“And who says that?” asked Farris, beckoning the barmaid over for a second round.
“People!” said Ruairí, almost spitting the word. “Look, I’ll ask her.”
“Please, don’t.”
“Excuse me!” said Ruairí once the barmaid approached. “What is it they say about a storm on the first day of winter?”
The girl laughed as she collected the glasses. “I know that it’s only fools who claim they can predict the patterns of weather,” she said, smiling at Farris. “My father once told me that. He used to work aboard an airship, and he saw his fair share of storms.”
“Is that so?” asked Farris, though he cared little for the answer.
“Yes, he told me a great many things before he left,” she said. “Same as before?”
Same as before is right. Why is it so many of them have runaway fathers?
“Of course,” said Ruairí, starting to slur already. “We’ll both have thainol now, and this time I’ll pay for it.”
Little time passed between the second and third round of drinks, with Ruairí paying for both. The Human’s drunkenness grew more and more visible—he now lay slouched forward across the table.
“Why is it,” he said, “that your lot can drink so much of that, yet still stay standing?”
Farris took a long, deep swig of the thainol. In truth, he felt a slight delay in his movements, a sure sign that he was well on his way to Ruairí’s state, but he gave no indication that this was the case.
Because we hide it better, came to Farris’s mind first. Instead, he said, “For the same reason the Tower still stands. It’s made of stronger stuff than anything down in the Human capital.
“Ah, Cruachan,” said Ruairí, closing his eyes as if to imagine the city itself. “I’ve never been interested in seeing it. It’s the same as any other city, really. Just a little larger than the rest.”
“There’s some truth in that,” said Farris. “The only thing that sets it apart from the likes of Tulcha or Ardh Sidh is the Grey Keep, and that’s as dull as any other keep in the kingdom. Except for Dromán, of course. They say the Academy is the largest building in the kingdom, built in a style entirely different to that of the rest of the Seachtú.”
“Dromán?” interrupted the Simian barmaid, appearing by the table again. “I’m going to work there some day. I’ve heard so many stories about the lords and ladies of the Seachtú. To see them would be a treat, but to live amongst them? That would be a dream come true!”
Her words echoed at the back of Farris’s memory, as if he had heard such naivety from a Simian before… but his current thainol-induced state hindered the process that aided recollection.
“It’s not as glamorous as the bards make it out, you know,” he said, looking up at her. She was standing closer to him now, closer than any ordinary barmaid would an ordinary customer. Farris sighed deeply and shook his head. “I’m sure you could earn ten times here what any servant would down south.”
The waitress playfully slapped Farris on the shoulder. “You’re about as subtle as a mountain sloth! Business is slower than usual, because of the storm and all.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
The waitress leaned in and whispered in Farris’s ear. “Upstairs in ten minutes. Ask for Lucy.”
He watched as she went, letting the sight of the movement of her hips remove the last ounce of doubt in his mind.
Ruairí still lay slouched over the table, apparently completely oblivious to what had just transpired.
I may never see a Son this drunk again. Farris took one last gulp from his cup of thainol and eyed the Human. The subtle approach certainly wasn’t going to work on a mind as addled as his.
“Tell me, Ruairí,” he said, allowing his companion a moment to reorient himself in the tavern. “What was it exactly that you… saw?”
“What do you mean?” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Just now?”
“No,” said Farris, making sure to enunciate each word. “What did you see, in your Seeing of Seletoth?”
The hazed look vanished from Ruairí’s gaze; the slouch moved from his shoulders. If there were words that could sober a man, Farris had just stumbled upon them.
Ruairí cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. “Farris, when was the first time you masturbated?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard what I said.”
The memory came back to Farris immediately, but the Tower would fall again before he’d ever retell that story. Especially to a Human. Especially to a zealot.
“I don’t see how that concerns you,” said Farris, choosing his words carefully.
“That would be the same answer I’d give to your question. A Son’s Seeing is his own. It’s an intimate experience between a man and the Lord. What He allowed me to see is for my own eyes only.”
The Human sat back after that, with his arms folded and his head lulling to the side. Farris smiled.
He’s still drunk out of his mind. Sure, he probably won’t recall this night anyway. What harm could it do?
“I was fifteen years old,” he began, taking a long drink from his cup, even though it was empty. “I’m one year older than my brother and older still than most of the other Simians we ran with in the Dustworks. They’d often ask me about what it meant to mature, about the changes that occur when a Simian reaches a certain age.”
He paused, allowing Ruairí a moment to realise what he was actually telling him. From the way he sat forward again, it was clear the Human had.
“Things changed gradually. So gradually, I didn’t even notice. Soon, all the other boys began talking about… that. You know how ones that age can be. Bravado, and all that comes with it. They’d all brag about where they’d do it, and how often they did it, and the girls they thought about during it. I swear, some of them were telling tall tales just to outdo each other.”
He paused with a sigh. “What am I saying? My tales were the tallest of them all. Of course, I was older, I had to let on that I was the most experienced. There was no way they could ever learn the truth.”
