Books of Barakhai - The Beasts of Barakhai Part 11

Without further encouragement, Korfius lifted the hatch and slid into the parlor. His footfalls echoed on the wooden stairs, growing gradually softer.Collins oriented as he watched the boy disappear. Clearly, the guards had looked for him and Korfius in the larder, and he had heard their voices as they descended the stairs. He tried to fathom why he had heard them there but not inside the cabin.

As if reading Collins' mind, Vernon explained. "It's not normal to have hiding places, so sound travels oddly. You can hear and be heard by anyone on the parlor stairs but no other place as far as I know. If you have to hide again, though, I'd suggest you stay silent, just in case."

Collins s.h.i.+vered at the thought of cramming himself into that tight, seemingly airless s.p.a.ce again.

Nevertheless, he found it preferable to hanging. "You can count on it."

"You'd never believe how many times those fools have searched the dresser, leaving me a mess of clothes to pick up." Vernon gestured at the irregularly stained, off-center chest of drawers. Clearly handmade, it occupied most of the eastern wall. "I stash all kinds of clothing in there; people give what they can. Those who can't give wash or patch. You find anything your size, feel free to change. Dirties'll get washed and go to someone else. Or you can get them back next time you drop in."

"I do appreciate your help and your kindness." Collins continued to study the dresser, seeking some indication of the secret area he knew took up most of the s.p.a.ce behind it. "And I hope I don't offend you when I say that I hope I never have to receive it again."

Vernon turned, brows raised and mouth crinkled with amus.e.m.e.nt. "You're welcome. And, yes, I understand."

Korfius' bare feet clomped up the stairs. He appeared through the opening hugging a variety of flasks and crockery. Straw-colored hair lay in snarled disarray. Streaks of dirt decorated otherwise cherubic cheeks, like war paint, the right still bearing a dab of honey. His gray robe had a tattered hem that dragged on the planking, and its V-neck, even laced, revealed most of his hairless chest. Awkwardly, he dropped his finds on the table. A covered mug rolled across the surface until Korfius caught it and righted it. "I found lots of stuff, Your Majesty, though not what you're used to of course; but it will have to-"

"All right." Vernon interrupted the boy's excited patter. "Let's see what we have here." He lifted and replaced lids, occasionally sniffing the contents. "Black bread, honey, a.s.sorted insects, nut paste, roundfruit, roasted beetles, watered wine, mulled fruit juice." He looked up. "Any of that suit you, Your Majesty?"

A clumsy silence followed before Collins remembered they addressed him. "Oh. Oh, yes. Honey bread. Maybe some of that nut paste. Fruit and fruit juice, please."

Vernon started doling out the fare, placing each share directly on the table. "No beetles, sire? They're the best thing I have, a real delicacy. The big kind with lots of substance and a gratifying crunch."

Korfius peered eagerly into one of the crocks. "Real good ones, Your Majesty. Look!"

"That's all right." Collins did not care to see. "I'm not much of a . . . um . . . bug-eater." He took his seat at the table while Vernon plopped a golden, viscous fluid, spotted with bits of honeycomb onto a thick slice of dark bread and pushed 'it in front of his guest. The sweet odor of the honey sent a rumble through Collins' stomach. Instinctively, he thought back to his last satisfying meal and realized, with a guilty start, that it was when he had eaten the rabbit. Joetha. The queasy feeling settled back into his gut, though the bread continued to tempt him. Vernon slapped a handful of semisolid brownish glop interspersed with chunks onto the table beside the bread. Oil formed a ring around the edges. Though unappetizing looking, it smelled vaguely similar to peanut b.u.t.ter, which tweaked Collins' hunger again.

Two wrinkled b.a.l.l.s, stored fruit, rolled across the table toward him, followed by a mug of dull orangish-pink liquid, dense with pulp.

Korfius claimed the chair to Collins' right, clambering onto his knees. "I've had some bread and honey, thank you. I'd just like some of those beetles and a bit of wine, please."

Vernon slopped down a half-dozen insects the size of Collins' first thumb joint. Their black legs curled against their abdomens, and their wings s.h.i.+mmered a pearly aqua, burned to dull black in places. A dribble of saliva escaped Korfius' mouth, but he waited patiently for his host and his fellow guest.

Vernon served himself a bit of everything, then relaxed into his chair. Collins suddenly felt all eyes on him. Apparently, as the presumed royal, he was supposed to take the first bite. Needing cues as to how best to eat the other food, he went for the bread first, taking a healthy bite. It had the consistency of akitchen sponge, and a hint of mold marred the otherwise pleasant flavor. The honey tasted as fresh and sweet as any he had ever had, though he would have preferred to have strained out all of the comb.

The others started eating, too, Korfius with doglike gusto. "So," the boy said around a mouthful of beetle. "How did I wind up here?" He swallowed. "And when can I go home?"

Vernon's gaze flicked to Collins, and he chewed vigorously.

Collins finished the bite of bread, then set the rest down. He cleared his throat. "Well. . ."If they waited until Korfius became a dog again before releasing him, they probably had half a day before he could report back to the guards. Unless, as a dog, he can communicate fully with the other dogs. His ignorance foiled him, yet he could not leave Vernon to handle a problem that he had created. He already depended too much on his companions' charity. "It's difficult. I'm on a top secret royal mission, and I don't know if I can trust you."

"Top secret?" Korfius repeated, features screwed into a knot as he crunched another beetle.

Obviously, the term meant little to him, and the translation stone did not leave room for quibbling. Likely, it had portrayed the words "top" and "secret" rather than the compound concept. "Of course you can trust me. Why wouldn't you trust me?"

To emphasize the gravity, Collins thrust all his food aside. "When you're on a mission this secret, you can't trust anyone."

Korfius swallowed, his own food forgotten for the moment, too. "Not anyone?"

"Not. . . anyone."

"Why?"

"Because," Collins leaned toward the boy. "It's so important and so very very secret. If the wrong person found out, if someone told them, thinking he could trust them, or if they merely overheard it, it could destroy the mission."

Korfius swallowed again, harder. "What is the mission?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Korfius' features opened, and his jaw fell. Even Vernon turned his head to give Collins a warning stare.

Collins dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. "It's that secret. And that vital."

When the two continued to gape, Collins continued, "The lives of thousands rest in my hands. I can't betray that sacred and dire trust. And I can't let anyone else do it either." He lowered his own gaze to his hands. "I've already said as much as I dare about it."

Korfius bobbed his head, clenching his hands on the edge of the table, knuckles bloodless. "Before I switched, before the hunt. The guards in human form said . . . they said . . ." He looked at Vernon, who waved encouragingly. "A man with your description ate someone."

Collins' thoughts raced. He knew Korfius must have switched to dog form shortly before Collins captured him and that he would understand little of the subsequent details. He should have figured the boy might have known the intention of the hunt. The guards had caught Collins in the process of committing the crime; he could hardly deny it. That would put his credibility, already thin, in hopeless jeopardy.

"Did you . . . did you ..." Korfius clamped his attention on Collins. ". .. kill... and eat... that rabbit?"

Collins calmly ladled nut paste into his mouth, stalling. He chewed, maintaining the air of casual innocence, swallowed, took a sip of fruit juice to clear his mouth, then spoke in the most matter-of-fact tone he could muster. "Had to."

Korfius blinked.

"She threatened to tell others about me, about the mission. I hate killing more than anything in the world. But ..." Collins gave Korfius a look of dangerous sincerity. "In the wrong hands, that information would doom the mission. One life seemed a small price to pay to save thousands."

"I-I," Korfius stammered, voice dropping to a whisper. "I wouldn't tell anyone."

Collins hissed back, "I'm counting on that."

As if he'd suddenly discovered his food, Korfius went back to stuffing beetles into his mouth.

Collins glanced over to Vernon's half-grin."Who can't know?" Korfius said between crunches. "Whose hands are the wrong hands?"

"No one must know. Where I am, who I'm with, what I'm doing." Collins added conspiratorially, "You're the only one besides my friends who even knows I'm royal."

Vernon wiped his mouth with an edge of his tunic. "Korfius, here's what I suggest you tell the other guards and your parents."

Korfius sat up, attentive.

"You fell or got hit or something. You're not sure, but it made you sleep for many hours. When you woke up, you wandered around confused for a long time. Finally, I found you. Fed you. Took you home.

Got it?"

Korfius' mouth pinched. "But that would be a lie."

"Yes," Vernon said simply.

Believing the boy needed more, Collins added, "A necessary lie. One that will help save the lives of thousands. Do you understand?"

"Sort of," Korfius replied, swallowing a mouthful. "Not really. Not the details."

"Can't give you those," Collins said apologetically, then hardened his tone. "If you don't agree, you leave me no choice but to ..." He trailed off with clear significance.

Korfius hugged himself. When he finally spoke, he used a small voice. "I want to help save lives."

Vernon made a noise of approval, deep in his throat. "So you won't tell anyone about His Majesty or his companions?"

"I won't," Korfius promised.

"Good boy." Vernon returned to his food, and the others followed suit.

For several moments, they ate in silence, then Collins rose and yawned. "My turn for a nap?" he suggested.

Vernon also stood. He walked to the chest of drawers, pulled open the top one, and removed a clay pot. "Let me show you to the well. You can wash up and change."

It seemed more logical to wash after the nap, so Collins suspected the older man wanted to talk with him alone. "Great," he said, waving at Korfius. "See you soon."

Korfius eyed the beetle jar.

Though Vernon headed for the door, he did not miss the gesture. "Have as much food as you want,"

he called over his shoulder to the boy as he exited the cottage, Collins behind him.

The sun slanted toward the western horizon, and Collins' watch read ten minutes until four. Vernon strolled toward the back of the cottage, waiting only until they had clearly pa.s.sed Korfius' hearing range before asking, "That was brilliant. Where did you come up with all that stuff? About missions and thousands and lives and . . . ?" He showed Collins an expression that bordered on awe.

Collins did not have the heart to tell his companion it came from the meanest B-grade spy movies he had seen in high school. Choosing an air of mystery over idiocy, he reverted to the same understated melodrama that Vernon had laid on him when he asked about the bolt-holes. c.o.c.king his brows, he put on a tight-lipped grin. And left the answer to Vernon's imagination.

Collins awakened to the slam of a closing door and the pound of footsteps on floorboards. For an instant, his mind returned him to the dark enclosure behind Vernon's dresser, desperately clutching a frightened and morphing dog/boy who might give them away in an instant. His lids snapped open to candlelight that held evening gray ness at bay in a circle. He lay on the pallet. Korfius sat in the chair Collins had vacated hours earlier, his yellow hair mostly flopped over his right ear, his small hands clasped together on the tabletop. Vernon and Falima stood on the threshold, the man carrying the aroma of cool evening wind and the woman wholly naked. For the second time, Collins caught a glimpse of that wonderful body: the generous, sinewy curves, the pert b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and the black triangle between muscular thighs.

Falima glanced at Collins, and her golden skin turned a p.r.i.c.kly red. She hid behind Vernon, her discomfort an obvious change from the unself-conscious dignity with which she had carried herself a day ago.Sensing Falima's uneasiness, Vernon removed his cloak and tossed it over her bare shoulders. She drew it tightly around her while he crossed to the dresser and began sifting through clothing. At length, he pitched out a simple dress of coa.r.s.e weave, dyed a sallow blue. Falima turned her back to pull it over her head, giving Collins a full view of her round, firm b.u.t.tocks every bit as pleasurable as what she hid.

The fabric fell into place, disguising the exquisite angles beneath a shapeless blob of material. Only then, she returned the cloak to Vernon.

Collins waited until Falima had dressed before sitting up and rubbing grit from the corners of his eyes.

His mother had called them "sleepy seeds," but Marlys had broken him of the habit. She felt it best not to refer to bodily fluids, whether liquid or dry, at all. Even earwax made her ill, and a used Q-tip accidentally left on a bathroom ledge sent her into a frenzy. Marlys. Collins grimaced. He knew she would not appreciate him staring, or even worse enjoying the sight of, another woman's naked body, no matter how amusing or dire the circ.u.mstances.

Vernon and Korfius seemed to take no notice of the process, though the older man prodded the washbasin they had filled earlier that now perched on top of the dresser and waved at the clean pile of clothing beside it. "Your turn," he said in heavily accented English, then winked at Collins.

You b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Collins glanced in the indicated direction, then sat. He thrust a hand in his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the translation stone. He withdrew his hand, clutching the quartz to his palm as he removed the travel-stained tunic to reveal his ribby, nearly hairless chest. "Happy?"

Korfius glanced over.

Vernon smiled.

"Not yet," Falima said, mouth widening into a grin.

Now it was Collins' turn to blush. Seeking a distraction, he rose and strode to the basin. He splashed water over his face, abdomen, and armpits, then ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair. Grit rasped against his nails, and twigs pattered to the ground. Without a heavy stream of water and a lot of shampoo, it seemed hopeless. He looked at his companions.

Korfius had lowered his head to his arm, but the other two still watched Collins intently.

All right, I can do this. Collins thought of his two delicious sessions of Falima-watching. It's only fair. He reached for his fly, thinking back to his experiences in the locker room. For size, he fell squarely into the average category, and his slender figure only enhanced what he had. He turned around, freed the metal b.u.t.ton and unzipped. His pants slid to his ankles. He stepped out of them, then his underwear, baring his backside for his companions.

Collins felt more self-conscious now than the time his six-year-old cousin, Brittany, had pulled the bathroom door wide open during her sister's wedding reception, while he performed inside. He splashed water over his legs and privates, his back to Falima, hoping she had the decency to look elsewhere as he had done for her.

Collins s.n.a.t.c.hed up the fresh, gray britches that Vernon had laid out for him, the fabric rough and scratchy against his hand.

"Turn around," Falima teased.

Collins winced.

"There's nothing to be embarra.s.sed about, Your Majesty." Vernon restored the t.i.tle and the charade of respect, even as they stripped Collins of all physical dignity. "Those of us who switch see one another naked all the time. There's a lot of ... normal variation."

Let's get this over with. The longer Collins put it off, he knew, the more Falima would expect when she finally saw him. And so what? What does it matter what she thinks of. . . that? Even in his thoughts, he had to use a euphemism, and it intensified the scarlet circles of his cheeks. It's not like there could ever be anything between us. Yet, somehow, it did matter. Whether or not they ever came together, he wanted her to like him, to want him, as much as he wanted her. This is ridiculous. As if a guy like me could ever attract a hotty like her. s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his courage, he turned, only then realizing that Falima was accustomed to seeing stallions.

Nervously, Collins watched Falima's face as the smile wilted and her pale eyes widened. She back-stepped, gasping.Collins could not have imagined a more unnerving reaction. "Very funny."

"Wha-what . . . ?" Falima stammered, not sounding the least bit amused. "What happened?"

"It ... I ..." Collins floundered with the britches, and it seemed to take inordinately long to find the leg holes. "Sometimes . . . they're all . . ."

Vernon smoothly stepped in to a.s.sist. "The cutting," he explained. "The foreskin. We don't do that here."

Collins tied the britches in place, the excess color draining from his face. He dropped the rose quartz into a pocket to speak the word in English that he knew must not translate. "Circ.u.mcision." He took up the stone again, so as not to miss anything. "It's a. . .a ..."

"Royal thing?" Vernon suggested.

"Exactly." Collins appreciated the reminder. In the horror of the situation, they had all apparently forgotten his cover. Otherwise, Vernon would have said "switchers don't do that" rather than "we don't do that here." Collins explained, "Keeps it cleaner." I can't believe I'm discussing the details of my p.e.n.i.s in mixed company. He tried to drop the subject. "So, any place to get a real bath around here?"

"Doesn't it hurt?" Korfius piped in, rising to join the others.

"What?" Vernon inquired.

"That." Korfius jabbed a finger toward Collins' now-covered groin. "Doesn't it hurt to ... to ... cut it like that." He added, belatedly, "Your majesty."

Though unnecessary, Collins followed the direction of Korfius' motion naturally. "Oh, that. I don't know. It's done when you're just a couple days old."

"Does it still work, Your Majesty?"

"Work?" All of the blus.h.i.+ng returned to Collins' face in an instant. "Of course it works. All the ... all the . . ." He glanced at Falima, then wished he had not. It only intensified the embarra.s.sment. ". . .

functions work. It's just . . . well . . . cleaner, I guess." Again, he tried to redirect the conversation.

"Please stop with the 'Your Majesty,' though. No one's supposed to know who I am, remember?" He placed a finger to his lips. "Top secret."

"Top secret." Korfius repeated vigorously. His expression wilted from open and eager to wrinkled disappointment in an instant. "Will I ever get to tell my friends I met a royal?"

Falima placed an arm around the boy. "I've kept the secret a year now. Think you can last half that long?"