Read Online Hunting Midnight by Richard Zimler - Free Book Online Page B

of breath.
    “Do a melro thrush.”
    “What?”
    “You heard me, keep hidden and imitate a thrush. The birdseller’s wife just picked one up. Do it loud, but only once.”
    Half-wit that I was, I cleared my throat, curled my lips, and warbled.
    “Louder!” Daniel urged.
    Under his watchful eye, I succeeded better the second time.
    I now spied the same skinny lass who’d first called our hoax a miracle. She squatted nearby and was staring at me intently.
    “Again,” Daniel said. “But do it louder this time.”
    The lass had such large and pretty eyes that they seemed to stop time. Looking at her, I recalled one of the wee wrens we’d freed. So terrified it had been of me that it flapped wildly around its cage. After I’d cloistered it in my hand, however, it calmed, seeming to understand my motives. For a long moment, we’d been alone in the world.
    The girl grinned now, but she was not judging me badly. I smiled my thanks to her and executed my imitation once again.
    “Now come out,” Daniel said.
    He reached down for me and we raced back to the crowd, where we found the birdseller’s wife sprawled on the ground, a hand over her brow, having fainted. But her husband was havingnone of it. He stood over her, shaking his head with exasperation, while two women dressed in widow’s black attended to her.
    “What happened?” Daniel asked a soldier.
    “The wooden bird sang,” he replied reverently.
    The lad laughed from his belly while I prayed for a second and very personal miracle: to be swallowed by the earth and tugged all the way to Spain.
    Daniel led me away. When I hesitated to get under the gig again, he pushed me down and told me to pretend to be a lark; the tall man with the mangled ear was holding one in his hand.
    The lass was still watching, and her jade-colored eyes seemed to be looking deep into my doubts. “We’re being watched,” I whispered to Daniel, pointing at her.
    He waved her over. She came to us without hesitation, her hands behind her back.
    “What’s your name?” he said, glowering.
    “Violeta.” She breathed deeply and pulled her waist-length auburn hair around to cover her front. Licking her lips, she added, “I might ask your name, young man, but your rudeness makes you unworthy of my question.”
    “Violeta, go away!” he shouted, plainly of the belief that he could banish her with an order.
    The lass gave him a challenging look. “I saw what you were doing.” She crossed her hands over her chest and stood her ground.
    Sensing that only I could make peace between them, I stepped forward. “What we did was wrong. I shall do no more imitations .”
    At that very moment, I found myself rising skyward, impelled by a force tightening around my neck.
    “Got you!”
    A rush of cold terror gripped me; I believed I was in the clutches of the necromancer. I fought and kicked for freedom, dangling a foot and a half above the ground.
    “Let him go!” Daniel shouted.
    The birdseller had both his meaty hands coiled around my neck. He was not squeezing hard enough to choke the life from me, but it was evident that he could twist my head off at any moment.
    Disregarding Daniel, he shook me violently and said, “You’re the little bastard who wanted the dead woodpecker! You two are the ones who’ve done all this.”
    “Let the lad go!” Violeta ordered.
    I was struggling with all my might to pry the villain’s hands loose from me. Daniel kicked him in his shin, but that accomplished nothing. The lass then did something clever: She spit into the villain’s face. And she kept on spitting.
    Dropping me to the ground, the birdseller kept a firm hold on my collar while he wiped his face with his sleeve.
    Struggling for breath and coughing, I felt sick to my stomach.
    “Help! Please help us!” Violeta wailed.
    The stout merchant whose ankle was hit by the cage slashed his cane over the birdseller’s shoulders.
    “I’ve had quite enough of you,” said the merchant. “Unhand