirt and Yoshi begin their careful walk-though of the space. After they’ve gone about a quarter of the way, the weighted silence is suddenly broken when one of the parishioners bolts up as if inspired—a middle-aged hen, who though hesitant after her initial movement soon speaks in a clear, bold voice.

"I- I have heard the song of the Phoenix," she says.

The assembled worshipers (the awake ones anyway) turn their heads toward the hen expectantly, including the kneeling crane at the center of the room.

"She tells us not to neglect our nests in times of strife."

Murmurs of assent sound here and there, and with a nod, the crane takes up a singing bowl and a small mallet.

"Times change, but birds still hatch from eggs." he says, and strikes the bowl, producing a warm, enduring tone.

As if cued by the gong, a dozen or so birds begin to hum and sing a simple, lilting wordless harmony.

"Psst."

Dirt and Yoshi become aware of someone trying to get their attention. Kneeling on a nearby cushion, a young pigeon is signaling to the two empty cushions next to her. She doesn’t seem anything at all like the pigeons from Deck 9 that Dirt and Yoshi are familiar with. Instead of a track suit and flashy chains, she is dressed modestly in a long denim skirt and a headscarf.

"He isn’t here," the pigeon whispers. "but he sent me to wait for you."

She continues to gesture at the empty cushions, as if reluctant to say more than that from a distance. She keeps her head down, as if lost in prayer.

The feeling swells within Dirt, gentle and inevitable as a river, and briefly drowns out the humming chants of the crowd. There, in the peace of that mental state, Dirt is sure that he can feel her, even without her laughing or speaking or singing or anything. He can feel her warmth, inspiring and animating him. Maybe that feeling—that knowing—maybe that was the song of the Phoenix… at least as these people understood it. Did some of them also have a piece of the immortal Phoenix in them, or were they just attuned to her spiritual presence? Were they naturally so, or had they become so through faith and practice? Or were they merely ordinary birds desperately trying to make sense of their lives through religion, the same as the humanists, and the apists, and humanist-apists, and all the rest.

"I have heard the song of the Phoenix!" another bird says, almost shouting over the continued chants. "She tells us that a Great Fire is coming!"

This second outburst is answered with another ring from the crane monk’s gong, and with cries of assent from around the room. One bird, an aged crow, throws back her head and lets out a high, trilling shriek of religious ecstasy. Somewhere, someone has begun to beat a drum. The energy swirls around Dirt in a thick vortex, heady as incense. He can feel the heat of the crowd’s rising passion beneath his feathers.

"The Tabernacle is under constant surveillance," the rustic pigeon whispers. Her low voice presents a sharp contrast to the drama unfolding around her. "There are at least two undercover security officers in the worship space at any given time. The bird you’re looking for is waiting for you deeper in the Quarter, within the Desolate Shrine. When you leave, you will be followed. You will have three blocks to lose your tails before arriving in a secluded pass—this will be your final opportunity to deal with any followers. If any remain by the time you reach the Shrine, there will be no one there to meet you. Do you understand what I’ve told you?"

Yoshi’s trained gaze sweeps the circular space. Now that he knows that StaSec is in the building, the telltale signs of their agents jump out at him much more readily. At least two he knows for sure are cops: the unnested bird paying too much attention to the monks instead of the exits while pretending to sleep, and the human wearing WAY too many feathers in his hair, even for a culture vulture. In retrospect, Yoshi figures they’re pretty obvious… too obvious? Probably he’s giving the Stazzis too much credit. What was that thing Granny Modo was always saying? "If Stazzis were smart, they wouldn’t be Stazzis." But then the memory of the hidden third assailant from earlier returns to him—and what was that other thing Granny Modo was always saying? "Don’t you ever EVER underestimate a rat, a cockroach, or Cybele Station Security. Ever. One's too smart, the other's too mean, and the last is just that damn hateful." Dirt rises to his feet, but before he and Yoshi can leave the tabernacle in search of Cardi, the crane monk's eyes suddenly snap open and, as if by some hidden knowledge or instinct, find Dirt's own in the crowd. Hitherto, beyond the occasional gong of tacit approval, the crane monk has seemed immune to the fervor gathering around him, but now he rises to his feet as well, and to a height far greater than any Dirt could ever begin to have expected. As the monk's legs unfold beneath his scarlet robes and his neck reaches up toward the apex of the domed ceiling, he fills the center of the room like a pillar. The whole while, his gaze remains on Dirt. Then, he draws something out of a pouch at his waist and extends his long, winged arm directly towards Dirt, fingers clasped, palm down.The two agents identified by Yoshi stir as he and Dirt prepare to leave. As the zealous wave begins to subside, the pigeon conspiracist whispers one last hurried message to the pair.

"A few people always leave right after one of these outbursts, it's all they come for--go now, and you may be able to use them as cover as you slip into the crowd outside!"

As the crane monk’s palm opens, Dirt’s cupped hands fill with… warm sand? No… Ash.

Dirt’s eye’s widen in surprise as he looks down at the fine black grains running through his feathers. So fervent was his intent to secret away the gift that some of the ash has dusted the front of his shirt as well as his hands. What could it mean? Why would the monk single out and mark Dirt in this fashion?

The last of the ash spills away to reveal a pear-sized hunk of charred, blackened wood, almost hot to the touch. This, at least, whatever it is, Dirt does manage to conceal. But as he does, a whisper runs through the inner circle of worshipers. A few of them stand and reach their hands out to Dirt, calling out in keening voices: "Doloroi! Doloroi!"

"The Bereaved."

More worshipers pick up the chant and crowd around Dirt and Yoshi as they moved towards the door along with the stream of birds already leaving the Tabernacle. Under cover, Dirt and Yoshi exit the Tabernacle without incident, slipping away into the crowded streets of the district along with the departing worshipers. They have three blocks left before they reach Cardi and the desolate shrine.