my crew as well. Before I could speak, Nifft sharply asked, "Did you hear that?"
We all listened. There was only the easy breathing of the breeze through the grass and thickets around us.
"Do you know, Nifft," I began pleasantly, "in my first years as a Nuncio, I used to be tortured by the phrase `a fool's errand,' for I realized early on that at least half our commissions were fool's errands, by the common criteria of the world at large. Now in my maturity, I can quite calmly acknowledge that half the world misuses the Nuncial guild. Nuncios are exploited for the universal respect and freedom of passage that all nations accord them—exploited by cynical clients who, in brief, lie to them.
"Our clients lie to us about every aspect of a mission that is capable of falsification: they lie about what it is we carry, about why we carry it, about the true identity of its recipient, about the risks attending the delivery . . . what do they not lie to us about?
"But you know, Nifft, it's just here that a Nuncio's famous honor lies. Nuncios unbreakably swear to fulfill their contracts on the unfailing assumption of perfect truth in their clients. This is exactly what many would call the Nuncio's famous foolishness . But it is this sublime assumption of truth in others that gives us the respect and unmolested passage we enjoy almost the world over. Our unflinching assumption of truth, and our unfailing fulfillment of contract that logically follows from this assumption, have made our honor, and made it known in every nation."
His eyes were fixed on mine. I waited for his comment. He said, quietly, " Now do you hear it?"
And then I did hear it, and the hair stirred on my nape. A soft, long-drawn moan, scarcely human in sound, issued from a copse of trees and shrub a rod or so downslope.
I gestured my pullers to stand to the 'shaw. I, Olombo, and Nifft fanned out in the grass and crept down toward the copse. Our probing ears found such silence within it, that we inched right to its periphery.
Now, from so close, the silence in the thicket changed quality. It was an occupied silence, that of a presence mutely intent on its work. Then there sounded a delicate crackle, as of a weight shifted upon the leafmold. Another gentle, long-drawn moan followed.
Now my nape stood stark: it was a human voice indeed, from a mouth frozen open, a lipless aperture emitting sound unshaped, its faintness testifying to frozen lungs that could draw scarce a cupful of air for utterance. My spine was understanding this faster than my mind, and when I felt another kind of emanation from the coppice, I groped for its meaning with terrified incomprehension.
This other emanation was an indescribable, prickly flux, a vaporous friction, a ghostly turmoil in the air that hovered over the groaning man. It felt more like a touch than a sound, yet I found myself struggling to hear it somehow. It whelmed out like invisible smoke from a fire, yet it seemed to probe softly for my understanding.
And with this intuition, comprehension came. It was a hellish, inhuman speech, pure thought imparted to the nerves and brain, an intimate, cozy murmuring of the Devourer to his helpless, still-conscious food:
. . . strange for you? To bid your limbs move, and find them unmoving? We relish you most for this amusing perplexity—our mindless prey are dull by comparison. . . . Now I shall begin to feed, here upon your legs . . . thus, and thus . . . I introduce the solvent that dissolves your tissues for my sucking out . . . mmmm, exquisite, that first sip of the fleshy soup!. . . . Slow and savoring is our creed, no gobbling, eh?. . . . You'll be with me quite a while yet before I must dissolve your vital parts . . .
My eyes had found my horror mirrored in Olombo's, and Nifft plainly understood as well. I have never mustered greater self-command than in signalling to them our silent withdrawal, and in setting the example of swift and noiseless retreat. Our looks and my
We all listened. There was only the easy breathing of the breeze through the grass and thickets around us.
"Do you know, Nifft," I began pleasantly, "in my first years as a Nuncio, I used to be tortured by the phrase `a fool's errand,' for I realized early on that at least half our commissions were fool's errands, by the common criteria of the world at large. Now in my maturity, I can quite calmly acknowledge that half the world misuses the Nuncial guild. Nuncios are exploited for the universal respect and freedom of passage that all nations accord them—exploited by cynical clients who, in brief, lie to them.
"Our clients lie to us about every aspect of a mission that is capable of falsification: they lie about what it is we carry, about why we carry it, about the true identity of its recipient, about the risks attending the delivery . . . what do they not lie to us about?
"But you know, Nifft, it's just here that a Nuncio's famous honor lies. Nuncios unbreakably swear to fulfill their contracts on the unfailing assumption of perfect truth in their clients. This is exactly what many would call the Nuncio's famous foolishness . But it is this sublime assumption of truth in others that gives us the respect and unmolested passage we enjoy almost the world over. Our unflinching assumption of truth, and our unfailing fulfillment of contract that logically follows from this assumption, have made our honor, and made it known in every nation."
His eyes were fixed on mine. I waited for his comment. He said, quietly, " Now do you hear it?"
And then I did hear it, and the hair stirred on my nape. A soft, long-drawn moan, scarcely human in sound, issued from a copse of trees and shrub a rod or so downslope.
I gestured my pullers to stand to the 'shaw. I, Olombo, and Nifft fanned out in the grass and crept down toward the copse. Our probing ears found such silence within it, that we inched right to its periphery.
Now, from so close, the silence in the thicket changed quality. It was an occupied silence, that of a presence mutely intent on its work. Then there sounded a delicate crackle, as of a weight shifted upon the leafmold. Another gentle, long-drawn moan followed.
Now my nape stood stark: it was a human voice indeed, from a mouth frozen open, a lipless aperture emitting sound unshaped, its faintness testifying to frozen lungs that could draw scarce a cupful of air for utterance. My spine was understanding this faster than my mind, and when I felt another kind of emanation from the coppice, I groped for its meaning with terrified incomprehension.
This other emanation was an indescribable, prickly flux, a vaporous friction, a ghostly turmoil in the air that hovered over the groaning man. It felt more like a touch than a sound, yet I found myself struggling to hear it somehow. It whelmed out like invisible smoke from a fire, yet it seemed to probe softly for my understanding.
And with this intuition, comprehension came. It was a hellish, inhuman speech, pure thought imparted to the nerves and brain, an intimate, cozy murmuring of the Devourer to his helpless, still-conscious food:
. . . strange for you? To bid your limbs move, and find them unmoving? We relish you most for this amusing perplexity—our mindless prey are dull by comparison. . . . Now I shall begin to feed, here upon your legs . . . thus, and thus . . . I introduce the solvent that dissolves your tissues for my sucking out . . . mmmm, exquisite, that first sip of the fleshy soup!. . . . Slow and savoring is our creed, no gobbling, eh?. . . . You'll be with me quite a while yet before I must dissolve your vital parts . . .
My eyes had found my horror mirrored in Olombo's, and Nifft plainly understood as well. I have never mustered greater self-command than in signalling to them our silent withdrawal, and in setting the example of swift and noiseless retreat. Our looks and my
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