called upon Lastel/One-Thumb and cried foul: ‘Tempus’s sister, Cime the free
agent, was part of our bargain, Ilsig. If you cannot produce her, then she
cannot aid me, and I am paying you far too much for a third-rate criminal’s
paltry talents.’
The huge wrestler adjusted his deceptively soft gut. His east-side house was
commodious; dogs barked in their pens and favourite curs lounged about their
feet, under the samovar, upon riotous silk prayer rugs, in the embrace of comely
krrf-drugged slaves – not her idea of entertainment, but Lastel’s, his sweating
forehead and heavy breathing proclaimed as he watched the bestial event a dozen
other guests found fetching.
The dusky Ilsigs saw nothing wrong in enslaving their own race. Nisibisi had
more pride. It was well that these were comfortable with slavery – they would
know it far more intimately, by and by.
But her words had jogged her host, and Lastel came up on one elbow, his cushions
suddenly askew. He, too, had been partaking ofkrrf- not smoking it, as was the
Ilsig custom, but mixing it with other drugs which made it sink into the blood
directly through the skin. The effects were greater, and less predictable.
As she had hoped, her words had the power of krrf behind them. Fear showed in
thejowled mountain’s eyes. He knew what she was; the fear was her due. Any of
these were helpless before her, should she decide a withered soul or two might
amuse her. Their essences could lighten her load as krrf lightened theirs.
The gross man spoke quickly, a whine of excuses: the woman had ‘disappeared …