“A fair point. Now. Do you want the…how did you put it for young Kol here…the full vomit? I did not anchor the experience with an aroma, so what I offer may seem disjointed.”
“Whatever you give us would be lovely.”
“Fine.”
He sniffed. Sat up. Then his face trembled, and he began talking.
What came forth was a blistering, startling rush of words and descriptions, snippets of sentences and bursts of clauses, all capturing the simple experience of walking through the Haza gates, up the path, and into the party within. Some of the things he said were so abrupt, or so stark and spare, that it was difficult to glean any meaning from them. He would rapidly utter things like, “Immunis Eskim, male, short, west of the thirdmost column, Apoth colors, shirt untucked on the left”; or, “Wine lukewarm, freshly mulled, six spice pods floating at rim, spoon rattling in the ewer,” and you’d have to struggle to conceive what he was relating.
More startling was Uhad’s demeanor as he spoke: he trembled, spasmed, tremored, and twisted as his memories poured out of him. Fingers twitching, knees shaking. Eyes dancing horribly, pulled about by some mad muscle in his skull. He seemed like a man in a vision, overcome with divine revelation.
I listened to all he said, sniffing my vial and engraving all the names and times and details in my memory—but it was difficult to focus. I had never seen another engraver give such a thorough recounting before. I realized I must look the same, during all the times I gave my reports to Ana, and found the prospect horrifying.
An odd pair we were then, like two insects from some bizarre species, with one forcefully inseminating another—yet he was filling up my mind with facts, data, information. And almost all of it was unimportant, or so it seemed to me, just names, dates, times, people; and none felt terribly critical.
He stopped talking. Then he sat back in his chair, panting.
“Good,” said Ana. “Very thorough. Thank you, Uhad.”
He mumbled a welcome.
“From the sound of it,” said Ana, “you weren’t at the event long!”
“I wasn’t,” muttered Uhad. He pushed back his graying hair. “I am not as young as I once was. I must spend my time judiciously. Social events force me to absorb a great deal of information…” His eye lingered on her blindfold. “…surely something you can sympathize with, Ana. I saw few people and departed.”
She then asked him the same questions she’d asked the others: what connection could there be between Blas and Kaygi Haza, and the canton of Oypat?
“Well,” said Uhad. He smiled bleakly. “Two of them were murdered. But the canton of Oypat merely died, correct? Eaten by contagion. Beyond that, I know no more.”
Ana asked him more questions then—about the Hazas, about their schedule of events and parties, about their relations with the Iudex, about Jolgalgan—but she got nothing more. She thanked him and let him go, and I walked him to the door.
“Have you felt the displacements yet, Signum?” he asked me.
“Beg pardon, sir?” I said.
“The displacements,” he said. “A psychological affliction. You might spy some object, or catch some scent—and suddenly you are displaced. It reminds you of something, and pulls a memory forward, or the object itself literally speaks to you in your mind. The memory describing itself to you, like it was a person living in your head. Have you had one yet?”
“N-no, sir,” I said, startled.
“You will,” he said grimly. “When they start, it is best to begin living ascetically. Fewer things to remind you of anything, you see. It’s something I wished they’d told me when I was your age.”
Then he turned and left. I stared after him, bewildered by his comments. I looked to Ana, who merely shrugged.
* * *
—
LAST CAME IMMUNIS Nusis. “I’m afraid,” she said as she sat, “that I haven’t made much progress with the reagents key you gave me, Dolabra.” Despite the abashed look in her eye, her dark red Apoth’s coat was clean and starched, and she wore a bright coppery scarf about her throat—still the cheery little flicker-thrush, despite all the recent sorrows.
“What seems to be the issue?” asked Ana.
“Well, I’ve exposed it to the usual pheromonic telltales,” Nusis said. “Plants that should wither or react upon being placed close to it. These should let me know what kind of reagents portal the key is designed for—but thus far, I’ve had little luck. It is most unusual.” She coughed into her hand. “Though I don’t mean to begin the discussion with bad news, of course…Where should you like me to start?”