by
Heidi Kortman -
Bede
waited. He had yet to meet anyone who took the presence of a quarr as something
ordinary. His teacher’s eyes widened slightly, and his adam’s apple bobbed.
“A
most unusual creature,” Brother Charles said. He lifted one hand, then let it
drop, and took a half-step away. “I’m not sure I like the way it’s looking at
me.” He shook his head. “Come this way,” he gestured across the gallery.
“There’s a banquet in the refectory tonight.”
“Always
up for a bit of tucker, I am,” said Douay Bede’s father. “The quarr won’t hurt
ye, he’s been tamed. Ruben’s been good at that since he was a little ’un.”
“Silas,
it’s Douay Bede now.”
“Yes,
Myrna. Come along.” He reached back, to wrap his arm around her waist and steer
her along as they walked.
Just
inside an arch, a stocky figure waited—Bishop Guash. The bishop’s crucifix
glittered in the gallery lights as he rushed toward them.
“Brother
Charles. What is that creature, and how did it get here?”
The
bishop’s tone so matched his habitual bulldog scowl that if he weren’t a
dangerous man to cross, Brother Charles would have broken out in laughter.
Instead he made a quick gesture. Douay Bede stopped beside him. “We might as
well get this out of the way.”
On
the Bible’s shoulder, the quarr crouched and flattened his ears. Douay Bede
reached up and tapped its muzzle. “No,” he whispered. The creature shifted,
then yawned.
Ordinarily,
Bishop Guash started his arguments nearly nose-to-nose with his targets, but
this time he halted sooner. “What is that?”
Brother
Charles drew breath. He opened his mouth, but the honorific stuck. “Your
Grace,”—he forced the words out—“this is a quarr, Douay Bede’s publication gift
to the Order.”
The
bishop snorted. “Outrageous. Who thought that would be appropriate?”
Douay
Bede’s father stepped forward, his face flushed. Instead of speaking, the man
began a fit of the distinctive ash lung coughing. Douay Bede went pale, but
squared his shoulders.
“Bishop
Guash—Your Grace—my father is a bugherd. This quarr is the most valuable thing
he could find to give. My father trapped him on the west range of the property
he works.”
“Why
should the Order value such a beast?”
“Pangur
Ban eats spiders and their eggs. All quarr do.”
“Broken
your vows already, Bede.” The bishop turned his left palm up, then clenched his
fist. “You had no right to name what belongs to the Order, as though it was
your possession. Bibles own nothing.”
“You
don’t understand,” Myrna said, as she struggled to support her sagging husband.
Brother Charles moved behind Douay Bede to help her.
Guash
glared at her. “Quiet, woman.”
“Your
Grace.” Douay Bede swallowed hard. “I had to name the quarr to domesticate him.
If I had not, he would be uncontrollable.”
“Domesticated, eh?” The bishop stretched his
short neck, and stared at the quarr’s head. “Can’t say I like looking at those
mismatched eyes. Eats spiders?”
“Yes,
Your Grace.” Douay Bede shifted his weight to his other foot as his stomach
rumbled. Pangur Ban bumped Bede’s left ear, then leaped down, and stalked into
the darkness under one of the stone benches.
He
thrummed. After some scrabbling and one solid thump, Pangur Ban emerged head
and tail high, to drop a dead metallic blue spider almost on top of Douay
Bede’s sandal.
Bishop
Guash staggered back. Bede sighed. “Pangur Ban, I’m not that hungry. Eat it
yourself.”
The
quarr blinked once before disposing of the carcass in three bites.
“Let
us not forget the banquet,” Brother Charles said. Well-prepared food tended to
distract Bishop Guash from his arguments. “Silas, the refectory is down the
corridor and to the right. If I help, do you think you can make it?”
Silas
nodded, trembling as he fought to repress the cough.
Brother
Charles and Douay Bede’s parents passed the bishop, who continued to scowl and
stand in Bede’s path.
“Bibles
own nothing,” Guash repeated. “Tomorrow you embark for Avenir. You must leave
the creature behind with me.” He shuddered.
“Forgive
me, Your Grace, but it won’t work that way. Pangur Ban won’t obey you.” If this
confrontation lasted much longer, he wouldn’t have another chance to speak with
his parents. He wouldn’t be seated near them at the banquet. How much time did
Da have?
“You
said the beast was domesticated.” The bishop’s scowl deepened.
“He
obeys me because during domestication, he heard my voice alone. The process
only works before the first growth spurt, Your Grace.”
Brother
Charles returned. “Bishop Guash, the brothers are waiting for you to bless the
meal.”
The
bishop made a shooing gesture. “Douay Bede and I are not finished.”
“Your
Grace, the dermestid chowder will congeal if you delay much longer. Brother
Trout has also prepared a dish of curried seraph nymphs. Please—” Brother
Charles reached out to tug the bishop’s sleeve.
“Douay
Bede, I expect to see you, and that creature, here in the Gallery after the
banquet.” The bishop turned on his heel, toward the corridor and refectory.
