27.
 The fungal poison had sickened Jory O'Call to the verge of death, not a whit closer. He recognized the dark touch of the babas as he lay vomiting watery soup laced with twirling bits of vegetal matter into a bucket. For a while, he was too sick to care where he was, or even that the place smelled bad like rancid butter. Fire inside and outside tormented him as he threw up what mean gruel or rabbit food was brought to him.
After what seemed like an eternity, probably a few days, a Fril woman came with a warm, wet towel. She knelt by his bedside and wiped his cheeks, showing him the white fungal deposits that covered the area around his mouth. "You will be feeling better now," she said in a curious snapping voice. She spoke Human fair enough, but strangely. Jory glimpsed the inside of her mouth as she spoke—toothless mustard-colored gums; a narrow, longish tongue split at the tip; and a round throat hole that he suspected she liked to distend of an evening now and then while she enjoyed a large river rat or two. Indeed, her skin was snake-like—dry, flaking here and there, colored in equal sized patches of white, dull silver, and light yellow. Her nostrils were a pair of slits, her eyes black buttons over which gray nictitating membranes slid horizontally from either corner. Her manner was kind, however, and Jory had lived with worse in the babas. Her hands—same colors, same scaly raspy skin, and an opposing thumb plus three flat-tipped fingers— were gentle in their touch. "You must not give yourself away," she said in her thick accent, "nor us, or we will all die on Oba Island."
"Believe me, I don't want that. Am I safe here?"
"You are as safe as a human can be under these circumstances."
"But I am in Kusi-O?" His chest constricted at the thought he might not be.
"You are. This is Kusi-O. My husband and I keep an inn here. We have been paid well to keep you safe."
"Who pays you?" He must know. Why would anyone want a court poet so badly?
She chuckled. "You find out soon enough. Now you rest and get better."
"How did you get me in through the gates?" The thick concrete drum surrounding Kusi-O was actually a five story building with walls so smooth even a lizard could not climb them. The building had no windows at all. It had several gates that, most of the time, acted like airlocks—if the Oba side was open, the Kusi-O side was shut, and vice versa. Goods coming from either side were left in the open corridor between the two worlds. Both gates were again shut. Then the receiving gate opened and a flock of cargo slaves rushed in, supervised by armed warriors— Imperial road police on the Oba side, Fril cops on the Kusi-O side. The system had worked for centuries, bringing wealth in and Shurian goods out, while keeping the status at quo and the wealthy in power.
"That is a secret," the snake woman said. "Rest. It will be days before you are able to walk without getting dizzy. Oba grannies' poison is very potent but works well." She emitted what passed for a giggle and fled toward the wooden door. The Fril wore little in the way of clothing. She wore only a loincloth and had small breasts. He wondered if she carried her eggs inside until they hatched. Frankly, he did not care. As long as he was still alive… then he thought of Ramy, and burst into tears.
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