The Casmut Solution, part 2

Not the slightest. I'm just wondering if yous want me to tell what happened after she arrived.

[rubs face] Folks, I'm operating on something like 10 hours of sleep in the last three days; don't expect me to pick up subtle cues.

Swiff: Subtlety, she accuses me of. Oy. [giggle]

Suitov: [frowns] Do I want to know what happened? Oh, and what is this sleep substance you speak of?

Swiff: It's probably less... distracting if you don't know.

Suitov: [an expression like a man who knows he's trying to scale a glass wall wearing soap gloves] In that case, and since you appear to be running the show, dearling, do please tell me my next line.

Swiff: Casmut.

[Nico and Sylvie look at Suitov waiting for him to start talking.]

Casmut. Right. [leans back, steeples fingers for a moment, takes a give-me-strength breath, wonders how much detail any of them really wanted] The landscape of the Casmut region is hilly, scrubby grassland mould-spotted with sheep; villages puddle at the bottom of unexpected valleys and there's an occasional mineral seam that nobody bothers to exploit. Other than that, most of what they grow there is trouble.

About five years back I'd taken a small deputation for general getting-to-know-you talks with the Casmuti government-in-transience. That was the idea, anyway. In the event our guide was attacked by a lesser lion, of all things, we'd become lost in the hills and were running half a day late.

Things aren't all that safe out there, even discounting the wildlife. For complicated reasons, the Lakshmuti to the northwest want control of Casmut, the Delamuti in the southeast want it to be independent and most of the Casmuti themselves want to be part of Delamut as they were in the good old days, out of some vague memory of a happy, prosperous age before the silver standard replaced the wool. In other words, there are three main factions plus fringe groups, when they come out to play and encounter each other they don't settle merely for trading insults, and we were blundering around in the middle of the playground all thanks to a blasted lion.

It was at this point that we ran across a somewhat distressed demoness who claimed to be lost and starving. One of my staff, I can't quite remember, insisted on stopping and bringing her with us...

Weft: You know perfectly well that was you.

Swiff: [eyes twinkling, but fortuitously unable to comment owing to pie]

Suitov: Ah yes, so it was. In any case, exhausted and very dusty, we did at last manage to find our welcoming committee, and entirely unsympathetic they were too, shortly before dark. It was a tiny hill base; I'd been picturing the floor plan on the way in and there couldn't have been any space to waste. Accordingly, accommodation was a pair of what were obviously storerooms, with camp beds squeezed in for all ten of us. We've put up with much worse. Other than having to threaten both Weft and our guest with sleeping outside if they didn't stop winding each other up...

Weft: She started it. [scowls at Swiff, who flutters eyelashes at him]

Suitov: ...nothing much happened throughout the night or the next day's talks until mid-afternoon, when a sentry wheezed in and said a squadron of elite trouble was on its way up to disrupt the meeting.

Ishtar, is all this really necessary? I don't know that everyone's all that interested in what we got up to as youngsters. [friendly/apologetic look at the others except Weft, because he can quite clearly hear what Weft thinks about the whole thing]

Nico: Suitov, you are a bloody brilliant storyteller -

Sylvie [amused]: I don't know, I never liked that pausing-when-things-look-to-get-even-more-interesting trope.

Nico: Well, yes, so if there's a problem it's certainly not lacking interest. :-)

I'm afraid it was more 'pausing because Mutt needed to go to bed' than 'cheap wheeze to heighten suspense', as Wyldsong can attest...

Still, just to please you, Sylvie, I haven't let her post any more of it until I finished dictating the whole thing.

(Ishtar: Ouch, my fourth wall.
Weft: Hey, that's Suitov's line.
Ishtar: Well, this is Suitov's face.
Weft: Still think that's creepy.
Ishtar: I make this look good.
Weft: Creepy!
Ishtar: [smiiiile])

Top floor conference room overlooking a mountainside, one doorway; nice aspects, grim escape prospects.

The Casmuti leader is called 'the Cas', honorific. "Laksh, is it?" he said. "Think they're after the guests," the sentry managed, to which the Cas replied, paraphrased, "Of course they're blasted well after the guests. Can't anyone keep a blasted secret meeting secret?" Rhetorical.

My staff thought they could hold them off, the Casmuti disagreed but wanted to charge them anyway, Weft agreed with them, the dog agreed with Weft, the demoness was looking amused at all the panic, and all the while the secretary was trying to make anyone listen to his suggestion that the leaders climb out of the window onto the roof. "Assuming we don't break our silly necks," I said, "it'll be fairly obvious where we've gone."

"Is now a good time to mention I'm a shapeshifter?" asked the demoness. Apparently it was.

One clearly-delineated plan of action later saw four of us climbing out onto the windowledge. In fact it was a reasonably easy climb, though I had enough of a time holding on with both hands while hoisting Baskerville. Weft, who'd claimed it was more than his life was worth to let me out of his sight, flowed up onto the roof like sarcastic snowmelt. The Cas chose a jewel of an occasion to start wondering if he was afraid of heights and had to be half-dragged up by the collar before he decided not to be. Someone had the sense to shut the window behind us.

It's somewhat surreal to hear a faint facsimile of your own voice sneering taunts you'd never dream of using in mixed company.

"Now what?" asked the Cas as we picked across the rooftop. The sun was dawdling downwards, turning the sky purple. "First of all we hope you were lying about being ceremonially unarmed," I said. "What? Of course I wasn't!" he said. You know that sinking feeling when you realise your ally is an honourable man? "Damn. Neither was I," I told him. (I'm not an honourable man. I merely behave like one occasionally.) "Let's at least move somewhere with less distance to fall." The opposite side of the roof afforded an easy drop onto the porch.

"For the record, I was lying," Weft volunteered. On being told to go and amuse himself, he disappeared over the edge with the barest hint of a happy thrum. I set the dog on the ground and sent him to put up the Lakshmuti horses while we climbed down.

The Cas had something to prove by now, and a brace of fallen Lakshmuti who hadn't had a chance to shout for help provided him with a point, so we headed inside and joined the chaos. Took me a good few seconds to assay the state of things, with the allies and enemies outfitted so similarly. I stuck to magic instead of steelware, however proof - besides, it's often useful to demonstrate to your friends why an unarmed battlemage isn't necessarily a harmless one. For one thing, they're more likely to decide to remain friends.

The Lakshmuti were a little surprised and put out at being attacked from two sides and quite soon decided not to play any more. I told my lot to let the remainder escape; anyway, they'd have a long walk. In fact we know some of them did get home to tell confused and conflicting stories about the enemy leader taking fifteen sword cuts and healing instantly. Well, I wasn't going to disillusion them about immortal body doubles.

Three of my staff and several more Casmuti weren't as lucky, and once we'd sorted them out the Cas clapped a hand onto my shoulder and said "My friend, I see you command demons as easily as men." ('Friend', you see?) Playing dumb for the sake of narrative flow, I pointed out that I hadn't exactly commanded Ishtar; she'd volunteered - "unless you mean my dog, and he isn't a demon."

"Actually, I was talking about your bodyguard," the Cas said. Slow, inscrutable blinks are Weft's equivalent of preening. "Oh, he isn't my bodyguard," I smiled, "he's the man who's been sent to kill me. He's only keeping me safe until he does." Which was wicked of me, but the bewildered look from our ally was so satisfying.

And that is what happened in Casmut, and why among my closer circles it's become a byword for masquerades and general mayhem. What else? Weft had been plied with plenty of premium wool to play with, so he was happy enough not to try to kill Ishtar on the way back - although she only travelled a short way with us before whisking off on another errand of her own. That particular Cas was captured and beheaded a year and a half later by another faction. Politics being what they are, we're best friends with Lakshmut now and still trying to intercede some kind of land-sharing deal. I still don't trust lions. That's about all.

(Ishtar: [purrr])

Sylvie: Innnteresting.

Nico [looks at least reasonably well entertained]: Sylvie?

Sylvie: Hm?

Nico: If he now goes on saying "Now that you know that, I'll of course have to kill you", we've officially been had.

[Sylvie makes 'WTF are you saying??' face at Nico.]

No need. The strychnine in your apple pie will take effect any second now. [straight-faced]

[Weft spoils the effect by bursting into giggles]

[smirks and raises an eyebrow]
Man, Sidney'd never allow it. Apart from that stychnine tastes vile.

Seriously though, thanks for your patience.

Suitov: Likewise for yours... [narrow look at Ishtar. He still hasn't a clue what's going on and is finally getting the message that he isn't likely to.]

Ishtar: [happy! ^^ purr]

Weft: Ishtar, get out of that annoying shape. One of him's more than enough.

Ishtar: Really? I would have thought y-

Weft: Please.

Ishtar: Oh. All right. [Goes blonde and female. With cute little black bat wings. And babydoll t-shirt that says 'Empousan Mystery' on the front. In pink.]

Weft: That's... ngh... better, I suppose. I thought Nico had rumbled you for sure when she asked about the Hallows party. Then again, I can't believe you fooled any of us for a second. Suitov'd never wear cargo pants.

Ishtar: You've never seen his science fiction incarnation, have you?

Suitov: [studiously ignores them] So, what have the rest of you been interested in recently?

Nico: Sorry to disappoint you, Weft, but I never suspected.

Sylvie: Practicing. [points over shoulder at table with gameboard]

Nico: I went for a walk to let off steam. And now I'm -

Sidney: Nico, this thing starts leaking.

Nico: [blinks] Oh. Right.
[to Suitov, beningly earnest] See, there was this apple that sort of followed me home, and I wondered if you'd be interested?

Sylvie: Followed you home?

Nico: [shrugs] Hey, I didn't ask it to.

Weft and Ishtar: [are now discussing, with a fluctuating level of argumentativeness: robot sidekicks, zero-g adaptation, augmentation technology and whether Suitov would look good in some kind of futuristic flak jacket]

Suitov: [flatly] An apple.
[He was more interested in the gameboard by far, but Mutt showed him the Wikipedia article to shut him up.]

[Sidney carefully puts a green apple on the counter. It is about the size of a handball. It appears to be snoring.]

I thought it was kinda cute. [yawns] Sorry.
I thought you liked apples. But if I'm wasting yet more of your time, I can just set it outside and let it find its way home.

An apple. [blinks] I - what?

Nico [pointing at the apple in question]: I said, it followed me. Seems to be affectionate. But my lease doesn't allow pets, even if they're vegetable.

Good grief. [blink]

I'm not a pet person, anyway.

Sidney, would you let it out if no-one wants to keep it?

[Sidney nods and prods the apple carefully. The apple goes "gnorf".]

I'm off, then. Have a nice day.

Good to... see you... [snaps himself out of it, breaks eye contact with le fruit] Er, yes. Take care then, Nico.

Weft: ...faintest idea why everyone in The Future is supposed to dress in impractical, fetishy twentieth-century Earth clubwear...

Ishtar: ...assuming in The Future they've obliterated problems like swollen Achilles tendons, bust support, ribcages or the necessity for clothes to provide some actual warmth... or maybe they're secretly all shapeshifters like me.

Weft: [nudges Ishtar somewhere reasonably chaste] Hey, when did he lose an I and gain a Y?

[Nico leaves. Sylvie obviously wonders what's weirder: the apple or Ishtar and Weft. Daaren has been listening, but it still keeping his thoughts to himself. Sidney looks at Suitov.]

[Anke apologises for typos and blames the fact she's lacking sleep.]

I... er, suppose Perry might be able to find a home for it. I wonder if there's a fruitb-- family somewhere missing it.

(Ishtar: ...robot animal called Bohème, or is it Benacquiste...
Weft: ...doesn't sound much different honestly...
Ishtar: ...same seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time approach to invention, that's for sure...
Weft: ...as irritating, in other words.)