And it may take some time to learn what&#39;s real

Adam follows Helen's gaze to Joris too.

"I think I'm convinced," he says, trying very hard to cover up the fact that he is shaken - both by Helen's arm, and by the look on the other one's face as he sees it.

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Nevermind that they are sitting in Adam's kitchen, and this is Helen, but the last time Joris saw anything like this-

He and Konstam had nearly gotten killed by a shapeshifting demon.

Helen could not be-

And yet, her arm-

Joris is ready to move, ready to act, all in an instant as he watches her intently. He has no idea how he could have missed this before-

And with everything they have all been through, he really hopes it was not all just a trick.

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As he relaxes (dangerous, like the more experienced warriors she knows, like the warlords who survive more than a month), eyes on her like she's some sort of threat to calculate and respond to, Helen stiffens briefly. Then her shoulders go back slightly, her head up, a gesture she has been taught to signify dignity.

It comes across as defiant, and it is that too. "There," Helen says, bending the pink nostrils of the trunk toward Joris. "Demons do that, don't they? Am I a demon, Joris?"

(She knows they do. Not all of her research in Milliways has been about doors.

She isn't sure that she isn't.)

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But Helen is human. Joris can still see that, even now. But her arm-

The spirit there shines out past her body, more powerful than a human's spirit should-

Just like a demon's spirit.

"I- don't know what you are. Demons- demons do that all over. Do you?"

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"Only one arm," says Helen, watching him carefully. "Is it more spirit than body?"

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"Yes." Said simply, still staring intently.

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"Well!" Helen replies, suddenly annoyed. He promised. "I can't help it."

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"No, and I don't suppose demons can either," Jamie says, irritated. You'd think after almost stabbing Jamie to death Joris would have learned his lesson about snap judgments!

"Come off it, Joris, you promised."

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"I know." Joris clenches his jaw and then slowly shakes his head.

This is more like something from Milliways than something from his own home that he knows more about. He takes a deep breath.

"But I think she is part-demon."

Really, Coyote would know how to phrase that better. Much, much, much better. Really.

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Once Helen's trunk is a hand again, she pulls the sleeve down and sits there. Head lowered, hair covering her face. Under the table she's tugging the end of her sleeves over her hands.

(Behind her hair: her eyes are closed, and she breathes carefully while calling to mind the 182 sayings of Pique the Wise.)

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"Helen," Jamie starts to say, but he can see it will do no good - she's in the sort of mood where she won't answer to anything he says.

Briefly he ponders going off and hunting for a mouse, before remembering that they're in Adam's house and he's unlikely to let them wander off like that, and also that his arm is currently not in any sort of shape for mouse-catching.

Next-best thing: change the subject. So when Adam, who looks really uncomfortable right about now (and Jamie doesn't blame him) asks about Homeward Bounders and rules and so on, Jamie gladly launches into an explanation.

It's a bit rambling, and not nearly as clear as some of the more practiced half-truths he's reeled off in bar, but hopefully it will get all their minds off the awkwardness.

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It is even more akward when you are not sure exactly what you said that started it all, and are certainly Not sure what to say to fix it.

Er.

Oh, look. Adam's made tea. And Jamie is talking. That works for a while, and when Jamie starts getting on to different worlds and the Bounds, well- This at least, Joris knows well! And when Jamie pauses-

"Of course, Konstam would tell this better than me. Konstam-"

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Jamie doesn't mean to groan - but Jamie's brain-to-mouth filter is not up to its usual par, right now.

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Helen groans, softly, stopped in the middle of a recitation of the history of Kesh.

Not Konstam.

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. . . so Konstam gets groans, does he?

The corner of Adam's mouth flickers in a very faint smile. He turns to Joris and says, in a smooth angelic fashion, "Tell me all about Konstam."

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... Wait, Adam is actually interested about Konstam?

If Joris did not need any sort of prompt all the other times, well-

A half an hour later, Adam (already another expert on Konstam from all that Joris has told him by now), has finally managed to turn the conversation around to Joris' past-

Or more specifically, his being a slave and exactly how much Konstam paid for him. And then on to questions to figure out how much currency would be worth from Joris' world to his.

And then on to how much boys are worth-

And then girls.

Whatever sort of plan Adam has, Joris is not quite sure what it is, but he does not see any reason to stop answering Adam's questions, even if they are along the lines of "How much for a pretty girl?"

"... Well, it depends how well brought up they've been, and whether they've been taught music and dancing and massage-"

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"Oh very well brought up," Adam says brightly, before Joris can specify what else might get special prices besides dancing and massage. "Knows everything."

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Really, it might not be best to find out what else female slaves often get taught.

"Then a handsome virgin*, with accomplishments-" Joris bites his lip, thinking for a moment. "-Can go for up to sixty thousand crowns."

*This is only said with a straight face because it is a common, rote phrase. Joris really is not thinking of what it truely implies.

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"Does color of hair and things like that make a difference to the price?"

Adam is leaning forward a little, eyes gleaming eagerly, and . . . it is pretty clear that these questions are not just in the hypothetical anymore.

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So much so that even Joris can tell! But... there is still no reason for him not to answer, so-

"Red hair does." Carefully. "Because it's uncommon. Red hair can add as much as five hundred crowns to the price."

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"Oh!"

Adam cannot control himself any longer; he wraps his arms around himself and starts rolling around in his chair, full of gleeful avarice.

"Ooh! Lead me to your world, Joris! The money I'd make! Of course," he says, breaking off suddenly, "I'd have to get Vanessa there too, but I could manage that - oh, if only we had slaves here! I'd sell Vanessa tonight!"

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Jamie has only half been keeping track of the conversation - something about Joris' world and red hair. (He's just glad Adam didn't set Joris off talking about the other Elsie.)

Muzzily: "Who's Vanessa?"

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"My sister. My sneering, bossy, know-it-all, redheaded sister," Adam says, enumerating traits precisely. "Next time she goes on at me, I shall sit and think how much I can sell her for - ooh!" He's beaming again like he'll never stop. "Oh! Ah! Sixty thousand, five hundred pounds!"

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Helen's hands cup protectively around the lump in the sleeve she's been tending to (as if worried it will hear and be horrified), and her nose comes out of her hair as she stiffens her jaw, angry.

"Greedy pig! And I thought Jamie was commercial minded!"

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