Greg Keyes - Lord of Souls

She thought about that for a moment.

“That-makes sense. One of my tasks is to take raw ingredients from the sump and transform them into nutrients for the trees, but part of that process involves getting the roots themselves to release substances. I haven’t worked in the large fermentation vats, but I have noticed there are always roots involved.”

“I think it’s the trees who remember all the forms of life on Umbriel,” Glim said. “I think they produce the proforms-the little worms Umbrielians start as. Then the ingenium gives them a soul, and they grow according to some sort of plan the trees remember.”

“Well, that’s really interesting,” Annaig said. “If we could poison the trees, destroy them, that would in essence destroy Umbriel.”

Glim’s eyes went wide. “But you can’t-” he began, then stopped. “It would take a long time,” he said. “And it might not be possible.”

“If they are all connected at the root, like the Hist-sure, they all draw nourishment from the sump.”

An expression flickered across his features that she had never actually seen before, but it reminded her of anger.

“Look,” she said, “you’re saying these trees are responsible for the murder of almost everyone we know.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m saying they were used. Someone used them.”

“Glim, you can’t-I know how you feel about some of these people, but-”

“I don’t think you do,” he said. “You hate everyone you know here.”

“Glim, the one person I showed friendship to tried to kill me.”

“I know,” he said. “But the skraws are different. And Fhena.”

She sighed. “Look, let’s take one thing at a time. What about Phmer’s kitchen? Can I get in?”

“You can’t get in far,” he said. “Any more than I could get into your kitchen.”

“But here we are.”

“No, no. I can get to your pantry, and so could someone from another kitchen, in the proper disguise. But to go any farther would raise all sorts of alarms and protections. Some are in the walls, living things that see and smell the uninvited. Others, as I understand it, are sorcerous in nature. All I know is, they say at least twenty people from other kitchens have tried to invade past Phmer’s pantry; all were caught or killed. Almost as many have tried to get into Toel’s kitchen since you came to work there.”

“I haven’t heard anything about that.”

“That’s because they all went into the sump,” he said.

“Huh. But you think I can get into the pantry.”

“At night, if you’re very careful.”

“Suppose I was invisible, had no scent, made no sound?” she asked.

“You might make it another fifteen paces, as some of the others did.”

“Well, then,” she said. “Thanks, Glim, that’s very helpful.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he said. “You remember the last time you tried to make someone invisible? For a week all my organs were on display for everyone to see.”

“I’ve learned a lot since then,” she assured him.

“I hope so. When are you going?”

“Tonight.”

Annaig was wakened by a gentle pressure on her arm. She opened her eyes and found Dulg standing there, his little froglike form perched on the stool by her bed.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Chef Toel requires your presence,” he said.

She stirred, rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“That’s not for you to ask,” Dulg replied.

She looked around. “Where is Slyr?” she asked.

“Summoned earlier,” Dulg supplied.

“Did she wear my gold-and-black gown?”

Dulg looked a bit puzzled. “You said I could offer it to her.”

“Right. I did, didn’t I? Well, just fetch me the black one.”

Dulg nodded and bounded off.

An hour later, properly dressed and coiffed, she met Toel on his balcony. He wasn’t alone this time. His underchefs Intovar and Yeum stood on either side of him. Intovar was a spindly fellow with dirty yellow hair and an air of the rodent about him. Yeum was a thick woman with an appealing, heart-shaped face and dusky skin. Neither had ever spoken to her except to give her orders.

Slyr was also there, of course.

On the other side of the balcony-as if relegated there by an invisible line-stood another party. The obvious leader was an impressively tall, narrow woman with close-cropped hair and large emerald eyes. She was accompanied by two men, one brick red with horns and the other a merish-looking person who looked perpetually surprised.

“Chef Toel,” Annaig said, bowing her head slightly.

He smiled oddly and gestured at the green-eyed woman. “I should like to present you to Chef Phmer, and also her assistants Jolha and Egren.”

“An honor, Chefs,” Annaig replied.

Phmer smiled, but it reminded Annaig of the toothy grin of the piranhas that lived in the dunkwaters.

“I’m told you are to thank-or blame-for many of the fads passing through some kitchens,” she said. Her voice was silk, coiled thick and made into a noose.

“I suppose I might be,” Annaig replied.

“And yet your inventiveness would appear to have its limits.”

“Everything has limits,” Annaig said cautiously.

“And yet fetching up against these limits has tempted you to do something rather costly,” Phmer went on.

Annaig looked at Toel, whose expression was blank.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

Phmer’s expression changed, going from one of apparent good humor to barely checked rage.

“Do you deny you broke into my kitchen last night in an attempt to steal the secret of the ninth savor?”

“Chef,” Annaig said, “I do. I certainly do.”

“And yet we have testimony that you did. And other evidence.”

“Testimony?”

But she couldn’t miss the suppressed look of triumph on Slyr’s face.

“If you did this thing,” Toel said, “you know I must give you over to her. It is the law.”

“It’s permissible to invade another kitchen wholesale and slaughter everyone there, but not to sneak into one to steal?”

“I obtained permission for my raid on Qijne’s kitchen,” he replied. “Nor is that here nor there. You are not the head of a kitchen. Did you do this? Did you try to steal from Phmer?”

“I’ve already said I didn’t,” Annaig pointed out.

“Well, we shall see about that,” Phmer said. She gestured at a box on the floor, and her red-skinned underchef bent to it. He unlatched one side of the thing, and something crawled out.

She thought at first it was a spider, but its legs weren’t rigid; nor were they as supple as those of a squid, but something in between. And-she realized as it unfolded them-it had wings, rather like those of a mosquito, and in fact now it somewhat resembled one, albeit one that could fit into the palm of her hand.

The wings blurred into motion, and the little creature lifted into the air; three stalks or antennae began probing about as it approached her. She remained still, wondering if it had some sort of sting, and if she had made a mistake. She tried to slow her heart with simple willpower, but it thudded on irrespective.

The tentacles tickled across her face and down her dress, lingering on her left hand, but then the creature darted over to Slyr and began to make an annoying high-pitched sound. Phmer frowned, but Toel’s lips turned up.

Slyr just looked puzzled, then aghast.

Toel lifted his hand toward Phmer, then turned it gently toward Slyr. Two of his guards took Slyr by the shoulders, and the woman looked wildly at Annaig.

Phmer reached into one of Slyr’s pockets, and then the other. From the second she withdrew a small vial. She uncorked it, sniffed it, and then tasted a bit on her finger.