She might not remember her own past, but Aryl found she knew more than she expected about Humans. For one, a female’s hair remained the same, Chosen or not. “You’re incapable,” she said sympathetically.
“I’m—you piece of crasnig crust! Don’t you know who I am?!”
Irritating? Aryl restrained herself. “No. Who are you?”
Surrounded by an unflattering blaze of yellow dots, the Human’s bright blue lips flapped without sound coming out. That was entertaining, Aryl decided, but probably not a good sign.
“Look! Are those pox?” Enris interrupted with an air of desperation.
Balls of harmless-looking brown fluff were launching themselves—or being pushed—from the holes. They dropped on the sand, where they huddled in terrified-seeming clumps. A loud whistle from overhead drew everyone to press close, talking excitedly. Many slapped palms to black trays being passed around by the multi-armed servers. Each time, the black flashed a symbol in silver.
And each time the black sparkled, one of the pox did, too, only its silver symbol remained in place, hovering above its fur.
Aryl reached out to try for herself, but under her palm, the black turned a dull gray. The server shook its doleful head. “No credit, no wager.”
“Crasnig crust,” the female beside Enris repeated, her lip curled disdainfully. She slipped her arm into his, the skin of cheek and brow now flickering with cheerful pink-and-green spirals. “You’re better off with me, gorgeous. I could buy this place for you.”
Enris laughed. Aryl, too busy watching what was happening, missed his reply.
For a tall, thin door had opened at one end of the pit. At the same time, a bell rang out, loud enough to be heard over the hammering drums and din of voices. The pox stilled and oriented themselves to the opening.
Through which was shoved a—Aryl frowned. The bulky big-eyed creature with flopping ears and large back feet seemed completely harmless, unless it sat on the much smaller pox. If this was a contest of some kind, she couldn’t see the point of it.
The creature lumbered forward, awkward in the sand. The surrounding pox shifted to face it, trembling in place. Those watching began to shout, as if exhorting some effort.
Their quarry wasn’t among them. Let’s look over there, Aryl sent. She tried to turn away, only to find a solid wall of beings behind them. Enris, his other arm encrusted with Human female, half shrugged.
We’ll have to wait till this is over.
Aryl shared her frustration.
The shouts intensified. The fluff on the pox flattened against their bodies, revealing them to be long and thin, with small eyes, heavy jaws, and protruding yellow teeth. The symbols glittered above each, like bizarre decorations. Suddenly, the pox were in motion. As one, they scurried at the creature, kicking up little clumps of sand in their haste. Almost too quickly to see, they were on it, climbing, biting, eating.
Aryl watched in horror as the bigger creature bawled its torment. It reared and struggled, but any pox it dislodged jumped back. Tufts of fur filled the air like snow. Blue blood streamed from each bite.
Some pox weren’t biting, but instead climbed the creature’s back and sides, their target the eyes. They bickered as they climbed, snapping and pushing. Often they’d lock jaws and fall to roll in the sand. When one of those went limp, its symbol disappeared and someone among the spectators would cry out with disappointment.
The creature threw itself against the walls, tried to shake off its tormentors, but the pox gripped with their teeth. It wouldn’t last long.
Nothing should have to face the swarm.
Aryl didn’t stop to think. She threw herself over the rail, her longknife finding targets before her feet hit the bloody sand. The pox were slow to react, intent on their prey. They died with a little squeal, as if surprised, their symbols winking out. She slashed one way, then used the side of the blade to send a pox against the wall with a most satisfying crack.
They were slow to react, but more and more began to notice her, reoriented, scurried her way. Making it easier to smack them. Aryl bared her teeth.
Enris landed beside her, his boots squashing several pox. “This is not—” he said calmly, stomping another, “—one of your better ideas. The people up there aren’t happy.”
“I noticed.” Raised fists and shouts. Objects thrown at them—though most of those hit pox. She shouldn’t feel satisfied, Aryl told herself with a smidge of guilt. Haxel would doubtless have something to say about such behavior. “I don’t like them,” she finished, taking out a clump with a sweep of her longknife. She didn’t bother clarifying which she didn’t like; her Chosen didn’t bother to ask.
Abruptly, the symbols over the remaining pox disappeared. Red light shone from the holes in the walls. It was a summons; the pox stopped, fluffed out their fur, and scurried back inside.
Their prey, half stripped of its fur and bleeding from innumerable small bites, leaned against the door through which it had come and heaved a sigh.
A sigh she could hear, Aryl realized, because all other sounds had ceased.
Except for an approaching thunder of clanking metal, as if several someones fought with empty pots.
The spectators melted away from the railing where they’d been standing, to be replaced by a looming black shape.
Dozens of shining black eyes on stalks stared down at them.
Aryl and Enris stared up at the eyes.
Just as she wondered if she should say something, the silence ended in a deafening bellow.
“WHAT IN THE SEVENTEENTH SANDY ARMPIT OF URGA LARGE ARE YOU DOING IN THE POX PIT!!?”
They were now the entertainment, Aryl thought glumly as she followed the huge black being through the crowd, a passage made easy by the space granted the creature. Its lower immense pair of claws might have been the reason, though it was equally likely the creature’s imposing air of “move or I’ll run you down” was responsible.
It did give her a better view of the place. She looked around for their quarry, knowing Enris did the same, but also marked possible escape routes, should they have to give up the chase.
There were several doors, like the one they’d come through, both on this floor and the one above. Interestingly, there was a lit dais, shaped like a licking tongue, filling the midst of this floor. No railing separated viewers from whatever they watched there, but tables with chairs were pulled up all around it. At the moment, the dais was empty. The air around it swirled with white smoke, though there was no open fire in sight.
More tables and chairs, most in use, filled the shadowy edges. The exception was a long curved counter that jutted out from one wall, its outer surface reflecting the legs and feet of those who sat on stools beside it. This turned out to be their destination. The giant creature used one of its smaller, more flexible upper claws to lift part of the counter, then snapped a lower impatiently when they hesitated to go through. “Inside.”
Aryl obeyed, Enris behind her. The creature barely fit. It dropped the counter back in place with a bang: a signal to someone, for the loud drumming and singing resumed, and those who’d been watching turned away as if disappointed.
Explain to me again why we’re not leaving.
We need help.
This is help?
She didn’t know why she believed it, only that she did. The other scouts still hadn’t reported success; Imi’s group had retreated to the Buried Theater, after being chased by some kind of authority. Or a cook. The sending had been confused.
It’s a Carasian. We can trust it.
The floor directly behind the counter was at the same level as the larger room. Three of the multi-armed beings stood there, busy wiping, filling drink containers, or taking away empty ones. They ignored the new arrivals.