Page 40 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy

“And yet: no.”

“Contrariness isn’t a gentlemanly fault.”

“I’m not a gentleman,” said Osric. “I’m a polyp.”

“Mordaunt.”

“What?”

“It’s important,” said Fairhrim. “It’s to do with the Dreor.”

“What is it?” asked Osric. “I’m not agreeing to help; I’m just nosy.”

“I ordered a search of every research and academic library in the Tiendoms for material related to the Dreor Order, and none have anything available—everything’s been lost or destroyed.”

“Someone was thorough,” said Osric.

“I know,” said Fairhrim. “It disturbs me. Have you anything on the Dreor Order in your libraries? After what we found Lord Wellesley up to, I hesitate to ask any of the big houses with private collections. They might also be involved.”

Osric did not answer. Fairhrim told him it was for a greater purpose. Osric made a sound that was noncommittal. She asked him to join her on the moral high ground. He told her it was impossible: she had alreadytaken up all the real estate. She made an appeal to his Better Nature. He told her his Better Nature had died years ago, in sad circumstances. Fairhrim asked, What circumstances? Osric said, Penile degloving.

“Do this one bit of good,” said Fairhrim.

“Doing good devitalises me,” said Osric. “Besides, I don’t let just anyone into my libraries.”

“Just anyone?” repeated Fairhrim. “Are you suggesting that I don’t know how to handle rare books, you—”

She cut herself off when she saw that Osric was checking a grin.

“I’ll have a look for you,” said Osric.

Fairhrim rearranged her ruffled feathers. “Thank you. Very kind of you. I appreciate it.”

“I am bursting with human charity.”

Fairhrim didn’t react to this absurd statement. She pulled out the Franklin diffractor and asked Osric to undress in the distant tones of someone absorbed in something else.

In previous times, she had always left the room as he undressed, but this time, she didn’t, and messed about with the diffractor instead.

Osric did not mind; he was, after all, superbly virile, and magnificent to observe naked. He therefore said, “It’s quite all right if you want to look,” as he removed weaponry and clothing from his person.

Fairhrim was lost somewhere amid the diffractor’s tentacles, muttering about what absolute creature had put it away last time. “Hmm?”

“I was just saying,” said Osric, stripping off his shirt, “it’s all right if you want to watch me undress.”

A bit of Fairhrim’s usual flint made its way back into her abstracted gaze. “You cannot be accused of excessive modesty, anyway. There should be gowns in the cabinet.”

There was nothing in the cabinet but a pair of slippers. Osric put them on.

Fairhrim took no notice of his ongoing nudity. She conducted the usual rites: the hlutoform was sprayed, the diffractor’s sticky wires wereattached to Osric, Osric’s seith system was beamed upon the wall. Fairhrim splayed silver instruments against the projection, measuring things between the bright seith markers she had placed in Osric’s system.

She consulted U. Ganglion’s patient chart, looked at the wall again, and said, “The node is, indeed, healed. Good.”

There should have, at the very least, been another smile, and possibly her throwing herself at him in an excess of joy. Instead, she popped the diffractor’s tentacles briskly off Osric’s bare chest.

“Good?” repeated Osric. “That’s it?Good?”

“Very good.” Fairhrim nodded. “Excellent. Scientifically impossible. Fascinating. Let’s see what the next moon brings. What? Do you want a gold star?”