380 - Your starry-eyed moron's dream

I went back to my tent to find Sishana standing with a menacing look, and the sand-timer. It was well past the death-hour; this time of year, it was close to false dawn. Kaninjer had already gone to bed; he’d let me have it in the morning. Tomorrow was a day of rest, so I could nap.

Just past dawn I had Ilachesa roust Krero out of bed. “Lazy sheep-eater. There’s no six-aer requirement on you.”

“Eat kyash, Beloved. I haven’t even had breakfast.”

“Eat with me, then.” They were almost finished putting together the bland, seedish, herbish, healthy gruel that I ate each morning as part of the diet that Kaninjer had me on. “Ready to scrape our spy if he didn’t slip away last night?”

“I haven’t had a chance to check this morning. Ilachesa? Eggs and pork bellies, please.”

“You love to torment me, don’t you?” At least there was ezethra.

“What, I shouldn’t let the fat run down my chin?”

“My precious heart’s brother.”

He sighed. “I need to report about our spy. While we were bringing him back last night—much of the time while you were having oh-so-friendly a conversation with him, he somehow managed to get his wrists half out of the shackles.”

“No! You’re shitting me; I’d have noticed.”

“Another few paces and he’d have done it. I staked him out on the ground, spread-eagled, for that. I’d have staked him right through the wrists and ankles if it were up to me… but you gave that order, no hate.”

“All-Spirit… this one is good.”

“Alaecha punched him when we figured it out… so I put her on latrine duty until further notice. No hate.”

“I said no hate,” I said. “I didn’t say no intimidation so as to prevent escape attempts, on the discovery of one.”

“I’ll let her off, then.” My gruel came, shortly followed by his eggs and bellies. “Looks delicious! How is it?”

I wanted to turn my spoon into a tiny catapult and send some into his face, like a boy. “As delicious as it looks. I keep waiting until the day I get used to it.”

“Of course she is learning to fly from a dear friend of Sawas... ehh, I’ll leave her on. He gives me the creeps.” Krero left one runnel of fat shining on his chin a touch too long before wiping it off. “He seemed completely Yeoli until he started yammering at you in Arkan.” I told him about Iminae’s two-nation parentage and raising. “How in kyash did that happen?”

“How in kyash did that happen?” I said. “How did I end up with a chocolate woman? Or fall in love over the sword with an Arkan? What a dumb question.” As the to-die-for aroma of his breakfast wreathed thickly around me, I tried to imagine it was what I was eating too. If I close my eyes and feel the textures in my mouth hard enough…

“But… but… but… an Arkan.”

“You know what, my friend?” I said. “One of these days, you’re going to fall in love with one of them. If you are not prepared mentally, your brain will dribble out your ears.”

He leaned a little closer, turned his face straight toward mine and crunched another piece of pork relishingly, leaving his mouth slightly open. “Not”—crunch—“kevyalin”—crunch—likely.”

“I bet I can turn him.” He spat in startlement, losing part of the mouthful, as I had intended; I’d made sure his head wasn’t turned straight toward me when I said it. “Though I might catch kyash from the A-niah. But I wonder if it’s possible?”

“Fourth Chevenga Shae-Arano-e,” he said, “let me add to all your other honours and accolades, that no one does straight-face humour as well as you. Turn him! Hahahahahahahaha!”

“You do the scraping, I’ll sit in,” I said. “Gentle style.” That, as far as I know, is a Yeoli innovation: to ask if the next thing the person would least like us to know was personal, and if they said yes, not ask it but move on to the next; another variant is to ask whether the next thing has relevance to the war or the matter at hand, and skip it if not.

“Chevenga, you are a conqueror and a future Imperator. Kindness and mercy does not become you. Especially with sheep-diddling child-raping shit-eating herpes-licking warts on a pig’s anus like him.”

I wiped my bowl clean with a heel of bread. “Hurry up with that decadent, over-rich breakfast. You know, if you’re worried about people such as him escaping, you should learn how to Lakan-tie. They did it to me when I was a prisoner there, and I tell you, very soon, I was keeping very very still and trying absolutely nothing.”

“Feh. Smelly brown savages. Still, it’s a good idea.”

“Have you talked to Iminae at all?”

“Oh yes, we’ve exchanged short pleasantries.” I could imagine.

“Did he say anything interesting?”

“No. He’s saving it for the scraping. You know what made me just about kyash, though? He asked after Sawas. As if he gave a flea’s fart!”

“Really?”

“Oh, and he said I had a lot of bitterness in me. Anger too. Missed his calling, I guess. Should have been a psyche-healer. He would have lived longer.”

“He’s very astute.”

Krero leaned in close towards me, bringing the delicious grease still on his chin almost under my nose. “Chevenga… you like the asshole, don’t you?”

“Since I can’t wager ankaryel... three smacks on the nipple says he cares about Sawas.” He looked at me as if I’d fallen down from another Earthsphere among the stars. “No, better: if I win, you eat the same as me for one whole day.”

“You cruel and merciless kyash. If I win…?”

“I eat for five days sitting beside you.”

He cackled wickedly. “Done.”

“I guess you’ve been truth-drugged before as part of your training?” Iminae’s eyes still looked as if his mind were fully his. “If you don’t answer now I’ll just ask again in a tenth.” A flap of the prison-tent rustled in the wind. It smelled like piss and shit in here; it always did.

“Of course. Being splayed out like this is killing me… semanakraseye, have mercy?”

“In a bit,” I said. “When you’re fully under.” He could still lie, handily. To my surprise, he was one of those people who gets loquatious as it takes effect. Once a string of curses, or at least what sounded like curses, in about six different languages burst out of him, in a weirdly monotonous voice. One of them was Lakan almost like the Kin spoke. “You understand the ornate and elaborate idiom of the Palace of Kraj?” I said, the best I could do it.

“Oh the greatness of the Palace, lord, belike I am given to understand but the gracious lord must forgive this humble once-born soul,” he answered, as perfectly as if he wore forearm-length hair earrings. But soon he was gone, answering in just one word, and soon, truthfully. When he could no longer answer falsely, we un-staked him and arranged his limbs in a comfortable position, then started.

It went much as I expected, at least at first; what he least wanted us to know were the names of his contacts, which Krero dutifully noted. He’d been a lone mole with us, though, knowing no other Irefas people among us.

Then we asked him whether what he’d second-least like us to know was something personal, and he said no, so we asked what it was. “My loyalty is suspect,” he said, in the flat soft tone of the drug.

“Your loyalty to whom?” Krero asked.

“Arko.”

I flashed a grin at Krero. He scowled back, and double-checked. “You mean people suspect you are not loyal, or you doubt it yourself?”

“Myself.”

“How long has that been so?”

“Nine moons.”

“Why then?”

“Shakora.”

“You mean, what the Arkans did to Shakora made you question why you were working for them?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Evil.”

“Well! Our turn-coat mole has a conscience. Why did you go on working for them, then?”

“Oath… grandma…” He didn’t want to break his oath of allegiance to Arko, and his grandmother was Arkan, Krero made him clarify.

I cut in. “Why is your doubt of your own loyalty the thing you’d least want us to know?” If anything, it should favour him in our minds, so he should want us to know.

“Dangerous,” he said.

“To whom?” said Krero.

“Me.”

“Why?”

“Don’t trust Yeolis.”

“You mean, you fear that if you change your loyalties to us, we are likely to betray you?”

“Yes.” That fit well with what he’d told me.

“What would it take to convince you that would not happen?” I asked him. Krero shook his head and smacked his hand over his eyes. No answer, so I asked, “Do you know what it would take to convince you we would not betray you?” and he said “No.” Fair enough.

“Easy one, teacher-kras,” said Krero. “Nothing in the great green garden orbicular.”

“That’s not what he said. Shush and ask another question.”

“It opens him up nicely to blackmail, though,” Krero said, a grin playing around his lips. “Perhaps you will have your starry-eyed-moron’s dream of turning him, Chevenga… am I not right, Iminae, that it will open you up to blackmail?”

“Yes.”

“Heh. Good. What’s the thing you’d third-least like us to know?”

Before I could catch Krero for not checking whether it was personal, Iminae said, “I love Sawas.”

Krero and I looked at each other, he with a mix of horror and resignation, I with smug triumph. “Sish, Raiga, either of you lurking around outside?” I said. “Go tell Kaninjer, double portions tomorrow.”

“Kyash,” Krero gritted.