Capítulo 34: The Mute Songbird
Serenica was growing increasingly worried about the condition of their informant, Little John Longlines. He was hiding from her, which was made easier by the fact that he was barely even trusted with scrubbing the deck anymore. He usually had no tasks, which meant he could get away with spending his time in almost any imaginable location.
A day came when even Spade couldn't get Little John to talk anymore. Serenica had a very bad feeling about things. She'd observed the young man for long enough to say that something was indeed wrong. He never ate fish, for example, and was picky in all possible ways. One could have said he was wasting away. Serenica had an idea. Perhaps it was the horrifying disease known as memory diarrhea. The symptoms were a perfect match. John, though, looked like he was from the coast. Even his last name suggested a close proximity with the sea. People living near a large body of water rarely if ever had memory diarrhea. Serenica wondered if it was about the consumption of fish. The connection had been made in the medical community, but as the focus of research had drifted towards the problems of the highborn, interest in diseases such as memory diarrhea had waned.
She found the young man staring blankly into the sun.
"You're coming with me now," Serenica said and grabbed John's sleeve.
He tried to struggle, but he was even weaker than before and she had no difficulties getting her to her workspace.
"Do I need to chain you up or will you submit to my examinations?"
Serenica realized that her choice of words had been less than ideal as the boy got up and tried to make it to the door. She had to tackle him in a violent manner that was not quite fitting for a healer.
"I'm all right. I can't understand why you have to do this, Mister," John said.
Serenica pulled him back into the better chair and rolled up his sleeve before he could do anything to resist.
His skin had been taken over by a nasty rash that looked like it was going to peel him like a tropical fruit, which he had sort of started to resemble, a sickly and inedible fruit. Serenica shuddered, but she kept her feelings to herself. There was no point in alarming Longlines.
It was a symptom of memory diarrhea and it matched other signs of ill health all too well.
"I'm going to test your memory. It'll only take a minute."
The young man provided sufficient answers to questions about his family. He had vivid memories of his childhood home and the appearance and identity of his mother. When the conversation turned towards more current events, however, he gave Serenica false information that anyone with half a brain could have proved to be untrue.
"And what year is this?" she asked, dreading what would come next.
"Fifteen and five, of course. What kind of a question is that? I am not a halfwit idiot."
John was, in fact, a halfwit idiot, as Serenica thought when she assessed his diet.
It was year fifteen and fifteen.
"Who is the king of Sennas?"
"Again, what kind of a question is that?"
"Just give me the name, John."
"Guyl the Great."
Serenica made a mental apology to the peaceful Guyl the Kind who was currently in power.
"I'm going to let you be relieved of your duties. To be sure, I will write you a note for two weeks until you recover," she said and started to scribble notes for Little John. "Do you have any questions? I need your signature now."
"No, I guess."
The young man took the quill from her in a way that suggested he could write, seemed to examine the paper in front of him, drew some lines and completed the task, but unfortunately the results were poorer than poor.
Serenica stared at the unintelligible scribbles Little John had made. There was no question about it. He was losing his mind.
She withdrew to research the topic inside her mind. There did indeed seem to be an inversely proportionate relationship between the consumption of fish and memory diarrhea. Once a person had been this severely afflicted by it, it was hard, if not impossible to reverse the progress. Serenica intended to try, nevertheless. They had made notes and charts based on what John had told them, but there was a lot of information missing and they hoped to ride the coattails of their songbird for as long as they could.
"No matter," Spade said. "It is sad, of course. But no matter. He will talk once he's dead."
Something arose inside Serenica, a white hot righteous rage against the captain and his selfishness. "I don't think we should do that to him. He's our ally. He would risk his life for us."
She could only barely keep her voice down and her tone friendly, but Spade picked up on it and said:"I don't think you're the one to talk, but if he manages to tell us the rest about Kinley before he dies, I will not have to do anything."
"Why haven't you already asked him everything, then?"
"I have tried. He goes on about frivolities such as mourning dresses and blue ribbons. It has eaten up all my time to get him to tell me things that actually matter."
Serenica remembered a time when blue ribbons had mattered a lot. She didn't dare to let herself be any angrier. She thanked the captain and left to take care of her patient.
"I hope you have not given up on me," Myorka said to her as she was trying to feed John fish and failing miserably.
"I haven't," Serenica said. "It must be hurtful, being reminded of those times."
"It is," the bookkeeper admitted. "But at the same time it feels like once I tell you everything, I will become invincible. It is so frustrating to be so near, yet so far."
"I think I understand," Serenica said.
John Longlines spit a piece of tuna onto her lap.
"Mother of worms! Myorka, would you like to take a walk on the deck? This stench makes me sick."
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