The New Weird - Ann VanderMeer [113]
Durst came in dragging the invisible weight of his twin, and performing the impossible feat of discussing two different subjects simultaneously from either side of his mouth.
"My dear Philosopher," said the countess. "You give sanity a bad name."
He bowed as far as his stomach would allow, and then stood and listened with something verging on attention to our request. It was heartwarming to see how proud he was to have been of some use in the crisis. He strode with an official bearing over to the table where Ingess lay and leaned down to listen to the feverish stream of words.
While the Philosopher General was performing his duties, Frouch poked me in the side with her elbow and we both had difficulty holding back our laughter at the sight of him. The healer, witnessing the whole thing, merely shook his head and sighed impatiently.
When Durst finally turned around, we asked him what Ingess was saying.
He looked puzzled and told us, "It all sounds like gibberish to me."
The countess and I broke out laughing.
"But," he continued, holding up his right index finger, "my brother says that His Royal is concerned with a stream running under a bridge."
"Fascinating," said the healer as he ushered Durst out of the infirmary.
Upon his return, the old man lifted his burlap sack onto the table next to Ingess's head. From within it, he retrieved a pair of spectacles whose lenses were long black cylinders capped with metal. He fit the arms of these over His Royal's ears and adjusted the tunnels so that they completely covered the eyes. The moment this strange contraption was in place, Ingess let loose a massive sigh and went completely limp.
"What's this?" I asked.
The healer undid his bathrobe tie, wrapped the flaps around him more completely and retied it securely. "At the ends of those two tunnels there is a picture that appears, because of the way our sight overlaps, to have a third dimension. It is so endlessly fascinating to behold that the viewer thinks of nothing else. Time, pain, regret are pushed out of the mind by the intricate beauty of the scene."
"What does it show?" asked Frouch.
"I can't explain," said the healer, "it is too complex."
"Why is it necessary?" I asked.
"Because," said the healer, "what I am about to do to your liege would otherwise be so painful that his screams would threaten the sanity of everyone within the confines of the palace." With this, he reached into that bag of his and pulled forth a wriggling green creature the size of a man's index finger.
The countess and I stepped closer to see exactly what he was holding. The creature was a segmented, jade green, centipede-like thing with a lavender head and tiny black horns.
"Sirimon," he said with a foreign inflection in his voice.
"It looks like a caterpillar," said Frouch.
"Yes, it does," said the old man, "but make no mistake, this is Sirimon."
"His Royal's not going to eat that is he?" I asked, swallowing hard the memory of the healer's midnight snack.
"Perish the thought," the healer said, and with great care he brought his hand down to Ingess's left ear. He gave a high, piercing whistle, and the diminutive creature marched forward across his palm and into the opening in His Royal's head.
Frouch laughed at the sight of it in an attempt to control her horror. I turned away feeling as though I would be sick.
"Now we wait," I heard the healer say. He pulled up a chair and sat down.
Somewhere into our fourth hour of silent waiting, the old man jotted down the ingredients to Princess Jang's Tears and gave it to Pester.
"Tell the barkeep not to forget the bitters," he said.
The boy nodded, and before he could leave the room, I called out, "Make that two."
"Just tell him to keep them coming," called Frouch.
Pester returned, carrying a tray with three glasses and the largest pitcher in the palace,