Inn 52

"Quite. I don't think I've come across an animal that grows this fast before." She made a mental note to ask about the wyvern later.

The animal in question stelked over to Suitov, in case the wyvern had left anything edible on him.

"At least, not one on this scale."

He tolerated it nudging him, only pushing the beak away when it got too exploratively nippy.

From behind Sylvie, someone blurted "Sylvie, I can't find hi-- Suitov! there you are, you've got to come quickly, that horrible beast is ba-- wait."

"Hello, Weft," said the more pallid of the mages.

The chicken gryphon cheeped. The very tip of its tail wagged twice. It still did not look rabidly vengeful.

Sylvie resisted the urge to say something snide, or even giving Weft a self-satisfied look.

Instead she asked "Do you think the garden needs signs to warn people off it?"

"Do you think it does?" Suitov didn't seem to have thought of that.

Weft muttered something about SOMEONE here needing a warning sign all right.

"Well, it might save people worrying if they knew it was harmless... Though I'm not sure it'll stay that way if it continues growing like that for long."

"It's not harmless," Weft said patiently. "It knocked my friend out and left him with concussion."

Suitov grabbed its beak with a firm "No." The gryphon had just started clawing at him with its taloned front leg. The animal sat down instead and appeared to be trying to beg.

"See?" sighed Weft. "It's only a matter of time; it's going to kill you both, and I'd really rather it didn't get Sylvie. Can't I just..." He mimed slicing a finger across his jugular.

"It may well be unique," said Suitov.

"Then it'll be lonely all its life."

Suitov turned and looked at him.

"Besides, there's only one of you, either," Weft pointed out. Logical argument was difficult enough; grammar was a bit much to expect of him.

An attempt at following that logic ended in a sigh, and Sylvie telling Weft, "Well, then the two of them could be lonely together."

"Until it hatches whatever evil plot it's plotting and kills everyone," he retorted.

"Do you think it'll lay?" asked Suitov. The prospect delighted him.

"I think it'll slay. You're not keeping it, Ice." He silently appealed to Sylvie.

"If it'll lay - and it is part chicken, not part rooster - nothing will hatch, if it's really unique..." Sylvie said thoughtfully. She had not really paid attention to what Weft had been saying.

"What I meant was that the rear is similar to a lesser lion, and cats are usually known for viviparity. Live birth, that is," he added, glancing at Weft. "If she can lay -- oh, just think of the craftsmanship."

"I'm thinking of the medical bills," said Weft, who didn't understand what he meant by craftsmanship and didn't care.

The creature began to badger Sylvie again.

It was at this point in the conversation that Jelly, who had been sleeping for quite some time by now in the roof-gutter, woke up. The stretching involved in this rather lengthy endeavor rolled him off the roof. Luckily, the gryphon's feathery part was directly underneath.

"Whoa." Jelly blinked sleepily, kneading his paws in the fluffiness. 'Have I died and gone to heaven? I didn't think the place let me in anymo.. Oh." He stopped kneading and glared at Weft.

"Still here then. Sigh. But what's this I'm standing on?"

"A chimera of unknown provenance, rumoured to be highly dangerous and suspected on at least one count of assault and battery. I've been calling her Cluckbeak."

Perhaps other people would have said this in a fashion that didn't suggest they expected a response of "oh, good".

"Miss Sylvie..." Weft, meanwhile, slunk over to the girl and lowered his voice. "What's that weird rat and why is it talking?"

She met his tone, more to be polite than thinking Jelly wouldn't hear it. "That's a cat, not a rat. And it talks because it's actually a demon trapped in the body of a cat."

"Did you do that?" asked Weft.

"No. Not my field." Apart from that she would have chosen something different as a vessel. For example a stone. Which was then dropped to the ground of the ocean, over a known deep sea valley.

"Did Suitov do it?"

"I don't think so."

Jelly cocked his head as Suitov spoke. "Oh. Cool."

He patted the beast again, this time in a more thoughtful manner. "I like it. Can I keep it? Pweeease? I'll sic it on that.. beast.. for you?" This last with a glare for Weft. Obviously, he had heard the rat comment.

Cluckbeak scratched the base of her neck with her hindfoot.

"There's no resemblance. None at all." Upon so muttering, Weft folded his arms and switched his attention back to the animals. All three of them.

"I don't know," Suitov was saying mischievously. "Will you promise to exercise her twice daily and clean out her... stall, basket or coop, delete as appropriate?"