Too weak to move, Gentle was still slumped against the bed when, some minutes later, Scopique came back to look for Pie. Scopique’s astonishment knew no bounds. He called for help, then hoisted Gentle back onto the bed, question following question so fast Gentle barely had breath or energy to answer. But sufficient was communicated for Scopique to berate himself for not grasping the problem earlier.
“I thought it was in your head, Zacharias, and all the time—all the time it was in your belly. This bastard thing!”
Aping arrived, and there was a new round of questions, answered this time by Scopique, who then went off in search of Pie, leaving the guard to arrange for the filth on the floor to be cleaned up and the patient brought fresh water and clean clothes.
“Is there anything else you need?” Aping wanted to know.
“Food,” Gentle said. His belly had never felt emptier.
“It’ll be arranged. It’s strange to hear your voice and see you move. I got used to you the other way.” He smiled. “When you’re feeling stronger,” he said, “we must find some time to talk. I hear from the mystif you’re a painter.”
“I was, yes,” said Gentle, adding an innocent inquiry. “Why? Are you?”
Aping beamed. “I am,” he said.
“Then we must talk,” Gentle said. “What do you paint?”
“Landscapes. Some figures.”
“Nudes? Portraits?” “Children.”
“Ah, children . . . do you have any yourself?”
A trace of anxiety crossed Aping’s face. “Later,” he said, glancing out towards the corridor, then back at Gentle. “In private.”
“I’m at your disposal,” Gentle replied.
There were voices outside the room. Scopique returning with N’ashap, who glanced down into the bucket containing the parasite as he entered. There were more questions, or rather the same rephrased, and answered on this third occasion by both Scopique and Aping, N’ashap listened with only half an ear, studying Gentle as the drama was recounted, then congratulating him with a curious formality. Gentle noted with satisfaction the plugs of dried blood in his nose.
“We must make a full account of this incident to Yzord-derrex,” N’ashap said. “I’m sure it will intrigue them as much as it does me.”
So saying, he left, with an order to Aping that he follow immediately.
“Our commander looked less than well,” Scopique observed. “I wonder why.”
Gentle allowed himself a smile, but it went from his face at the sight of his final visitor. Pie ‘oh’ pah had appeared in the door.
“Ah, well!” said Scopique. “Here you are. I’ll leave you two alone.”
He withdrew, closing the door behind him. The mystif didn’t move to embrace Gentle, or even take his hand. Instead it went to the window and gazed out over the sea, upon which the suns were still shining.
“Now we know why they call this the Cradle,” it said.
“What do you mean?”
“Where else could a man give birth?”
“That wasn’t birth,” Gentle said. “Don’t flatter it.”
“Maybe not to us,” Pie said. “But who knows how children were made here in ancient times? Maybe the men immersed themselves, drank the water, let it grow—”
“I saw you,” Gentle said.
“I know,” Pie replied, not turning from the window. “And you almost lost us both an ally.”
“N’ashap? An ally?”
“He’s the power here.”
“He’s an Oethac. And he’s scum. And I’m going to have the satisfaction of killing him.”
“Are you my champion now?” Pie said, finally looking back at Gentle.
“I saw what he was doing to you,”
“That was nothing,” Pie replied. “I knew what I was doing. Why do you think we’ve had the treatment we’ve had? I’ve been allowed to see Scopique whenever I want, You’ve been fed and watered. And N’ashap was asking no questions, about either of us. Now he will. Now he’ll be suspicious. We’ll have to move quickly before he gets his questions answered.”
“Better that than you having to service him.”
“I told you, it was nothing.”
“It was to me,” Gentle said, the words scraping in his bruised throat.
It took some effort, but he got to his feet so as to meet the mystif, eye to eye.