A Fire Upon the Deep

There was a brief sound of trumpets, almost like a call to order. The pubic doors of a lower balcony slid open and a fivesome entered. Peregrine felt a twitchy thrill of horror. This was Woodcarver, but so… misarranged. One member was so old it had to be helped by the rest. Two were scarcely more than puppies, and one of those a constant drooler. The largest member was white-eyed blind. It was the sort of thing you might see in a waterfront slum, or in the last generation of incest.

She looked down at Peregrine, and smiled almost as if she recognized him. When she spoke, it was with the blind one. The voice was clear and firm. "Please carry on, Vendacious."

The chamberlain nodded. "As you wish, Your Majesty." He pointed into the pit, at the alien. "That is the reason for this hasty meeting."

"We can see monsters at the circus, Vendacious." The voice came from an overdressed pack on the top balcony. To judge from the shouting that came from all sides, this was a minority view. One pack on a lower balcony jumped over the railing and tried to shoo the doctor away from the alien's litter.

The chamberlain raised a head for silence, and glared down at the fellow who had jumped into the pit. "If you please, Scrupilo, be patient. Everyone will get a chance to look."

"Scrupilo" made some grumbling hisses, but backed off.

"Good." Vendacious turned all his attention on Peregrine and Scriber. "Your boat has outrun any news from the north, my friends. No one but I knows anything of your story — and what I have is guard codes hooted across the bay. You say this creature flew down from the sky?"

An invitation to speechify. Peregrine let Scriber Jaqueramaphan do the talking. Scriber loved it. He told the story of the flying house, of the ambush and the murders, and the rescue. He showed them his eye-tools and announced himself as a secret agent of the Long Lakes Republic. Now what real spy would do that? Every pack on the council had eyes on the alien, some fearful, some — like Scrupilo — crazily curious. Woodcarver watched with only a couple of heads. The rest might have been asleep. She looked as tired as Peregrine felt. He rested his own heads on his paws. The pain in Scar was a pulsing beat; it would be easy enough to set the member asleep, but then he'd understand very little of what was being said. Hey! maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. Scar drifted off and the pain receded.

The talk went on for some minutes more, not making a whole lot of sense to the threesome that was Wickwrack. He understood the tones of voice though. Scrupilo — the pack on the floor — complained several times, impatiently. Vendacious said something, agreeing with him. The doctor retreated, and Scrupilo advanced on Wickwrack's alien.

Peregrine pulled himself to full wakefulness. "Be careful. The creature is not friendly."

Scrupilo snapped back, "Your friend has already warned me once." He circled the litter, staring at the alien's brown, furless face. The alien stared back, impassive. Scrupilo reached forward cautiously and drew back the alien's quilt. Still no response. "See?" said Scrupilo. "It knows I mean no harm." Peregrine said nothing to correct him.

"It really walks on those rear paws alone?" said one of the other advisors. "Can you imagine it, towering over us? One little bump would knock it down." Laughter. Peregrine remembered how mantis-like the alien had seemed when upright. These fellows hadn't seen it move.

Scrupilo wrinkled a nose. "The thing is filthy." He was all around her, a posture that Peregrine knew upset the Two-Legs. "That arrow shaft must be removed, you know. Most of the bleeding has stopped, but if we expect the creature to live for long, it needs medical attention." He looked disdainfully at Scriber and Peregrine, as if they were to blame for not performing surgery aboard the twinhull. Something caught his eye and his tone abruptly changed: "By the Pack of Packs! Look at its forepaws." He loosened the ropes about the creature's front legs. "Two paws like that would be as good as five pairs of lips. Think what a pack of these creatures could do!" He moved close to the five-tentacled paw.

"Be — " careful, Peregrine started to say. The alien abruptly bunched its tentacles into a club. Its foreleg flicked out at an impossible angle, ramming its paw into Scrupilo's head. The blow couldn't have been too strong, but it was precisely placed on the tympanum.

"Ow! Yow! Wow. Wow." Scrupilo danced back.

The alien was shouting, too. It was all mouth noise, thin and low-pitched. The eldritch sound brought up every head, even Woodcarver's. Peregrine had heard it many times by now. There was no doubt in his mind -this was the aliens' interpack speech. After a few seconds, the sound changed to a regular hacking that gradually faded.

For a long moment no one spoke. Then part of Woodcarver got to her feet. She looked at Scrupilo. "Are you all right?" It was the first time she had spoken since the beginning of the meeting.