Part 10 (1/2)

”A chicken?”

”No.” Turning the details of murder into a game embarra.s.sed Collins. ”You don't-”

Vernon whirled suddenly toward Collins. ”Give me a hint.” Collins stammered, ”I-it was . . . a-a rabbit named Joetha.” Vernon came to an abrupt halt, and terror ground through Collins. ”It seems,” the hermit started coolly, ”that you don't know what 'a hint' means.” Apparently to show he meant no malice, he turned Collins a broad grin. ”You don't hate me?” ”Nope.”

”But. . .but. . .late. . .”

Vernon resumed his walk. ”I presume you ate her before you knew about switch-forms?”

The bare thought that Vernon might even consider otherwise twisted Collins' gut. ”Yes! I-I wouldn't-” ”Of course, you wouldn't. Who would?”

Outside of a few lunatic serial killers, Collins could think of no one.

Vernon continued, ”If you're kind and decent, and I believe most people are, you wouldn't kill someone on purpose. I'm not going to condemn an accident, even if it did result in death.”

Collins went speechless with grat.i.tude. He felt tears welling in his eyes.

Vernon politely studied the trees, then chose a deadfall and sat. Shadows dappled his skin, making him appear even darker. ”Zylas gave you his stone, didn't he?”

Relieved he would not have to keep a secret from Vernon, Collins nodded.

”He must really like you. And trust you. He's rarely even let me hold it, and we've been friends for thirty years.”

”Thirty years.” Collins wiped the moisture from his eyes and looked over his companion. The stocky man appeared too young for such a long friends.h.i.+p. ”How old are you?”

”Thirty-five.”

Collins made a wordless noise that Vernon took for encouragement.

”Our switch time overlaps perfectly. And his mother and I-both mice.”

”Yes.” Collins intensified his scrutiny, gaze flickering over the broad neck, solid musculature, and whaleboned figure of his newest companion. ”So I heard. Hard to believe.”

Vernon's eyes narrowed curiously. ”Why?”

The answer seemed so obvious to Collins, he found himself simplifying to the level of Tarzan. ”Mouse small. You . . . big.”

Vernon stretched, sinews rippling. ”Sometimes it works out that way. Especially Randoms.” He smiled. ”Would it surprise you to find out my father was a bear?”

”Your mother must have been an amoeba.”

Vernon halted in mid-stretch. ”What?”

”Never mind.” Then, feeling the need to explain at least somewhat, Collins finished, ”I'm just thinking a bear would have to combine with something really really tiny to make a mouse.”

”Mama was a skunk.”

Collins' head jerked toward Vernon before he could hide his surprise. ”A skunk?”Vernon's dark eyes hardened. ”Yeah, I'm half downcaste. What about it?”

Surprised by the sudden hostility, Collins raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ”Nothing about it.

I don't even know what downcaste means, at least not the way you're using it.”

The softness returned gradually to Vernon's face, then he managed a short laugh. ”Of course, you don't. I'm sorry.”

Collins nodded.

”The downcaste are necessary animals relegated to the most distasteful tasks. Creatures the civilized animals wouldn't lower themselves to a.s.sociate with because they have some undesirable characteristic or habit that makes them . . . repulsive to the urbanists.”

”Like skunks?” Collins asked carefully, not certain he truly understood. He saw nothing essential about skunks. A friend who lived on a small acreage talked about regularly trapping and killing them because more than ninety percent carried rabies in that area.

”Garbage handlers,” Vernon explained. ”Vultures and hyenas take care of the dead, the only ones allowed by law to eat meat. Goats and pigeons manage the sewage.” He wrinkled his nose, unable to keep even his prejudice wholly in check. ”They prefer the company of urbanists and eat anything.”

”Urbanists?” Collins prompted.

”Creatures who live in cities.” Vernon drew a leg to his chest. ”Cows, horses, dogs, cats, and such.

Some birds.”

Recalling an earlier conversation with Zylas, Collins added, ”Durithrin. They also form a social group?”

”The wildones include creatures who prefer the woods to others' company.”

Collins realized the stone sometimes translated even those words that worked better in the other language, such as replacing durithrin with wildones. He supposed urbanists and down-caste had Barakhain equivalents that would have given him less clue to their meaning. ”Deer, squirrels, bears, songbirds . . . ?”

”. . . wolves, alligators, wildcats.” Vernon s.h.i.+vered. ”Once one of those gets a taste for meat, there's no choice but hanging. They will kill again.”

That explained the severity of Collins' punishment, the lack of a trial, and the intensity of the hunt. Not like in my world where serial killers are rare and always crazy. He displayed his new understanding.

”Urbanists, wildones, and downcaste. Your social cla.s.ses in order of . . .” He searched for words Vernon might not find insulting. ”... perceived importance.”

”Don't forget royals at the top: all human all the time. Workers before wildones. And, at the very bottom, vermin.”

With a start, Collins realized that had to include Vernon and Zylas. He swallowed hard, pressing any emotion from his voice. ”Define vermin.”

”Those forbidden to breed with their own kind.” Vernon shrugged. ”Who wants more mice, rats, snakes, and the like?”

”But you and Zylas-”

”Randoms. We weren't made what we are on purpose.”

Uncomfortable with the subject, Collins pressed on. ”And workers?”

Vernon drew up his other leg. ”Those who don't quite fit with the urbanists but have a high, useful skill to market. Like beavers, who build. Porcupines, the tailors. Moles and weasels, miners, though some would debate whether they go with the workers or the downcaste.

Collins glanced around the forest, seeing the trees gently bowing in the breeze, the sun glazing every leaf and branch with gold. It seemed impossibly peaceful, hiding the moment when hounds and hunters once again crashed through them, seeking him. He could imagine other specialized creatures: songbird musicians, shrew crop-weeders, bear beekeepers, but he did not question. Closer matters needed discussion, and a realization required voicing. ”So you're the other one who's visited my world.”