Descending Road - DUSTMICE GATHERED TO CLEAN IT UP by Dana W. Paxson

DUSTMICE GATHERED TO CLEAN IT UP

1562 4D

Arlen returned the next day. He paused just out of Tariall‘s line of vision and watched. A flap of tissue had nearly fallen free from Tariall‘s upper lip. As the poet’s head worked its mouth, trying to nibble the flap away, its reddish-brown skin pulled at the frame.

Watching it with pinwheel metal eyes, the sentry Trenzil, a three-foot-tall shaftlike creature in scale armor, stood in shining boots opposite the door. From the sentry’s cylindrical head and body, spiky with thorny metallic stubble, long whiplike arms curved out in all directions. One toe rose and fell, clicking in a steady rhythm.

“Shit!” Tariall blew out the expletive in a spray of saliva. “I can’t get my teeth on it. I’ll have to wait for someone to pull it off. I wish you could.”

Arlen nodded. Tariall seemed to have recovered his spirits. Remarkable.

“S durekosh n’Arlen khaiterya,” the sentry said. Its toe went on: click, click.

“Don’t say his name to me,” Tariall began.

“You’ll hear my name every day now,” Arlen said, coming in, his thick, resonant voice rebounding from the chamber walls. Surprising Tariall came easily. “You’re much better as an art work now. And Indrio‘s an excellent bed partner, among other things. Let’s see.” He walked to the face hanging on the wall. As he approached, its eyelids began to flicker up and down rapidly, as if flinching. In a soft voice he asked the face, “Are you afraid of me?”

“Yes. Yes.” It tried to nod, wiggling slightly up and down in the frame across which its skin stretched. Progarnes had left a few neck muscles attached when he had mounted it.

“You are mine now. You work for me, and you will be eyes and ears in this room.” Arlen reached out with a pointed dark nail and flicked hard at the upper lip. The flap of skin flew off. The face puckered in pain.

Arlen smiled, the first change from a completely neutral expression since he had come in. Then he dug his long nail into the lip and turned it. The face cried out. Blood ran down, collecting on the frame and falling to the heavily-carpeted floor. Dustmice gathered to clean it up.

“I would like you to remain silent for a while,” Arlen said to the face. “I’m very busy. Carchesme should be here shortly, and then I will be talking with Frei. Please do not interrupt us, or else I will find some innovative ways to convey my displeasure to you. Do you understand?”

The face nodded quickly, many times.

“Good. Later I’ll bring Indrio in. We’ll entertain you.” He turned to survey his great chamber.

Portrayed on the walls, plants sprang up and bloomed and died; sometimes during these periods furtive flashes of animal movement sped by. Once or twice since Arlen had taken the room, he had seen the sky darken to near-black, lightnings strobing through what might have been eons of time.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	DUSTMICE GATHERED TO CLEAN IT UP 1562 4D Arlen returned the next day. He paused just out of Tariall‘s line of vision and watched. A flap of tissue had nearly fallen free from Tariall‘s upper lip. As the poet’s head worked its mouth, trying to nibble the flap away, its reddish-brown skin pulled at the frame. Watching it with pinwheel metal eyes, the sentry Trenzil, a three-foot-tall shaftlike creature in scale armor, stood in shining boots opposite the door. From the sentry’s cylindrical head and body, spiky with thorny metallic stubble, long whiplike arms curved out in all directions. One toe rose and fell, clicking in a steady rhythm. “Shit!” Tariall blew out the expletive in a spray of saliva. “I can’t get my teeth on it. I’ll have to wait for someone to pull it off. I wish you could.” Arlen nodded. Tariall seemed to have recovered his spirits. Remarkable. “S durekosh n’Arlen khaiterya,” the sentry said. Its toe went on: click, click. “Don’t say his name to me,” Tariall began. “You’ll hear my name every day now,” Arlen said, coming in, his thick, resonant voice rebounding from the chamber walls. Surprising Tariall came easily. “You’re much better as an art work now. And Indrio‘s an excellent bed partner, among other things. Let’s see.” He walked to the face hanging on the wall. As he approached, its eyelids began to flicker up and down rapidly, as if flinching. In a soft voice he asked the face, “Are you afraid of me?” “Yes. Yes.” It tried to nod, wiggling slightly up and down in the frame across which its skin stretched. Progarnes had left a few neck muscles attached when he had mounted it. “You are mine now. You work for me, and you will be eyes and ears in this room.” Arlen reached out with a pointed dark nail and flicked hard at the upper lip. The flap of skin flew off. The face puckered in pain. Arlen smiled, the first change from a completely neutral expression since he had come in. Then he dug his long nail into the lip and turned it. The face cried out. Blood ran down, collecting on the frame and falling to the heavily-carpeted floor. Dustmice gathered to clean it up. “I would like you to remain silent for a while,” Arlen said to the face. “I’m very busy. Carchesme should be here shortly, and then I will be talking with Frei. Please do not interrupt us, or else I will find some innovative ways to convey my displeasure to you. Do you understand?” The face nodded quickly, many times. “Good. Later I’ll bring Indrio in. We’ll entertain you.” He turned to survey his great chamber. Portrayed on the walls, plants sprang up and bloomed and died; sometimes during these periods furtive flashes of animal movement sped by. Once or twice since Arlen had taken the room, he had seen the sky darken to near-black, lightnings strobing through what might have been eons of time.