The Purple Emperor

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

The worm was more like an eel or a snake, except it was segmented and protected by a natural, glistening armoured shell. It stared at Chalkhill with black, beady eyes from the bottom of a heated glass tank. There was a sandy floor to replicate the desert of its natural environment and a few desiccated plants to keep it company. Slices of ordle had been scattered on a flat-topped rock.

Chalkhill looked at the Facemaster.

'It's a symbiote,' Facemaster Wainscot explained. He clearly caught Chalkhill's blank look for he added, 'A creature that works in cooperation with another creature to mutual benefit.' He sounded as if he were reading from a reference book. 'It will assist you to walk properly.' He blinked, then clarified, 'So you look like Lord Hairstreak.'

Chalkhill peered at the worm. It was nearly seven inches long and exuded some sort of foul-smelling slime over its armoured scales. 'Let's get this straight,' Chalkhill said. 'This thing is going to help me walk like Hairstreak?'

The Facemaster nodded soberly. 'Yes.'

'And what do I do for it?'

'Pardon?'

'You said it was a symbiote. Mutual admiration society. Tit for tat. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.' Chalkhill understood symbiote all right – it was the way he'd functioned most of his life. 'What's the quid pro quo?'

'The worm takes a little of your pigmentation to use in its mating ritual.' He caught Chalkhill's expression again. 'Apparently female worms prefer male worms to have white spots. This one doesn't, so it will extract some of your skin colour to make them.'

'What effect does that have on me?' Chalkhill asked suspiciously.

'You'll look a little pale.'

'Is it painful?'

'Not even slightly.'

It didn't sound too bad to Chalkhill. 'What do I do? Keep the worm with me in my pocket? Something of that sort?'

The Facemaster hesitated. 'Ah… not exactly. The symbiote must be absorbed into your body.'

Chalkhill's jaw dropped. 'I have to swallow it?'

The Facemaster shook his head. 'Human saliva is toxic to the species, I'm afraid. Consequently the insertion must be made in one nostril. The worm slides down your throat, crawls through the stomach into the large intestine, thence to the small intestine and, ultimately, the bowel, where it takes up permanent residence in your bottom.'

Chalkhill stared at him in horror. 'Are you out of your mind?' he asked incredulously. 'You want me to stuff that thing up my nose and let it crawl down through my guts?'

'It's no fun for me either,' said the worm.