The Fecund's Melancholy Daughter - Brent Hayward [55]
For a moment, the chatelaine continued to watch her father torture the poor creature, striving as he did to discover unknowable secrets.
Then she stepped into the room.
He did not turn. Over his shoulder, she saw the small blue body now, limp in his hands, but still breathing, heaving, partially strapped down to the table and twitching spasmodically. Against the far rim—which was made of hammered tin—two similar bodies huddled close to one another, staked together and making low moaning sounds.
She stopped, shocked. “Cobali?”
Arrayed on the table were various implements, mostly stained with red blood. Her father appeared to be trying to push a thin metal rod into the forearm of the hapless beast.
“Where did you get those from? Who in the world gave them to you?” She felt a surge of nausea. “That criminal, Tully? My goodness . . .” But she was too tired, too dizzy, too occupied with her own tumultuous day to make much of a protest or sustain her repulsion; another time, maybe. “What are you doing to that thing?”
The castellan turned now, frowning at the interruption.
He did seem older, if that was possible, his face gaunt and drawn. Was he shrinking? Aging faster than most? The chatelaine was not even sure he recognized her. One of his eyes was shut, and in the corner of that eye dried blood had welled, as if he cried it, like tears.
“I’m trying,” he said, “to make the world a better place.”
“I don’t believe you. You just like to torture things, make them scream.”
“Terra Bella. How could you say that to your own father? This is not torture. It’s progress.” He smiled, but with no conviction.
“Is that—?”
He had an erection.
Trying not to look down, the chatelaine cleared her throat. “Your eye. What have you done to your eye? You’ve hurt yourself.”
He shrugged.
“You are aware that cobali have families?” She could not help but glance again at his bobbing cock. “And that they mate for life? Raise their young. Like I have heard some mammals do.” She looked away, anywhere but toward her dad. “This has been decided by committee. A council I hired. The beasts are intelligent and I signed the decree. See? You think I do nothing down there.”
Now the castellan actually laughed. “Lucky for the cobali to have you on their side. You are like a carnivore, my Terra, who bemoans the slaughter of animals yet stuffs her face with chops at every opportunity. You are an inconsistent girl. I think you should peer into a looking glass before you accuse me of torture. Hypocritical, if I may say so.”
“What do I torture? I embrace living, not illness and dying. I’m a lover. But I thank you, father, as always, for your sensitivity.”
He turned his back to her again. “May I ask why you’re here, sweetheart, so early in the morning?”
“It’s midafternoon.”
“Still, early for you. Do you wish to ask my advice about mundane tasks? Are you going to convince me again that it’s safe to come down and take over the city? Or maybe you wish to confront me about stories you might have heard?”
“Stories? What stories?” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Gods have flown over Nowy Solum. There were reports. Celestial beings appeared, they say, over the river. Erricus is beside himself. But listen, father, I want to talk to you. Not about stories. I’ve made a few decisions.”
The castellan was becoming lost in his task again; the cobali shrieked as the rod was forced deeper into the marrow of its femur.
Raising her voice, the chatelaine said, “One of my pets was stolen.”
This stopped him. But he did not turn. “From your chambers?”
“That’s right. So I’ve ordered another one.” Then, surprising herself, she said, “If I didn’t know better, I might think you came down the stairs to take it.”
He shuddered, no doubt at the thought of leaving his room. “Why would I do that? Which one was it?”
“South Gate.”
“Ah, the one you call the cherub. I’m sorry to hear that, Terra. You know I’m sorry.”