“It is hard to talk when I am bound,” he said.

“Stallan,” Enge said, “what the creature says is true.”

“It attacked you, have you forgotten that?”

“No, but that was when we first brought it in. And you will remember it bit me only when it thought I was hurting the female.” She turned to Kerrick. “Will you try to injure me again?”

“Never. You are my teacher. I know if I speak well you will reward me with food and not hurt me.”

“I marvel that an ustuzou can talk — but it is still a wild creature and must be secured.” Stallan was adamant. “Vaintè put it in my charge and I will obey my orders.”

“Obey them, but bend them a slight amount. Free its legs at least. It will make talking easier.”

In the end Stallan reluctantly agreed and that day Kerrick worked especially hard, knowing that his secret plan had moved ahead just that single step.

There was no way to count the days, nor did Kerrick particularly care how much time had passed. When he had been in the north, with his sammad, winter and summer had been markedly different and it had been important to know the time of year for the hunting. But here, in the endless heat, the passage of time did not matter. Sometimes rain would drum on the transparent skin above the room, while at other times it would be darkened by clouds. Kerrick knew only that a long time had passed since Ysel’s death, when there was an interruption to their daily lesson. The rattle of the outside lock drew the attention of both of them so that they turned to look when the door swung open. Kerrick welcomed the novel event until Vaintè entered.

Although the murgu were very similar one to the other he had learned to notice differences. And Vaintè was one creature whom he would never forget. He automatically signaled submission and respect as she stamped across the floor towards them, was pleased to see that she was in a good mood as well.

“You have done well in your animal-training, Enge. There are stupid fargi out there that do not respond as clearly or as quickly as this one. Make it speak again.”

“You may converse with it yourself.”

“Can I? I don’t believe it. Why it is like giving instructions to a boat and having it answer you back.” She turned to Kerrick and said clearly. “Go left, boat, go left.”

“I am not a boat, but I can go left.”

He walked slowly about the room while Vaintè expressed disbelief and pleasure in equal portions.

“Stand before me. Tell me the name you have been given.”

“Kerrick.”

“That means nothing. You are a ustuzou so you cannot say it correctly. It must be said this way, Ekerik.”

Vaintè could not realize that it was the sounds alone that made up his name. She added the physical modifiers so that in its entirety it signified slow-stupid. Kerrick could not have cared less.

“Ekerik,” he said, then again with the modifiers, “Slow-stupid.”

“I could almost be talking to a fargi,” Vaintè said. “But see how unclearly it says Slow-stupid.”

“It can do no better,” Enge explained. “Having no tail it cannot complete the motion correctly. But see, it has taught itself that twisting motion which is as close as it can come.”

“I will have need of the creature soon. The uruketo has brought Zhekak from Inegban* to work with Vanalpè. She is vain and she is fat — but she has the best scientific brain in Entoban*. She must stay here for we need her help. I wish to please her in every way. You must see that this ustuzou attracts her attention. The sight of a talking ustuzou will be a success I wish to achieve.”

Kerrick expressed only respectful attention as she turned to him. Unlike the Yilanè where to think a thought was to express it — he could lie very well. Vaintè looked him up and down coldly.

“It looks filthy, it must be washed.”

“It is washed daily. That is its natural color.”

“Disgusting. As is the creature’s penis. Can’t it be forced to withdraw it into its pouch?”

“It has no pouch.”

“Then have one made and attach it. The same color as the the creature’s flesh so it will not be noticed. And why is its skull scratched like that?”

“The fur is cut off daily. You ordered it.”

“Of course I did — but I didn’t order the ugly thing to be butchered as well. Talk to Vanalpè. Tell her to find a better way of defurring it. Do this at once.”

Kerrick just expressed humble thanks and amplified respect when they left. Not until they were gone and the door was sealed did he permit himself to straighten up and laugh out loud. It was a very hard world, but at the age of nine he was learning to survive in it very well.

Vanalpè came that same day, shown in by Stallan, and followed by her usual train of assistants and eager fargi. There were too many of them to fit into the small chamber and Vanalpè made all of them, other than her first assistant, wait outside. The assistant put the bundles and containers on the floor while Vanalpè walked around Kerrick examining him closely.

“I’ve never seen a live one before,” she said. “But I know the creature well. I did the dissection on the other.”

She was behind Kerrick’s back when she said this so he did not hear it all. Which was just as well since the Yilanè expression for dissection was the very literal cutting-dead-meat-apart-to-learn.

“Tell me, Stallan, can it really speak?”

“It is an animal.” Stallan did not share the general interest in the ustuzou and wanted it dead. But she obeyed orders and did it no injury.

“Speak!” Vanalpè ordered.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Wonderful,” Vanalpè said and instantly lost all interest. “What have you been using to remove the fur?”

“A string-knife.”

“Very messy. You’ve butchered the animal. Those things are better for cutting meat. Bring me the unutakh,” she ordered her assistant.

The brown, slug-like creature was shaken out of the container onto the palm of Vanalpè’s hand. “I use it for preparing specimens. It digests the fur but not the hide. But only on dead specimens so far. Let us see how it works on a live one.”

Stallan hurled Kerrick to the floor and leaned on him as Vanalpè pried the rolled-up unutakh open and placed it on his skull. He shivered away from the cold, slimy touch and the Yilanè expressed amusement at the sight. It crawled damply across his skin.

“Very good,” Vanalpè announced. “Flesh unharmed, fur removed. Now for the next problem. The creature certainly needs a pouch. I have this tanned hide, almost a perfect color match. Just a matter of fitting it into place and trimming it. I’ve lined it with modified bandages to adhere to the skin. Good. Stand it up now.”

Kerrick was close to tears at the rough and insulting handling but he forced them back. Murgu would not see him cry. The cold slug still crawled across his scalp and was now over one eye. When it moved away he glanced down at the small breechclout that they were fitting into place. It was no bother to him. He forgot about it as the slug went slowly across the lashes of his other eye.

It would be many years before he would learn that the covering pouch was made from the preserved and well-tanned skin of Ysel, the girl who had been murdered before his eyes.