The cave yawned near the bottom of the aerie wall, in the
public area but far enough from the social vugs to be secluded. Marked for
business and not fun. Tr'lia flew past it twice before fixing her eyes on the
rim and coming in for a soft landing, perched right on the edge of the opening.
The aroma of fungus met her, a wall of thick spore-laden air
hovering just inside the cave, filling it. Already, it choked her nostrils. And
she meant to work here? She puffed her neck feathers and stood taller. She did
mean to... if the old chemist would
have her.
Tr'lia's sharp toes scratched at the dirt as she stepped
into the darkness. Soft here, no dust inside the chemist's cage. The mushroom
caverns were worse. She'd visited those once with her primary class, seen the
darkness and the rows of glowing, ghost white caps. The air here reminded her
of that cave, though the walls were much closer and the scent far fainter.
He didn't grow them here. The old quail might use the spores
and spongy flesh of the 'shrooms, but they were only part of his fare. One
ingredient, the one they could produce inside the safety of the aerie. The rest
of his chemicals came from a stream of regular deliveries. Shipments brought
from the milker's camps.
The reason she had to work with him.
"H-halloo?" She scratched forward, left delicate
scribbles in the dirt behind her. "Mr. Steen? Excuse me, but—"
"Come in, come in. I'm in the back." A throaty
voice echoed through the cave. Not as big as the 'shroom cavern but still a
good sight larger than her home. The darkness stretched deeper into the valley
wall too, and the natural light only filtered in a little farther. Beyond that
half light, Tr'lia could make out the glow of oil lamps, and a variety of
colors, translucent reflections in patterns along the curved walls.
She tiptoed deeper into the odd world of the chemist. Here,
all the medicines that kept their flock healthy brewed and cured. Here, the old
quail ground the milker's herbs into powders or boiled them into teas and
tinctures for a number of uses Tr'lia could only guess at.
She clicked her beak softly and hopped deeper into the cave.
Lili had told her about the assistant's marriage. The hen who'd apprenticed
with the chemist had found a mate at the festival, moved to his aerie only a
week afterwards. The chemist hadn't asked for a new assistant, but the way
Tr'lia saw it, he had to need one.
Either that or she was about to make a fool of herself.
Drat Lili for suggesting this.
She slicked her feathers down and lowered her head,
considered just hopping right back out into the light and the open.
"I'll be right with you." The chemist's voice rang
against the walls, battered at her from both sides.
Tr'lia crept forward. She hopped nearer to the glowing,
found her eyes adjusting more quickly than her brain. Light boxes against the
wall, shelving and something shiny and familiar. Glass domes. She'd seen
similar at the festival when she'd bought her bluebottles... and that book.
Her claws dragged snakey lines in the cave floor now. Tr'lia
moved without lifting her feet, slunk toward the domes and the lights and knew
what would be growing under the glass long before she saw the first plant.
Curling green leaves, fat and sticky and packed into the
lower half of the dome. Droplets of moisture collected inside the glass,
refracting the light from the oil lamp on the shelf behind the container.
Tr'lia leaned forward, held her breath and followed the tendrils up to a fat, snaggletooth
purple maw.
"Violet death," the quail's baritone rumbled
behind her.
Tr'lia jumped upright and spun to face him. She tucked her
tail low and hopped a step away from the wall without upsetting any of the
shelf's contents. The chemist waited just outside the glow of the plant's
light. His little head tilted to one side, and his curled crest bobbed.
"Carnivorous, but very useful if handled
correctly."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Steen." Tr'lia bobbed
politely.
"Don't get many visitors in here." His head
switched to the other side, setting the bobble crest a flutter. "Tr'lia,
isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"How's the nesting coming?"
"I, wha-how?"
"Your little friend." The quail snapped upright
and bobbed merrily. "Plump. Blue."
"Lili!" Tr'lia's cheeks puffed in embarrassment.
Had dratted Lili told the entire aerie her secret? Heat filled her breast, and
she ground her beak together before blurting, "She's nesting too."
"Now, now." The chemist lifted one foot and let it
hover for a moment, as if he'd forgotten which way he wanted to step.
"Nothing to be ashamed of. I suspect most girls your age are thinking of
it. No harm to it. None in building the
thing anyway. From what I hear of it, takes a few times to get it right
anyway."
He had that part dead right. She'd started over three times
already, but at least she was weaving. Lili seemed content to hoard nesting
material in piles and do nothing with it at all.
"I wonder if you found my corner down here by
accident," Mr. Steen continued. "My processes don't cast off much in
the way of nest stuffs."
"Oh no. I didn't come here for that." She forced her cheek feathers back down and
tried to hold her head up.
"No?"
"I just wondered if... I mean I'd heard something
about..."
Mr. Steen rocked in place. He put his foot down again,
lifted the other one and blinked round eyes at her. "Yes dear, what is
it?"
"I heard you might be looking for a new
assistant."
"Did you?" He fluffed his neck feathers, shook and
sent a small rain of down flying in all direction. "I haven't even... ah.
Lili again?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well. She certainly has a bit of a beak on her, eh?
Hmm. No harm done, I suppose but..." He hopped forward abruptly, rocking
from side to side and forcing Tr'lia to scoot back a step. The quail's head
turned sharply to the left, and one big
eye leaned in to examine her. "Why would a newly nesting hen want to
apprentice here? Do you know what it is I do?"
"Y-yes, sir." Tr'lia swallowed a wash of nerves
and forced her head to stay level, her feathers to remain smooth. "I've
been keeping bluebottles, sir. They've grown so fast they've already molted
twice."
"Really now?" He didn't sound remotely impressed.
"That's interesting, to be sure. But then, bluebottles are not plants, dear. Are they?"
"No, sir."
"It takes a lot of nerve, tending plants."
"Yes, sir."
"And you'd like to learn?"
"I'd like to try, sir."
"First lesson!" Mr. Steen jumped in place. He
shouted the words, and Tr'lia cringed back despite her resolve. The quail
chuckled, made a waving flag of his crest. "Never, my dear. Never turn
your back on a plant."
"Oh!" She watched his wingtip lift, the long
flight feather pointing behind her. Slowly, Tr'lia swiveled back toward the
shelves and the glass dome. Inside, the green had unfurled. The purple had
shifted. The plant's long fronds pressed against the side of the glass, feeling
for a way to reach her from behind that barrier. The mouth oozed clear fluid.
It opened and closed and opened again. The toothy appendage fluttered as if a
wind moved over them.
"It's tasting you." The quail's voice rumbled the
obvious answer. The plant, once she'd turned from it, had sprang to attention
and now only the glass kept it from tasting her for real.
Tr'lia's body stiffened. Inside, she cringed from the idea
of that mouth, those waving teeth. She fought her instincts, the rising panic
and the push to flee. This would be her test, then. If she bolted now, she'd
never earn a place here, never prove she was brave enough to date a milker.
To deserve Prao.
She breathed a beak full of must and spores. Her heart
fluttered like the quail's bobble, but Tr'lia forced her panic down. She kept
her feathers smooth, imagined Prao flying into the jungles, facing the real
dangers. She took a step forward, leaned in and peered at the hungry plant's mouth.
"What do you feed it?" She managed.
