Free This Isn't What It Looks Like by Pseudonymous Bosch Page B

his bowl and casually let fall a rib from his teeth.
     It landed at the hungry homunculus’s feet, and the homunculus gratefully reached for it. But Terrence snatched it back, snarling,
     before the homunculus made contact.
    The homunculus winced as if he’d been hit.
    Then, as if once weren’t enough, the overfed beagle again dropped the bone in front of the homunculus—and again snatched it
     back before the homunculus could reach it.
    Cass shook her head in disbelief. What kind of dog intentionally tortured someone like that?
    Alas, the luxurious life of a regal beagle was not for a lowly homunculus. Once the soldier handed him over to the trainer,
     it became clear there were other plans for the homunculus. He was not to sleep on a velvet pillow or even to sleep at all,
     the trainer instructed, but rather to spend the night cleaning the kennels of any, shall we say, royal remains that happened
     to sully the kennels’ polished marble floor. The trainer gave the homunculus a shovel and a mop and made sure he knew that
     if there were any spots on the floor in the morning, the homunculus would dearly regret it.
    Cass waited until all the other humans had left,or perhaps I should say until all the other
humanoids
had left (considering we’re dealing with an invisible time-traveling girl and a tiny boy-man made in a bottle) before addressing
     the homunculus.
    “You don’t recognize me, do you…? No, of course, you don’t. We haven’t met yet. We won’t meet for five hundred years,” she
     said as much to remind herself as to enlighten him. “I’m Cassandra. If that’s too long, you can call me Cass. Almost everybody
     does.”
    The homunculus stared at her, perplexed. He seemed unable to understand her words and even less to understand her intentions.
    “You don’t know it, but we’re going to be good friends one day. Well, sort of good friends. I have to admit there’s a part
     of me that will always be a little freaked out because you’re a cannibal.” *
    Perhaps she shouldn’t have mentioned that, Cass thought. It might influence him to try cannibalism sooner.
    It was a strange experience, meeting an old friend with whom you share so many memories, and realizing that this person doesn’t
     remember any of them. She didn’t know how much to tell the young Mr. Cabbage Face, how much to let him learn later on his
     own. According to the Prime Directive, she shouldn’t be interfering with his normal development; but were the rules for interstellar
     space travel the same as for intrabrain time travel? *
    “Anyway, we have to figure out how to get you out of here,” she said, changing the subject. “Remember, if anybody comes, don’t
     say anything to me. They can’t see me…. But you can talk now, if you want.”
    Cass couldn’t understand why he wasn’t saying anything. Although the homunculus in her memory wasn’t always the most talkative
     creature in the world, he could talk up a storm when he got going on one of his stories. And the insatiable Mr. Cabbage Face
     was downright garrulous when you plied him with food and drink.
    “Well, first things first—let’s get you food, right?”
    Although all the beagles had licked their bowls clean (seemingly relishing eating in front of thestarving homunculus), Cass was able to find six leftover roast chickens on a counter.
    “Here you go, Mr. Cabbage Face. Six chickens coming up. That should be enough—even for you.”
    The beagles yelped in protest, seeing chickens they felt rightfully to be theirs carried away by invisible hands. But the
     homunculus, showing unexpected spirit, snarled so viciously into Terrence’s ear that not only Terrence but all the dogs sank
     into their velvet cushions, whimpering with fear.
    “I guess some dogs can dish it out, but they can’t take it,” said Cass, shaking her invisible head.
    The not-quite-two-foot-tall homunculus ate the six chickens almost faster than Cass was able to hand them to him. Soon