"Sit here for a minute, and I'll see what I can do with that sponge."

"Eh, it's too bad you can't shed your skin!"

Darting outside, Irson looked ill-humoredly at his spotted hands. What a disgrace – falling into such a primitive trap! I'm losing my skills, the Tanae thought and ran towards the nearest lamp. Ironically, this particular street lamp was in the form of a snake standing up on its tail, bug-eyed head thrown back and jaws opened painfully wide, struggling to swallow a huge speckled egg. Irson unscrewed the dome cover, felt around for the flanged wheel on the snake's brow, and lit the lamp to its brightest setting.

The magical flame drew in the dark clumps, like iron shavings to a magnet, and with every second Irson felt less and less like a leopard python. The Tanae turned this way and that until he'd "washed away" most of the spots. Only a few of them remained with him, or rather, with the enchanted items he had on him. Considering a moment, he took off his belt, medallion and a couple of rings, and tossed them into the dome cover with a plunk. Tucking it between some roots, Irson dashed off in the direction of the gazebo.

The thick carpet of fallen leaves felt springy under the Tanae's feet, like little bridges popping up with each step. The leaves lashed at his face, as though ordering him to focus. Excitement slowly overtook him. Flying over a pile of cut-off branches with a daredevil hiss, the Tanae bolted across a rickety bone bridge, skirted a compost pit in which something was stretching and sighing, dodged a cluster of rabbit's feet hanging for some reason on the branch of a mountain ash, scrambled across an acacia bush, and finished at the gazebo.

Inon lay in the grass at his feet, and looked to be in very bad shape. The priest had somehow shriveled, with skin that stretched tightly across the bones of his face, thrown backwards, and hands that spasmodically clenched into fists.

"How are you?" Irson asked, bending over to remove a sharp stone from under Inon's side.

"Alive," the priest responded sullenly. "She pulled back. I don't know why."

"Maybe she decided that if she didn't stop fighting you, it might catch the Merciful's attention, and she needs his attention like a hole in the head?" Talia's halting voice came from the gazebo.

"Probably," Inon nodded.

"Can I do anything to help you?"

"Better help me instead!" Talia snapped. "Everyone forgot about my poor pampered highness. What's your heathen friend got in there, a sledgehammer or something? Do something already!"

Irson straightened up and raised his hands, preparing to demonstrate to the grumbling vixen a little something from the "modest" arsenal of a Lindorg mage. But the plan backfired yet again.

"Don't you even think about showing off, or the BMSS[1] will flock here from all over the city!" Talia admonished him in a strident tone. It was as if she'd read his mind.

"You sourpuss!" Irson laughed. "You just said we should burn this thing up with something Harnian!"

"I wasn't thinking straight. I'm a young, silly kitten, anyway. Empty-headed, tail curled and ears twisted like a pretzel."

Lopsided on her crystal perch, she went on for a long time grumbling under her breath, but Irson wasn't listening. He was "baking eights": with hands folded as if for washing, twin clouds of pale light were materializing one after another between his palms. Growing the infinity-shaped manifestation to half its full size, the Tanae quickly examined it and then, sticking out a finger on each hand, poked both halves. After this manipulation, the figure eight began to wane and bulge, its belly coming alive with faint crimson sparks. Finally it turned into something resembling an hourglass with a glowing bloodworm swarming about inside its bulbs. When he had completed about a dozen of the thingamabobs, Irson deployed them into the gazebo. One after another they embedded themselves in the ceiling and the sponge sucked them right up, swallowed them hook, line and sinker.

Irson waited. He kept licking his lips impatiently with a restless, serpentine motion that proper Tanae parents try to discourage in their offspring from childhood. Finally, crimson-colored sparks lit up the gazebo ceiling here and there. Tiny carmine worms ate through the black sponge, like tapeworms in a bull's gut.

Irson busied himself with a second batch.

"Irson! Irson listen to me. I think it's going to fall apart!"

"I can't... help you... right now," Irson muttered disjointedly, trying to concentrate on his spell.

"You worm-eating snake!" Talia swore. She was being jerked forward, and she stuck out her arms for balance. With every blow the tremors grew stronger and stronger. Talia feverishly tried to think. Unlike Irson, she couldn't rely on sorcery. The only weapons she had on her were garden pruning shears, needles of a sleeping fir, and... one more, straightforward means of self-defense – a short rod that could increase its target's weight many times over. Protected by a special pocket, it could have preserved its properties. But what could she aim it at? The spell would simply slip off the tray. That left one thing... Talia sighed in despair.

Tucking her elbows in at her sides and bracing her neck, she belly-flopped onto the tray and poked herself sharply in the side with the rod. That instant she literally spread out over the glass, like a slice of cheese melting over hot vegetables. Her eyes bulged; her ears clung to her head; her veins swelled; but the intruder's blows now shook the chair only slightly. Talia forced a smile at Irson, who was staring at her quizzically. Comforting himself with the thought that she'd had worse days, the Tanae released another covey of figure eights into the gazebo.

He had almost bested the sponge spell when he heard footsteps. A homely woman of average height and indistinguishable race emerged from the bushes. She was wearing wet pajamas, its buttons fastened messily, and mismatched flip flops.

"It's me, Talia, Aella's daughter," she explained nonchalantly, splashing, squishing and dripping as she walked over to Irson.

"I thought your bodies decomposed?"

"It's not my body. It's the uniform of the Noble Marauders[2]. They gave me this carcass for a certain purpose, and I keep forgetting to return it. It was in the back of the closet. Can we go in there yet?" she asked, nodding in the gazebo's direction.

"I think so, yeah."

"Awesome. I think I know how to extricate our friend from there. I have some excellent live ropes and..." she pulled a bright lilac suction cup planted on a wooden handle from behind her back. "The great and terrible dragon plunger!"

"What is that?"

"Well, its standard use is for cleaning pipes. But we can use it to force portals open and turn spatial sacks inside out. Could you by any chance pick up the tray... and the other me? You don't have to be too careful handling the corpse – I've got to graft half my bones back together anyway."

Irson nodded. Raising the transport platform into the air, he suddenly smashed it down onto the glass barricade. The chair's back flew out of the yawning sack's mouth like a cork out of a bottle, but Talia was there just in time. In a split second she shoved the thick coil of rope into the mouth, paused for three seconds and then stuck the plunger in. The sack vomited. With a revolting noise like a gurgling burp, it spat out Restes, drenching the floor at the same time with a wave of liquid darkness.

"Happy birthday!" Talia smiled and delivered the conspirator a resounding slap in the face, at which he fainted.

"What'd you do?"

"I turned off all his sensory organs, cut off the passages of his telepathic connections, and all that jazz. He doesn't need to know where we're taking him. And we don't need anyone helping him, either!" she added, spreading a modest linen pillowcase on the ground. "In this sack, harl... young maidens were carried to a certain holy priest, maidens who wished to drink from source of his wisdom, as it were. I think he'll be nice and cozy in there."

Talia patted the pillowcase invitingly, and the ropes that entwined Restes crawled inside like trained snakes, pulling the man, twitching slightly, along with them.

"Oof! What a day!" the an Kamian whistled as she tied the bottomless sack.

"You can say that again," Irson patted her on the back.

Walking over to her Alae body and, Talia set about restoring her bones with a series of quick rubbing movements. Upon finishing, she exhaled loudly and entered the body, leaving the marauder's uniform to collect dust in the middle of the gazebo.

Fixing the pillowcase to her waist, the an Kamian walked back and forth, apparently satisfied with the revamped shell.

Inon was still lying in the grass.

"Geeze, an exhumed body would have nothing on you!" Talia commented.

"Did you get him?"

"Oh yes! He's in our paws now."

"Help me up."

Supporting himself on both their shoulders, Inon rose with difficulty, and the exhausted trio started to hobble home.

"Now if we could only find Enaor and... Oh!" Talia stopped in her tracks – dead ahead a bush was putting on a most spectacular dance display. "Found 'im."

"I'm not sure I want to know what's going on with him," muttered Inon, averting his eyes.

"Then you'll have to hang out here on the grass for a while."

Talia headed towards the bushes fearlessly, crushing fallen berries with her heels as she went. Irson couldn't resist tagging along.

"Well, well, well, has someone put it into their head to dig themselves a cozy little grave?" asked the an Kamian, hands on her hips. "My poor hate-you-always flowers... you're uprooting them! Aellenica[3] take you, parasite!"

A grassy lawn sprinkled with black forget-me-nots was hidden behind the bush. Today was obviously not the best day in its vegetal life: a veritable avalanche of earth, rocks, branches, scraps of roots and leaves was descending upon its tender grass, flying from under Enaor's paws. With a rumbling purr from deep within his belly, His Ballsiness was furiously biting into the ground, like a dog who'd lost his favorite bone. His tail lashed from side to side, the claws of his widely spaced hind paws mangling the sod.

"What'd you lose there, sweetie?" Talia asked in a caring tone, walking up a little closer. Enaor didn't bat an eye.

"His mind, apparently," Irson quipped, fighting the urge to laugh.

"If it's his conscience, then he'll have a hard time finding it. Already so many geological strata have formed since..." Talia whistled. "Enaor, my dear, what is it you're looking for?"

"I'm. Digging. Through. This island." said Enaor, panting after every word. "I'll fall out on the other side. That's right! I'll fall out on the other side and get skewered on the spire of Tialinheal[4]! Yes. Yes! I haven't died that way yet!"

Talia patted his side compassionately.

"His urge is no accident. It's that waffle – no mystery there. Can you give him a sedative?"

"Him?"

"And me. But him first. Don't worry, doc, this kitty doesn't bite."

Talia sat on top of Enaor resolutely and pulled back the fold of skin on the scruff of his neck.

"How many things do I get to straddle today!"

The Eale didn't pay the equestrienne any mind. He ignored Irson as well when he crept up to his boisterous patient with a syringe behind his back and stuck the needle firmly into his thick hide. In a few minutes the Eale's movements slowed. It seemed he was no longer burrowing into the earth, but rather trying to swim through it, awkwardly paddling with his flaccid paws. Eventually he was spent.

"Hm. As we marauders say, we grip it and we strip it," Talia commanded.

Irson lifted Enaor into the air. With a shout out to Inon, Talia quickly set out towards home.

The an Kamian went down into the basement, opened a trapdoor in the floor and hopped briskly down the steps. Irson followed, carrying Inon. The stairway took them lower and lower, leading ultimately to a dead end. Talia pushed on the wall with her fingers splayed and the stone withdrew, revealing a spacious room with a glowing ceiling.

Taking up almost the whole space was a cube of thin glass – clear and scintillating, with rounded corners. It was connected to the walls, floor and ceiling with hundreds of crooked little glass legs. Here and there bits of cloth, dried flowers, doodles and all sorts of shiny knickknacks were stuck to its various surfaces, from rusty strainers and screws to gilded embossed nozzles, chandelier crystals and cast metal spirals made of hundreds of kinks. Inside, one could make out the outlines of furniture and some appliances – most likely water and air suppliers.

"Why do you have this?" asked Irson, following the lady of the house onto the cube's roof.

"I've had issues," she waved her tail.

The passageway back to the surface slowly closed up behind them. No magical emanations whatsoever – it was as if the stone's wound healed itself. Irson mentally estimated that setting up a spell like this must have cost Talia more than the house itself. Unless, of course, she had close friends among the Adorean craftsmen. In any case, the expense still paled in comparison with the cost of the cube of bys-glas.

Talia squatted near the far edge of the cube over a massive upright cupboard made of blackwood. She began to implement a precise series of motions with her hands, as if braiding an invisible wreath of dandelions. Laying it on the glass (that's what it looked like, anyway), the an Kamian whispered something tenderly. No sooner had she pronounced the words than an intricate pattern appeared on the cube's surface. It appeared to be simple half-bloomed dandelion stems interspersed with fearsome thorns. Talia poked at the center of the circle, and the glass rippled as if it were not the most durable material existing in the Infinite but rather a clump of poorly congealed jelly.

"Is this some kind of portal?" Irson asked, dumbfounded. He had never heard of anyone managing to get into a closed vessel of bys-glas.

"No, I'm just asking the glass to let us in," Talia muttered.

"Asking the glass?"

"Master snake, I don't presume to inquire about your recipes, do I?" Talia cocked her head slyly. "Be so kind as to leave mine alone as well. Especially since they're not really mine." She winked at the Tanae, cracked her back and, sticking her foot out daintily, stepped in the center of the wreath. "It's easy: just hold your breath and don't wiggle."

The bys-glas curved beneath her feet, forming a great bulging pitchy globule inside the cube. The strand connecting this drop to the ceiling of the cube elongated, taking Talia with it. It grew thinner and thinner until finally the glass closed up over Talia's head. She hung motionlessly from the ceiling for a few seconds, like a fly in an amber necklace. Irson couldn't discern what happened next – the an Kamian suddenly slid out of the transparent cocoon, landing softly on the cupboard, and waved her hand at him invitingly.

"Woah, what a sluice!" Irson snorted.

"Oh, she's full of surprises. The thing is, oftentimes they're not of the pleasant variety," Inmelion added with a frown.

"I'll go next, then help her catch Enaor?" Irson suggested.

The priest nodded.

Irson held his breath and soon found himself next to Talia. She had managed to pull an entire heap of pillows onto the cupboard and was now fluffing them up in preparation for Enaor. The sight of him hanging in the globule in fetal position recalled to Irson the baby fish still lying on the gazebo floor. He could clearly see their porcelain eyes looking up at him with silent reproach. The thought made the Tanae burn with shame...

He shivered when Talia suddenly stuck her fingers in his hair, running her sharp claws along the back of his head.

"An anti-vandalism spell's got to you. It was cast on my late ottoman back when it was on display in a museum. I cleaned up what was left of it... the museum, not the spell!" Talia clarified, noticing Irson's smirk (the Tanae grinned even wider). "Oh, talk to the paw!"

"Hope he's not suffocating in there," she mumbled and scraped her claws along the glass as hard as she could, helping Enaor "be born" as quickly as possible.

Irson shut his eyes, anticipating a harsh sound, but the bys-glas parted with a soft electric crackle, gently "spitting" the Eale onto the pillows.

"Let's drag him over to that corner, on the leather mattress. Help me, please. After all this tribulation, I'm afraid to levitate him. I'm overexcited. It feels like my brain is trembling more than my hands! And sparks are flying between my ears. Brrr!"

Situating themselves around Enaor, who was snoring peacefully, the Tanae, the human and the Alae could finally catch their breath. Talia placed her deranged friend's paws in a bowl of warm water to cleanse the clay caked between his fingers, then carefully wiped his face with a wet towel.

"Talia, could you please tell us about that waffle in a little more detail," asked Irson, killing the idyllic mood. He procured the dimpled pipe from his pocket.

"Sure. But remember, you've never laid eyes on it, or I'll have my hide tanned – literally," Talia warned them and did not continue until both her listeners nodded their consent to take her words most seriously. "It's called 'Selorn's waffle,' and it's a transmitter of sorts for telepathic attacks. If you need to 'correct' something in someone's head, someone who mind-diggers could never get near... an eale can recruit a maid, for example. She'll discretely aim his waffle at her mistress, and, when the lady employer wakes up the next morning, thanks to the maid she'll suddenly realize she can no longer resist her depraved passion for... for the stable boy, let's say. They'll run off together in a week. And the vacancy of court sorceress will open up for a certain lady dear to the telepath."

"How hideous," Inmelion couldn't conceal his disgust.

"The waffle's drawback is," Talia went on, paying the comment no mind, "first off all, it can only instill a very specific desire or feeling to a very specific target. There can be up to four such targets. Secondly, you can only hit a creature's weak spot with it: if not for Enaor's passion for suicide, he wouldn't have started digging anything. Thirdly, creating a waffle zaps a cat's strength so much, it takes nearly a week to recover."

"I don't think there are that many suicidal Alae. That means the waffle maker probably has a bone to pick with Enaor personally," Irson said.

"It's hard to believe one of the telepaths could lose sight of reality so much as to allow these... renegades to ensnare him," Inmelion shook his head.

"Why should we be surprised if Selorn himself, the master telepath, is only a hop, skip, and a jump away?" Talia shrugged. "As for me..."

She trailed off: without opening his eyes, Enaor suddenly pulled his paw from the bowl and shook it squeamishly, sprinkling the trio with dirty droplets. Talia instantly planted the stray limb back where it belonged and snatched her unresponsive friend behind the ear.

"You ought to finish with this... manicure. We need to have a serious talk," Inon admonished her.

"Oh, you and your 'serious grownup talk,'" the an Kamian yawned. "If you only knew what a wailing and yowling there'll be if this whiskered misunderstanding wakes up with his paws in that state! Have you ever tied a tin can to a cat's tail? Well, this would be a hundred times worse. Look, you guys go on with the talk, and I'll try to weed this mole's muck out of his brains!"

Talia laid her chin on the bridge of Enaor's nose and closed her eyes.

"Not happening. It's over my head," she said, opening her eyes after a long while. "We need to find another telepath. And not just anyone. We're dealing with a very talented fellow."

"Got anyone in mind?" Inon asked.

"Well..." Talia drawled pensively. "I don't have anymore friends or contacts among the Eale higher-ups, but Enaor told me about a certain telepath who's extremely upset about the anti-Veindor sentiments Selorn and his circle harbor. He's the one who'd helped His Ballsiness escape from the patriarch. I don't think we'll find a better candidate to serve as our accomplice."

"What is his name?" Inon inquired; the word "accomplice" clearly did not appeal to him.

"Mor Oddeye. He's a member of the patriarch's entourage – a very balanced, level-headed cat. He really... inspires trust, kind of like Irson," Talia grinned. "I can contact him through the LAN[5] right away if you like."

"Irson?" Inon stared at the Tanae expectantly.

But Irson just shrugged. He had nothing to add.

"Well then, we have no choice," the priest settled it.

"I'm off then. I hope I still have some milk left... Be nice to my kitty, OK?" said Talia, carefully setting Enaor's head down on a pillow. The Eale gave a muffled growl, adjusting the cushion under his head with a clawed paw.

The "caregivers" exchanged a look of pained resignation.

____________________

[1] BMSS – Briaellar's Magic Security Service.

[2] Noble Marauders – Briaellar city morgue's delivery service. If you happen to expire somewhere far from your homeland and are resurrected in a new body, but you want your belongings which were on the old body, the Noble Marauders will happily travel to the site of your demise. And collect the spoils off your corpse.

[3] Aellenica – the Nae of the botanical world.

[4] Tialinheal – the Pearl Palace of the Nae Tialianna, located in the center of Naeria, directly beneath the flying island of Briaellar.

[5] LAN (Lactose Area Network, milk mail) – Briaellar's main communication system, created by Patriarch Teinlaan an Meanor. It consists of several thousand permanently fixed silver bowls (in homes, various establishments, in parks and streets), located near ultra-reliable portals. They are used exclusively by the service's "employees" – specially bred talking six-pawed amri cats ("messengers"). To call the mail carrier, splash the bowl with milk, which will immediately be lapped up by them – hence the dairy-themed designations.