Lost and found_ a novel - Alan Dean Foster [58]
“Same here,” George barked back. To the human standing alongside him he whispered, “You’re right, Marc. She just oozes charm.”
“I told you: She’s shy.”
“Uh-huh.” The dog nodded. “Like a rottweiler on meth, she’s shy.”
“Give her a chance.” Walker’s gaze flicked from canine to Tuuqalian. “She’s not used to company.”
“Gee, I wonder why?” George kept his voice down. “Could it maybe have something to do with her irresistible personality?”
Walker’s mouth tightened. “Try to be civil. If we’re going to have a chance of doing anything about you-know-what, we’re going to need her.”
“Need her?” The dog’s expression wrinkled. “Remind me again, why do we need her?”
“Because she’s smarter than any of us,” Walker whispered back—just loudly enough to feign confidentiality. The result was as he hoped.
Cautiously, several tentacles appeared in the tunnel’s opening, to be followed by a tripartite body and yet more tentacles. Sunken eyes like polished silver took in man, dog, Tuuqalian, and man again.
Peering down at the K’eremu, Braouk commented offhandedly, “Hardly worth dismembering.”
“Better to be remembered than dismembered,” she responded, looking up at him. “You, for example, are rumored to engage in slaughter for the sheer pleasure of it.” Six or seven tentacles, Walker noted, firmly gripped the rocky surface beneath and behind her, ready to yank her backward into her granite refuge at the first sign of distress.
Walker spoke up hurriedly. “Any injuries Braouk inflicted on other captives were done out of frustration, or because he was provoked. He’s actually very sensitive. Something of a poet, my kind would say.”
Horizontal gray eyes flicked sharply in his direction. “Somehow I do not see myself relying on your species’ definition of aesthetics. Before I will join you outside the tomb that has become my home, I need verification that I will be treated according to my significance, and not mindlessly subject to some primordial tantrum.”
Walker turned to look up at the irritated Tuuqalian. “Braouk would never do that. He’s too busy teaching me how to speak expressively, and George how to sing.”
“Hey, I don’t need any help to—” the dog began, but Walker cut him off.
“You seek lessons in elocution from a stomach that walks?” Sque emerged a little farther. “When I am here?”
“Well,” Walker shrugged and turned half away, “I have to make use of what’s available. Braouk has already helped me in my efforts to improve myself. As well as any sentient can, I suppose.”
“Really? Is that what you think?” The entire rust-hued body was now fully outside the entrance to the hollowed-out boulder. At this point, the fast-moving Braouk could have cut off the K’eremu’s retreat whenever he wished. Walker tensed. But for whatever reason the Tuuqalian, though clearly annoyed by the K’eremu’s attitude, restrained himself from reacting. Walker could only pray that the giant’s volcanic temperament stayed under control.
The best way to ensure that, he felt, was to engage Sque in active conversation that preferably ignored the big Tuuqalian. “Of course, if you’re willing to help, I can certainly use all the assistance I can get.”
“Yes, that is true.” Tentacle tips gestured agreement. “I am reassured, human Walker. Your recognition of your own abysmal ignorance is encouraging. It may be that there is yet hope for you and by association, possibly your species. Though a great many doubts manifest themselves in my mind.”
“I’m grateful for your forbearance,” he told her humbly. George was eyeing him with an interesting mixture of pity and approval.
“Now then.” Tentacles spread outward in the shape of a flower as she settled herself down. “You have not returned, I think, to request tutoring in the art of diction. As you honestly say, you can certainly use all the assistance you can get. For what specifically do you come seeking my assistance?