True enough, the household was blessed with food aplenty, marking the continuation of their good run of luck. Huge capabara fish beside the canal a couple of weeks back, and now retired hens being retired one by one, as inexorable as the growl of a stomach. Or two or three. Or four, assuming Ublala Pung had but one stomach which was not in any way certain. Selush might know, having dressed enough bodies from the inside out. Tarthenal had more organs in those enormous bodies than regular folk, after all. Alas, this trait did not extend to brains.
Yet another formless, ineffable worry was afflicting Ublala Pung. Could be lovestruck again, or struck to fear by love. The half-blood lived in a world of worry, which, all things considered, was rather surprising. Then again, that undeniable virtue between his legs garnered its share of worshippers, lighting feminine eyes with the gleam of possession, avarice, malicious competition-in short, all those traits most common to priesthoods. But it was worship for all the wrong reasons, as poor Ublala’s fretful state of mind made plain. His paltry brain wanted to be loved for itself.
Making him, alas, a complete idiot.
‘Ublala,’ Bugg said from where he hovered over the soup pot, ‘glance upward for me if you will to confirm that those beady eyes studying us belong to my master. If so, please be so kind as to invite him down for supper.’
Tall as he was, Ublala’s face, lifting into view to squint upwards at Tehol, was within reach. Smiling and patting him on the head, Tehol said, ‘My friend, if you could, step back from what serves as a ladder here-and given my manservant’s lacklustre efforts at repair I am using the description advisedly-so that I may descend in a manner befitting my station.’
‘What?’
‘Get out of the way, you oaf!’
Ducking, edging away, Ublala grunted. ‘Why is he so miserable?’ he asked, jerking a thumb up at Tehol. ‘The world is about to end but does he care about that? No. He doesn’t. Care about that. The world ending. Does he?’
Tehol shifted round to lead with his feet on the uppermost rung of the ladder. ‘Loquacious Ublala Pung, how ever will we follow the track of your thoughts? I despair.’ He wiggled over the edge then groped with his feet.
Bugg spoke. ‘Given the view you are presently providing us, master, despair is indeed the word. Best look away, Janath.’
‘Too late,’ she replied. ‘To my horror.’
‘I live in the company of voyeurs!’ Tehol managed to find the rung with one foot and began making his way down.
‘I thought they were chickens,’ Ublala said.
A piercing avian cry, ending in a mangled crunch.
‘Oh.’