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The rain poured down incessantly. Beatrice had already cursed this evening, this rain, and her decision to go for a walk: not only was she soaked, but she'd also wandered into the middle of nowhere. She knew roughly that she was on a trade route, somewhere between villages scattered for miles, but how far away was unclear. The trees seemed identical, and there were no landmarks around. Identical for sure,but surprisingly, the stretch of road was suspiciously familiar; it was as if she'd been here before, even though the mill was far off.
Beatrice looked away and froze. The uneven turn into the clearing was definitely unmistakable. She didn't particularly want to go there, but frankly, she wanted to freeze and get more water into her collar even less.
She turned, descending a slight slope. Of course she had been here. Of course, returning was unpleasant, perhaps even more awkward than arriving for the first time. The lantern on the post had gone out— it must have been drenched by rain — but the tavern windows were still shining as brightly as they had that day. Except for the second floor, which this time was empty.
"Nonsense," Beatrice muttered under her breath. "Am I afraid of this bunch of idiots?"
She walked right up to the wall and stopped. She pushed the wet, sticky hair off her forehead. It looked like she'd have to sit in the same place as last time.
The door to the stall opened easily; human hands could handle such a lock. Now it was empty too. Fred had long since left this place, but rumor had it he'd come back occasionally. He misses his friends? What a sentimental horse.
Leaning against the fence and propping herself up on her hands, Beatrice sat up as she usually did. She had no support behind her, but that was fine. The rain barely reached here. She stared into the window, frowning, trying not to think about what would happen if she were noticed.
She was noticed.
A muffled rustling sound came from inside, followed by a booming, barrel-like bark. A dog's muzzle poked its way into the window. The dog barked methodically, scraping its paw along the sill.
"Lie down. What did you see there, fluffy guy?"
Beatrice winced at the creaking of the window frame, then pressed her lips together to keep from saying anything sarcastic from the doorway. She didn't plan to talk to anyone from here again. Especially not to the Tavern Keeper.
"Hanging in there?"
"I am." Beatrice narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. "Why shouldn't I?"
"Because it's raining. Come in, you look like a wet sparrow."
The girl opened her mouth, but immediately closed it, seeing her blurry reflection in the windowpane. Well, yes, quite a sparrow. Shrugging, she jumped down from the fence and, as if out of habit, climbed into the window. The dog, noticing this, pulled her by the sleeve, wagging his tail: apparently, he was happy to see anyone.
"So the door isn't an option?" Tavern Keeper chuckled, closing the shutters.
"Habit. So, I won't get hit on the head with a broom this time? Omens, huh?"
"Your dress doesn't look much like feathers anymore. And it's not about omens."
Beatrice raised an eyebrow in confusion, sitting down somewhat awkwardly on the rug by the fireplace. The dog, after circling around a couple of times, immediately collapsed next to her, nuzzling her hand with his wet nose.
"Okay, okay, good boy." Beatrice half-smiled. Sitting here really was more pleasant than freezing outside. She turned, leaning slightly to the side. "Not the omens, then? So what do the bluebirds bring?"
"Nothing good." Tavern Keeper sat down next to her, her skirt rustling. "They're not omens, and they're not even of the Beast. You of all people should know why it's best not to approach them."
Beatrice froze, lost in thought. It was true—one such bird had cursed her, forcing her to hang around the forest in her feathers for months. The thought cooled her nerves slightly: the first meeting had been unpleasant, but wouldn't she have done the same thing herself?
"Hmm. It was awkward. But my attempt at a curse didn't work, did it?"
"Do curses really spread like seasonal flu? If that were the case, everyone would be nesting. Blubirds are all the same, but a bewitched person doesn't have their abilities. It's just that you can't tell who was human and who wasn't, everyone's good at talking."
There was a pause. The truce had been as slightly off-course as the confrontation, but somehow the tension in the room had eased. After a moment's silence, Beatrice decided to change the subject.
"Is the dog really called Fluffy? Or is he also a dog named Dog?"
"Just look at him, and he'll come running." Tavern Keeper smiled calmly now. "He doesn't have anything to do, so they all call him different things. I'd say he's a veterinarian's 'Pudding,' but that's not entirely accurate."
"Do you have a vet?"
"We have Midwife, that's enough. I don't know any other doctors. Maybe someone works for the frogs, but we can't send someone to a swamp twenty miles from here every time the dog eats something he shouldn't."
Beatrice snorted, running her fingers through the fluffy gray fur on the dog's neck. He responded by licking her wrist, his tail thumping the floor.
"You know, I should probably call your mother. She's definitely worried; it's late."
"They're all going crazy over there, I think." The girl sighed, looking away
"I didn't say where exactly I was going. The Beast died a long time ago, so getting lost isn't so scary, but that doesn't make the forest any easier."
Tavern Keeper stood up and went to the phone on the nightstand behind the counter. The dial crackled: a familiar, soft sound.
"Hello. Elizabeth? Yes, it's me. Your daughter is here. She's fine, she's with the dog. Will be back by tomorrow. Come over sometimes, and take the others with you, as it happens. As it happens, Elizabeth! The wire is noisy. The wire is noisy, I said, the rain is knocking it down! Come on. Yes, good night."
Beatrice couldn't help but chuckle. Dial phones were common in the Unknown, but every rainy day the crackling interrupted the conversation. But everything seems to have worked out.
"Everything's fine, you'll go home in the morning. If you're in doubt, someome'll take you there; everyone here knows the area. Worst case scenario, you can go with the dog. He'll find his way back even from the bottom of the lake."
"Good news." Beatrice, now dry and feeling quite lively, stood up, only now fully aware that she was looking down on Tavern Keeper: during her time as a bird, she'd managed to unlearn the height of a human body.
"Good news. Go up to the second floor, the last room by the window. We don't use keys; there's a latch. You can spend the night there."
"Thank you. Good night, then."
"Good night, bluebird."
As she climbed the stairs, Beatrice could barely contain her laughter. She hadn't expected this visit to turn out well, but the Unknown, as always, was full of surprises. Taking off her slightly stained dress, thinking, "I'll wash it in the river tomorrow," the girl noticed the embroidery on the hem. A carefully embroidered bird gazed at her with a bead for her eye.
Perhaps, at least sometimes, bluebirds do bring good luck.