“No.”

“Alcohol?”

“No.”

“Kilcane?”

“Nozhing more.”

“Good.”

“Don't.”

“Sorry.”

He opened the door.

The specialist had already arranged the room.

Kimia stopped just inside.

Yinglet. Male. Slightly shorter than her. Dull green fur. Brown eyes.

Not dramatic brown.

Honest brown.

The whole combination made him look like a sad tree that had gone to medical school.

Kimia almost smiled.

He wore a pale physician's coat over darker clothes and had a small identification plate clipped near the collar. Several cases stood open on the table.

Cards. Blocks. A light. A device with adjustable lenses. Small bells. A timing instrument. Pencils. Printed sheets. A compact recording unit. One machine Kimia could not identify at all.

The neurologist looked up from connecting a cable.

“Your Grace.”

Kimia nodded.

“Doctor.”

He gave his name.

Kimia committed it to memory immediately.

Test already beginning perhaps.

Probably not.

That thought annoyed her.

He gestured toward a chair.

“Please sit.”

Kimia sat.

The indrel stood near the wall.

Tarkhe took a place farther back.

The neurologist finished connecting the device.

Then sat opposite Kimia.

“I’ll explain zhis before we begin.”

“Please.”

“Zhis is not a pass-fail examination.”

Kimia looked at the cards.

“It looks like one.”

“Parts are.”

“Comforting.”

He smiled faintly.

“Some tasks have correct answers. Ozhers don't. I’m looking for patterns.”

“What kinds?”

“Attention. Memory. Naming. Sequencing. Spatial reasoning. Perceptual consistency. Executive control. Reality testing.”

There it was.

Kimia's ears moved backward.

He noticed.

“I know zhat phrase is alarming.”

“Yes.”

“It means less zhan people imagine.”

“Explain.”

“If you tell me a lamp is a snake, I don't immediately decide you've lost contact with reality.”

Kimia looked toward a lamp.

“Good.”

“I ask why.”

“Zhat sounds worse.”

“It often isn't.”

He folded his hands.

“Context matters.”

Kimia considered.

“Fine.”

“One more zhing.”

“What?”

“Tarkhe told me about recent whiteblood use, prescribed medication, alcohol, disrupted sleep, and kilcane.”

Kimia felt heat rise beneath her fur.

The neurologist did not change expression.

“Zhese may affect performance.”

“I know.”

“So whatever I conclude today is provisional.”

“Fine.”

“I may recommend repeating parts of zhis later.”

“Fine.”

He looked at her.

“Ready?”

“No.”

“Good enough.”

Kimia almost laughed.

The first cards were easy.

Black outlines on white stock.

An object.

“What is this?”

“Key.”

Next.

“Lantern.”

Next.

“Shell.”

Next.

Kimia frowned.

“Pulley.”

The doctor said nothing.

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Don't do zhat.”

“Do what?”

“Make me zhink I failed every time you don't react.”

“I am trying not to cue you.”

Kimia sighed.

Continue.

Skittercrab. Chair. Valve. Sextant. House. A stylized flower she initially called the wrong species, then corrected.

The doctor made a note.

Kimia watched the pencil.

“Was zhat bad?”

“No.”

“You wrote.”

“I am a doctor.”

“Zhat explains nozhing.”

He moved on.

Memory.

Five words.

He said them once.

Kimia repeated them.

Again.

Then he distracted her with arithmetic.

Simple subtraction.

Then more complicated.

Then sequences.

Numbers forward. Backward.

Alternating symbols.

A pattern of blocks she had to reproduce.

Kimia did well.

The kilcane probably helped attention in some tasks.

Perhaps harmed others.

She could not know.

Then delayed recall.

The five words returned.

Kimia got four immediately.

The fifth sat somewhere nearby.

She closed her eyes.

“No hints.”

“I didn't give one.”

“I know.”

Come on.

Something domestic.

Something-

“Copper.”

The neurologist made a note.

Kimia glared.

“Correct.”

“Zhen why write?”

“Because delayed retrieval time matters.”

“Everyzhing matters to you.”

“Zhat is unfortunately zhe profession.”

More tests.

A page of symbols.

Cross out every instance of one shape.

Kimia went too quickly.

Caught herself.

Slowed.

Missed two.

The doctor pointed them out only after.

“Shit.”

“Two omissions is not catastrophic.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I am not.”

“You have sad eyes.”

The neurologist stopped.

Tarkhe made a sound that might have been a suppressed laugh.

Kimia looked back.

The indrel clicked.

The neurologist continued.

Language. Define words. Explain similarities.

“What do a treaty and a contract have in common?”

“Bozh are promises wizh lawyers attached.”

The doctor looked at her. Kimia shrugged.

“Obligatory agreements between parties.”

“Better.”