“Glad the winter’s well over,” he said, holding his hands to the stove. “One can find out absolutely nothing in the winter.” His mighty form was close-wrapped in a heavy cloak, his pendulous ears half-covered by a floppy cap. Still he shivered, holding his huge hands almost upon the surface of the stove. Ezasper Jorn was never warm. Even at the height of polar summer, he shivered. In winter, he was almost immobile. He had fulfilled the duties of his office for many years, mostly by virtue of saying almost nothing to the Thraish and agreeing with everything they said to him. Since no action was ever taken on any recommendation made by Ezasper Jorn-indeed, he seldom made any at all-it did not matter. The position of Ambassador was filled harmlessly, and all at the Chancery were satisfied by that.
“We have to find out somehow,” said Koma Nepor, purse-lipped. Chief of Research was a position lacking clear duties but implying vast and often unnamable expectations. Koma brought to the role an instinctive appreciation of mystery coupled with an inquisitive, persistent mind. The mystery over which he now troubled himself was the reported disappearance of animals from the Chancery herds of weehar and thrassil. It could have happened late last fall, perhaps.
Not during the winter, when the creatures were dug deep into the ice. Perhaps early this spring, when the first thaws came and the grass turned green on Chancery lands.
The surviving herds had been kept small at the command of Shavian Bossit, Lord Maintainer of the Household. Generations ago he had perceived the dangerous temptation large herds of weehar and thrassil might present to wandering fliers, assuming any such abrogated the treaty and flew north of the Teeth. It would have been wise, he had felt then as now, to kill the remaining beasts, leaving no cause for temptation at all.
However, the Protector of Man enjoyed red meat from time to time, and General Jondrigar, who regarded each least notion of the Protector as though it were an order given under penalty of death, had seen to it that the herds remained. The Protector received his roasts and chops at intervals, carefully augmented by certain grains and herbs. Men who ate the native animals had learned to serve them thus or risk a bewildering loss of intelligence. On Northshore the relationship between what eats and what is eaten was closer than on many worlds-or so the histories implied. There were those foods, for example, that allowed the fliers to retain their wings while others would have confined them to a life on the ground. There were foods that allowed those in the Chancery to live long, long lives, and others that would have condemned them to an early and brief idiocy. So it was that the fliers ate what they ate in order to maintain their wings, and the Chancery officials, when dining upon roast thrassil, consumed it with leguminous garnish. Which they would not do soon again if too many animals were missing.
“Bormas Tyle has investigated the report and is sure some of the animals are gone,” said Ezasper. “He’s told Tharius Don about it, you may be sure of that. Bormas may go his own way most of the time, but he is not derelict in his deputized duties. And Bossit won’t drop the matter, you may be sure.” His flaccid arms were held toward the welcome warmth of the stove, his pouchy face reddened by the heat. “Just gone.”
“How would he know? We don’t keep them on inventory, for the gods’ sake. They wander. They get killed. Some of them die.”
“Bormas says the two herds were small, almost household herds, kept close to the Chancery. The herdsmen had counted the young last fall, marking some to be set aside for the table of the Protector. When they went to do the butchering last week, there were only a few of the younger animals left. Up to a dozen of them gone, says Bormas.”
Ezasper frowned. “Almost enough to make one remember those old legends about the monster in the main files. The one who eats all the apprentices.”
Nepor giggled, appreciating this reference to the legend of the monster. “Most likely fliers,” he said. “That’s really what everyone is worried about. That Talker was here, before winter set in. First time ever, him and his friends. And he wasn’t blind. He saw the thrassil, the weehar.”