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the unpopular and the incompetent.”
Narcissus smiled. “Yes, the guards don’t last long. For a while, I got special concessions when I told them that since the dogs liked me, they’d be less likely to attack the ones who gave me things that made me happy. That worked for while; I got the mirror, and some extra food, and even a hairbrush. But then the bigger hound got angry with the female guard, one of those insectlike ones, and snapped off her foreleg. I didn’t get any extras after that.”
“How’d she walk without the foreleg?” Clovache asked.
“Not very well. In fact, I had to laugh,” Narcissus said.
Batanya looked at him. He was quite heartless, she decided, unless the pity and sympathy were directed at him. But he wasn’t useless.
“How often do the hellhounds come around?” she asked Amelia.
“Twice a day, at least that’s what they did yesterday,” Amelia said briskly. “I think this is morning, and this was their first visit. Do you know what time it is?”
Batanya shrugged. “I lost track.”
“I guess they’re let loose for regular patrols. Or maybe they’re controlled some other way. I haven’t seen a handler. They get to do what they want, as you saw.”
Batanya sat on her bed and began to think. At least she and Clovache were side by side. There was no point in counting on any help from Narcissus. At any moment, his mirror could distract him, and his only concern was himself. At any moment, he could decide that his own comfort and pleasure were better served by inaction than action. But Amelia seemed plucky.
Perhaps Narcissus, a mythological character known even in Spauling’s literature, could be considered timeless. Maybe he was even immortal. But Amelia Earhart, according to her own testimony, was a complete human, tied to a specific time line in Earth’s history. Somehow, she’d time-traveled successfully, a fact that the magicians and technicians who powered the Britlingen Collective would find extremely interesting. Not that they had any business tampering with time; in fact, the possibility gave Batanya deep misgivings. But returning with Amelia, if that was possible, would make up for having let their client Crick get captured. Plus, Amelia seemed like a sensible woman, and she didn’t seem to have any idea of how to return to her own time and place in the world, whatever that might have been.
“Listen, Amelia, Clovache,” Batanya said. She didn’t like that Narcissus could overhear, but she had no option. She had no writing materials, and she wasn’t telepathic, and she didn’t know sign language. When I get back, she thought, I’ll ask the teachers to put sign language on the curriculum. She smiled. It was extremely unlikely they’d live to do that, but she could tell her survival sense had decreed that she should plan on it.
Amelia and Clovache both came to the front of their cages.
“How long do we have before they feed us?” Batanya asked Amelia.
Amelia pondered. “They should be by with something pretty soon,” she said. “The feeding’s not exactly regular, but we do get three meals a day. It’s pretty much the same food no matter what the time of day is: not really breakfast, dinner, supper.”
Batanya said, “We have to get out of here. Sooner or later, Lucifer will get tired of Crick, or he’ll forget he doesn’t want to alienate the Collective—we’ll explain that to you later, Amelia—and he’ll have us killed, or we’ll meet an ‘accident.’ You’ll notice he’s pretty careless with his soldiers.”
“I’m listening,” Amelia said. “What about sissy-boy, here?” She nodded toward Narcissus’s cage. A glance told Batanya that the beautiful youth was busy brushing his chestnut hair.
“He’s all for himself,” Batanya said. “The best we can hope is that he doesn’t get in our way.” Narcissus, still sans clothing, began examining his body, pore by pore, as far as Batanya could tell. He lifted his genitals,
Narcissus smiled. “Yes, the guards don’t last long. For a while, I got special concessions when I told them that since the dogs liked me, they’d be less likely to attack the ones who gave me things that made me happy. That worked for while; I got the mirror, and some extra food, and even a hairbrush. But then the bigger hound got angry with the female guard, one of those insectlike ones, and snapped off her foreleg. I didn’t get any extras after that.”
“How’d she walk without the foreleg?” Clovache asked.
“Not very well. In fact, I had to laugh,” Narcissus said.
Batanya looked at him. He was quite heartless, she decided, unless the pity and sympathy were directed at him. But he wasn’t useless.
“How often do the hellhounds come around?” she asked Amelia.
“Twice a day, at least that’s what they did yesterday,” Amelia said briskly. “I think this is morning, and this was their first visit. Do you know what time it is?”
Batanya shrugged. “I lost track.”
“I guess they’re let loose for regular patrols. Or maybe they’re controlled some other way. I haven’t seen a handler. They get to do what they want, as you saw.”
Batanya sat on her bed and began to think. At least she and Clovache were side by side. There was no point in counting on any help from Narcissus. At any moment, his mirror could distract him, and his only concern was himself. At any moment, he could decide that his own comfort and pleasure were better served by inaction than action. But Amelia seemed plucky.
Perhaps Narcissus, a mythological character known even in Spauling’s literature, could be considered timeless. Maybe he was even immortal. But Amelia Earhart, according to her own testimony, was a complete human, tied to a specific time line in Earth’s history. Somehow, she’d time-traveled successfully, a fact that the magicians and technicians who powered the Britlingen Collective would find extremely interesting. Not that they had any business tampering with time; in fact, the possibility gave Batanya deep misgivings. But returning with Amelia, if that was possible, would make up for having let their client Crick get captured. Plus, Amelia seemed like a sensible woman, and she didn’t seem to have any idea of how to return to her own time and place in the world, whatever that might have been.
“Listen, Amelia, Clovache,” Batanya said. She didn’t like that Narcissus could overhear, but she had no option. She had no writing materials, and she wasn’t telepathic, and she didn’t know sign language. When I get back, she thought, I’ll ask the teachers to put sign language on the curriculum. She smiled. It was extremely unlikely they’d live to do that, but she could tell her survival sense had decreed that she should plan on it.
Amelia and Clovache both came to the front of their cages.
“How long do we have before they feed us?” Batanya asked Amelia.
Amelia pondered. “They should be by with something pretty soon,” she said. “The feeding’s not exactly regular, but we do get three meals a day. It’s pretty much the same food no matter what the time of day is: not really breakfast, dinner, supper.”
Batanya said, “We have to get out of here. Sooner or later, Lucifer will get tired of Crick, or he’ll forget he doesn’t want to alienate the Collective—we’ll explain that to you later, Amelia—and he’ll have us killed, or we’ll meet an ‘accident.’ You’ll notice he’s pretty careless with his soldiers.”
“I’m listening,” Amelia said. “What about sissy-boy, here?” She nodded toward Narcissus’s cage. A glance told Batanya that the beautiful youth was busy brushing his chestnut hair.
“He’s all for himself,” Batanya said. “The best we can hope is that he doesn’t get in our way.” Narcissus, still sans clothing, began examining his body, pore by pore, as far as Batanya could tell. He lifted his genitals,
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