Word Carrier 8: Two by Two

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.

High Country: Bugherd

by Walt Staples -

The ancient woman moved her stethoscope to the lower right of Silas’ chest. She sat back with a grunt and a thoughtful look.

Silas coughed and asked, “So?”

Granny Gillman turned and stirred the scrubby brush fire under the pot. “Two lobes fully involved. Spot on a third.”

The old bugherd began to pull on his shirt. “When?”

She looked at him. “Candlemas, maybe Feast of Notker. I’m sorry, Silas.”

He smiled at her. “You’re doing what you can.”

“You could try the medicos at First Port.”

He shook his head. They had been through this before. “No, too expensive. Besides, what could they do that you can’t? I mean, Ash Lung? They can’t even save the rich people with that.”

She lifted the pot and poured reddish-brown liquid into a chipped cup. She held it out to him. “Here.”

He looked at it. “Medicine?”

The granny lady smiled. “Tea.”

As they sipped the tea, he considered. “Let’s see…tomorrow is Holy Innocents. All the eggs are laid. So I guess we can drive to market. Martha’s brother, Japheth, can take over with the grubs when they hatch.” He coughed some more. When he got his breath again, he continued, “The boy’s taken care of. Don’t know what to do about Martha, though.”

Granny Gillman brightened. “Oh, that reminds me. About Martha. Father was asking after her. See, my Beatrice is a good child and a hard worker, but truth to tell, she couldn’t cook her way out of a chrysalis to save her life. Anyway, Father was asking me to ask you, next time I saw you, if you thought Martha might be willing to cook at the Rectory.”

Silas’ forehead furrowed. “Don’t see why she shouldn’t be. She loves to cook and she likes Father Mack.” He shot the healer a look. “What about Beatrice?”

Granny Gillman laughed. “The child is always going on about how it keeps her hopping just trying to keep up with the ash in the church and rectory. ‘Sides, I ‘spect she’d like to eat something edible herself once in a while. And, she’s the one who carried word to me from Father.”

The bugherd smiled. “Yep, that would likely do for Martha.” He took another sip of his tea.

The granny lady poured herself another cup. “By the way, how’s Ruben doing?”

Silas broke into a wide grin. “He doing tolerable. We just got back from his Publication on Sheba. You know, they take a new name when they enter holy orders. His is 'Bede,' after Saint Bede the Venerable.”

The other raised her eyebrows. “Which one was he?”

“Oh, he was a writer or something.” Silas’ brows knitted. “History? Well, some such anyway. Way back before settlement sometime.” He launched into a coughing fit. He wiped his eyes with a piece of rag after it ended and drained his cup. “Well, I guess I’d better be getting down the road. I’ll ask Japheth to have one of his youngins bring you over a nice dermestid. One of the gentle ones.” He rose to his feet and, before putting his mask in place, smiled. “You know, it makes a body feel good when things are lined up straight.”