The tamperwart* was sleeping off a large meal. It ate infrequently, the green-tailed corbles it fed on now being scarce, and it was beginning to think it should find other food. This time it had struck lucky, discovering a pair of corbles in the act of mating, a procedure which went on for some time and left them particularly vulnerable to predation. The tamperwart had made the most of the situation
She was dreaming of Cheesy Wotsit sandwiches when the frantic shrieking of a great-crested azimtote somewhere in the tree above woke her up. ‘Hey, I’m trying to get some sleep,’ the tamperwart shouted. ‘Would you mind screeching somewhere else?’
The azimtote clambered down the trunk and onto a branch just above the tamperwart. ‘I’m feeling rather weird,’ it said. ‘I don’t know what’s come over me.’ The creature was shaking, its eyes bulging, and its tongue hung limp in its mouth. Ripples ran over its iridescent lilac skin and small yellow boils were starting to form. A moment later tiny wasp-like creatures erupted from the azimtote’s flesh. The tamperwart counted at least thirty.
‘Germonids’ said the azimtote. ‘I must have ingested the eggs somewhere.’ The convulsions had stopped and the burst boils oozed with a pale yellow fluid. After a while the Azimtote pulled itself together. ‘Do you know Bach’s cantata Gottes Zeit ist die allerbeste Zeit by any chance?’ it asked. ‘I do,’ said the tamperwart. ‘Then I wonder if you would hum the opening sonatina for me. I’m not in the least religious but I find Bach’s music comforting
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*The tamperwort looks nothing like a wart, nor has it ever been known to tamper with anything. No one knows where the name comes from, perhaps a corruption of old French.
Simon Collings
Picture Nick Victor
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