The Mul-Fungus, as far as I can tell, is not much different from the fungus, raised under ideal conditions from specially selected spores, which graces the feed troughs of the Priest-Kings themselves, a tiny sample of which was once given me by Misk.It was perhaps a bit less coarse than Mul-Fungus. Misk was much annoyed that I could not detect the difference. I was much annoyed when I found out later that the major difference between high-quality fungus and the lower-grade Mul-Fungus was simply the smell.I was in the Nest, incidentally, for more than five weeks before I could even vaguely detect the odour difference which seemed so significant to Misk.And then it did not strike me as being better or worse than that of the low-grade Mul-Fungus.
The longer I stayed in the Nest the more acute became my sense of smell, and it was an embarrassing revelation to me to discover how unaware I had become of these varied, rich sensory cues so abundantly available in my environment.I was given a translator by Misk and I would utter Gorean expressions into it and then wait for the translation into the language of the Priest-Kings, and in this way, after a timw, I became capable of recognising numerous meaningful odours.The first odour I came to recognise was Misk's name, and it was delightful to discover, as I became more practiced and sensitive, that the odour was the same as his own.
One of the things I did was run the translator over the red plastic tunic I had been issued and listen to the information which had been recorded on it.There was not much save my name and city, that I was a Matok under the supervision of Misk, that I had no record-scars and that I might be dangerous.
I smiled at the latter caution.
I did not even have a sword, and I was sure that, in any battle with Priest-Kings, I would constitute but a moment's work for their fierce mandibles and the bladed, hornlike projections on their forelegs.
The case which I was to occupy in Misk's chamber was not as bad as I had anticipated.
Indeed, it seemed to me far more luxurious than the appointments in Misk's own chamber, which seemed utterly bare except for the feed trough and numerous compartments, dials, switches and plugs mounted in one wall.The Priest-Kings eat and sleep standing and never lie down, except perhaps it be to die.
The bareness of Misk's chambers was, however, as it turned out, only an apparent bareness to a visually oriented organism such as myself.Actually the walls, ceilings and floor were covered with what, to a Priest-King, were excruciatingly beautiful scent-patterns.Indeed, Misk informed me that the patterns in his chamber had been laid down by some of the greatest artists in the Nest.
My case was a transparent plastic cube of perhaps eight feet square, with ventilation holes and a sliding plastic door. There was no lock on the door and thus I could come and go as I pleased.
Inside the cube there were canisters of Mul-Fungus, a bowl, a ladle, a wooden-bladed Fungus-Knife; a wooden-headed Fungus-Mallet; a convenient tube of Mul-Pellets, which discharged its contents one at a time following my depressing a lever in the bottom of the tube; and a large, inverted jar of water, by means of which an attached, somewhat shallow, watering pan was kept filled.
In one corner of the case there was a large, circular padding a few inches deep of soft, rough-cut, reddish moss which was not uncomfortable and was changed daily.
Adjoining the cube, reached from the cube by sliding plastic panels, were a lavatory facility and a washing-booth.
The washing-booth was remarkably like the showers with which we are familiar except that one may not regulate the flow of fluid.One turns on the fluid by stepping into the booth and its amount and temperature are controlled automatically.I had naturally supposed the fluid to be simply water which it closely resembled in appearance, and once had tried to fill my bowl for the morning meal there, rather than ladling the water out of the water pan.Choking, my mouth burning, I spat it out in the booth.
'It is fortunate,' said Misk, 'that you did not swallow it for the washing fluid contains a cleansing additive that is highly toxic to human physiology.'
Misk and I got on rather well together after a few small initial frictions, particularly having to do with the salt ration and the number of times a day the washing-booth was to be used.If I had been a Mul I would have received a record-scar for each day on which I had not washed completely twelve times.Washing-booths, incidentally, are found in all Mul-cases and often, for convenience, along the tunnels and in public places, such as plazas, shaving-parlours, pellet-dispensaries, and fungus commissaries.Since I was a Matok I insisted that I should be exempted from the Duty of the Twelve Joys, as it is known.In the beginning I held out for one shower a day as quite sufficient but poor Misk seemed so upset that I agreed to up my proposal to two.He would still hear nothing of this and seemed firm that I should not fall below ten.At last, feeling that I perhaps owed something to Misk's acceptance of me in his chamber, I suggested a compromise at five, and, for an extra salt packet, six on alternate days.At last Misk threw in two extra salt packets a day and I agreed to six washings.He himself, of course, did not use a washing-booth but groomed and cleaned himself in the age-old fashion of Priest-Kings, with his cleaning hooks and mouth.Occasionally after we got to know one another better, he would even allow me to groom him, and the first time he allowed me, with the small grooming fork used by favoured Muls, to comb his antennae I knew that he trusted me, and liked me, though for what reason I could not tell.
I myself grew rather fond of Misk.
'Did you know,' said Misk once to me, 'that humans are among the most intelligent of the lower orders?'
'I'm glad to hear it,' I said.
Misk was quiet and his antennae waved nostalgically.
'I once had a pet Mul,' he said.
I looked at my case.
'No,' said Misk, 'when a pet Mul dies the case is always destroyed, lest there be contamination.'
'What happened to him?' I asked.
'It was a small female,' said Misk.'It was slain by Sarm.'
I felt a tension in the foreleg of Misk which I was grooming as though it were involuntarily prepared to invert, bringing out the bladelike projection.
'Why?' I asked.
Misk said nothing for a long time, and then he dejectedly lowered his head, delicately extending his antennae to me for grooming.After I had combed them for a bit, I sensed he was ready to speak.
'It was my fault,' said Misk.'She wanted to let the threadlike growths on her head emerge, for she was not bred in the Nest.'Misk's voice came from the translator as consecutively and mechanically as ever, but his whole body trembled.I removed the grooming fork from his antennae in order that the sensory hairs not be injured.'I was indulgent,' said Misk, straightening up so that his long body now loomed over me, inclined forward slightly from the vertical in the characteristic stance of Priest-Kings.'So that it was actually I who killed her.'
'I think not,' I said.'You tried to be kind.'
'And it occurred on the day on which she saved my life,' said Misk.
'Tell me about it,' I said.
'I was on an errand for Sarm,' said Misk, 'which took me to unfrequented tunnels and for company I took the girl with me. We came upon a Golden Beetle though none had ever been seen in that place and I wanted to go to the Beetle and I put my head down and approached it but the girl seized my antennae and dragged me away, thus saving my life.'
Misk lowered his head again and extended his antennae for grooming.
'The pain was excruciating,' said Misk, 'and I could not but follow her in spite of the fact that I wanted to go to the Golden Beetle.In an Ahn of course I no longer wanted to go to the Beetle and I knew then she had saved my life.It was the same day that Sarm ordered her given five record-scars for the growths on her head and had her destroyed.'