Halfway up the wall of another canyon, one southeast of the omphalos, Mitigan of the Asenagi and Chur Durwen of Collis emerged from the mouth of a shallow cave and stood looking down upon the narrow sea of smoky mist below them. For the last two days they had been traveling in a region of boiling springs, each spring surrounded by multitudes of Kachis, all immobile, all seemingly insensate.
“Quite a change,” remarked Mitigan, unwinding a bandage from his forearm and disclosing a nasty-looking bite wound. He smeared it plentifully with reeking salve from his pack, then replaced the bandage. “Damned critters have dirty teeth.”
“I told you the thing was behind you,” Chur Durwen remarked mildly. “You’re getting slow.” He examined the line of knives on the stone before him, seven of them, including the ones from his wrist scabbards. All of them needed cleaning and sharpening. Kachis blood was corrosive, and Chur Durwen had bloodied all his knives repeatedly during the earlier stages of their journey.
“If I hadn’t ignored the one behind me, you’d have been dead,” said Mitigan. “The one I killed would have had you by the throat.”
“You’re right. Which tells me the throat flap on my battle mask was badly designed. I doubt the Collis Arms Consortium had vampire butterflies in mind when they created it.” He took a sharpening stone from his pack and ran it along the edge of the largest knife with a repeated wheeping sound. “They certainly aren’t interested in biting now, are they? What do you think they’re doing?”
“Could be dead,” said Mitigan. “Could be in some kind of hibernation.”
“Estivation,” corrected the other. “It’s closer to summer than winter.”
“Why in hell would anything go dead in the summertime?”
Chur Durwen picked up the next knife and peered at it closely. “I think animals do it on desert planets. Where it gets too hot and dry in midsummer. Where the cooler winter weather is actually more supportive of life.”
“This probably qualifies as a desert planet. And I can’t say I’m sorry they’ve quit bothering us.”
“Nasty, aren’t they? Almost human, the way they look, the way they sound. That little whine of theirs. Like a child, or a woman trying to get you to buy her something.”
“Or pay her for something,” gibed Mitigan.
“Hell, if you have to pay for it, you don’t deserve it.” The man from Collis tried the second knife with the hardened skin of his thumb. “Come to think of it, though they have very female-looking bodies, every damn one of them has a dingus long as your forearm and pointy as a dagger. Do you suppose the locals … ?”
“You’d have to be more than ordinarily stupid,” remarked Mitigan. “Or quite irresistibly horny.” He turned away from the cave entrance to examine the map he’d pinned to the wall inside. “This canyon, then one more. We’ll make it in one or two days if the butterfly bats stay quiet.”
“Vampire butterflies,” corrected Chur Durwen.
The other muttered, “Vampires only suck your blood. They don’t bite your throat out and try to chew on your face.”
His companion grunted agreement. When he had finished three more knives, he asked, “You really think there will be Fambers there? At this navel hole?”
“Just a feeling,” admitted Mitigan. “A hunch. I’ve learned to pay attention to my hunches. I think we’re going to hit the main vein of Fambers at the omphalos. I think when we get there, we’ll earn our pay.”
According to the rememberer in Simidi-ala, the Procurator could not fly directly to the omphalos. He could fly to a point very near. To the very next canyon, in fact. But the last little bit, one had to go on foot.
“And why is that?” demanded Poracious Luv.
“Only songfathers will be allowed to go into the sacred area or to … ” To make decisions, the Procurator silently finished the remark.
“Interesting,” said Poracious. “Why is that?”
“It’s not my area of expertise,” said the rememberer, staring over her left shoulder.
“Most interesting,” she repeated. “Don’t you think so, sir?”
“I think we should waste as little time as possible in conversation,” muttered the Procurator between his teeth. “We would not enjoy arriving at the omphalos only a few moments too late to prevent assassinations from occurring.”