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tray the servant refilled the monks cups with more of the steaming dark liquid. They took no notice of
her presence.
Wot sort o sorceral potion is dial? Neena murmured.
I ve heard them speak of it. Mowara craned his neck for a better view. From what I ve been able to
observe, they re all addicted to it. It alters them in strange and subtle ways. They call it coffee and
believe it bestows on them special powers, diough I ve no proof of dial. Maybe it s some kind of
collective ritual delusion whose social function is of paramount importance. See?
As they looked on, the assembled monks raised their cups in unison and mumbled some sort of hypnotic
chant, of which Buncan caught only the solemnly intoned words Brighten your day and the meaningless
caffeine. Following mis brief ceremony they returned to their conferencing. Try as he might,
Buonferencing. Try as he might, Buen-collective demeanor as a result of consuming the liquid. Any glow
or enhancement they felt must be wholly internal.
The windowed boxes were something else, something tangible. He wondered at the complexity and
staying power of the spell that caused the images displayed therein to change so rapidly. Often two or
more of the monks would put their heads together and whisper furiously before tapping on the knobby
panels. The unnatural activity raised prickles on his spine.
Listening intently, he thought he could make out some of the sorceral terms Mowara had mentioned
during their first meeting, words like haploid dispersion and mitochondria! enhancement. There was
frequent mention of the long necromantic term desoxyribonucleic acid.
They re concocting some great misfortune to throw against Wurragarr, Mowara whispered. We have
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to stop mem, we do. This all has to do with implementing the corporate plan.
Buncan frowned. Corporate plan ? What s that?
I ve heard them speak of it often. It s the foundation of their sorcery, me framework for all the iniquity
they work.
Squill made a face. Sounds like somethin that should be stepped on to me.
As a cold sound to it, it does. Neena s whiskers twitched involuntarily.
You were right, Mowara. Buncan rolled the shoulder the galah was perched on, trying to keep the
muscles loose. This evil does extend beyond your country. It needs to be stopped here, now, before it
can grow and infect other parts of the world. Or even other worlds, he added, mindful of Jon-Tom s
place of origin.
Don t want no bloody corporate plan pollutin the Bellwoods, Squill muttered darkly. Wotever it is.
Look, they re doin somethin . Neena nodded toward the opening.
The monks were rising from their oddly upholstered chairs. The window boxes had gone blank, their
glass faces now dark and imageless.
Raising a hand for silence, the figure standing at the head of the table solemnly addressed his colleagues.
His words were clearly audible to the quartet huddled in the narrow corridor.
We shall now vote.
At that command they all threw back then- hoods and stood revealed in the steady lamplight as
representatives of the same tribe, though many individual clans were represented.
Hares, Buncan realized. They were all hares.
Why hares? he found himself whispering aloud. Why should they be the Dark Ones, the dabblers in
evil? Why them?
I know. I know because I ve listened to them rage, because I ve watched their frenzies, I have.
Mowara s beak was close by Buncan s ear. It s because they re sick of being thought of as cute and
harmless. Ten thousand years and more of accumulated resentment has pushed this lot over the edge, it
has. They re tired of being cuddled and stroked by everyone else. It s respect they want, and they ami to
get it through sorcery.
Puzzlement mottled Neena s expression. But they are cute and cuddly. Tis the way they were
designed. They can t elp it, the bloody fools. Would they rather be like the skunk tribe, wot nobody
wants to get near? Wot s wrong with this lot?
I told you, Mowara whispered. They re so mad they ve gone bad. Collective self-loathing. I think it s
one reason why they re so set on creating new creatures, I do. Twisting and warping reality. Their anger
has driven them insane.
Buncan found himself staring at the nominal leader of the ten. His fur was predominantly dark brown,
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with white, unhealthy-looking splotches. With his wild eyes and buck-teeth that had been filed to sharp
points, he looked anything but cute and cuddly.
We will throw the blasphemers back! he was declaiming.
Fling them over the falls! another added enthusiastically.
This, too, can be incorporated into the Plan. The leader ran a finger along the edge of the strange
table. Once this band of simple villagers has been defeated, there will be none to stand against us in the
mountains. We can make servants and slaves of those who survive, and use them as the base for our
planned corporate expansion. Mergers and takeovers can then proceed apace. He let his gaze rove
over his followers. All those in favor?
Aye! the chorus of acolytes resounded.
The leader nodded his approval. See that it is so recorded in the minutes. Lifting both hands, he tilted
back his head and closed his eyes. His colleagues did likewise as he intoned The Words.
Stock manipulation. Insider trading. Currency exchange
The room grew dark save for a singular greenish glow which seemed to emanate from the ceiling. The
assembled monks murmured softly to themselves.
They ve certainly tapped in to something, Duncan whispered. Some kind of gloom-laden power I ve
never encountered before. He wished silently that Clothahump were there.
Mowara shifted nervously from foot to foot on Buncan s shoulder. That s Droww doing the invoking.
He s the biggest fanatic of the lot.
The chanting rose in volume and the greenish glow intensified, until with a triumphant shout of
Leveraged hostile buyout! the assembled monks vanished in a cloud of bilious smoke.
Buncan exhaled slowly. That s very impressive.
Where ve they got to? Neena wanted to know.
Not far, not far, if experience is an indicator. Mowara shifted to Buncan s other shoulder. To the
Vault is my guess, it is, to prepare some special poison. Come, and we ll find them. Spreading aged but
still competent wings, he fluttered off back up the corridor.
They had to avoid a single, pitiful guard: a transformed sugar glider whose wings hung about her in
tatters. A prehensile tongue dangled from the misshapen head of what had once been a graceful gazelle.
The sight turned Buncan s stomach.
Tread softly here. Mowara settled once more onto Buncan s shoulder. This is the kitchen where
decay is prepared.
The corridor opened onto a vast chamber dominated by a lofty bowl-shaped ceiling. Lamps glowed in
holders set high on stone walls. They stood on an upper floor looking down into a circular pit within
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