Seeds of Trouble 02

"Says his name's Zashta," Alic added from behind her.

Paraskive nodded. "Hello, Zashta," she said. She followed up with every language in which she knew how to say "My name is Paraskive" - about four or five attempts in all - finally giving up after spotting no sign of recognition arising from any of them.

In the following break Zashta made an attempt at parrotting the last phrase she'd said, making a considerably better job of her name, since she'd repeated it so often.

Might as well start somewhere, right? Shai had managed learning the other way.

Alic, grinning, looked at Paraskive.

"Well, it's a start," she remarked.

After a look at the windowsill, where her tea was growing cold, she picked up the cup, took a sip by way of demonstration, then raised her eyebrows questioningly and pointed at Zashta. He'd sounded quite hoarse, unless that was his normal voice. Perhaps he was a smoker.

Zashta was definitely interested, and stood on the balls of his feet for a moment, craning his head.

He wasn't sure what Paraskive expected - was that an offer, or a request? - but he pointed at the cup with an open hand, which was halfway to reaching for it, and copied her look.

"Right." Paraskive called her assistant. "Vlasil, a drink for our guest here, please."

Vlasillis looked in and did an obvious double-take at Zashta's hands. "Right away, Ms Taxidies. And for Mr Sanna..."

"Thanks, but I have my round to finish," said Alic, who would prefer to have forgotten all about it in the excitement but wasn't quite that young any more. "I'll be back afterwards if I may, madam." He swept an elaborate courtesy in the Meizur style and smooched Paraskive's hand.

"Away with you!" she smirked, which Alic took to mean yes, and both assistant and shiny-braided postman departed, one of them for only a minute or two.

Zashta turned to watch Alic leave, and pulled on an eartip nervously. Being left alone with a woman, or possibly two of them, was another thing to add to the general weirdness.

"He won't be long," said Paraskive. She wasn't saying anything further for now if the visitor didn't do anything interesting.

She was sure she'd talked to someone in town a few months ago about teaching Soprone as a second language - now who had that been...?

Noticing that Paraskive looked inward rather than at him, Zashta didn't try to talk to her further, not wanting to interrupt her thinking.

He accepted the drink from the other woman with another bow from the neck. He held the saucer with both thumbs on the top, and the cup with the outer thumb below it. Cool water would have been more welcome, and less work, than hot tea, but he wasn't about to look ungrateful.

"Vlasil," Paraskive asked her assistant after he returned with the tea, "how are you at babysitting?"

Paraskive's time wasn't for wasting on looking after a castaway. Some of the irritation from being disturbed had returned.

"I can sit him downstairs with me, as long as he can behave civilised." Vlasil looked at the brown-skinned man as if doubting it. "What are we going to do with him, Ms Taxidies?"

Paraskive said "I suppose there's not much to do until we get him talking the local lingo and find out his story. Know anyone patient with a lot of free evenings?"

At least he was plainly not a spy or anything ridiculous like that. She hated melodrama.

Vlasillis frowned. "Well... Mr Sanna fits that description."

"Alic?" said Paraskive, thoughtfully. Well, he was certainly interested in their visitor.

A few more lines of dialogue were exchanged, in which the name "Alic" cropped up several times.

Zashta fidgeted a little, but watched the two closely.

He filled in the conversation in his head. What was Alic thinking? Well, it's his problem now. Alic brought it home, he'll have to eat it. Well, that last, probably not.

Paraskive smiled at their visitor. "Go with Vlasillis now, all right?"

Vlasil, at the same time, tried to coax Zashta to follow him down a floor. The assistant had had an idea of his own. He'd give the stranger some paper and a pencil. Providing he knew what they were - that is, Vlasil had no idea what illiterate island tribals were meant to look like, but inbreeding might explain the thumbs. Anyway, if not, they might at least be able to swap pictograms. And it would hopefully keep him quiet.

After another look at Paraskive, Zashta followed the man readily enough.

Paper and pencil, however, did not get any promising reaction. He looked at both for a moment, lowered the paper, and started twirling the little stick around his fingers as he looked at Vlasilis, head tilted in confusion.

"What's that for?" I guess I could try to poke holes in the thin stuff.

Vlasil took it back and, without much hope, drew a few loops and curves on the paper. "Not literate, eh?" he said, shaking his head ruefully. He still held the paper and pencil in front of him so that Zashta could take them back if he wished.