Beasts of New York

Chapter 10 - Coda

 ‘I hid under that bush right there,’ Patch reminisced, ‘I could hardly walk, my leg really felt like it was going to fall off. The spire’s right on the other –’

He fell silent, stopped walking, and sat back on his hindlegs to sniff the air.

Zelina, startled, turned to face him. ‘What is it?’

For a moment Patch wondered if the hint of a rich, feral scent in the air was only a trick played by his mind and memory. Then the branches of the very bush under which he had sheltered parted; and the dog-thing with golden eyes called Coyote emerged. Zelina stiffened, and arched her back, and her fur rose.

‘Zelina, Queen of All Cats, Patch son of Silver,’ Coyote said. ‘Breathe easy, my little queen. I am not your enemy today. Tomorrow, who knows? For tomorrow has always its own mind and madness. But today I am your friend, and today I say, well met.’

‘Do you live here?’ Patch asked.

‘I live in the Kingdom of Madness,’ Coyote said. ‘As do you all, as do we all, and yet so few of us know it, for that is the madness. The Old One knows. And some humans, perhaps, but too few, too few.’ His grin seemed to reveal too many sharp teeth. ‘And fewer every day, now.’

‘The humans,’ Zelina said. ‘Do you know what’s gone wrong with them?’

Coyote’s grin widened. ‘I cannot say I know, my queen, for who can truly know anything? But if forced, if pressed, if cornered, well, then I might have a guess or two. I might guess that it is something not unlike the blackblood disease. I might guess that when the King Beneath came Above – and how did that happen, some might wonder? What voice sent whispers to his scaly ear, telling him of the blood and glories that awaited him Above? Who ensured that the fortunes of war left him devoid of any other option? Who arranged for the desperate finale? Ah, who indeed. I certainly can’t imagine.’

His predator’s grin grew even wider and toothier, and his golden eyes shone. ‘The King Beneath came, is the important thing, and he died, and the crows feasted on him. And. Well. I would guess that when his black blood mingled with theirs, with that other sickness already growing within them, then something else was born. Something new. Something dreadfully deadly to our two-legged friends. Something that will spread its seed wherever birds fly.’

His words stirred a remembrance in Patch: a remembrance of the turtle’s words, the Old One. Birds fly to these marshes ... even from empires across the great mountains, even from empires across the ocean ... a sickness that spreads among all the birds of the world.

‘You,’ Zelina said slowly. ‘You did all this. You made it all happen.’

Patch blinked with surprise at this astonishing accusation.

‘Oh, no, my little queen,’ Coyote said. ‘I don’t control the great game. But it is true I do play, from time to time. I do like to ensure that it continues. I may perhaps have nudged here, nipped there, made some suggestions to some with sharp noses, whispered into the ears of some with sharp teeth. But I make no claim of authorship. That title belongs to humans themselves. For from where did the blackblood disease come? From human poisons that seeped and festered, drop by drop, year by year, into the Kingdom Beneath. Where the seed falls, there the tree grows. Any animal can tell you that.’

‘The humans are sick,’ Patch said slowly, thinking of the two humans he had met who spoke Mammal, and wondering if they too were dying of this new disease. ‘Because of what we did? Because of what we helped you do?’

‘Don’t listen to him,’ Zelina said to Patch. ‘I’ve heard of him. He’s a trickster. A troublemaker. We saved the Center Kingdom. And Silver. We did something good. Something wonderful.’

‘Is that regret I smell, Patch?’ Coyote sneered at him. ‘Is that remorse? Waste it not on humans. Look around you. Once this whole island belonged to us. Now we have only a little patch of it, walled by human mountains, covered by human highways, riddled by human tunnels. Why should that be? Why should humans have all the world as their plaything, and leave us only their scraps?’

Patch considered the question. He had to admit that it had no good answer.

‘Do you remember when first we met, Patch?’ Coyote asked. ‘Not here. Outside your drey, near the end of winter.’ Patch started, amazed, remembering the dog-thing he had encountered on that morning when he had been so hungry, the morning he had first gone into the mountains. ‘I chose you because you were a survivor. I could smell that about you. But you have a good heart, too, generous and kind, I could smell that too. That was what worried me, what worries me yet. It may yet be too good a heart for your own good. I wonder if one day you will have to choose between the two.’

Patch shivered and looked away from Coyote’s golden eyes.

‘Take care, Patch, and be careful. Watch the skies. And you, Zelina, Queen of All Cats, do take a little look at what lies behind this bush. I think you’ll find it very interesting indeed.’ Coyote stretched lazily. ‘And now I must be gone. A friend is waiting for me. My oldest friend, my most ancient adversary. We have much to discuss. A whole new world, indeed. Enjoy it while you can, Patch son of Silver. For one thing I have learned about worlds, in my time, is that they never last for very long.’