“It’s the sea egg that has the cephalopod genes in it, right?”
“Right. And I’m proof they work on at least one woman. Will it work on all men, or just some men, or any men at all? We need to know for sure. If it only works on ones like you and my father, then it presents another problem. Of course, Father’s going with us, too. You’re the only two we know of who are genetically . . . apt. If the eggs won’t work by themselves, we’ll have to put you both out to stud. If that’s the way it has to be, I’ve got to be emotionally prepared for it.”
“You’d put us to what? You’ve got to be prepared! By all that’s . . . You’ve been talking to Precious Wind!”
“Well, so? She just wants me to know what’s going on.”
Abasio rose and took his cloak from the back of the chair. “I’m going to see Blue,” he said.
“Abasio . . .”
“What!”
“Put on your trousers first.”
“It’s a compliment,” said Blue. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about.”
“Being put ‘out to stud’ is what I’m upset about. To talk that way about me, and about her father!”
“You’re looking at it from the wrong end. Usually, when horses get old, it’s, ‘Well, time for the knackers, old fellow.’ Being put out to stud is like the gardens of paradise.”
“I am not old. You don’t know what it’s like. You didn’t see what she turned into. What I’d have to turn into . . .”
“No, and I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that. It’s time I found out about what’s going on. My race is involved here as well as yours.”
“Very well. You’re perfectly right.” Abasio opened the stable door and bowed him out. “Come on, we’re going down to the shore. You can meet the Sea King.”
“From the shore!”
“Certainly from the shore. The shore is on an island, however. We’ll have to take a boat to the island.”
“Oh, no, no, no more boats! I’ve just gotten over being—”
“It’s not really a boat, and it’s not far. You’ll just have to put up with it if you want to know what’s happening.”
They went to the shore, where Abasio found a flat-bottomed barge sort of floating thing. He wasn’t sure what one might call it. A barn door with an edge around it, maybe. There were a good many seaside hangers-about available, several of whom were willing to row, scull, or pole the barn door out to the island. Blue was maneuvered aboard with some difficulty. He made the trip with his head down, refusing to look at anything but his feet. When they arrived, Abasio led him around the island and onto the little beach, where Blue kept on walking.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m walking. I’m going up and down this strip of sand in order to convince my insides that I’m on solid ground. Horses need solid ground. They need solidity. Stability . . .”
“Which is no doubt why they’re kept in stables.”
“Very funny, I’m sure.”
Abasio left him walking and went to the edge of the water, mentally rehearsing the words he had heard used before. When he had them well in mind, he shouted over the sea at the top of his voice, “Xaolat al Koul!”
Nothing happened for a time, then a dolphin came speeding toward the shore, thrashed himself up onto the sand, and asked, “You’re calling the Sea King?”
“Would you tell him, please, that Abasio would like to see him? I need to . . . discuss things with him.”
The dolphin squirmed back into the water and sped away. Abasio sat down to wait.
“He could be otherwise occupied,” said Blue.
“He could be very far away,” said Abasio. “We’ll wait.”
They did not wait long before the middle stone of a group of three just offshore began to move slowly toward them. The great mantle protruded above the waves, the huge eyes looked them over, the abyssal, echoing voice said, “You wanted to talk to me?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind,” said Abasio. “I’d like to introduce you to—”
“Ah. A horse. I have seen horses. What is your name, horse?”
“Blue,” the horse replied, clopping down to the waterside. “In certain lights this combination of black, gray, and white looks blue. Sometimes they call me Big Blue. You’ve seen horses?”
“Along the edge of the continent, yes. The horses there have been discussing what is important to them, so that if they are sea changed they will retain their essential equinity.”
“Horseness is important,” agreed Blue, nodding. “What have they decided upon?”
“They say speed is important to them. They say grazing is important to them. They say mating is important to them, though the stallions seem to believe it is more important than the mares do.”
“Oh, mares,” said Blue, shaking his head. “They always have to be whinnied into it. Or . . . subdued.”
“Why, Blue,” cried Abasio in an outraged voice. “That’s rape.”
Blue snorted. “I have long observed that human people do not care what they do in front of livestock, and believe me, what some humans do during mating makes horses look absolutely . . . gentle by comparison.” He stalked away and stood, front legs crossed, nose up, facing the sea.
“Isn’t Abasio your friend?” the Sea King asked him.
“Friends do not call their friends rapists,” said the horse without turning around.
“I’m sorry,” said Abasio. “Really.”
“You are getting more judgmental,” said Blue. “You need to watch that. Elderly people do get more judgmental.”
“Elderly!”
The horse turned to the Sea King. Pointedly ignoring Abasio, he said, “I should think hooves will be important. And teeth, for fighting.”
“Will it be necessary for you to fight?” asked the Sea King.
The horse looked embarrassed. “Usually there’s one stallion to a herd of mares and young,” he said. “Which stallion is a matter of who has the best hooves and teeth, usually.” He thought for a moment. “Though . . . with the waters rising, eloquence may become more important. It is with people like him.” He snorted in Abasio’s direction. “He probably just talks
