Oshenerth by Alan Dean Foster Page A

victuals available. Her hostess’s tone notwithstanding, Poylee’s easy skill with knives and skewers was instructive to behold. In less than an hour several dishes arrayed in the half-shells of giant oysters had been set out on the low coral table. Irina identified different oceanic plants prepared several ways along with chunks of treated meat that varied in color from white to gray. Utensils consisted of knives made from sharpened shell with handles of decorated bone, and skewers that were miniature versions of the bone weapons carried and used by hunters. A rack of tightly stoppered, calcareous tube-worm casings held liquid spices. Salt was not offered and, needless to say, unnecessary.
    Sampling everything and finding that it varied from good to outright tasty, Irina did her best to lighten the mood as she and her hostess ate.
    “Everything here is delicious, Poylee. I don’t know how to thank you for your hospitality.”
    “Then don’t.” Almost angrily, her hostess stuck one end of a thin, sharpened bone in her mouth and used her lips to strip off the succulent mollusks it skewered.
    The ensuing time on both sides of the table passed in uncomfortable silence before a determined Irina spoke up more forcefully. As she talked, hundreds of tiny bits of organic life drifted like flecks of powdered pearls through the light from the screened overhead opening.
    “Look, you seemed fine with this arrangement when I got here. Then, all of a sudden and without any explanation you turned into a cold (she almost said fish) character. What happened? Did I do something? Did I say something?” Her heightened anxiety produced an odd itching sensation in her neck. It took her a moment to realize it was due to her gill flaps fluttering more rapidly in response to the need to draw in additional oxygen.
    Poylee looked up suddenly, her gaze drawing even with that of her guest. “What did you think-consider of Chachel? The merson who saved you?”
    So that was it , Irina realized with a start. Apparently not everything in this underwater realm was so radically different from conditions in her own world. She replied honestly.
    “I thought he was brave, skillful, rude, and gruff.”
    Her evaluation seemed to lighten the mood again, though Poylee continued to remain more guarded than she had been when Glint and Irina had first arrived. “So—you didn’t like him, then?”
    “I owe him for helping me, but on a personal level I found him unpleasant and impolite. As far as convivial company goes, I’d rather spend time with Glint.”
    Poylee smiled. It was not the open, unfettered, bubbly expression that had first greeted Irina, but it was a vast improvement over what had just preceded it.
    “Don’t be too hard-heavy on him.” Stretching herself out horizontal to the plate coral table and floating just above the floor, Poylee casually plucked something small and whitish from within a covered shell dish, popped the squirming tidbit in her mouth, and swallowed. Irina flinched. “He has a good heart, but he has had a difficult-troubled life.”
    “I don’t care. He didn’t have to be so rude. I didn’t do anything to him.” And I never will , she added quietly to herself.
    Poylee was by now completely relaxed. Was her transparent interest in the one-eyed hunter typical of relationships here, Irina found herself wondering? There had not been a flicker of subtlety in the other woman’s reaction. Not that it mattered. The idea that she, Irina, might have something to offer the merson who had saved her life anything other than a sincere thank-you was absurd.
    Time passed swiftly with Poylee showing her guest through the remainder of her habitation as well as bringing out for inspection some smaller, more personal items of interest. Irina looked and listened and committed everything to memory until awareness began to fade. Her mounting fatigue was hardly a surprise, she told herself. It had been a day she could not have imagined