Celephaïs: The Cheesemaker

– 1 –

“My usual, please, Master van der Kerk.”

“Mistress Chuli, good to see you again,” replied the man behind the counter. “That’d be a block of Gouda and a block of my own Ambroli, right?”

Chuli smiled, white teeth bright against dark brown skin.

“Yes. I love your Ambroli… can’t find it anywhere else!”

The man stopped with a look of mock horror on his face.

“Mistress Chuli! Surely you haven’t been to a different shop!?”

“On, no, of course not! Of course not,” she laughed. “I’ve been coming here for years and have no intention of ever going anywhere else.

“No, my husband and I visited Lhosk the other day, and I tried to find something good to eat there… most of them knew it, but none had any to offer.”

“It doesn’t ship very well, I’m afraid,” said Lujan van der Kerk, wrapping up a block of tan-colored cheese in a large leaf and placing it on the counter. “Something about the sea air. Too salty.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I’m sure they’d fall in love with it, too.”

“I have more than enough happy customers here in Celephaïs, Mistress.”

He finished wrapping up the Gouda and handed her both packages.

“Thank you so much, Master van der Kerk,” she smiled, and dropped a few coins into his waiting hand “Until next time, then.”

“Have a pleasant day, Mistress. Best to the Poietes.”

She blew him a kiss as she stepped outside and vanished into the crowd of the marketplace.

Lujan van der Kerk, once of Imaut, pulled a long, thin knife out of the rack.

He carefully shaved off a thin, almost transparent slice of orange Yann Sharp, folded it over twice, and popped it into his mouth.

He closed his eyes in momentary delight at the tangy flavor, then dutifully wiped the knife clean and returned it to the rack. It was almost time for closing anyway, he thought as he checked the position of the sun against the silhouette of the Wall of Euphrosyne. His shop would be in shadow in minutes, and that meant he could expect only a very few customers.

Lujan lit the oil lamp on the counter, then closed the wood shutters over the window and drove the iron bolts home to lock them in place. The door was locked and bolted, of course. The stairs to the living quarters on the second floor danced in the flickering lamplight, and the massive door to the storeroom looked heavier than ever.

Instead of heading upstairs, he opened the storeroom door and stepped inside, closing the door again behind him.

The walls were lined with shelves, packed with wheels of cheeses of all sorts, but he walked past them all without a glance, straight to the second door at the back of the room.

He pulled the ornate key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. It was too dark to see inside, but he didn’t hesitate: he knew every inch.

Lujan snuffed the oil lamp out and set it on a nearby shelf, closing the door as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the faint bluish light.

In the center of the room a large iron grate was set into the floor. Coolness flowed up from below, making the tiny brilliant motes dance in the air.

Spores.

They glowed blue, their dim light revealing dozens of wheels of Ambroli. He checked each one carefully, looking for the slightest imperfection or discoloration, until he reached the end, and stood in front of the altar. It was covered in fungi of all shapes, all blue in the light of the spores.

He knelt to kiss the low stone pedestal.

“Mycelia Spore-Mother, I offer my flesh and blood to you freely. I beseech your blessing for myself and my house.”

He held a small knife to his palm and sliced it open, grunting in pain as blood spurted out onto the pedestal. He gritted his teeth and set his bloody palm flat onto the pedestal, and waited, head bowed, chanting the prayer to his goddess under his breath.

The pedestal slowly turned darker, stained with blood shining black in the dim lighting.

The prayer ended, and he lifted his head to gaze upon the misshapen form of his goddess above the altar. Was that the faintest hint of a smile on that rough-hewn face? Were her swollen limbs, her pendulous breasts, more shapely, more human, than before?

He thought so, but he’d thought that every day for dozens of years. Perhaps she would never come to him here. Perhaps.

He lifted his blood-stained hand from the pedestal and stared at it in awe.

Her blessing!

The wound was gone, healed to leave only a smear of blood and one more scar to join the dozens upon dozens that already crisscrossed his palm.

A few shining motes danced across his palm, or in it.

Lujan van der Kerk, Godsworn of Mycelia and purveyor of fine cheeses to the people of Celephaïs, kissed the pedestal once again and turned to go upstairs to family and supper.

– 2 –

“What is it, Gobbler? Is daddy back?”

Wiping her hands on her apron, Glaire stuck her head out and looked into the street. Gobbler, their pet raptor, was pushing at the bars across the lower half of the doorway, eager to get outside.

It was Finh, alright, walking beside the enormous deino pulling the wagon. It slogged along, one heavy clump at a time, oblivious to angry objections of passers-by who had to step out of the way to let it pass, and also seemingly oblivious to the ton of wet clay in the wagon.

“I’m home!” came her husband’s voice in confirmation. “Let me get this wagon out of the way, and take the deino back. Everything OK here?”

“Sure, everything’s fine. I was just having a cup with Nessie. The kids are still at schola, should be back soon. You want some tea?”

“I need something cold more than some tea, Glaire. Be a bit yet, though… later.”

He prodded, whacked, and cajoled the deino until the heavy wagon was safely in the workroom, then unhitched it and walked it back toward the Street of Pillars where he’d rented it earlier that day. He could afford to buy his own deino, of course—he could get a perfectly good deino for six or seven tiaras—but finding a place to keep it in the city was more difficult, especially when you considered how narrow these alleyways were. Not to mention how much food they ate!

He only needed one when he went off to his quarry in the Tanarian Hills to fetch more clay, once a year or so.

He returned the deino and collected his surety. They’d dealt with each other so long he probably didn’t even need to put up a surety anymore, but he’d never asked.

He took a small detour and picked up a half-dozen cinnamon honey cakes shaped like butterflies.

By the time he got home Kahlia and Finjul were waiting, and delighted to see his present.

“Thank you, papa,” said Kahlia as she accepted a cake politely, and gave a small bow in thanks. Only ten, she was already acting like the beautiful lady she would no doubt grow to be.

Finjul, two years younger and far more energetic, was less polite, snatching up one cake in each hand and managing to get a muffled thanks out in spite of cramming them into his mouth at once.

He sat down at the table with his wife and Mistress Nessie from across the street and wiped his face with the moist towel Glaire handed him.

“Hot day to be dragging all that clay around, Master Finh,” said Mistress Nessie.

“Poor deino did the draggin’,” he explained. “I just told it where to go.”

“Uh-huh,” nodded Glaire. “And who loaded all that clay onto the wagon?”

“I told that clay to get in the wagon, and it jumped right up there by itself! Magic!”

“Here, Oh Great Sorcerer—some cool ale may help the cake go down.”

He accepted the jack of ale gratefully and down half of it in a single gulp. He visibly relaxed and set the jack down on the table.

“Getting pretty old to be carting around tons of clay anymore,” he sighed.

“Can I have the last one?”

Glaire reached out slapped the boy’s hand away from the last cake.

“You already had two, you pig! That’s your father’s, and say thank you properly, young man!”

“Thank you, father,” he parroted at once. “But if you don’t want it…”

“No such luck, Finjul,” laughed Finh and popped the cake into his mouth.

He turned back to the two women.

“Forgive me, I must smell like deino… Let me go wash up. I won’t be able to get that clay all cleaned up until tomorrow; might get some throwing done in the afternoon, though.”

“Fin! Kahlia! I’m going to the baths. You want to come?”

“No thank you, papa,” came the girl’s voice. “I’ve got to finish my sums before it gets dark.”

“Good girl!” he nodded. “And you, Finjul? No homework for you?”

“I’ll do it later, papa, promise!”

“A man keeps his promises, Finjul,” broke in Claire. “And I’ll hold you to it, later.”

“You and Kahlia’ll go later? Or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, I think,” replied his wife.

“I’ll pay for you, too, then. Be back in a bit,” said Finh, draining the jack and standing from the table. “C’mon, lad, let’s go see who’s at the baths today.”

* * *

Finjul, riding a sugar high from the cakes he’d wolfed down, stayed reasonably close to his father as they walked down the alley. He’d learned that much, at least, and Finh kept an eye on him to be sure he didn’t break anything or get trampled by a passing horse.

Most of the shop owners merely watched the boy pass: a few scowled, perhaps at some unfortunate recollection, one handed Finjul a piece of apple and sent him on his way.

The sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon and the baths would be getting busier as people finished their work for the day.

They headed toward the public baths. Finh had left his wallet at home, carrying only two iron skelfs, the smallest coin. The public bath was only a skelf, cheap enough that even the lowest-paid laborers could afford it.

The entrance to the bath was crowded with people coming and going. There was the usual assortment of soldiers, merchants, dock workers, housewives, children of all ages, even a Godsworn or two. Many public baths in the Dreamlands were mixed bathing, but this particular one had separate baths for men and women to prevent undue problems. In theory it was to keep the noisy children away from the men’s bath, but nobody had any illusions about what sort of problems they were trying to prevent.

The Lofts and its vast array of entertainment were quite some distance away, but the fish market and the cargo seadocks were a short walk. Not everyone in Celephaïs was gentle and restrained, regardless of what King Kuranes might think.

Finh coughed.

It was a small cough, the sort of cough anyone might make.

He coughed again, and felt a searing pain in his chest.

He clutched his side, over the lower part of his right lung, and stopped, bent at an angle to the right by the pain.

His face contorted in pain, he slowly collapsed onto his knees, catching himself from toppling facedown with his other hand.

“Papa…?”

“Finjul… I can’t…”

“Papa? Papa!”

His hand failed and he fell the rest of the way.

The boy knelt at his father’s side, pulling helplessly on his tunic as a thread of spittle dribbled from his mouth to the cobblestones.

Before the blackness claimed him, he heard a woman’s voice shouting for Healer Pontil.

– 3 –

Lujan frowned and held his breath for a moment.

There it was again… a tiny movement.

The boards of the wood floor creaked faintly, one rising the merest fraction of a millimeter as he watched.

Something had stirred them up, he thought.

“Crija? Could you take over for a few minutes?”

“Be right down!” shouted his wife from upstairs. She joined him shortly, wiping her hands on her apron. “What’s up?”

“Just need to check on something in the storeroom,” he said. “Shouldn’t be long.”

He hurried through the storeroom with its wheels of cheese and unlocked the door to the second room at the very back. He had brought no oil lamp with him this time, but long years had etched every step into his memory, and by the time he’d raised the heavy iron grate from the floor to reveal the yawning pit beneath, his eyes had adjusted to the point he could see perfectly well in the dim blue light emitted by the tiny motes drifting in the air.

He pulled his sandals off, setting them neatly next to the yawning pit, and without any hesitation swung his legs in and climbed down into the darkness.

There were no motes here to illuminate his way, but the walls and ceiling were covered with splotches of something that looked like lichen, giving off a dull red light. It was enough to make out the walls of the rough-hewn tunnel and the enormous mushrooms growing from every surface except the narrow, twisting path leading into the gloom from the ladder.

As he walked deeper into the tunnel, following the trickle of water that ran down the center of the path, he picked off a few convenient mushrooms to nibble on, enjoying their pungent flavor and chewy texture. He’d always wanted to sell mushrooms, too, but all the truly delicious ones dried out so quickly in the outside world…

He could hear them twitching and sliding before he could see them.

The tunnel opened up on one side into a fairly broad space, filled with thin stalks waving back and forth like wheat in the autumn breeze: a multitude of mushrooms. In the reddish light they all looked black but he knew they were really a yellowish white, the shade of old ivory, the tiny cap at the top of each stalk a brilliant, electric blue.

“What is it, my lovelies? What do you hear?”

There was no response, of course, and Lujan wriggled his toes in the damp soil, digging his feet slightly into the earth. He closed his eyes, relaxing his body as his breathing and heartbeat slowed and his senses sharpened until he could feel the fungoid life around him.

The tall, thin mushrooms waved as if in an unseen wind, uneasy, afraid… the gardeners, dozen-centimeter long slugs, had pulled in their eyestalks and were huddled in place, afraid to venture forth even into the safety of this hidden garden.

This was the third time he’d seen this, although he didn’t realize what was happening the first time until much later. Fatally later.

Something dark had come to Celephaïs, something evil.

– 4 –

“Healer Theros?”

“Yes, what is it?” she answered, putting down the hairbrush and stroking the long-haired cat one last time.

“It’s happened again, Healer, this time in the Cirque of the Jade Bull just south of the Avenue of Amphitrite. Healer Pontil says he’s tried everything and nothing works.”

“The same thing?”

“It seems to be,” said the young Godsworn, nervously pushing his long black hair back up atop his ear with one hand. “Acute pain and coughing, weakness, bluish vision with ‘flies’, a growth of whitish-gray tissue around the mouth, eyes, and elsewhere. Fainting. The first case was just reported yesterday, and so far there are no reports of anyone reaching the final stages.”

“Eaten alive from the inside by those creatures… a horrible way to die…”

The cat, ignored, plopped off her lap to the floor, and leisurely stalked out of the room.

“I hoped we’d seen the last of that horror years ago…”

“As did I. But it’s back, and Healer Pontil asks for your urgent assistance. A family of four: the husband and two children are sick but the wife is not.”

“At once, of course, but I fear I can do little,” said Theros, standing and adjusting her simple sky-blue robe. She picked up her serpent-entwined staff, sign of her calling and her goddess, and strode out of the room with the vitality of a young woman in spite of her salt-and-pepper hair.

“Find Godsworn Cressida and tell her everything you have just told me. It is of the utmost urgency,” she commanded as she left, and he bowed as she passed.

“To the altar,” she said to the two women waiting outside her room. They were young, only admitted to the order a few years ago, and although they were still studying and mastering the techniques of healing, today they would serve as her assistants.

They would certainly remember the lessons learned today, she thought to herself.

Her quarters were only a short distance from the central altar of the temple, and as the four of them entered the main hall she noted half a dozen people who had come to be healed. Other Healers were already talking to them, helping them as needed.

She smiled to herself as she recognized Pharad, a rotund pubkeeper in his forties who came every week without fail, complaining of new aches and pains. She’d looked at him herself, and agreed with the opinion of the other Healers who had seen him in the past: he was merely a hypochondriac. Still, he was a wealthy hypochondriac, and if he felt better after a Healer laid hands on him and proclaimed him cured, then it was a just fee for a service rendered.

She knew of several Healers who visited his pub to give him a “quick checkup” which somehow always seemed to involve a drink or two on the house.

The altar was immaculate, as always, the light shining in through the high windows reflecting off the polished bluish marble surface. In the center of the altar was a wide, shallow bowl of golden orichalc, half-filled with fine white sand and scattered piles of powdery white ash. Two sticks of resiny incense still smoldered, standing upright in the sand and giving off wisps of pungent smoke. A smaller plate to the side held ruddy embers.

It was flanked by coiled snakes, captured with the energy of life in silver, the one to the left coiled tightly at rest, tongue flicking out to test the supplicant, the one to the right with head up, poised and ready to strike. Rumor said that the right-hand snake would come to life to bite and kill any who failed the test.

Theros knew the truth of the matter, of course, but wisely made no comment.

She pulled back the sleeve of her robe and picked up a small stick coated with yellowish resin, praying to Panakeia, Goddess of Healing, in ancient Greek. She waved her hand to flare the glowing ember to life, and touched the incense stick to it until it caught, then carefully stood it in the sand. She inclined her head in respect, still chanting, and repeated the process two more times before she was done.

She stood and adjusted her robe once again, then turned to face the others.

“And now to work,” she announced, and they trailed her as she strode from the temple. North along the Wall of Aglaea, and across the Avenue of the Lad in Green, then the broad Street of Pillars. The buildings were fairly clean here, merchants and craftsmen showing their wares or working in their shops; shoppers, hawkers, children, even tourists, were common here, but shortly they reached the Healer blocking the entrance to an alleyway.

“Healer Theros! Thank goodness you’ve come,” he said, stepping back to open the way.

“May we pass, Healer?”

He bowed and waved them on.

“Of course, my apologies! Healer Pontil is with them now.”

“Thank you,” she replied, nodding briefly as she led her party past.

There was another Healer standing at the doorway to an older, two-story building. Like many of the homes in this area, the structure consisted of two homes, each with its own entrance and in this case each housing a family.

“Healer Pontil!”

A youngish, balding head popped out of a nearby window.

“Healer! Thank Panakeia you’re here! Come in, come in, please!”

The rooms smelled faintly of pine and lavender, additives used to provide a gentle, cleansing scent to the medicinal incense healers used. She noted that every doorway and window had been properly “sealed” with a stick of slow-burn incense to contain whatever was loose in these poor people.

A middle-aged woman knelt in the atrium, beseeching her aid.

Theros squatted in front of her, placing her hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“I am Healer Theros of Panakeia, Mistress. Lift your head and come, sit with me.”

The woman looked up into Theros’ face for a moment, then wiped the tears off her cheeks with her sleeve. Theros sat, patting the bench next to her until the woman joined her.

“What is your name, Mistress?”

“Glaire, Healer. Glaire of Ophir.”

“Ophir is a beautiful city, Mistress Glaire. I love the beauty of its iridescent domes in the fires of the setting sun.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Oh, many times, Mistress Glaire, many times. Tell me, when did you come to Celephaïs?”

“My father promised me to Master Finh a little more than a twelve of years ago, and I have lived here with him since.”

“A potter, I see, and judging from that vase over there, a very good one.”

“My husband is an artist; many of his works can be found in High City.”

“A talented man indeed,” soothed Theros. “Tell me about him.”

The conversation proceeded, Theros gradually relaxing the woman, taking her mind off the sickness affecting her family while probing for more information. Theros knew that Healer Pontil had already examined the sick, and for now she wanted to know why Glaire’s husband and two children had fallen sick while Glaire had not.

She discovered that the potter, Finh, had gone into the Tanarian Hills east of the city to gather more clay. He had a secret source deep in the Hills, Glaire explained, that yielded high-quality clay. He’d returned only a few days earlier, with a wagonload of clay.

Yes, Glaire nodded, he’d been doing the exact same thing, and bringing home the exact same clay, ever since they’d wed eleven years earlier.

He hadn’t taken the children, ten-year old Kahlia and eight-year old Finjul, with him.

He had fallen unconscious suddenly on the way to the public bath, and had been falling in and out of consciousness since. The children—the boy first, then later the girl—had started coughing several hours later and were now unconscious as well… infested with ravenous creatures that would eat them from the inside out before bursting free to escape back into the wild.

She had seen all this before and felt as helpless now as she did then—unable to do anything to help, unable to even discern the track of the evil as she could so many other injuries or diseases. It was invisible to her, and even physicians could find nothing to treat but the symptoms.

And thus far these symptoms always meant death.

Was it something in the clay?

She questioned the woman in depth. Had she ever touched the clay? Had her children?

Glaire herself never touched slimy clay, she said, and she was busy with housework and the children besides. The children might have, she admitted; they were always getting into things they shouldn’t.

But Finh had used this clay countless times before, she wailed.

She comforted the woman as best she could, then stood.

“Let me tend to Finh, and to your children, Mistress Glaire. Rest for now.”

Finh was awake, lying face-up on the bed. Only his eyes were moving, seemingly following insects about the room. She knew bluish spots were dancing in his eyes, making him think there were tiny insects circling him, but there was nothing there. The tiny specks he saw were actually inside his eyeballs, not mere hallucinations, but the Healers would keep that unpleasant fact to themselves.

A flaky, whitish material was caked around his mouth and nostrils, thinner in the corners of his eyes. From experience she knew it couldn’t be washed off, and if scrubbed or picked off would leave the flesh bleeding and raw.

“They are just dots in your eyes, Master Finh. They can’t hurt you at all.”

“Who…?”

“I am Healer Theros, Master Finh. I bring the blessing of Panakeia for you and your children,” she said, even as she wondered if her Goddess’ blessing could succor him.

With the help of Healer Pontil and her two assistants she set up the portable altar, and measured out the ingredients for the incense herself. She ground them slowly and precisely in a ceramic mortar until they were a fine dust, then added the tarry oil to the mixture, kneading it with her fingers until it reached the desired consistency.

Silently, she worked it into a small pyramid, perhaps a centimeter on a side, and placed the finished piece on a small bronze dish. She sat down cross-legged next to Finh and accepted a piece of lit punk from Pontil, using it to light the pyramid.

She handed it back as the pyramidal incense began emitting a light green cloud of smoke that smelled vaguely of wet dog. With her two assistants mimicking her every move, she began to chant once again in ancient Greek

She closed her eyes and used the gift of the Goddess to look into his body, searching for the tracks of disease. There was an insect bite, easily cured. A bit of tooth decay that might become painful in a year or two, impossible for her to fix but she could at least slow it down. Nothing in the heart, the lungs, the brain, the spine… she dug deeper, inspecting individual organs one at a time, probing, searching for any trace of the invader.

His lungs were seeping blood, slowly, through damaged tissue. She helped his body begin to repair the damage, but try as she might she could detect no sign of any possible cause. And even as she worked to stop the flow and heal Finh’s lungs, blood began to seep through in new places, undoing all the gains she had made.

A sense of hopelessness washed over her… even with the help of the Goddess, she could see nothing. No track of illness, no injury, no sign of the hungry worm she knew lurked within.

She thought furiously, searching for anything that might help, and her concentration flagged. Her sense of Finh’s body spread, became indistinct.

Something was off.

She couldn’t identify it at first, but once she figured it out she couldn’t understand how she’d missed it. How they’d all missed it.

“It’s not what we can see,” she whispered, “It’s what we can’t.”

Where there should be a pulsing tapestry of blood vessels, nerves, muscle, the architecture of a man in his prime, there was a blank, a splotch of emptiness, in one lung. She couldn’t see what it was, she could only see where the natural tissue of Finh’s body ended, vanishing into a blob of nothingness that was impossible to bring into focus.

“Look at his left lung, Pontil. At the bottom. And you too,” she added to her assistants. “There’s something there, something I cannot track at all.”

There was a moment of silence, and then a gasp from Pontil both

“But what is it? Why can’t we see its track?”

“And how did we miss it until now?” asked Theros. “If the Goddess cannot show us its track it must be Other… something from Outside.”

“The stones of Mnar, in the Temple!”

“Yes, the starstones of Mnar may help. We must bring one here at once.”

Theros spun around to face her assistants.

“Ban Thua, return to the Temple at once, and bring one of the starstones.”

The woman nodded, stood, and hurried out of the room on her mission.

“Treyd, summon the city Watch. I need the whole block cordoned off, nobody in or out until I can check them. Godsworn Cressida, Master Chuang, and probably others will be coming; guide them to me immediately. you are also to the temple.”

“Yes, Healer,” said the young Godsworn, and fled.

“Healer Pontil, assist me. We must check the children as well, and also Mistress Glaire.”

“And perhaps even the clay, Healer,” suggested Pontil.

“Yes, good. But first the children.”

They turned to their work.

– 5 –

It’s still early, he thought. If I’m lucky I can find it—or them—before it’s too late.

He’d dealt with a wide variety of visitors, some inimical, some not, over the years, and had a matching variety of scars and aches that spoke to his years of service. The King and Chuang always did what they could, of course, but his injuries were rarely of this world. Or even of Wakeworld.

The wounds of Outside lingered for far too long.

He walked through a rough-hewn doorway to another chamber. The flood ended right in front of the doorway, with a narrow path leading to the right, into a deeper darkness. In front of him dark, oily liquid rippled, glinting a sullen red into the dim radiance of the mold adorning the walls and ceiling.

He knelt next to the pool, leaning forward to peer into its depths.

It was too dark to see anything, of course, but he only needed to discern a fine, hairlike mass floating on the surface. He picked up the simple bamboo rake lying there and swept it across the surface of the pool, hoping to capture one of the writhing organisms.

Once, twice… on the third sweep he felt something touch the stick, and slowly pulled it toward himself. Something that looked like a tangled ball of yarn hung suspended, soggy filaments lying limp on the surface, those submerged twitching and wriggling as they continued to blindly hunt their microscopic sustenance.

This’ll do nicely, he thought, and picked it up.

Holding it carefully cupped in one hand he reached out and picked up a wood bowl, scooping up a bowlful of water and then gently sliding the blob in. It floated, quiescent, on the surface, seemingly a bit of pond scum you might find in any pond.

He retraced his steps back through the darkness, holding the bowl as still as possible while watching the dim reflections in the water that revealed the profile of the floating creature. There was no motion that he could see.

He breathed a sigh of relief… there were no spores from Outside down here at least. He set the bowl down. He transferred the contents of the bowl to a deep glass jar that would be easier to carry without spilling. Outside in the light a glass jar would be ideal.

If he could locate the spores before they’d fully taken root, he’d need the potion, too. He snapped off a fist-sized chunk of fungus from one of the many niches lining the walls, then picked a clump of delicate pink toadstools and dropped them into a pocket. He picked up another, larger bowl and pressed it flush against the wall under a huge gray mass of fungus hanging from the ceiling. Carefully, taking care to avoid getting splattered, he used his knife to cut a hole and let the clear, pungent liquid drip out.

Even he, accustomed as he was to the stench, pressed his nose again the inside of his elbow, breathing through his tunic sleeve held tight over his mouth.

He had enough in a few minutes and thankfully retreated toward the ladder up leading up out of the darkness. He could make the rest of his preparations upstairs in the light.

“Crija, I’m afraid I have an errand to run,” he said as he stepped out of the storeroom and into the shop. His wife was just wrapping a block of flaky whitish Ylourgne for the dumpy matron at the counter.

“Give my regards to Lord Atridoon, Mistress, and have a pleasant day.”

The customer nodded fractionally as she accepted the cheese and stumped out without a word.

“What’s happened?”

“Something is loose in the city.”

“You don’t mean…!”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Something from Outside,” he explained. “I’m going to mix up the potion now, and then see if I can find it.”

“Dogs again?”

“They just scented it, so it can’t be very big yet… rabbits should be fine if I can find it quickly enough.”

“Let me grind it for you,” said Crija, holding out her hand.

He dropped the chunk of shelf fungus into her waiting palm and turned to the workbench. He set the bowl of foul-smelling liquid on the bench, then pulled the pink toadstools from his pocket.

He hooked his foot under a nearby stool, dragging it over to sit so he could see wat he was working on more easily. He gently separated the individual toadstools, and then pulled the caps off, scraping out all of the stem material. He washed the tiny caps, only a few millimeters in diameter, in running water, and set them to dry on a linen cloth. He thought four would be enough, and he’d have difficulty carrying more than four rabbits in any case. Just to be sure, though, he decided to prepare a dozen in case he needed them later.

If he needed more than four right now, or if the rabbits were too small, even a dozen extras might not be enough…

“Moggy! I need you to run an errand for me!”

“Yes, father,” came the muffled response from upstairs, and he was shortly joined by his eldest, Mogucent, a slim boy of twelve years.

“Take this to the King’s Guard at the main gate of the Pinnacle. He’ll know what it is,” he ordered, handing the boy a small ceramic tile with an enameled picture of yellow butterfly on it. He could send the red or purple signs later if necessary, but for now he had to let Chuang know.

Moggy dashed out of the door and Lujan turned back to his toadstools. They were probably dry now, he thought, and inspected them closely to make sure.

He added six drops of ammonia and the quicksilver to the clear liquid he’d tapped from the fungus, and Crija measured out the powdered fungus. When the mixture was ready he gently immersed the toadstool caps. They waited for them to change color, watching as they gradually darkened from soft pink to a harsher, more fiery red before finally reaching the deep, dark red of ripe cherries.

He fished them out with a broad, flat net, and set them out to dry on the linen once again.

“What should I do with the leftover?” asked Crija.

“I’ll clean it up later; just leave it in the back room for now. It’ll be fine as long as nobody gets near it.”

“How much do you need for the rabbits, you think?”

“Haven’t bought one recently,” he replied, grimacing. “Four rabbits… uh, I think the warrener sells two for a penny. Let me have two pence for now. Bokash knows me; he won’t mind the rest later if it’s more than that.”

“You sure rabbits are big enough?”

“They should be enough. If I get there in time.”

She nodded and took a small sack of coins out from somewhere under her tunic. She pulled open the drawstring and poured out a handful of coins, picking up two iron pence and handing them to Lujan.

“Send a messenger as soon as you have an idea, and I’ll tell Master Chuang.”

“Right,” he replied curtly and opened the door. “Be right back with the rabbits.”

It was a short walk to the Street of Pillars, and the warrener was only a half dozen meters beyond, on an alley off the main street. His warren—where he raised his rabbits—was outside the city walls, but since rabbits were small and easy to handle, he kept a big stock here instead of at the livestock market.

Bokash had told him once that the spells to keep meat cold at the market cost him almost as much as the meat itself, and Lujan helped him out with a few minor concoctions that would retard mold and such. Nothing he could do about insects and bacteria, but mold, at least, was not a problem.

“Master Bokash, you have a minute?”

“Master van der Kerk! Come in, come in,” warbled the short fat proprietor. “Always have time for an old friend. Even better if you have time for a drink or two.”

“Not today, I’m sorry,” declined Lujan, setting his bamboo cage down on the floor. “I need four rabbits. It’s urgent.”

“Some special event?”

“Just an unexpected surprise, I’m afraid,” said Lujan, keeping the details to himself. “Maybe I can take you up on that drink tomorrow?”

“Look forward to it, Master Lujan,” replied the warrener. “Big and fat? And do you want a doe or a buck?”

“Actually, no… Small is best. Healthy, but nice and light. Doe, buck, it doesn’t matter.”

The butcher cocked his head in curiosity, then shrugged. “Demta! Demta, where are you, boy?”

A boy, perhaps ten years old or so, stuck his head out from the back room.

“Fetch four young rabbits for Master van der Kerk, boy. Bucks.”

“Yes, father.”

The face vanished, replaced by the sound of padding feet, and then rattling cages.

He was back very quickly, four rabbits—not fully grown yet—held by the scruffs of their necks.

“In the cage, Demta, don’t just stand there.”

Demta dropped the rabbits into the bamboo cage and stood there waiting for the next order, but the warrener had already turned back to Lujan.

“Three pence?”

“Pretty expensive rabbits, seeing as how they’re not even grown yet. How about a penny for the bunch?”

“A man’s gotta make enough to live on, Master Lujan! Two for the lot?”

“Deal.”

Lujan handed over the coins and picked up the cages, one in each hand.

“Thank you, Master Bokash. Save some of that brandy for me!”

He pushed the door open with one foot and hurried back to his own shop.

As he entered his own shop, cage in hand, he noticed another customer.

“Ah, Master Kuloni’e, a good day to you! I trust the Factor is well?”

“Master van der Kerk, yes, well, thank you. I was just arranging to have a wheel of Ylourgne delivered.”

“Excellent choice, Master Kuloni’e. I know the Factor will be delighted.”

“He always is! As am I, since he is kind enough to share.”

“Crija, give Master Kuloni’e some Ambroli as well,” he directed. “A way of thanking you—and the Factor, of course—for your patronage.”

“Oh, really, I shouldn’t…” said the customer, protesting weakly as he held his hand out and accepted the gift from Crija. They always had a number of wrapped slabs of Ambroli ready at hand to give to customers, and Lujan doubted the Factor would ever hear about it.

“Excuse me, Master Kuloni’e… I must take care of these rabbits. My regards to your wife,” he said, bowing slightly as he backed into the storeroom, cage in hand.

He shut the storeroom door and set the rabbits down on the table, the smile slipping from his face. Leaving them there for the time being, he walked to the kitchen and picked up a stalk of celery, which he cut into several handy pieces.

He made a small incision and inserted one of the red toadstool caps in each piece.

He pulled one rabbit out of the cage and dropped it into a second, topless cage on the floor. He offered it one of the pieces of celery, which it happily accepted and began munching away on. It took only a few minutes for the celery to disappear, toadstool and all, and the rabbit to fall asleep.

The process was repeated for the remaining rabbits, and a short time later the four were returned to their carrying cage, slumbering away.

Now to find those damned spores, he thought to himself. Guess I’ll take the pushcart this time… I’m really getting too old for this.

He set the rabbit cage on the cart’s bed along with the glass jar and its slowly writhing inhabitant, and lifted the two shafts up off the floor before he stopped in thought for a moment, then set them down again.

Best take a few bits of cheese with me… never hurts to advertise.

“Crija? Give me a few of those Ambroli samples, would ya?”

She brought half a dozen of the small cheese blocks, glancing at the unconscious rabbits as she handed them over.

“I hope you don’t need them all… the kids’d love another rabbit for a while.”

“I hope so, too, but… We’ll see.”

“Good luck.”

He picked up the shafts again and pushed the cart into the alley, the little bell jangling quietly.

“Take care of the kids,” he said, and started down the alley toward the larger street, pushing it ahead of himself and exchanging greetings with shop-owners and passers-by.

As he walked he kept on eye on the thing floating in the jar. It hung, mostly submerged, limp tendrils hanging down, twitching gently every so often. He would walk up and down the alleys of the area until he got close enough for it to detect the invaders.

He walked in rough circles around his shop, gradually working farther and farther away. He knew it couldn’t be too far because his gardener slugs had cowered in fear, but there were still far too many streets and alleys to cover quickly with his pushcart.

Half an hour later, after he’d given away a few of his free samples of cheese and worked his way toward the Avenue of Amphitrite, the hanging tendrils began to twitch. He continued a bit in that direction, confirming he was getting closer, and when he raised his eyes to look at the homes and shops lining the alley he immediately spotted a young constable, blocking an alleyway and looking quite bored.

There was another constable up ahead, he noticed… they had obviously cordoned off a section of the block.

“Robbers?” he asked as he trundled his pushcart closer.

The constable spat and grimaced.

“Just some sickness. Pulled off our regular patrol and have us standing around all day instead.”

“Sickness!? My goodness!”

He pulled back a bit, feigning surprise.

“Thank you for protecting us, constable,” he said, and reached into his cart. “Here, let me give you a little of my Ambroli in appreciation.”

“Ambroli? The cheese? That’s pretty pricey stuff!”

“I just have a few samples with me, but please, enjoy it.”

The constable accepted the little block of cheese and immediately bit off a chunk.

“Mmm. Good stuff! Now if I only had a little ale to go with it…”

Lujan laughed.

“Sorry, can’t help you there, I’m afraid. Perhaps one of the shops here…?”

“Nah, can’t leave my post or the sarge’ll crucify me. Thanks for the cheese, though.”

“Where could I find your sergeant? I’d like to thank him, too, if I may.”

“Sarge? Down there at the crossroads,” mumbled the constable around his mouthful, pointing at the next intersection.

Lujan could see a few horses tethered at the corner, and another constable.

“Thanks.”

He began to push his cart in that direction, keeping an eye on his jar. The twitching was getting weaker. Definitely down that alley behind the constable, then.

“Godsworn van der Kerk!”

– 6 –

He spun around at the man’s voice to see Chuang striding toward him, robes clutched up out of the way for speed.

“Master Chuang! How did you find me?”

“Godsworn Cressida contacted me, too. She’s on her way, I think… might already be inside.”

“Down there, I gather? How bad is it?”

“I heard three people, just started yesterday afternoon,” said Chuang. “Come on with me.”

Lujan turned his pushcart around and walked briskly with Chuang to the alley, no longer worrying about jostling the glass jar.

“I can’t let anyone—” began the constable, but Chuang just glared at him and kept walking.

“Run and tell your sergeant that Chuang Tsu is here.”

“Chuan… Master Chuang!”

The constable was mortified and began blathering an apology but Chuang waved him off.

“Your sergeant, lad, now.”

The constable ran down toward the intersection with relief, and the two men walked into the alley.

“I prepared four rabbits,” explained Lujan. “Hopefully that enough, and we got here in time.”

“It didn’t work very well last time.”

“We caught it in less than a day this time,” countered Lujan, “and I’ve made a few changes. I think it’ll work better.”

“If it gets out of hand we’ll have to torch this whole area,” grimaced Chuang. “…so much death and destruction. We have to avoid that at all costs.”

“We’ll not have a repeat of last time.”

Healer Pontil met them at the door.

“Master Chuang, come in, please,” he urged, waving Chuang through. “I’m sorry, are you with Master Chuang?”

“Well, yes, I suppose I am,” smiled Lujan, and was about to give a more useful response to allay the poor man’s confusion when Chuang broke in.

“This is Godsworn Lujan van der Kerk of Mycelia.”

“Ah! Godsworn! My apologies, I didn’t recog…”

“Get out of his way and bring that cage of rabbits inside.”

“Of course!” said Pontil, chastened by Chuang’s brusque order.

Theros was kneeling next to Finh, who was lying on a futon on the floor, holding up an eyelid to peer into one of his eyes. On the other side of the Godsworn lay the two children, ten-year-old Kahlia and eight-year-old Finjul, their mother wiping their faces with a damp cloth.

They all looked terrible, especially the older Finh. There was a whitish, flaky buildup around his eyes, nostrils, and mouth. A starstone of Mnar lay on his chest.

The children had only a few traces of white around their mouths, and while Finh was apparently unconscious the children drifting in and out of consciousness, breaths rasping in their chests and their eyes darting around the room in pursuit of something no-one else could see.

“It won’t come on,” whimpered Glaire, rubbing the towel over the girl’s face again and again. Tears were dribbling down Kahlia’s cheeks, and wiped off cleanly on the towel although the white growth around her mouth stubbornly remained. In one place it had come off, tearing off a patch of skin from her chin to leave the pale red of a shallow wound, plasma welling.

“Mistress, stop, please… it won’t come off,” advised Theros, no doubt for the fiftieth time. “Master Chuang is here from the King, and Godsworn van der Kerk. They are here to help.”

She looked up and noticed them for the first time.

“Please! Please help them!”

Chuang knelt down next to her and placed his hand atop hers.

“Let us help, Mistress. Give us room to work.”

She straightened her back, took a despairing look at her husband and children lying on the futon, and folded up even further, hiding her face between her clutched knees, sobbing.

“Healer Pontil, perhaps the Mistress would feel better if she had some tea,” suggested Chuang gently. “In the kitchen.”

Pontil understood, and helped the woman rise to her feet. He led her out of the room and into the kitchen, and nodded to Chuang as he went. He’d keep her out of the way.

Chuang laid his hand on Finh’s chest and closed his eyes.

“At the base of the left lung,” said Theros. “That empty space.”

“I see it… or rather, I don’t see anything,” said Chuang. “That’s why we had so much trouble last time. We were looking for something and we should have been looking for the lack of it.”

There was a bustle at the door and another blue-robed woman strode in.

“Godsworn Cressida. We’ve just started,” explained Lujan. “Join us.”

“I heard your conversation just now… The sergeant is here with me.”

“It would be best to get the sergeant started rounding up the people nearby,” said Chuang. “We’ll have to check them all, now and later. Oh, and we’ll need a constable to stop anyone from bothering us in here, too.”

“I’ll assign Pontil here to keep an eye on things for another week or so. And you two with him,” said Cressida with a glance at the young Godsworn, Ban Thua and Treyd. “For now you two just watch and learn. Oh, wait—Treyd, fetch Pontil. He needs to see this, too.”

She turned back to Finh.

“Now let me see…”

She knelt and laid her hand alongside Chuang’s. After a moment she opened her eyes.

“There’s another strand of emptiness leading from the lung down into the intestines… it’s spreading fast, but I think we still have a chance.

“Where are the dogs?”

“I brought rabbits this time. It’s yet young. If it’s big enough to need a dog there’s no hope for him.”

“The starstone has had no effect?”

“None yet.”

“No time left,” snapped Chuang. “What do we need to do?”

“The rabbits are drugged, and I’ve adjusted their blood to attract the larvae. The next step is to lower their body temperature as far as you can and get them to move to the rabbits.”

“Last time, with the dogs, you didn’t do prepare them, did you?”

“Just a sleeping drug,” said Lujan. “Rabbits are generally a degree of two warmer than dogs, and these poor bucks are running a fever to make them even hotter.”

“Are you sure the wife is still clean?”

“I’ve been checking her regularly, Godsworn Cressida,” said Theros. “If she is infected it’s just started, and we can deal with her later. These three need us right now.”

“Theros, you take the boy. Master Chuang, will you handle the girl? Or would you prefer the man?”

“You are the Healer,” smiled Chuang, and turned to Lujan. “We are in your hands, Godsworn.”

“It’s impossible to tell what will happen even if the things do move to the rabbits,” he warned. “They won’t care what happens to their current hosts, and I think you’ll need to act quickly to save the man if it’s beginning to root into his body.

“He might not live even if it does move.”

Healer Pontil entered the room. Cressida directed him to work with Chuang, Treyd with Theros, and Ban Thua with herself.

The six bent to their tasks, silently summoning the power needed to lower the body temperatures of the three victims. Cressida and Theros were mumbling prayers under their breaths while Chuang just sat motionless, both hands on Kahlia’s abdomen.

Lujan pulled a rabbit out of the cage and carefully made a shallow cut into its foreleg with his dagger. The blood seeped out, staining its fur bright red as he laid it down next to the sleeping face of Finh. He repeated the process for the each of the children.

“Now we just wait.”

He rocked back on his heels, watching the rabbits closely and listening to the congested breathing of the three.

Kahlia, the ten-year-old girl, was the first to react, her body arching up off the futon, head tilted back with open eyes and mouth in silent scream.

She was thankfully unconscious, and stayed that way as something gray, a writhing, amorphous blob of slime and blood, oozed out of her rictus of a mouth and flowed toward the rabbit. In seconds it had forced itself into the rabbit’s mouth and vanished.

The rabbit’s belly bulged and moved as it settled in.

Chuang’s hands moved about over the girl, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. Kahlia spasmed, coughing up something thick, and Chuang used a finger to scoop it out of her mouth, deftly flipping her over his knees and massaging her back. She coughed a few more times, burped, and collapsed, the rigor seeping out of her body as her breathing quieted.

“She’s fine,” whispered Chuang. “It hadn’t attached itself yet.”

The other two showed no change.

Lujan picked the rabbit up and dropped into a huge pottery jar he’d had on his pushcart.

Chuang and Pontil concentrated on the girl for a few moments, and finally Chuang pronounced her clean.

“It’ll take a while to fully recover, but she’s safe now. Healer Pontil, would you take her to her mother?”

Pontil nodded and scooped up the young girl. He carried her out of the room, and the sounds of a vastly relieved mother could be heard.

Chuang shifted to work with Cressida on the man, and when Pontil rejoined them shortly he knelt down next to Theros and Treyd, working on the boy.

He was already showing signs of reaction, his spasms getting more energetic, saliva and mucous running dripping from mouth and nose.

He made a horrible sound, a cross between a burp and a death cry, and curled up into a fetal ball, knees up under his chin and arms wrapped tight around them. His face, instead of being buried into his clutched legs, stared out straight ahead with wide-open but unseeing eyes, his mouth stretched wider than should have been possible for an eight-year old boy.

A long, thin pseudopod of pale grey flesh crept out of his mouth, inching toward the bleeding rabbit, tasting the fresh blood and probing the invitingly open mouth. It slowly crept inside, and shortly it thickened, pulsing like a snake that had swallowed dinner as it transferred itself from the boy to the rabbit.

The boy was immobile, even his breathing stopped until the thing had moved into its new home. Again, Lujan picked up the infested rabbit and dropped it into the pottery jar with the first one.

“He’s not breathing,” whispered Theros, ear pressed to the boy’s chest. “And his heart’s stopped… can any of you…?”

Pontil laid his own hands on the boy and closed his eyes, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling with closed eyes. They sat motionless for a moment until Theros slumped in defeat.

“Nothing… No reaction at all. Pontil?”

“Me neither. He’s just not responding… I think he’s gone.”

Treyd, the youngest Healer there, spoke up quietly.

“Healer Theros… I was one of the Healers selected to attend classes at the King’s new medical madrasah in Cornwall. Classes start in a few months—they’re still building it—but Physician Nolan gave us some special advance training.”

“This is not the time nor place—” started Pontil, but Theros held up his hand to quiet him.

“What, Treyd?”

“He showed us something called CPR. It’s a way to get the heart beating again.”

“You can do it?”

“I think so… it’s not that difficult…”

Finh, lying down next to them, suddenly started thrashing, arms waving and legs kicking. Cressida narrowly avoided being hit in the face, and grabbed the arm with one hand, leaving the other on his chest.

Ban Thua, a thin Asian girl, wasn’t so lucky, catching a kick in her abdomen, but instantly latching on, wrapping her arms around it and holding it down with the full weight of her own body

“Try! It’s his only chance!” pleaded Theros, yielding his position to Treyd and turning his attention to the writhing man instead.

Treyd stretched the boy out and began thumping the boy’s chest.

“Please tilt his head to one side and clean out as much of that gunk as possible, so he can breathe,” he asked. Pontil reached for the boy’s head.

As soon as the airway was clear Treyd gave the boy his first breath, pushing his own air into the boy’s lungs mouth-to-mouth, and then back to pressing the chest.

“How long does it take?”

“Physician Nolan said to continue until it starts beating, or the patient is dead.”

Another breath.

Pontil, his hand on the boys wrist, suddenly lifted his head.

“His pulse is back! It worked!”

Treyd stopped for a moment to let Pontil lay his hand on the boy’s chest and check.

“It’s beating. And look,” he said, “he’s breathing now, too. You saved him!”

Treyd say back on his heels and took a deep breath.

“It really did work, didn’t it…” he said, almost to himself. “Physician Nolan said it worked… and it worked.”

“Chuang, can’t you still his arms and legs?” snapped Cressida, narrowly dodging another whack.

“I’m trying, but they’re not entirely his anymore!” answered Chuang through clenched teeth, his attention obviously elsewhere.

Finh’s left hand slashed through the air, raking across Chuang face and leaving three ragged, bleeding wounds down his cheek.

“Almost… almost there…” grunted Chuang, yanking his head back a bit but not removing his hands from Finh’s body. “Just a little more…”

The man spasmed with all his strength, throwing Cressida off entirely and knocking the others off-balance. They wrestled him down flat again and the first blob of slimy gray matter oozed from his mouth.

There was a terrible sucking sound, like a boot pulled from deep mud, and the man collapsed.

More blood-streaked tendrils came from his mouth, then his nose, gradually thickening as the thing moved into its new home in the unconscious rabbit.

The rabbit began to bulge, swelling gradually to twice the size of its fellow.

The last tendril slowed, thinned, and finally withdrew into the rabbit entirely. The transfer was complete

Lujan snatched it up and dropped it into the jar with the other two, replacing the lid promptly.

Finh was splayed out like a discarded ragdoll, a pool of dark blood slowly spreading from his nose and mouth, skin ashen. There was a weak movement of air bubbles around his mouth suggesting he might still be alive.

“That lung is in bad shape,” said Cressida, eyes closed. “That thing ate a lot of his lung, and he’s dying. We must stop the bleeding quickly.”

“Turn him on his side so that lung is on the bottom,” said Chuang. “Healer Cressida, Healer Theros, we have to work as one or this man dies.”

“And me,” said Healer Pontil, joining them from the boy.

Cressida shifted to give him room, and they all laid hands on Finh’s body.

“Healer Pontil, get all that fluid out of his lungs and airway. The rest of us will stop the bleeding. If we can.”

They fell silent, their attention turned inward, and knelt for a few minutes until Cressida slumped and opened her eyes.

“That’s enough for now. It’s stopped, thank the Goddess.”

“Thank our combined skill, I think… I saw no Goddess in this room,” said Chuang, sitting back and taking a deep breath.

“You don’t have to see her to feel her presence,” said Cressida, her nose and eyebrows lifting up in scorn. “It is clear that the Goddess Panakeia lent us her power to help save this man.”

“Perhaps, but I rather suspect we saved him, together with Godsworn van der Kerk and Physician Nolan’s CPR.”

“Mere accessories, mere accessories,” she replied, waving her hand in dismissal.

“Mama?”

They all turned to look at the boy. Finjul was sitting up, half-supported by Treyd, and calling for his mother.

“Constable!” called Chuang. “Let the Mistress in now!”

There was a bustle at the door and Glaire came running in, embracing and soothing the boy before turning to her husband. Her daughter, Kahlia, was right behind her, hanging onto her skirt tightly.

“Is he…?”

“He’s very weak,” explained Cressida, “Healer Pontil will stay here with you for another week or two and help him heal. His lungs will never fully recover, I’m afraid, but with time he will be recover much strength.”

Glaire bobbed her head in thanks, one hand around her son’s shoulders and the other stroking Finh’s cheek. Kahlia snuggled up next to her mother, and Glaire adjusted her arm to wrap around both of them.

“Healer Pontil, Master Finh will need constant monitoring to ensure that the seminaria morbi doesn’t cause a problem,” continued Cressida. “I will send another Healer to assist you, of course, along with the teas and incenses you’ll need. And I’ll have the check-ups continued in the area to be sure only these three were infected.”

“What is seminaria morbi?” asked Glaire.

“The seeds of disease, like grains of rice but so small you cannot see them,” explained Theros. “They caused your papa to get sick, and we have to be sure we destroy them all.”

“But if you can’t see them…” said Glaire, doubtful.

“The Goddess can see them, Mistress, and destroy them all,” stated Cressida firmly, ending that conversation sharply.

“Well, I think we’re done for now,” said Chuang as he slowly got up from the floor. “It’s time for my nap.”

“And I think I had better see to my friends in the jar here, too,” said Lujan.

“The fire?”

“The big one, certainly, and one of the others, but I think I’ll keep one of the small ones… We need to know more about these things.”

“By Panakeia, burn them all!” cried Cressida. “They’re hideous!”

“They aren’t from Wakeworld or any Dreamlands I’m familiar with,” said Lujan, “Whatever they are, they’re from outside the realm of Mycelia Spore-Mother; we think they’re from Yuggoth. In any case, the very idea of a mobile fungus is worth investigating. I’ll be careful.”

“This time,” added Chuang dryly.

“Um, yes, this time. I know what they can do now, and it won’t happen again,” agreed Lujan.

He picked up the pottery jar and carried it outside to his pushcart.

“Before I go, anyone want some Ambroli?”

END