Chương 47: Chapter 42 ~ Faerthryne's Great Honker

15/11/1111 EotTS 19: 62 Upon returning to Wyohla's townhouse, the owner and Lyma left their footwear in a pile next to the closet on the right and started up the stairs to the second floor; Gysel, however, left her shoes neatly next to each other, and against the wall to the left, out of the way, then she started after the others. With a creak, Gysel placed her foot on the bottom step, and Wyohla stopped in her tracks, two steps from the top, and looked back at Gysel.

"Wait in the parlor for us," she said, "and feel free to make yourself at home and turn the lights on. But we won't be too long."

"All right..." answered Gysel, as she stepped down off the stairs, and watched the others disappear past the landing. The fact that Wyohla needed assistance putting on a more formal dress was not surprising in the slightest—but it would have been nice to be included, many hands make light work, something, something, social-labor, as Father would say, is Wyohla mad that she was not allowed in the dressing room? is that it? no, that does not seem like her...

Lyma has probably put the dresses on Wyohla before, and knows the tricks, and it would take longer to teach the new hands, than for her to simply do it herself. Padding into the parlor, Gysel went about activating two of the silver wall-sconces; each sconce was of a matching design: wrought silver with an ivy hook for the disks, and two cups of carven roses made of a blue crystal to house the sigils.

The flames licked just about the tips of the petals, casting an orange puddle on the ceiling, and a pinkish light through the crystal.

With the room now lit, and likely about fifteen minutes until Wyohla was ready, Gysel set off about the room to peruse the gaudy trinkets and knick-knacks of a very wealthy woman: hung above the fireplace and its mantle were two long, decorative sabers, with swirling floral guards, and blades hidden-away in black leather, silver tipped scabbards, and behind these two swords was a large, silver, kite-shield, barren of crest; against the east wall was a black oak display cabinet with each of its five shelves filled with hundreds of small, black marble sculptures of women standing in various positions, some with fists pressed vertically against their cheek-bones, others with their hands above their heads in a 'V' shape or a diamond, there were probably hundreds of different positions, each with subtle variations down to whether any foot or hand was facing up, down, or any degree in between; there were also a few silver-framed paintings hung, but most were the nocturnal landscapes, and none were close enough to depict any owls; the center piece of the room was obviously the Grandfather Cuckoo-Clock against the west-wall, which was tall enough that the center wheel pivot was eye level with the peruser, and made of a black oak body with two engraved herons standing tall on the facade next to the chamber housing the silver pendulum, that swung in time with the ticking silver second hand as it made its way around the grey marble clock face and the lapis markers for the twenty-six hours—what does the bird look like, its there, in its little tree house with its silver eaves, sitting behind those shut doors, waiting, waiting for the hour, two can play that game, two can wait for the hour, one to sing and the other for answers, what song bird are you?

a finch? a warbler? a pipit, perhaps? you must be from the north, but from which side of the mountain range? east or west?

all secrets will be revealed in due time, you cannot hide from documentation, the toll will be the knell of your mysteries—crossing her arms, Gysel watched the doors to that little forest house like a dutiful ornithologist, and waited as the minutes slowly ticked by, first five, then ten, and finally, at two minutes to the twentieth hour, the thumping of footsteps came down the stairs, and Gysel slowly backed away, not taking her gaze from that door, until she had entered the hallway, and only then did she glance Wyohla and Lyma as they to the stairs—damn the skilled tailor, damn the bodice, damn the buttons, the lace, and the sturdy thread, but two minutes could be bargained for, and it will!

"Get your shoes on, Gysel," said Wyohla, "We need to get going."

"That is a gorgeous dress, Wyohla!" said Gysel as she walked to the door, and listlessly fumbled with her boot—two minutes, two minutes, Wyohla will certainly not interrupt compliments to her dress, she cannot refuse it, bound by social conventions!

—"Whoever the tailor was who made it did a phenomenal job I absolutely adore the fine detailing created by the silver thread as it comes up from the waist and curls about the bodice like spiraling sprigs of spring ivy it takes such a modest design and adds tasteful depth and interest where others might simply lower the neckline which on that topic it does a magnificent job of—" A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Gysel paused to breathe and looked away from the gaping mouths of the other two, peeking around the corner back to the parlor and at the clock—thirty seconds!

"—extending your figure making you appear taller than you already are though this can also be contributed to the phenomenal way the skirt falls and flows down to your ankles and that silver tulle that ever so slightly pokes itself out from beneath that black velvet like a fledgling looking outside of a bird house for the first...

time everything about that dress was clearly chosen to draw the attention of all those seated around you as well as the ire of the bourgeois in the boxes because the dress had the subtley they do not understand I think it is the perfect—" The bell chimed, the doors thudded open, the Cuckoo-Clock started its song, and with only one boot on, Gysel ran from the entrance way, stumbling up the step and past Lyma, into the parlor.

"Choice!"

Standing on the tips of her toes, Gysel inspected the bird that had emerged from the house: it was large, about the size of an apple; had a fat, round body, that had been painted a lovely shade of indigo; and it possessed a grand, conical beak, which, if this bird had not been from paint and whittled wood, would certainly be used to crack open larger seeds—this is not a songbird at all, and is almost certainly of the species known as 'Faerthryne's Great Honker', which was first documented and catalogued in the east of the Grand Northern Forest by Mourl Hlin in 450 Era of the Two Scholars, and lives along the southern-most points of the region, usually around settlements near the inland sea, and is not known to migrate, which makes Faerthryne's Great Honker an odd choice for putting inside a cuckoo-clock, as the cock is known for its nasally and whiny honking sound, and does not sing, not even during its mating season, which tends to be around Lahnfvae, specially later in the maiden, once most of the snow has melted, does the cock sing, instead, they dance and goes "honk-honk-honk"—"Are you trying to do an impression, Gysel?"

said Wyohla, "We have to get going." —shh... shh...

no this is far more important, far more, and because of this lack of common knowledge, this clock had certainly been built by an artisan who did not do his research, and past the mountains, outside of the Grand Northern Forest, where Faerthryne holds less cultural significance, because she would surely retaliate against this clock-maker by snowing him in, or making sure his tea is always cold, so it might be best to call the bird Faerthryne's Great Honker, as cold tea is better than hot tea, but Faerthryne has gone on record stating that she hated the man who named the bird, that being, Mourl Hlin, and if she had known about the name of the bird while Mourl Hlin was in the area she tended to live in, she would have castrated him, at least this is what was stated in the 'winter birds' special of the Bird Journal in 1107 Era of the Two Scholars, unfortunately, Mourl Hlin never returned to that area, as he died in 476 Era of the Two Scholars after being impaled by a falling icicle, but Faerthryne does not seem like the type to get her hands dirty, so this theoretical castration would likely have been caused by some form of targeted frostbite, but, seeing as how the name was given as a insult towards the nose of the body that Faerthryne was inhabiting at the time, the ire is certainly understandable, as there are very few people as superficial as Winter herself.

"If you wanted to see the bird in the clock that badly, you could have just asked to wait, Gysel," said Wyohla, laughing as she looked around the corner. Gysel's eyes went wide, her smile vanished, and she looked away from the shutting doors to the floor.

"Sorry."

"For what? There is nothing wrong with curiosity, especially in seeking it out on one's own." The Cuckoo-Clock finished its song in time with the bells and bellows, and Faerthryne's Great Honker vanished.

"Oh... All right..." Gysel muttered, as she padded lopsidedly back over to Wyohla.

"Well, what bird is it?" asked Wyohla.

"Faerthryne's Great Honker." Lyma dragged a hand down her face.

"They name birds the strangest things."

"Are you not named after Captain Ahvernou Lymalova, whose sole claim to fame was putting battleships inside a mountain lake within a double-landlocked city-state?"

"It won the siege." Lyma tugged on her plaits, and muttered, "And at least my name isn't Lyvahn Togwaer."

"No, it's a fitting name for him," said Wyohla, "anyways, honker as in singular?" Pursing her lips, she took a seat on the stairs.

"Yes," said Gysel.

"A singular bird cannot be a plural bird, and there is one bird in that clock."

"Well, yes, but—""Don't you two have somewhere to be?" asked Lyma.

"We do." Wyohla groaned and stood.

"Do you have my clothes?" Gysel asked Lyma. Lyma patted her leather, shoulder-slung bag.

"They are all in here."

"All right. Thank you." Gysel put on her other boot, and walked evenly to the door. Lyma helped Wyohla into her knee-high riding boots (which worked surprisingly well with the gown), ensuring that the pair of black woolen tights did not get pinched. With that, the three left Wyohla's, and parted ways with Lyma at the Academy's ivy-covered archway, and Wyohla and Gysel headed for the theater.