The New Weird - Ann VanderMeer [50]
"N-no. Actually, I wonder if you can help me." Ashura blushed.
Trimghoul misinterpreted the redness in the boy's cheeks. "Ah," he said, wisely. "Woman trouble, eh? Well, it happens to the best of us. Got a would-be oracle pregnant before her time, I suppose? Well, send her along, no need to act all blushful, we're men of the world old chap, eh?" He chuckled. His teeth were very small, and were all exactly alike. "I'll dump her child on some ape or big cat and send it to a circus. For the usual fee, of course."
Trimghoul specialized in the production of carnival curios and hybrid pets for wealthy ladies of the region. There existed a harmless rivalry between these ladies, which found expression not only in their dress, their jewels, and (at the more permissive venues) their adjudged skill in performance with centaurs, but also in what pets they possessed.
Be it an animal out of legend ― a Square Woolly Pig, say ― or a wild, modern scherzo in dachshund, peacock and halibut, a Trimghoulian pet was the sine qua non of GodGate's polite society.
Such psychokinetic trivia were the source of Trimghoul's considerable social popularity; they were also the hook from which he hung his amatory successes. Trimghoul's dalliance with the womenfolk was due as much to his risque payment methods, as to the more conventional tools of seduction.
"That's not the problem," Ashura admitted. The ear twitched on his forearm.
"Well, come along, out with it, glad to help a young man with ambition." A fly landed on Trimghoul's forehead. It sparked and vanished. A little red place on the psychokine's forehead remained. He stared around him with a fierce expression. "How in hell's name did that get in here? Were you cleaned?"
"Y-yes!" Ashura stepped back, startled by Trimghoul's fierce expression.
A second, and all anger was gone. Trimghoul's face was its even, bronzed hue once more. "Come now, my boy."
Ashura took a deep breath ― and drew up the sleeve of his shirt.
Trimghoul stared at Ashura's forearm. His expression was severe.
"Tell me you were delivering a baby and it scratched you."
"Yes, I."
"Now tell me the truth."
"Please get it off me," Ashura begged.
Trimghoul looked deep into his eyes. The red mark on his forehead was still there. His pupils were black, dilated, huge.
"Please," Ashura whispered.
Trimghoul sniffed, glanced at Ashura's arm. There was a tiny flash, heat burst on his skin. Ashura looked down. The ear was gone as if it had never been.
"Do you want to know where I put it?" Trimghoul's voice was cold and soft.
Ashura said nothing. He stared at his arm and waited for what might follow.
"I placed it on the forehead of a young boy known throughout the city for snooping and prying and getting in people's way."
Instinctively, Ashura brought his hand up to his face, but there was nothing there.
Trimghoul sighed and turned away from him to stare out the window at the city. "Oh dear, young man, you are an open book. Why do young boys get themselves in scrapes like this if they cannot dissemble to their elders? You were playing with corpses in Blood Park last night, yes?"
"Yes," Ashura dropped his gaze to the floor.
"And what did you find?"
Ashura's fists clenched. He tightened what resolve he had and said, "You killed Mother Lamprey."
Trimghoul whirled round. His face was twisted in a red mask of bestial fury. A blast of light seared Ashura's face. "Don't cross me, tyke. I
could rip out your balls and eyes and juggle them in front of your face without even blinking. And who's to say I'd put them back in quite the same places?" He spat and turned away. "Get out of my sight." He scratched at the sore place on his forehead.
Ashura felt a line of blood trickle down his cheek. He turned and ran.
Back in his room, Ashura stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. Trimghoul had shaved one side of his head, nicking it in several places. He thought of the fly, of the sore place that was left on Trimghoul's forehead when he made the fly vanish. A hasty or unconscious