Steven Brust - Jhegaala

"All right.”

"What I propose," said the Count, "is simply this: that we share information. I suspect you know things that will help me track down who is behind the murders, and I am certain that I could give you information that would be of use to you."

I nodded. "That makes sense, and I'm inclined to agree."

"Inclined?"

"There some things I'd like to understand first, my lord, before I make any agreements."

"Such as?"

I had some more wine and tried to figure out how to approach it. This was the tricky part.

"Just what sort of information do you imagine I have, my lord?"

"Eh? Well, it's obvious you've been investigating on your own. Haven't you found out anything?"

"As to that," I said. "Maybe. But, you know, I have no special skills in that field; I've simply been asking questions as anyone might."

"Indeed?" he said. From the expression in his voice, I couldn't tell if he was just skeptical, or knew I was lying, and that is exactly what I needed to know.

"Yes," I said. "That's what puzzles me about this. To be blunt: What help could I possibly give you?"

"Well," he said, and had another sip. He licked his lips. "That is a difficult question to answer."

I nodded and gave him some time, sipping wine and putting on my innocent inquiring look.

"I guess," he said, "that will require some background explanation."

"All right," I said. "I'm listening."

"The mill was first founded by my grandfather, some eighty-three years ago." He

"Boss?"

I wanted more wine because my mouth was dry, but the glass wasn't in my hand, which was odd.

''Boss?"

And I couldn't move my arm, either, and the Count's voice was a buzzing in my ears, and the floor was very hard against my cheek.

NOTONIDE

While there remains some question because of its short duration, most natural philosophers now agree that the notonide should be considered an actual stage; yet it is a stage of constant transformation. It is here, accompanied by a ninety percent loss in mass, that the wings are formed, the venom glands develop, and the eggs are fertilized. This all happens in an astonishingly brief time: a few days at the most. Needless to say, during this entire stage the jhegaala is exceptionally vulnerable....

Two interesting and contradictory phenomena occur during this stage: To the right, the intense pressure of the constant transformation overwhelms the individual characteristics of the notonide, each reacting for the most part identically. And yet, as is the case with all organisms, it is never so much itself as when under intense pressure. Thus the future nature of this particular levidopt becomes apparent from the present notonide if one knows what to look for. ...

—Oscaani: Fauna of the Middle South: A Brief Survey, Volume 6, Chapter 18

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Boraan: My dear, have you ever wondered why it seems to go on so terribly long ? Lefitt: It would hardly be punishment if it were short . Boraan: (glances at audience): Quite so .

—Miersen, Six Parts Water Day Two, Act III, Scene 4

Movement is meaningless without time. Movement, as an Athyra once explained to me, means that you're either in two places at once, or to put it another way, at a certain instant, you both are and are not in one place. In that sense, I wasn't moving, because there was no time, and I wasn't anywhere at all. The odd part is that there was the sensation of movement; a rattling, jolting, rocking thing. But sometimes we cannot trust our perceptions.

There was a damnable itch in the middle of my back, and a droning in my ears that wouldn't go away. I wanted to scratch my back, but I couldn't reach it.

My hips and my back hurt.

Horse , I thought. Been riding a damned horse. No wonder I hurt. I opened my eyes, but the droning kept going in my ears. I couldn't figure out why the droning didn't stop when I opened my eyes. After what seemed the longest time, I realized it was because my eyes weren't really open. That made sense. I tried to work out if I was feeling sick to my stomach, but it required too much concentration and didn't seem important anyway.

The humming got louder, and someone was calling my name, and the humming got softer, and several some ones were calling my name, in different tones, in different ways, and I felt not the least urge to answer any of them; all I wanted to do was open my eyes, because I knew that would make the humming stop. It isn't that the humming was painful, it just wouldn't stop, and I was getting annoyed.

Then someone in a soft, almost melodious voice I didn't recognize was asking me questions, and whoever it was seemed very friendly, and I'd have answered if the questions had made any sense. Then there was silence again except for the humming in my ears, and then more nonsense questions. It was only later— hours or days—that I was able to remember the questions and make some sort of sense out of them. "Who are you working for?" was the most frequent. And then there were lists of names that sounded like Fenarian noblemen, but I didn't recognize any of them. And once he asked, "How had you planned to open the vault?" which was enough for me to figure it out, later, when I could figure.

You can learn a lot from the questions someone asks; it seems like I had made that observation not long before. In this case, it was easy to put together, once my mind was clear. Not that it helped, especially. At the time, I only realized that I couldn't answer them because they made no sense and that I should try to explain that. I wanted to explain it. It was terribly frustrating that I couldn't seem to find the right words.

I know I threw up sometime in there, and I remember being pleased that my stomach felt better, although something about it seemed odd. And that damned humming in my ears wouldn't go away, which was the worst of it. I mean, it wasn't, but it was.

Something grabbed my head, not especially gently, and there was water poured into my mouth. I drank it, and noticed I was shivering. I wasn't sick, I was just cold. Well, no problem. I'd cover myself up just as soon as I could find a blanket. Cawti'd probably stolen the damned blanket again. Well, no, because then she'd be warming me up, and if she were warming me up, the humming in my ears would stop, wouldn't it? So where was she, anyway? Why wasn't she here? She should be here to warm me up and stop the buzzing in my ears. I'd stop the buzzing in her ears if she needed me to.

A child's voice whispered, "I'm sorry," and I have no idea what makes me think it was a child's voice—how can you tell from a whisper? But I thought so at the time, and I wondered what she'd done. But the voice seemed to warm me, somehow, and I stopped shivering.

"Boss?"

"What the—"

"Boss, don't let them know you're yourself!"

"Let—"

"Play dead!"

Loiosh doesn't sound peremptory very often, so when he does, I listen, and right then, when I was just becoming aware that I was just becoming aware, and had no idea how or what or where or like that, it seemed a good idea to listen to him, so I remained still.

"What-?"

"Boss, Rocza is hurt."

"How bad?"

"I don't know. She won't tell me. She's afraid if I think she's hurt bad I'll find a new mate."

"Is that what jhereg do?"

"In the wild."

"Did you explain that you're civilized?"

"She doesn't believe me."