Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [66]
“I didn’t see anyone playing with ’em,” Simna responded. “And why do I have this gut feeling they’re not real popular as pets?”
“Do not blame the birds.” Ehomba gently admonished his friend. “It is not their fault they have been put to such a use. I doubt they have any notion of what they are involved in.” He watched the pair use their sharp beaks to shell and then spit out the husks of tiny seeds. “As the savants say, they are only mimics. They listen, and repeat, but do not understand.”
“You couldn’t find better spies,” Simna growled. His outrage at the invasion of his innermost privacy was complete, but out of deference to his friend his sword stayed in its scabbard.
“So from what you have learned from some birds you have decided that our manner of thinking is wrong, and that you have the right to change it. Even if we are happy with the way we think and do not want it changed.” The herdsman met each of the savants’ eyes in turn.
“You will thank us when we are done.” The woman was beaming again. “You,” she declared, directing her words to the quietly fuming Simna, “will become a much more pleasant and less belligerent person, one who is kind to others and supportive of extended contemplation.”
“By Gouzpoul, don’t count on it.” The swordsman’s fingers tightened on the hilt of his weapon.
“And you,” she continued as she turned slightly to face Ehomba, “will become a teacher, devoting your life to the spreading of the way of proper thinking among uncivilized peoples.”
“It sounds like an admirable calling,” Ehomba told her. “Unfortunately, I already have one. There are cattle to be supervised, and chores to be done. The Naumkib must give over all their waking hours to surviving. I have no time to devote to the profession of wandering teacher. You need to find another.”
“You are the first of your people to visit Tethspraih.” The monk seated at the other end of the table was speaking forcefully. “As such, you must be the one to carry our teachings to your land. It is a great honor.”
“Yes,” added the middle savant. “Besides, you have no choice. You do not have to waste time and energy arguing about it because the decision has been made for you.” He smiled encouragingly, reassuringly. “That is the job of savants. To make the right choices for others. We prevent many headaches before they happen.”
“Then why are you giving me one now?” Simna ibn Sind had listened to just about enough. Avoiding Ehomba’s attempt to restrain him, the swordsman took a bold step forward and drew his blade. Sensing his thoughts, the pair of cockatells stopped eating and fell back to the far side of their cage. They remained huddled together there, their shimmering golden feathers quivering slightly as they were forced to listen to and absorb the blast of unfettered aggression from the swordsman’s mind.
Showing that they were indeed human, the savants reacted to Simna’s provocation by losing their seemingly everlasting smiles. But no one leaped from their chair or tried to flee. Nor did anyone raise a warning cry to the servitors stationed outside.
Instead, the monk in the center reached quickly beneath the table and brought out a most curious-looking device. The length of a man’s arm, it had a handle and a long tubular body that was fluted and flared at the end like an open flower. One finger curled around a small curve of metal set into the underside of the apparatus. Attached to the top was a small bottle or canister. This was fashioned of an opaque substance and Ehomba could not see what it contained.
Resting the wooden handle against his shoulder, the savant pointed the flowerlike end of the device directly at Simna. Exposed blade hanging at his side, the swordsman’s gaze narrowed as he stared down the barrel of the awkward contrivance. Not knowing what it did, he was unsure how to deal with the threat its