back and forth from Alvin to Arthur. "I know you had something to do with this," he said. "I don't know what or how, but you witched up that bird."
"No such thing," said Alvin. "When I arrived here I had no idea you kept living birds inside. I thought you only dealt with dead ones."
"I do! That bird was dead!"
"John-James," said Alvin. "We want to see him before we leave town."
"Why should I help you?" said the taxidermist.
"Because we asked," said Alvin, "and it would cost you nothing."
"Cost me nothing? How am I going to explain to Mr. Ridley?"
"Tell him to make sure his birds are dead before he brings them to you," said Arthur Stuart.
"I won't have such talk from a Black boy," said the taxidermist. "If you can't control your boy, then you shouldn't bring him out among gentlemen!"
"Have I?" asked Alvin.
"Have you what?"
"Brought him out among gentlemen?" said Alvin. "I'm waiting to see the courtesy that would mark you as such a one."
The taxidermist glowered at him. "John-James Audubon is staying in a room at the Liberty Inn. But you won't find him there at this time of day - he'll be out looking at birds till midmorning."
"Then good day to you," said Alvin. "You might oil your locks and hinges from time to time. They'll stay in better condition if you do."
The taxidermist got a quizzical look on his face. He was still opening and closing his silent, smooth-hinged door as they walked back down the alley to the street.
"Well, that's that," said Alvin. "We'll never find your John-James Audubon before we have to leave."
Arthur Stuart looked at him in consternation. "And why won't we?" He whistled a couple of times and the bluejay fluttered down to alight on his shoulder. Arthur whispered and whistled for a few moments, and the bird hopped up onto Arthur's head, then (to Alvin's surprise) Alvin's shoulder, then Alvin's head, and only then launched itself into the air and flew off up the street.
"He's bound to be near the river this morning," said Arthur Stuart. "Geese are feeding there, on their way south."
Alvin looked around. "It's still summer. It's hot."
"Not up north," said Arthur Stuart. "I heard two flocks yesterday."
"I haven't heard a thing."
Arthur Stuart grinned at him.
"I thought you stopped hearing birds," said Alvin. "When I changed you, in the river. I thought you lost all that."
Arthur Stuart shrugged. "I did. But I remembered how it felt. I kept listening."
"It's coming back?" asked Alvin.
Arthur shook his head. "I have to figure it out. It doesn't just come to me, the way it used to. It's not a knack anymore. It's..."
Alvin supplied the word. "A skill."
"I was trying to decide between 'a wish' and 'a memory.'"
"You heard geese calling, and I didn't. My ears are pretty good, Arthur."
Arthur grinned at him again. "There's hearing and there's listening."
* * *
There were several men with shotguns stalking the geese. It was easy enough to guess which was John-James Audubon, however. Even if they hadn't spotted the sketchpad inside the open hunter's sack, and even if he hadn't been oddly dressed in a Frenchman's exaggerated version of an American frontiersman's outfit - tailored deerskin - they would have known which hunter he was, by one simple test: He was the only one who had actually found the geese.
He was aiming at a goose floating along the river. Without thinking, Alvin called out, "Have you no shame, Mr. Audubon?"
Audubon, startled, half-turned to look at Alvin and Arthur. Whether it was the sudden movement or Alvin's voice, the lead goose honked and rose dripping from the water, staggering at first from the effort, then rising smoothly with great beats of his wings, water trailing behind him in a silvery cascade. In a moment, all the other geese also rose and flew down the river. Audubon raised his shotgun, but then cursed and rounded on Alvin, the gun still leveled. "Pour quoi, imbecile!"
"You planning to shoot me?" asked Alvin.
Reluctantly, Audubon lowered the gun and remembered his English, which at the moment wasn't very good. "I have the beautiful creature in my eye, but you, man of the mouth open!"
"Sorry, but I couldn't believe you'd shoot a goose on the water like that."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not sporting."
"Of course it's not sporting!" His English was getting better as he warmed to the argument. "I'm not here for sport! Look everywhere, Monsieur, and tell me the very important thing you do not see."
"You got no dog,"