The New Weird - Ann VanderMeer [46]
"You've chosen a strange course, Mite. I wish you were Mite once more, so you could choose again. You may well hang your head in shame."
"Not shame, Mother, puzzle ― "
"Silence!" She'd meant it, presumably, to be an imperious command, but it came out tinged with hysteria and the weakness of an old woman. "You are a pander, a tool of evil work. We ― " she stroked her belly -"cannot say whether you are aware of this, but we fear the worst."
"I keep my eyes open," said Ashura. "But I cannot see through locked doors, or closed minds."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning Master Urkhan is a wily, mischievous old bastard whose very eyes don't trust each other, hence the squint."
Mother Runnell grinned, very briefly, very warmly. Then the cold, worried mask was back. "So. Have you heard about Mother Lamprey's death?"
"That's why I'm here, to say I'm sorry."
"Aaach," she snapped, "I didn't say, 'that she died,' I said 'about her death.' Of how she died, boy. Do you know how?"
"Brained by a pot."
"Have you any idea how tough old Lamprey was?"
"That...occurred to me, too. It must have been a damn large pot."
"You tell me. Neighbours saw the thing fall, that's all. Can't say after it hit that they gave it much thought."
Some reflex made Ashura glance up into the sky. He did a double-take. The clouds there were pink-edged. He was late. "Mother Runnell, I must go now."
"Your good master requiring more favours of your good will?"
"Well I am his apprentice."
"More deliveries?"
Ashura stood up and dusted himself down. "No doubt." The next second he was staring at her. "How, how."
"What was in the pot, Ashura?" And all of a sudden Mother Runnell's eyes didn't seem bleared at all, but emerald and piercing.
"A dead ancient's brain," Ashura replied in a whisper.
"How do you know?"
Ashura looked at the ground, abashed. "I don't know. I didn't look, if that's what you mean. I can only surmise that's what it was from what I heard behind locked doors."
"Ahh," she said, and started rocking, back and forth, very slowly, "you do keep your eyes and ears open, young Mite, after all. I'm glad to hear it. Your life may depend on it, someday." Ashura shivered at the pronouncement but the oracle's smile was warm. "Now come, tell me, what was the brain for?"
"Master Urkhan's old wards are wearing down. He made them from squirrel and cat and other small animals. He's made new ones from chaffinches, but he hasn't used any of them. I think he's after something a little stronger."
"A ward from the ka of a dead man?"
Ashura nodded, blushing.
Mother Runnell tutted. "Oh, Mite, what have you got yourself involved in? You know that's a restricted practice. If the burghers heard. Who provided the brain?"
"Trimghoul."
"The psychokine?"
"The same."
"And where did he get it?"
"From Blood Park, so he said."
"And do you really believe him, Ashura?" Ashura, his correct name. Seriousness. Mother Runnell's questions were in deadly earnest.
Did he believe Trimghoul? He thought of the man, astride his skittish gelding and shrouded in his habitual garb, an unnerving costume of black net that covered him from head to foot. Things started slotting into place inside Ashura's head, forming a pattern he didn't much care for ― not at all.
His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. "What must I do?" he stammered.
"Act upon your suspicions," she replied simply. "That's not so hard, is it?" Something cold slithered down Ashura's spine.
Foxtongue was waiting inside. She was sitting on a rough oak table, her feet up on a stool. Ashura gave her a worried smile as he made for the door.
"No time to show me a trick or two, Warlock?"
"'Fraid not," he shrugged.
"Do you fear your master's scolding that much?"
Yes, something screamed at him. Yes. But Ashura sensed that whatever displeasure he might encounter by arriving late this afternoon, it was as nothing to the roasting he might suffer should he follow Mother Runnell's advice, as he knew he must.
So he went back to the table where Foxtongue sat and