“Elodina mentioned black-and-white birds,” she said. “She meant you and your people, didn’t she? The magpies who live here? Who come from this world? She knew you. Do you remember her? Do you have a counting rhyme about her, and Eider, and Anya, and all the other shopkeepers?” Hudson shivered. “We do,” he admitted, voice small. “Teach it to me.” Hudson huddled on his perch, feathers puffed out until he was almost a sphere, and said nothing. “You have a little rhyme for everything, you’re the accountant, so why can’t you teach me this rhyme, huh? What’s so different about it that it needs to be
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