Chapter 128: 128: Primary Lumpiness Indicators

Learner’s Notes, Day 6:

The hooters are the same species!

I made this realization when I spotted some very small hooter prisoners take off their lower coverings and defecate on the side of the arena. The lumpy hooter they were with hooted at them in a rather aggressive way, and they quickly ran off, chased through the thick crowd by their lumpy hooter jailor.

Isolating the memory, I found that the small hooter was undifferentiated from the one next to it save certain anatomical features. We’ll call them Primary Lumpiness indicators for now.

All observed hooters display one of the two primary lumpiness indicators. When I saw the small prisoners defecating, I realized that the very small hooters are not simply all one phenotype, but rather, undifferentiated hooters.

They grow.

I have witnessed a wide enough sample size that I can safely guess that they start as small, undifferentiated wriggling flesh-worms incapable of defending themselves, up through growth stage, lumpy stage, the flabby stage, then wrinkled and slow stage.

I can safely assume these to be the appropriate stages as they both link in size disparity and with the number of living samples: There are fewest of the wrinkled and slow hooters, and most of the wriggling flesh-worms, and a steady line between them, indicating the attrition rate of natural predation has thinned them out over time.

There seem to be two stages that the most value is placed on. Hooters seem to defer to the expertise of either wrinkled hooters, or particularly lumpy hooters. Flat hooters, Flabby hooters, pupal and growth stage hooters are typically subordinated beneath these two categories.

Requires more study.

Vocabulary increasing exponentially as more hoots become available to define other hoots. Soon I will have enough to learn to ‘read’ visual hoots.

Disguise uncompromised, although this leads to a limited amount of opportunities to learn about The Manifold Predator. I must be patient and learn everything I can. Seamless integration will be key.

 

***Matthias, Master Illusionist/Healer***

“Alright, remember, the fracture in your shoulder isn’t gone, it’s just patched by a slow dissolving illusion, same with the bruises. You’ll be good to fight for the rest of the day, but you’re going to ache for a week or so afterwards as your body heals. Understood?”

The Juntai Electromancer nodded. Juntai hailed from the jungle south of Uleis, their range stretching east until they abutted Boles. They had angular features and reddish skin, toughened by a life lived in a jungle. There were rumors that they hoarded the secrets of the past in massive ancient cities buried in the jungle.

When Matthias saw the uniformity of the copper wire wrapped around the man’s forearms, he couldn’t help but wonder.

The Juntai prized copper almost as much as everyone else prized Nem, and many nations took advantage of this to buy large amounts of lumber with copper. None more so than Matthias’s home country of Ilethas, whose mineral resources far outstripped their forests.

The man was practically dripping with it, too. He had coils of copper in his ears, nose, eyebrows. A couple large studs went right through his shoulder.

Matthias was surprised the cannonball hadn’t ripped something loose.

“Thank you, Doc-tore.” The bald man said, nodding as he rolled his shoulder, testing it’s flex. “I would recharge your hearth, if you but ask.”

“…’Kay.” Matthias responded with a frown. Was he offering to go get wood for my fire? that seems like what he meant? It was probably a traditional Juntai expression of thanks.

The juntai bowed again in gratitude, then turned and left, leaving Matthias alone with his assistant.

“That’s another ten stones for you,” Calvin the clone said. “Easy money. Bet you’re hoping people get even more messed up.”

“Not really.” Matthias responded, turning back to face the boy. “Despite your experiences during the war between our respective countries, not every Ilethan is a coldhearted, exploitive asshole who would kick an orphan for a pinch of dust.”

“Just the ones in charge,” Calvin said, spinning in his chair because he knew it annoyed Matthias.

Gods, why did I agree to this?

Matthias sighed. “Yes, it’s mostly the ones in charge. Mind magic has a strong tendancy to bring out the worst in people. It is by its very nature, a violation, and ripe for abuse.”

“Huh.” Calvin frowned pensively. “Ella’s here.”

Matthias glanced up to see the team’s niece entering the physician’s room to be examined before the next fight.

“You’re here.” She said, looking at Calvin.

“Huh?”

“The real Calvin. You’re controlling the tournament somehow. There were a couple of rules that targeted Baroke based on height and weight that had him prancing through the first round on high heels, in a thong.”

“Hah!” the construct said, slapping his knee. “Gods, I wish I got to see that. So I’m out of danger?”

“As far as I can tell.” The muscular Genosian princess glanced at the boy. “What would you do if you were running the tournament?”

“Well, I’d probably kidnap all the princesses that are attending, and hide under my victim’s nose to get off on the danger and revel in their confusion. In the meantime, I would fuck with Baroke and also make the contestants debase themselves for my amusement.”

The copy kicked his heels against the seat and threw up his hands at Matthias’s horrified expression.

“I’m just saying that’s what I’d do.”

“The next event is catching a greased Horker.” Ella said dryly.

“AHAHAHAH!”

“So Calvin is most likely in the royal stands, posing as someone else, and has some kind of plan in place to kidnap all of them at once.” Matthias said, rubbing his chin.

“Salute to the royal family?” He asked, pointing at the itinerary, the fourth event on the list.

“Yep.” The copy nodded. “Seems like an appropriate time to whisk them away.”

“You’re a twisted little shit, you know that?”

“Say what you want, but I’m not hurting anyone, just kidnapping them and wounding their national pride. Maybe.”

Matthias shook his head before gesturing to Ella. “Let me take care of those bruises and scrapes for you.”

“Such a gentleman,” The Genosian girl said, offering him her hand in a delicate manner. “Not like my Poeor, who thrives on chaos.”

“I’m getting it from both sides, here.” the construct said, crossing his arms and scowling at them. “Well you know what? I don’t have to take this.”

He grabbed a pair of shears and set it to his collar.

“What-“

Snap!

The Nem of the collar broke, and the construct winked out of existence, allowing the collar to clatter to the ground.

“Did he just kill himself?” Matthias whispered.

“I think he thought it would be funny?” Ella said with a frown. “I’m not sure.”

“Funny?” Matthias said, brows raised. “You realize that copy had all the same experiences as your original?”

“Yes?”

“Meaning your original boy is capable of killing himself…as a joke?”

“…he makes it a point to ask his copies what they think and feel. I think as a way of coming to terms with the idea that one day he will open his eyes and be one of them, with precious minutes of life left.”

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Matthias scratched his head. “Well, your boyfriend has got some screws loose, is all I’m saying.”

***Farren***

“Pardon me,” Farren said, excusing himself to use the lavatory. The body double waved him off pensively. Farren was gripped by the urge to put his glass dagger through the back of the imposters head, but it wouldn’t accomplish anything.

He walked inside the arena, passing by Gant on the way through. The two eyed each other suspiciously but neither said anything.

He ducked into the toilet, where Borsch posed as a servant, waiting patiently with a towel and an extensive shaving kit if he felt the need to groom himself.

“Welcome milord,” The assassin said, tone neutral.

“It’s not him,” Farren said. Short and sweet, and difficult to parse without knowing the context. Exactly how secret conversations should be.

“Ah,” Borsch said, brows raised. “Then I take it you no longer need my services?”

“No, something tells me this arena may get messy. I need you on hand in case I need some help keeping myself tidy.”

The door to the royal toilet creaked open, revealing Polluq, and a shiver went down Farren’s spine. Kurawe’s top enforcer had caught him in the same room as Borsch.

He wasn’t even supposed to be here today!

“Good afternoon, Farren, and who do you have here? Why it’s Borsch, Uleis’s top assassin.”

“It’ll cost extra if you don’t want him to leave this room.” Borsch said, his voice dispassionate.

“Now I was just passing by, overheard your conversation and took an interest.”

“How’s that?”

“For starters, this whole plan to assassinate Kurawe.”

Farren and Borsch tensed, ready to fight for their lives if need be.

“It’s not gonna go well. Even if the man were still alive, it probably wouldn’t go well.”

“What?” Farren asked, icy fingers working their way up his spine.

“That guy parading around as Kurawe?” Polluq said, pointing toward the stands. “He cut Kurawe’s head off right in front of my eyes, then proceeded to do the same to damn near every single leader of the city. Your whole world’s already been torn down, and you’re living in the past.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Farren asked.

“Oh, because the idiot handed me the keys to the kingdom, and I need a figurehead.” Polluq said bluntly, leaning against the wall of the bathroom.

“You want me to take my father’s place as your puppet?” Farren sneered. “I would rather die.”

“That can be arranged,” the military commander bristled. “But it’s no skin off my back if you don’t want to deal. Your brother seemed fairly eager to replace you when I pitched the idea to him.”

Farren chuckled. “You don’t know my brother as well as you think you do. The only thing we have in common is our vehement distaste for your yoke.”

“Well, I warned you,” Polluq said with a shrug. “If you’re interested in my offer, get off the stands before the salute to the royal family.”

“Why?”

Polluq grinned.

“You’ll see. I don’t know what’s going to happen to everyone there, but it’s not going to be fun.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Farren said, brushing past Polluq. The commander let him go, moving out of the way with an amused expression. He cast a glance at Borsch.

“Keep your hands clean.” Then he strode off, his hard soles clacking against the glass floors.

“What do you think?” Borsch asked, following Farren out the door.

“I think, ‘fuck that guy, I’ll do what I want to spite him’.”

“Very good your highness.”

Farren marched back out to the stands and took his seat beside Kurawe, then leaned over.

“A Gossipfly told me that you killed Kurawe and are planning something untoward during the salute.” He whispered.

Kurawe leaned back from him with a raised brow.

“Looks like someone’s a leaky leakerson.” The man focused on Farren’s eyes for a moment, weighing his choices. “What do you want?”

“Tell me what happens during the salute.”

Kurawe pondered for a moment. “I’ll tell you. If…you agree not to cause a scene or leave your seat.”

Of course there was no way he would hold to the bargain if it were a death sentence for him and his family, and there was every possibility that was the case, and the words coming out of the man’s mouth would be an avalanche of lies. But perhaps the lies could illuminate some facts.

“Deal.”

“I’m going to shrink the entire royal stands and send it and everyone on it down into the sewers on a rail, zipping it out into the desert at unimaginable speeds, then when you’re all well and properly kidnapped, I’ll send you back to the city, none the worse for wear.”

“That’s…Mad. Why would you do that?” Farren quietly hissed. “That’s not even a good lie! There’s no reason to do that! And people can’t shrink!”

“What lie? That’s what’s going to happen.”

Farren clenched his fist then slowly relaxed it. Take it slow, take it easy.

If this man was fool enough to hand Polluq control over the military, then he might be naïve enough to grant Farren some measure of power. If Farren could get his fingers into the military, he could grow the royal family’s influence over the next generation. Possibly seize back the crown in his lifetime.

The man across from him seemed blunt and informal, so Farren decided to match him.

“In the event that Polluq betrays you, I would like his job.”

“A real go-getter, huh? Gant asked me that same thing.” The body double leaned over and waved at Gant, who waved back.

King Ollust between them, was taking a nap in the afternoon sun, fanned off by the nubile servants they could barely afford to keep up pretenses.

“So tell me, why should I trust a snitch? Obviously you’re not loyal to me. You don’t even know me.”

Was this a trap?

Farren tapped his fingers as he concentrated on a believable story. He couldn’t flat out say he had no respect for his choice of representatives and wanted to slowly usurp his power. He had to put spin on it without being too misleading.

“To me, Polluq represents the old guard. I would oppose him with every fiber of my being if it meant a glimmer of a chance my family could retake a fraction of their previous status, even if that outcome saw us in service of another.”

“Alright…I think we can do business. If Polluq tries to stab me in the back.” The lookalike said with a smile. “Stay in your seat until the end, and I guarantee you’ll see something fun.”

“And here we go!” The announcer’s voice began to echo through the stadium, drawing their attention. “The contestants are at their stations, and the horker has been slimed! Ready! Set! GO!”

Macronomicon

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