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“We have no time for company,” said Brrr.
“You have no say in the matter,” said Sister Apothecaire. “Do you forget you’re a guest here? A Council is called, and Sisters Hospitality and Cook are required to attend. So I have arranged a cold luncheon for all strangers who have sought sanctuary here. You can eat together. We will dismiss you when and if the Council decides that would be a prudent course of action.”
“I can’t work under these conditions,” said Brrr.
“Courage,” said Yackle. “Who knows what you can or cannot do?”
Sister Apothecaire made no move to help the novices, who came in with flasks of water, slit husks of pearlfruit, ham sandwiches, and a bowl of blue olives. The young women set the repast down on a sideboard and fled.
Into the room traipsed a dwarf, a woman in a plain veil, and a few muscle boys sporting tangerine tunics and leggings as well as shaved heads, which looked tangerine-ish by association.
“I’ll let you make your own introductions,” said Sister Apothecaire. She elevated her chin till her nose was nearly as high as her forehead. The gesture proved she could be taller than a dwarf—which was lost on no one.
“We don’t trust louts loose among the novices,” she continued briskly, “and as I mentioned, we have an emergency Council to convene. So forgive me the indignity of this key—it is a necessity in these wartimes, and signifies no disrespect.
” She departed, closing the door with a decisive slam. They all listened to hear the key turn in the lock.
“We’re being held hostage by sisters in a mauntery?” asked Brrr.
“Hey, I got weak kidneys,” said one of the skinheads.
“Piss out the window,” called Sister Apothecaire through the door. “Don’t think me rude. We just can’t have beefsteak lads wandering about the cloisters and hiding in the novices’ wardrobes, waiting to provide them a midnight surprise. I’m sure you understand.”
“You again,” said Yackle, dilating her nostrils as a horse might.
“Me again,” agreed the dwarf. “We seem destined to spend a holiday together.”
“Well, one of us should know about destiny,” said Yackle, “though I confess that I didn’t see this coming.”
“There’s a lot more to seeing things coming than meets the eye,” said the dwarf. “The proverbial eye, I mean, not your wonky pair. But what do I know? It always takes some—”
“I’m on a government exercise here,” interrupted Brrr. Well, he sure was, compared to a dwarf, anyway. He waved with his notebook. “I suppose for the record I should jot down your names, and so on. Material witnesses in case this next section of my deposition is questioned by the Courts.”
“Don’t have a name,” said the dwarf affably.
“Everyone’s got a name,” said Brrr.
“Ask a garden moth what its name is,” said the dwarf.
“Dwarf,” said Brrr, writing. “Ugly and hostile. Refuses to name himself.”
“Who gets to name himself?” said the dwarf. “Come on.”
“I did,” said Yackle.
“Oh you, you’re a honey, you,” said the dwarf. “Give me a break. Old Mama Senility gets creative.”
“I’m Ilianora,” said the woman. She dropped her veil off her forehead, revealing a sharp profile. Her white hair was lustrous and thick, no sign of yellowing. Indeed, noted Brrr, Ilianora had good skin tone, only a few wrinkles around the eyes. Her chin hadn’t sunk and her color was high. Ruby plum. “Put me down as apprentice to the dwarf. And he’s not being obstinate: He has no name, or none that I’ve heard him admit to during my time lurking nearby. When I need to address him, I call him Mr. Boss.”
“Home?” asked Brrr. Her accent was curious; he couldn’t place it. Might she be a Winkie?
“None,” she said. “We’re itinerants. We’re the company of the Clock of the Time Dragon. You may have heard of us.”
“Yo ho,” said Brrr, recoiling. “I’ve heard of that. Yes. Didn’t know it was still a going concern.”
“Going nowhere fast, at the moment,” said the dwarf, amiably enough. He scratched himself at the base of his spine where, Brrr thought, a tail would have emerged had he one.
“You young stalwarts?” asked Brrr. The lads refused to name themselves. They settled down to deal a few hands of shamerika, a game that appeared to involve two sets of playing cards, a wodge of ersatz paper notes, a set of weighted dice, and a trapunto cloth map in which small brass flags could be stuck, moved, or removed. Brrr guessed that they had little to offer, and he scribbled “seven apprentices.” He could scare their names out of them later.
