Females and older males were tending to the fruits and vegetables, while the younger meerkats, together with an occasional kangaroo rat, jabbered amusedly at the lightning-fast antics of the otters. Others prodded and poked at the massive Snaugenhutt. His thoughts churning, Buncan rejoined his friends as they emerged from the water and proceeded to dry themselves.
“I bid you join me in my domicile.” Chi-churog led them to what was by far the largest tent in the village. It wasn’t quite large enough, though. The Xi-Murogg leader explained apologetically.
“I am afraid there is not quite enough room for your great friend.” He gestured at Snaugenhutt.
“No sweat. I’ll wait here.” The rhino licked thick lips and crossed his front legs. “Something to drink would make me feel less left out.”
“Your acumen is to be commended. Rewarded it will be.” Chi-churog spoke to one of his people in a strange dialect. The villager thus addressed nodded his understanding and hurried off toward another tent.
Woven mats covered the spacious floor. Large pillows fashioned of fine material stolen or bartered for lay scattered strategically about. Chi-churog promptly crossed his short legs and sat down. Sleek female meerkats appeared from behind a cloth divider to proffer water, some kind of lukewarm desert tea, and platters of produce doubtless freshly picked from the fields Buncan had seen.
Old enough to be interested in more than vegetables, Squill let his eyes track the progress of the lithe feminine forms. “Well now, this ‘ere’s more like it!”
“It pleases me that you approve.’“ Chi-churog gestured with a broad sweep of his hand. He had removed his robe, to reveal his bright white-furred form clad in shorts and some kind of diaphanous shirt. He was a handsbreath or so shorter than the otters, and considerably smaller man Buncan.
The visitors settled themselves against the soft cushions. Delighted to feel something against its backside besides rock or lightly padded iron armor, Buncan’s body betrayed his unease. It was almost impossible not to relax.
Chi-churog accepted a long smoking stick from one of the females and waved it casually. “Now, then, tell me how you come to be in the lands of the Xi-Murogg? It must be some matter of great importance to have brought you, as you have said, so far from your own homes.”
Before either Buncan or Gragelouth could respond, Squill was off and running. Omitting certain unflattering details, vastly embellishing upon others, he regaled the attentive leader of the Xi-Murogg and his equally rapt harem with a story of unsurpassing skill and gallantry, occasionally even remembering in an off moment to insert a brief word or two about his five companions.
“Bloody rotten stinkin’ egotist of a sibling,” Neena muttered under her breath.
Squill blinked, turned to her. “Say wot, sister?”
“I was remarkin’ that you’re your father’s son.” She smiled pleasantly.
“That’s a fact.’“ Squill resumed his oral epic.
Evening pressed down on the box canyon when he finally finished. Their host seemed pleased, and the travelers had consumed a prodigious quantity of fresh fruits and vegetables, as well as several delicious prepared varieties which had been transformed through drying, steaming, broiling, and other means of efficacious preparation. Within Chi-churog’s tent unabashed contentment reigned among hosts and guests alike.
To the otters’ astonishment, one polished wooden platter was even heaped high with dried fish.
“There are caverns nearby,” their host explained, “cut by water and populated by colorless, blind fish.” The meerkat smiled. “But not tasteless, I assure you. Their flesh is tender and succulent and forms a welcome addition to our diet.”
It finished off the otters’ suspicions as neatly as if they’d been pared away with a sharp knife. Even the always leery Gragelouth was compelled to admit that their welcome had been all that could have been hoped for.
Tiny belly bulging, Viz glided into the tent to land on Duncan’s shoulder. He’d taken a moment to relieve himself. After belching delicately, he whispered into the human’s ear.
“Keep your expression bland and don’t let on that I’m telling you anything, but we’re in trouble.”
Buncan smiled as he waved off a fruit-laden female. “How do you mean?”
“Want to take a guess? It’s Snaug.”
This tune is was harder for Buncan to maintain his composure. “Don’t tell me they got him drunk?”
Viz’s beak was all but cleaning Buncan’s ear. “They must’ve done it when I was in here with the rest of you. I don’t know if they did it deliberately or if he got a taste of something that appealed to him and asked for more. Snaug’s a hard one to say no to. Not that it matters. The important thing is that right now he’s lying flat on his side, out cold to starboard, snoring like a ventilation shaft from hell. I don’t mink he’ll be able to stand up ‘til morning, much less run.”
“What’s that you say?” Chi-churog leaned forward, and Buncan remembered having read something about meerkats having exceptional powers of hearing. “Your great friend is already asleep?” The village leader burst out laughing in a series of sharp, squeaky barks, similar to but higher-pitched than that of the otters. “He should rest well tonight, men. As will you all.
“Tomorrow we will have the Ceremony.”
With studied diffidence Buncan slid the duar off his shoulders and laid it across his knees, making a pretext of checking the tightness of the strings. He tried to sound nonchalant. “What ceremony?”
“The Ceremony of Fertilization.” Chi-churog glanced at the roof of the tent. “Tomorrow night the moon will be full. We need to ensure that our fields will be also.”
Buncan untensed, his muscles relaxing. For a moment his natural suspicions had gotten the better of him. “What is this Ceremony of Fertilization?” However it was performed, he mused, it sounded anything but threatening.
“You have seen our fields.”
“Wonderfully kept they are, too.” Gragelouth was at his obsequious best.
Chi-churog accepted the compliment with a nod. “We are proud of what we have wrought from the Tamas. Our fields do more than sustain us; they provide us with the means to live well in a place where few others can even survive. We tend them as if our lives depend on them, which they certainly do. The Xi-Murogg wandered the Tamas for many years before finding and settling in this place. Since then we have cared for the soil of this canyon as if it were our own flesh. We have ample labor, and enough water. Only one shortage complicates our work.”
“I wondered about that,” Gragelouth admitted.
What are they talking about? Buncan mused. Though he’d been following the conversation closely, he felt suddenly lost.
Chi-churog stared evenly at Gragelouth. “You are perceptive, traveler. Many successful seasons have thinned and weakened this earth. Rain carries some nutrients down from the surrounding rim, but it is not nearly enough. Our springs run clear and clean, which in this case is less than helpful. We make use of the dung of our riding and pulling animals, but even this is limited in the results it can achieve.
“Therefore, whenever the occasion presents itself we miss no opportunity to lavish upon our precious sustaining fields whatever additional fertilizers may become available.”
Gragelouth smiled demurely. “If you would like to add our personal by-products to your efforts we will be happy to accommodate you, but except for what Snaugenhutt can produce I fear you will be disappointed.”
Chi-churog put the stub of his second smoking stick aside. “You underestimate yourself, sloth.” He grinned, his black nose twitching. “Crops do well on dung, but better by far on blood and bone.”
At which point Buncan knew exactly what had happened to the bodies of the original owners of the mounted skulls he had encountered earlier.