She nodded.
Arbat rubbed at the bristly hair covering his prognathous jaw. ‘Forty or so paces up there’s a trail, right side of the road. Leads through a thicket, then an old orchard, and beyond that there’s an abandoned homestead-barn’s still got a roof, though I doubt it’s weatherproof. There’s a well too, which should be serviceable enough.’
‘This close by, and no-one’s occupied it or stripped it down?’
Arbat grinned. ‘Oh, they’ll get to that before long. It was downwind of my place, you see.’
‘No, I don’t.’
His grin broadened into a smile. ‘Local colour kinda pales when told to outsiders. It’s no matter, really. All you’ll be smelling is woodsmoke this night, and that’ll keep the bugs away.’
He watched as she thought about pressing the matter; then, as her horse tossed its head, she gathered the reins once more. ‘Thank you, Tarthenal. Be safe in your journey.’
‘And you, Atri-Preda.’
They rode on, and Arbat waited on the verge for the troop to pass.
Safe in my journey. Yes, safe enough, 1 suppose. Nothing on the road I can’t handle.
No, it’s the destination that’s got my knees knocking together like two skulls in a sack.
Lying on his stomach, edging up to the trapdoor, peering down. A menagerie in the room below, yet comforting in its odd domesticity nonetheless. Why, he knew artists who would pay for such a scene. Ten hens wandering about, occasionally squawking from the path of a clumsily swung foot from Ublala Pung as the huge man paced back and forth. The scholar Janath sitting with her back to one wall, rolling chicken down or whatever it was called between the palms of her hands, prior to stuffing it into a burlap sack that was intended to serve as a pillow at some point-proving beyond all doubt that academics knew nothing about anything worth knowing about. Not to mention inserting a sliver of fear that Bugg’s healing of her mind had not been quite up to scratch. And finally, Bugg himself, crouched by the hearth, using a clawed hen foot to stir the steaming pot of chicken soup, a detail which, Tehol admitted, had a certain macabre undercurrent. As did the toneless humming coming from his stalwart manservant.
True enough, the household was blessed with food aplenty, marking the continuation of their good run of luck. Huge capabara fish beside the canal a couple of weeks back, and now retired hens being retired one by one, as inexorable as the growl of a stomach. Or two or three. Or four, assuming Ublala Pung had but one stomach which was not in any way certain. Selush might know, having dressed enough bodies from the inside out. Tarthenal had more organs in those enormous bodies than regular folk, after all. Alas, this trait did not extend to brains.
Yet another formless, ineffable worry was afflicting Ublala Pung. Could be lovestruck again, or struck to fear by love. The half-blood lived in a world of worry, which, all things considered, was rather surprising. Then again, that undeniable virtue between his legs garnered its share of worshippers, lighting feminine eyes with the gleam of possession, avarice, malicious competition-in short, all those traits most common to priesthoods. But it was worship for all the wrong reasons, as poor Ublala’s fretful state of mind made plain. His paltry brain wanted to be loved for itself.
Making him, alas, a complete idiot.
‘Ublala,’ Bugg said from where he hovered over the soup pot, ‘glance upward for me if you will to confirm that those beady eyes studying us belong to my master. If so, please be so kind as to invite him down for supper.’
Tall as he was, Ublala’s face, lifting into view to squint upwards at Tehol, was within reach. Smiling and patting him on the head, Tehol said, ‘My friend, if you could, step back from what serves as a ladder here-and given my manservant’s lacklustre efforts at repair I am using the description advisedly-so that I may descend in a manner befitting my station.’
‘What?’
‘Get out of the way, you oaf!’
Ducking, edging away, Ublala grunted. ‘Why is he so miserable?’ he asked, jerking a thumb up at Tehol. ‘The world is about to end but does he care about that? No. He doesn’t. Care about that. The world ending. Does he?’
Tehol shifted round to lead with his feet on the uppermost rung of the ladder. ‘Loquacious Ublala Pung, how ever will we follow the track of your thoughts? I despair.’ He wiggled over the edge then groped with his feet.
Bugg spoke. ‘Given the view you are presently providing us, master, despair is indeed the word. Best look away, Janath.’
‘Too late,’ she replied. ‘To my horror.’
‘I live in the company of voyeurs!’ Tehol managed to find the rung with one foot and began making his way down.
‘I thought they were chickens,’ Ublala said.
A piercing avian cry, ending in a mangled crunch.
‘Oh.’
Cursing from Bugg. ‘Damn you, Pung! You’re eating that one! All by yourself! And you can cook it yourself, too!’
‘It just got in the way! If you built some more rooms, Bugg, it wouldn’t have happened.’
And if you did your damned pacing in the alley outside-better yet, if you just stopped worrying about things-or bringing those worries here-or always showing up around supper time-or-’
‘Now now,’ Tehol interjected, stepping free of the last rung and adjusting his blanket. ‘Nerves are frayed and quarters are cramped and Ublala’s cramped brain is fraying our nerves without quarter, so it would be best if we all-’
‘Master, he just flattened a hen!’
A voyeur,’ Ublala insisted.
‘-got along,’ Tehol finished.
‘Time, I think,’ said Janath, ‘for some mitigation, Tehol. I seem to recall you having some talent for that, especially working your way around the many attempts at expelling you.’
‘Yeah,’ said Ublala, ‘where do we do that?’
‘Do what?’ Janath asked.
‘I gotta go.’
‘Over to the warehouse,’ Tehol said, pushing Ublala towards the door-without much success. ‘Ublala, do your expelling back of the warehouse, near the drain spout. Use the comfrey bush poking out of the rubbish heap then wash your hands in the tilted trough.’
Looking relieved, the huge man ducked his way out into the alley.
Turning, Tehol regarded Bugg. All right, a moment of silence, then, for the retired hen.’
Rubbing his brow, Bugg leaned back and sighed. ‘Sorry. I’m not used to these… crowds.’
‘What amazes me,’ Tehol said, now studying the surviving hens, ‘is their eerie indifference. They just walk around their crushed sister-’
‘Wait a moment and they’ll start ripping it apart,’ Bugg said, shambling over to collect the carcass. ‘Between the two, I prefer indifference.’ He picked the limp form up, frowned at the dangling neck. ‘Quiet in death, as with all things. Almost all things, I mean…’ Abruptly he shook his head and tossed the dead creature onto the floor in front of Janath. ‘More feathers for you, Scholar.’
A most appropriate task,’ Tehol murmured, ‘plucking lovely plumage to reveal the pimpled nightmare beneath.’
‘Sort of like inadvertently looking up your tunic, Tehol Beddict.’
‘You are a cruel woman.’
She paused and looked up at him. Assuming those were just pimples.’
‘Most cruel, leading me to suspect that you in fact fancy me.’
Janath shot Bugg a glance. ‘What kind of healing did you do on me, Bugg? My world seems… smaller.’ She tapped one temple. ‘In here. My thoughts travel any distance-any distance at all-and they vanish in a… in a white nothing. Blissful oblivion. So, I do remember what happened, but not even a whisper of emotion reaches me.’
‘Janath, most of those protections are of your own making. Things will… expand. But it will take time. In any case, it is not too surprising that you are developing an attachment to Tehol, seeing him as your protector-’
‘Now hold on, old man! Attachment? To Tehol? To an ex-student? That is, in every way imaginable, disgusting.’