The New Weird - Ann VanderMeer [52]
"Well, what is it?" Culpole took Ashura's shoulder.
Ashura shook his head and blinked. He stared about him as if he had just awoken in a strange room. "Passing husks is hell," he said.
"What?"
Ashura caught sight of Foxtongue, and revived. "It's a ward made out of a chaffinch," he said. "What's more I can guess whose chaffinch."
Foxtongue stirred and came awake once more, panting with pain.
A commotion outside the door silenced them.
"Get ― grab it, man!"
"Ach! The bloody thing went and."
"Right behind the. HOLD IT STILL:"
"The door! The door!"
"Ee dee dee, dee ee..."
"Gag the little."
"OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR!"
Culpole sprang to the latch, unfastened it, and went flying again as four burly cessbeaters, covered from head to toe in the stuff of their trade, were pulled through the door by a pole of savage, straining flesh ― Foxtongue's leg.
"Dee,"it sang, "Ee dee dee."It pulled free of its captors and leapt aboard the bed. It pressed its needle-toothed stump to Foxtongue's cheek in a
passionate kiss. "Dee! Ee dee!" It nuzzled her breast.
Foxtongue grinned, but a sudden stab of pain from her stump turned the expression inside out.
A polite cough from the doorway made Ashura turn. It was Master Paragrat, one-time blacksmith, now warlock extraordinary and a fine physician. "I came as soon as I heard," he announced in a rich rural baritone. His firm, dimpled jaw was hidden by a false white beard, which he sported for reasons of tradition. His eyes were a glistening hazelnut. Over his symbol-strewn wizard's gown he wore an old leather apron. "I was setting up the fireworks for Jape Day." Ashura bowed and saw that the wizard's heavy boots were spattered with mud and flecks of grass from trudging the High Meadows.
"Aha! The limb, splendid." Paragrat drew himself up to his full height, stared imperiously at the leg, and uttered something in an outlandish tongue. The leg turned, blinking tiny primitive eyes placed just below the knee joint. It hopped down from the bed and stood before them. Paragrat knelt down and examined it. He raised his head and spoke to Foxtongue. "You're in luck, Missee; you're young, your flesh tends strongly towards life. Your leg'll live for at least another two days. But it's strong-willed, like a feral. It enjoys its independence, anyone can see that."
He studied the limb. "Let's see, it's already got itself a sense of balance, eyes, even a mouth, and a tongue." He sighed and shook his head. A mop of black hair fell across his eyes and he swept it away with a gnarled, full-muscled hand. "It's changed too much. I can't web your leg back on for you. Only Trimghoul the psychokine can do that. Of course," Paragrat's eyes sparkled and he added, chuckling, "you mightn't think that so bad."
Ashura groaned and slumped down on the bed. Paragrat turned to him. "What's up?"
"Touch her belly, sir."
Foxtongue nodded assent and Paragrat pressed his hand to her flesh. His arm tensed. His eyes grew wide. "My arse is sore," he whimpered ― a strange, fluting falsetto ― "passing husks is. Wait!"
He pulled away abruptly and stared at Ashura. "This ― " He coughed, clearing his mouth of strangeness. " ― is the third woman I've seen today with such a thing in her belly. What do you know of this?"
"They're chaffinch wards," Ashura said. "My master made them."
"And who might he be?"
"Urkhan."
Paragrat growled. "That wily old.what else do you know?"
"I know that Trimghoul stole the brain of Mother Lamprey, an oracle round these parts, and gave it to Urkhan."
"What?"
"To eat."
"No!" Paragrat seized his arm and pulled him from the bed. "Come on! We've no time to waste."
Ashura was out in the hall before he knew what was happening. "Take heart, Foxtongue!" he cried, and was then propelled at frightening speed down the steps of the Walking Eye tavern.
As they ran, Ashura panted out his story. Soon enough, the whole sordid chain of events had been recounted.