The monster-lord returned its shrewd attention to its guest.
"Are you pecked?" it inquired with a peculiarly light tone, holding out its now near-drained goblet of wriggling froth.
Eyeing the offering with barely contained repulsion, Rossamund declined while his stomach turned traitor and gave an audible burble.
"No? Maybe some thrisdina?" It walked over to an anciently knotted olive, reached up and pulled several strands of the diaphanous weed that hung limply from a lower branch.
The young factotum peered at the serving, a dull wan green frond wet with dew and unappetizingly coiled on the Lapinduce's pale palm. Feeling obliged after his first refusal, Rossamund opened his own hand to receive his morning repast and felt a soulful surprise of threwd shiver through his very marrow as the urchin's truncated claws brushed his bare palm.
The rabbit-duke did not appear to notice this contact, but explained with a strange and disarming chattiness, "You will find this growing almost anywhere with enough dampness in the air, and every variety is good for eating-whether for everyman or euriphim."
Rossamund sniffed the mossy tendrils. They smelt of grass, of hidden forest glades, of dirt. He tried a nibble. It was like a mild variation on mushrooms, bland enough to be edible. "How do people not fathom you are here?" he asked, still chewing.
The Lapinduce tapped its long-whiskered upper lip ruminatively with a crooked finger, a voluminous cuff dropping to reveal its bony wrist. "Because I do not wish it. Though some do… " came the patient answer. "My steadfast ones… Oftentimes the short-lived dukes will know of me too and reckon well to keep mum."
Rossamund could barely credit it. "They do not send in battalions of teratologists?"
The monster-lord peered at him as if this were a ridiculous notion. "I would fill this city full of terror and empty it, make it barren for generation upon generation to become a nest for sunderhallows and darkness… Though your concern for me is commendable, ouranin," it added dryly. "The last duke with whom I had to deal-and all those before him-have proved shrewd enough to keep such discernment to themselves. How-be-it, I do not know if the current fellow is the same fellow as before. Too quickly does each generation come and live and go again."
"Do other… monsters"-Rossamund hesitated, wanting a better word-"dwell here with you?"
"I seldom seek the company of my frair. Too often they are spoiling to harm or help the everymen, pulling at me to do the same. I prefer stillness and memory."
Looking up, Rossamund beheld eoned memories that shifted in the depths of the Lapinduce's inhuman gaze. Was this the fashion of the Duke of Sparrows' rule as well, to watch and wait and remember sweeter times? "Are you and the Duke of Sparrows kin, sir?"
It regarded him with what the young factotum could only read as amusement. "Ahh, the Sparrowlengis. As such things are reckoned, indeed we are-though you will find him less willing to admit the kinship. But we theraphim-you and I and the sparrow-king too-are frair all to each other and to the groaning earth too."
Rossamund peered at the monster-lord in wonder. Could I possibly be kin to such creatures? "But what of the hob-rousing?" he dared to ask. "Does it not stir you to anger to have it in your land?"
The monster-lord's ears went flat again. "Am I to be the soul to solve the endless enmity twixt theriphim and naughtbringer?" it hissed, taking several large strides toward him and thrusting its visage into Rossamund's own, the young factotum retreating a small step.
A sinister threwdishness-an angry surge that made the world go strangely dim-swirled about him. With a gasp of dismay, Rossamund raised an arm as if to defend himself, vaguely aware of Darter Brown's own anxious twittering above him.
"I happen to know that Gingerrice won free!" the Lapinduce declaimed with low and sibilant ferocity. "As has that daftling Grackle; oft has he passed through the guts of kraulschwimmen and other terrible salamanders and always survived barely hurt! Did not I myself save you from that fluffed and perfumed neuroticrith looking to snatch you away? What more do you wish for, squidgereen! Do you seek to provoke me in my own city and question my mercies?" it snorted.
Its warm, scented breath-like flowers and new-turned earth-was strong in Rossamund's nostrils. "No, sir, I do not," he said in a small voice, recalling all too lucidly that this mighty creature had slain a wit in his defense as thoughtlessly as a pantry maid might strangle a chicken for a meal.
"I-" continued the urchin-lord self-importantly, "I have never prevented the many shifting tribes of people from coming to dwell in my domain nor prevented them from conquering the previous tribe to establish themselves. I gave my consent when the two sisters Radica and Dudica-rossamunderlings just as you are and now long departed-defended this youngling city against an onrush of wretchling theraphim kin. I parleyed with the seventh duke-blind and deaf-of this current dynasty, for with me alone could he commune, and in doing thus proved his crafty advisers mendacious and insincere. And yet, I let the schwimmenbeasts take from the harbors their share of iron boats with their toothsome marrows of muscle, and leave marauding nickers to take their fill of souls in the parish lands. Complexities within complexities… As it has ever been." It opened its mouth and clacked the long front teeth of top and bottom jaw together. "You might do well too to ask the sparrow-king-so righteous in his forest nest-why it is he lets revers be made in the hinter of his own autumn-his own realm!" It straightened to look down its long nose at him. "If you are of such wisdom and thew, frail ouranin, why do you not do better than me and go and bring out all the skulking, simple-souled sprosslings from those loathsome dog-fighting dens?"
"I–I am but one… boy… I could barely help one," he countered. "You are a great lord of the monsters!"
"A boy, forsooth! Is that how you see it, oh wise one? Have clean now! You are much more than a mere boy! That is ichor in your innards and there is cruor on your hands. You have felled our frair and used your great vigor in the defense of the everyman foe. How would you answer me if I were to call you to account and pronounce judgment, as is my long privilege?"
Rossamund opened his mouth in response yet could offer none. He ducked his head, strange passion thrumming under his ribs.
The Lapinduce gave a grim smile, a disconcerting expression in such an animal face. "You are right, however, when you say that I am great. I am grandfather to the hills and elder brother to the vinegar's boundaries, but restrictions there are to my reach, margins that I have placed on myself and limits laid down upon me." It lapsed and its sight became inward as it began to walk about the woodland hollow, touching flower and branch, leaf and stalk, humming a muted variation to the tune it played so stridently on the spinet.
The glade was quiet but for this mellifluous purring.The soft caw of a high-passing ibis and the subdued whisper of wind-shifting trees only joined the sympathetic melody.
Rossamund found himself swaying in accord with the monster-lord's throaty music, the very core of him vibrating with ponderous complex regret for the discord between monster and man; with anger confounded by a peculiarly happy melancholy that folded back to anger again; with great longing for an ease and joy once known so well so long ago.With a shock of clarity he realized that he must be feeling what the Lapinduce felt. He smudged away a lonely tear that had squeezed unheeded to tickle down his cheek.