The Cat Who Knew How to Cry

6. DEATH'S ASSISTANT (part 1)

Fighting bull, but your god didn't give you horns? Go to the nearest temple of Veindor the Merciful.

We'll help you. And punish your god.

The inscription on Talia Murr an Kamian's garment

The portal cabin's curved door moved silently to the side, letting a whole family of moon slugs that had been hiding from birds behind its rosy glass fall at Irson's feet. The sweet scent of fresh grass, clean laundry and mollusks boiled in cream permeated the moist air. Not a soul in sight. To his left a detailed map of the Nalarite District stood out accommodatingly. Behind it dark buildings on high stilts were sprinkled chaotically along the width of the canal, their spacious terraces connected by dozens of light wooden bridges. An alley curved outward directly in front of the cabin. A grey two-story building stretched on its right side, its oval-shaped windows and doors framed with gaping fish jaws, lending credence to the portal point's[1] name – "Tooth Alley." Various sea creatures' long teeth gleamed with silver varnish, while the angular rooms of the second floor – apparently the childrens' – featured slightly shorter, brightly colored fangs of turquoise, ocher and cerulean.

The road was paved with porous yellow stone, the tiles coming off in places to reveal shreds of moss that looked like sheaves of gnarled birds' feet. Irson noticed with interest the faint citrus smell emanating from it. He bent down and carefully tore off a rough stem, twirled it between his fingers... and nearly fell off the path, which suddenly started shaking with a thunderous vibration, the tiles jumping and falling back down with a squish. Grabbing onto a nearby streetlamp pole, the Tanae was forced to withdraw into a ditch lined with shells. "My nose is my enemy!" he said to himself with a grimace, curiously sniffing the moss. The path continued to quake.

"Master snake!" someone called to him. "Don't worry, he's not coming."

"Who?" Irson asked, glancing around in search of the speaker.

"Gshrut. You know, gshrut – pockmarked, with three rows of teeth." The stranger bent over the terrace railing that girded the second floor of the nearest raised house. "It's symbiotic with chicken moss. The moss is good – everyone wants to feast on it, so it avoids getting eaten by hook or by crook. It's naturally found in long caves with only one entrance. As soon as someone wanders in for a bite, it starts the shaking. It calls on its friend – gshrut doesn't react to anything but vibrations. Its friend comes forth from its den, blocks the entrance to the cave and devours the would-be moss eaters. Except who's going to let a gshrut into the city? But ours is some grade A moss – even the tiles jump when it starts to shake."

"Thanks for the lecture," Irson smiled at the eternal Alaean passion for telling visitors about local sights and curiosities (it seemed every knocked-over flowerpot and mousehole had been added to the list of Briaellar's such sights).

The road stopped trembling and the Tanae was able to approach the loquacious stranger. She was most likely a member of House an Aeliatan[1]. Her ears pressed against her head called to mind triangular patches of black velvet against the smooth silk surface of her orange hair, typical of these dreamer-cats. A little chain was threaded through their ends from her earrings, then wound around the casual bun on the back of her head. There was something adolescent about her thin, angular figure, with its sharp elbows and protruding collarbones... or elvish. Another typical trait of this race.

"Oh, sorry, I'm looking for Talia an Kamian," said Irson, coming back to reality.

It's all right!" she answered. "I can help, but it'll cost you a couple hundred."

"Why so expensive? Did you plan on carrying me to her in your arms?" Irson inquired, matching her tone.

Uh-huh," she nodded. "For fifty, I'll carry you right to the Morgue. And for one fifty, you can buy yourself new eyes there. They're having a sale. For a single, the discount is doubled."