it was what he again showed her now.
"Soon I will be gone, my queen!" hisfrail voice said. The sideways appearance of his arm-thin face, like a melted substance, plastic or cheese, one layer over the other, never failed to startle even Kamath Clan. In the midst of this visage were his organs of sight and smell, pressed to mere slits, and his mouth, a vertical oval hole.
The rest of his body was sloped sideways, also, though not as severely as his face and head; his walking was of a shuffling kind, baby steps by deformed feet.
"Hard to believe I've been this way since I was eighteen!" Quog said. He moved closer, giving the queen, with her unwavering stare, a good look at him; this was part of a ritual of cruelty and trade they had worked out long ago.
"Think you would have gone for me then, my queen?" Quog whispered breathily through his mouth hole.
"I think not," the queen said.
"Nor I you! Ha!" Quog said.
Trying not to show her need, which was a useless thing with this man, Kamath said, "You will provide me."
"Of course! Have I ever denied you, my queen?" He waited for her response; which was, "No."
"But before long, when these soft bones are in
the dust heap, you will be denied, eh?"
"Perhaps."
"Perhaps?" A trace of irritation entered the old man's panting words. "Do you think there are others like me?"
"Not like you. But what you haveâ"
"Can be duplicated?" Now he was angry. "Do you think so? Do you think I am so foolish as to think you haven't tried? You who have a chemical, a potion, for everything? Have you tried?"
His slitted eyes were as wide as they ever grew; within the vertical, flesh-flapped cavities the queen saw tiny fierce eyes, red with rheum.
"I have tried," she said.
"Of course you have! And failed! Ha!"
The queen waited; as did the old man, who stood panting tiny breaths through his mouth.
"You will apologize to me, Queen," Quog said finally.
There was silence.
"You will apologize immediately or get out of my home."
Kamath Clan turned her towering body away from the twisted old man.
"You will not take a step toward the door," Quog said. "I know your needs too well. What you will do is turn and beg this thing of me; get down on your knees, Queen, and beg me!"
The old man was huffing in agitationâeither anger or satisfaction.
Kamath Clan stood still.
"Now!" Quog spat. "Or be forever banished from my house!"
A moment ticked by, and then Kamath Clan turned slowly and lowered herself to the filthy floor; laying her hands flat upon the boards, she crawled forward, eyes downcast, and lay her forehead on the old man's deformed, sandaled feet.
"Kiss them!"
Kamath Clan lifted her head slightly to kiss the feet, one and then the other; his toes were like gnarled knuckles.
"Lick them! As a dog licks!"
The queen did as she was told.
"Very well," Quog breathed, satisfied. "You may rise."
Head still bowed, Queen Kamath Clan slowly brought herself up to her full height and stood impassively.
Chuckling, Quog said, turning to shuffle into the deeper shadows of the room to the shelves on which rested pots and metal containers and some ancient glass carafes of dark colors, green and red, "You know well, my queen, that all power resides with those who have what is desperately wanted. This," he said, still chuckling weakly, "is the only definition of power."
"Yes."
"Ha!" He lingered over various vials, knowing that such action was drawing out her torture.
"Cruelty," he said, the levity gone from his voice, "is something to be learned, though."
Abruptly he chose the canister he sought all along, a nondescript metal tube, one among a few, with one end sealed tightly.
"Two," Queen Clan said.
"No. One now, and one again tomorrow. I want you to return."
His deformed hand held the single slim container out from the shadows to her. Eagerly she took it. "I will return tomorrow."
"Yes, you will."
As she exited, closing the door, this time, behind her, he said, breathing from the
"Soon I will be gone, my queen!" hisfrail voice said. The sideways appearance of his arm-thin face, like a melted substance, plastic or cheese, one layer over the other, never failed to startle even Kamath Clan. In the midst of this visage were his organs of sight and smell, pressed to mere slits, and his mouth, a vertical oval hole.
The rest of his body was sloped sideways, also, though not as severely as his face and head; his walking was of a shuffling kind, baby steps by deformed feet.
"Hard to believe I've been this way since I was eighteen!" Quog said. He moved closer, giving the queen, with her unwavering stare, a good look at him; this was part of a ritual of cruelty and trade they had worked out long ago.
"Think you would have gone for me then, my queen?" Quog whispered breathily through his mouth hole.
"I think not," the queen said.
"Nor I you! Ha!" Quog said.
Trying not to show her need, which was a useless thing with this man, Kamath said, "You will provide me."
"Of course! Have I ever denied you, my queen?" He waited for her response; which was, "No."
"But before long, when these soft bones are in
the dust heap, you will be denied, eh?"
"Perhaps."
"Perhaps?" A trace of irritation entered the old man's panting words. "Do you think there are others like me?"
"Not like you. But what you haveâ"
"Can be duplicated?" Now he was angry. "Do you think so? Do you think I am so foolish as to think you haven't tried? You who have a chemical, a potion, for everything? Have you tried?"
His slitted eyes were as wide as they ever grew; within the vertical, flesh-flapped cavities the queen saw tiny fierce eyes, red with rheum.
"I have tried," she said.
"Of course you have! And failed! Ha!"
The queen waited; as did the old man, who stood panting tiny breaths through his mouth.
"You will apologize to me, Queen," Quog said finally.
There was silence.
"You will apologize immediately or get out of my home."
Kamath Clan turned her towering body away from the twisted old man.
"You will not take a step toward the door," Quog said. "I know your needs too well. What you will do is turn and beg this thing of me; get down on your knees, Queen, and beg me!"
The old man was huffing in agitationâeither anger or satisfaction.
Kamath Clan stood still.
"Now!" Quog spat. "Or be forever banished from my house!"
A moment ticked by, and then Kamath Clan turned slowly and lowered herself to the filthy floor; laying her hands flat upon the boards, she crawled forward, eyes downcast, and lay her forehead on the old man's deformed, sandaled feet.
"Kiss them!"
Kamath Clan lifted her head slightly to kiss the feet, one and then the other; his toes were like gnarled knuckles.
"Lick them! As a dog licks!"
The queen did as she was told.
"Very well," Quog breathed, satisfied. "You may rise."
Head still bowed, Queen Kamath Clan slowly brought herself up to her full height and stood impassively.
Chuckling, Quog said, turning to shuffle into the deeper shadows of the room to the shelves on which rested pots and metal containers and some ancient glass carafes of dark colors, green and red, "You know well, my queen, that all power resides with those who have what is desperately wanted. This," he said, still chuckling weakly, "is the only definition of power."
"Yes."
"Ha!" He lingered over various vials, knowing that such action was drawing out her torture.
"Cruelty," he said, the levity gone from his voice, "is something to be learned, though."
Abruptly he chose the canister he sought all along, a nondescript metal tube, one among a few, with one end sealed tightly.
"Two," Queen Clan said.
"No. One now, and one again tomorrow. I want you to return."
His deformed hand held the single slim container out from the shadows to her. Eagerly she took it. "I will return tomorrow."
"Yes, you will."
As she exited, closing the door, this time, behind her, he said, breathing from the
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