The Ptall’kor moved out of the mouth of the cavern and back along the Valley of Reflections. This time there were no hallucinations during our passage through it, and the only vision of the future I saw was the dreadful possibility that I might find myself on this strange world without Clarissa.
I placed a hand on her arm, gazed down at her blindfold, and whispered, “Please, wake up. Please! I cannot stand to be alone.”
° °
We were crossing a landscape of flowery hills and fat, sparsely distributed trees. The suns were behind us, still low. Overhead, long ribbony things were corkscrewing through the air, flying northward.
I didn’t know how much time had passed. I’d been in a virtual stupor since Clarissa’s accident—overcome by exhaustion but too concerned to sleep.
She was still unconscious.
The Wise Ones—Yazziz Yozkulu, Tsillanda Ma’ara, and the others—had been oddly quiet since we’d emerged from the valley. They appeared to be in some sort of deep contemplation—or, like me, in a trance—and were squatting motionlessly with their heads cocked at a curious angle, as if listening to something.
Fatigue finally won out. I flopped down, closed my eyes, and dropped into a dreamless void.
When I awoke, it was to find Yazziz Yozkulu squatting over me.
“How are you feeling, old thing? Sound as a bell, I hope! I say! What is a bell, anyway?”
He asked the question in clear, well-enunciated English.
“Par—pardon?”
“Ah! Somewhat befuddled, hey? Not surprising! You’ve been snoring away for an eternity. An eternity, I say! What! What!”
“I—how—um—you’re speaking English!”
“Quite so! Quite so! And what a versatile lingo it is, too! Bally marvellous! Harrumph!”
I sat up, gaping at him.
The Yatsill waggled its long fingers. “Humph! Humph! Having adopted it, I feel it only right and proper that I should also assume a suitable moniker. Yazziz somewhat equates to chief, though I think I prefer colonel, but Yozkulu has no equivalent. Humph! What’s your opinion of Momentous Spearjab?”
“Mom—Mom—what?”
“As a name, old boy. As a name.”
“It’s—it’s—unusual.”
“Ah! Splendid! Ha ha! Then it’s settled! How do you jolly well do? I’m Colonel Momentous Spearjab.”
The creature extended its hand. Hesitatingly, I took it and shook it, conscious of the sharp-edged digits pressing against my palm.
“I’m—I’m Aiden Fleischer.” I looked down at Clarissa. “She hasn’t awoken?”
“Ah, the redoubtable Miss Stark! Let us summon Mademoiselle Crockery Clattersmash. She’s rather a medical expert, don’t you know!”
The colonel waved at the Yatsill I’d known as Tsillanda Ma’ara, who was standing at the stern of the vessel. “Yoo-hoo! Mademoiselle! Would you join us, please?”
Colonel, mademoiselle—the titles suggested genders, though I had made the assumption, perhaps unduly, that the Yatsill were hermaphroditic.
Tsillanda Ma’ara—now Crockery Clattersmash—scuttled over and greeted me in English. “Hello, Mr. Fleischer. Your friend is comatose but no need to fret—it’s a normal reaction. She’ll awaken before we reach Yatsillat.”
“A normal reaction to what?”
“Why, to being made an Aristocrat—what we used to call a Wise One. You’re very lucky she was or we’d have to banish you for your transgression. As it is, we suspect you were following the will of the Saviour when you entered the pool.”
Clarissa muttered something unintelligible, shifted slightly, and groaned. I clearly heard the bones of her legs creak.
“I don’t understand. Made an Aristocrat?”
Colonel Spearjab gave my back a rather too hearty slap. “Ha ha!” he exclaimed. “My good man, you’ll be waiting on her hand and foot from now on! Hand and bally foot, I say!”
“But what has happened to her? For that matter, what’s happened to you? You sound like an entirely different—er—person.”
“Growth! Betterment! It comes to those the Saviour looks kindly upon! Indeed it does!” He threw his head back and took a deep breath. “Smell that fresh air! Sublime! Simply sublime! Harrumph! What!”
Mademoiselle Clattersmash wriggled her fingers. “Miss Stark will recover in due course. Don’t worry yourself. Look.” She reached down and pulled at the top of Clarissa’s blindfold, gently yanking it until the eyebrows were exposed. The wide bump that had marked my friend’s forehead before was gone, replaced by two small lumps, one above each brow, exactly like the nascent horns displayed by the Wise Ones, or “Aristocrats” as they now called themselves. I glanced at the three inert children and saw that they, too, had somehow acquired the protrusions.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but I’m still at a complete loss.”
“Of course you are,” Mademoiselle Clattersmash responded. “How could you not be? You haven’t the wherewithal, I’m afraid. But there’s no shame in being a Servant, Mr. Fleischer.”