Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [401]
He shook his head. While admiring her quick brain, he perceived that she reached conclusions too hastily.
‘She claims that her party were on a ship which was wrecked on Gleeat in an earlier monsoon.’
‘That’s clearly a lie. Phagors do not sail. They hate water.’
‘They were slaves on a Throssan galley, she says.’
Odi patted his shoulder. ‘Listen, Sartori, it’s my belief that we could have proved that the two continents were once linked just by looking at the old charts in the chartroom. There’s Purporian on the Radado shore and a port called Popevin on the Throssa shore. “Poop” means “bridge” in Pure Olonets, and “Pup” or “Pu” the same in Local Olonets. The past is locked up in language, if one knows how to look.’
Although she laughed, he was vexed by her superior Sibornalese style. ‘If the smell is overcoming you, dear, you had better go back on deck.’
‘We shall soon be approaching Keevasien. A coastal town. As you know, “ass” or “as” is Pure Olonets for “sea” – the equivalent of “ash” in Pontpian.’ With that burst of knowledge, smiling, she retired, climbing the ladder to the quarterdeck in practical fashion.
He was surprised next day to find that Gleeat was wounded. There was a golden pool of blood on the deck where she lay. He questioned her through the interpreter. Although he watched her closely, he could detect nothing resembling emotion when she answered.
‘No, she is not wounded. She says she is coming on oestrus. She has just undergone her menstrual period.’ The interpreter looked his distaste but made no personal comment, being of inferior rank.
Such was his hatred for phagors – but it was gone now, like much else from his past life, he realised – that SartoriIrvrash had always neglected their history, just as he had refused to learn their language. Such matters he had left to JandolAnganol – JandolAnganol with his perverse trust in the creatures. However, the sexual habits of phagors had been a target for prurient jest to the very urchins in the Matrassyl streets; he recalled that the female ancipital, neither human nor beast, delivered something like a one-day menstrual flow from the uterus as prelude to the oestral cycle when she came on heat. It might be memories of those old whispers which caused him to imagine that his captive emitted a more pungent odour on this occasion.
SartoriIrvrash scratched his cheek. ‘What was that word she used for catamenia? Her word in Native?’
‘She calls oestrus “tennhrr” in her language. Shall I have her hosed down?’
‘Ask her how frequently she comes into oestrus.’
The gillot, who remained tied, had to be prodded before she gave answer. Her long pink milt flicked up one of her nostrils. She finally admitted to having ten periods in a small year. SartoriIrvrash nodded and went on deck for some fresh air. Poor creature, he thought; a pity we can’t all live in peace. The human-ancipital dilemma would have to be resolved one day, one way or another. When he was dead and gone.
They drove before the monsoon all that night, the next day, and the night following. The rains were frequently so thick that those aboard the Golden Friendship could not make out their sister ships. The Straits of Cadmer were left behind. All about them was the grey Narmosset, its waves streaked with long spittles of white. The world was a liquid one.
During the fifth night, they encountered a storm, and the carrack almost stood on its beam ends. The hollies and orange trees growing along the waist were all lost overboard, and many feared that the ship would founder. The seamen, always superstitious, approached their captain and begged