The Ozark trilogy (17 page)

“Oh, what
ever
made her take such a notion?” I asked, cross in spite of feeling sorry for her.

“Like I said,” said Rozasharn, “she’s been left too long unmarried. Silverweb’s going on sixteen, and that’s far too old. It’s a wonder she’s not done worse.”

“And she
may
have,” put in one of the older children. “Our daddy says Silverweb of McDaniels could very well of dressed like a man and kidnapped that baby out of your church, Responsible of Brightwater! He says she’s plenty big enough and strong enough—and bold enough, too.”

“I was there,” I protested, “and I can’t believe that, not atall! I’m
sure
it was a man ... and I’m sure it wasn’t Silverweb of McDaniels. She’s a fine young woman. I give you my word on that; she’s just maybe a bit strong-minded.”

“She ought to have a husband and two babies to occupy her energy by now,” said Salem Sheridan, “and I fault her parents for that. Though I agree she’s got to be punished for running off, and for taking the Mule without permission, and the rest of it. That’s fitting, and expected.”

“She’ll live through it,” said Granny Twinsorrel. “And maybe she’ll learn a thing or two about pride.”

“Now, Granny—” Rozasharn began, but the woman cut her off sharp.

“Pride is all that’s keeping that one spinster,” said Granny Twinsorrel, “simple pride. Her father’s offered her three marriages, each one fully suitable, each of me men with land and a homeplace and a good future ahead of him. And Miss Yellow-Haired High-and-Mighty wouldn’t accept any one of the three. Two fine men from Kingdom Guthrie, and one of our
own
—and none of them good enough for her. Pride, that is, and it’ll lead her to no good end.”

“They say,” said Rozasharn, “that she has ambitions. And if that’s true, she’ll make no marriage, Granny Twinsorrel.”

She
has ambitions
. In front of the children, that would mean that Silverweb intended to become a Granny the hard way, and go virgin to her grave; and there was no reason for a woman to do that unless she had her eyes out for a chance to become a Magician as well as a Granny. Which was “having ambitions.”

I frowned into my soup, but went back to eating it. Silverweb was none of my business, and no reason for her to come between me and my supper

The rock that whistled past my ear went into the bowl of mashed sweet potatoes, which weren’t enough to slow it down any, and on beyond to hit the far wall with a resounding smack. Whoever had thrown it had put considerable muscle behind it, and I couldn’t say it made my stomach calm. But not a one of me Lewises moved, or paused in their eating, or turned a hair, so far as I could tell. An Attendant stepped forward from the door and picked up the rock, and went off with it somewhere, while the Lewises went right on with their meal.

“Rozasharn of McDaniels,” I said, my voice more a quiver than I’d intended it to be, “how many more of those are we likely to be favored with this evening?”

“Half a dozen, maybe,” she said. “Maybe a few more, maybe a few less.”

“Well, don’t you
mind
having rocks thrown at you like that?”

“Gracious, child,” said Granny Twinsorrel, “those rocks aren’t being thrown at us. It’s a bit of fuss in
your
honor— started about the time you crossed the border of Kingdom Lewis, I calculate, which is why we were a mite disorganized when you arrived, and will stop when you move on. We don’t plan to pay the fool thing any attention, it will only make it worse.”

“Nobody’s been either hurt or bothered,” said Rozasharn soothingly. “You’ll notice there’s not even dust in the potato dish.”

“We can put up with it,” said Boy Salem, backing her up. “Besides, I like to see what it does.”

What it did next may have amused Boy Salem, but it didn’t amuse me in the slightest. Nobody wants a live lizard in her soup, and since Rozasharn of McDaniels was so calm about all this I strongly wished it had been in her bowl instead of mine.

“Teh.” said Granny Twinsorrel. “Now that was rude.”

“Can I fish it out?” asked Boy Salem. “Is it real? Can I get it out for you?” He was fairly hopping up and down in his chair

It was real enough, about four inches long, and a bright poisonous green. It put back its narrow head and hissed at me, and I fancied it was a little warmer there among the potatoes and the jebroots than it cared to be.

“Never mind, Boy Salem,” I said disgustedly “I’d best do it myself, I believe.”

Granny Twinsorrel’s voice came sharp and sudden. “Don’t you put silver to it, young woman!” she told me. “It’s not the creature’s fault. Use your fingers.”

I knew that much, but I didn’t sass the Granny; I reached into my soup with two careful fingertips, caught the little animal by the tip of its tail, and lifted it out into the air still spitting.

“Can I have it?” demanded Boy Salem. The child was outrageous, and his brothers and sisters stared at him in amazement. Eben Nathaniel Lewis the 17
^th
, twelve years old and already with a rigid look to him like his father, turned that look on Boy Salem in a way that would of frozen the child stiff if it’d had any power behind it.

“A Spelled creature like that, Boy Salem?” said Eben Nathaniel. “Your head’s addled!”

The Granny stepped over to my chair and took the lizard from me, which was a good deal more appropriate than letting Boy Salem have it for a pet, and a servingmaid slipped the bowl of soup away and replaced it with a fresh one, and handed me a new spoon.

Whereupon a small frog, same shade of green, croaked up at me from among the vegetables. And I set the silverware down again.

If this was the beginning of an adventure, I didn’t fancy it; there were quite a few nasty and downright dangerous things that would fit into a soup bowl.

“Keep changing the bowls,” ordered Granny Twinsorrel, without a tremble to her voice, and we sat there while the process went on.

Bowl three, a much larger frog, darker green.

Bowl four, a skinny watersnake, banded in green and scarlet and gold, and about as long as my forearm.

Bowl five had a squawker in it, which was at least a change from the reptiles.

“Granny?”

“Hush, Rozasham,” said the woman; she was made of ice and steel, that one was, and she hadn’t yet even bothered to behave like a Granny ... certainly she’d yet to speak like one.

“You, young woman,” she said, “just keep changing the bowls; and you, Responsible, you keep taking the creatures out. We’ll see how this goes.”

She stood at my left hand and I passed her whatever I got with each bowl. I must say the children were fascinated, especially when, after the tenth move, the bowl itself suddenly grew larger.

The Granny made a small soft noise—not alarm, but it showed she’d taken notice—and Salem Sheridan Lewis set down his own spoon and spoke up.

“I don’t like that,” he said. “I don’t like that atall.”

I didn’t like it either and I didn’t know that I was going to like what came next in my alleged soup. There were several possibilities ... it could go from harmless creatures to poisonous ones, and I moved back from the table enough to dodge if a snake that killed was to appear coiled up before me next. It could go to
nasty
creatures, along the line of the squawker but dirtier—say, a carrion bird. Or it could go to
things
, and that left a wide latitude of choices.

“Responsible of Brightwater.” said Salem Sheridan, “put your spoon in that bowl—this has gone too far.”

But Granny Twinsorrel raised her hand, her index finger up like a needle, and shook her head firmly.

“No, Salem Sheridan,” she said, “we’ll see it out awhile yet.”

“Responsible of Brightwater is our
guest!
” Rozasham of McDaniels protested.

“As were Halliday Joseph McDaniels the 14
^th
and his wife and son, at Castle Brightwater not too many days past,” said the Granny.

“I
am
sorry about that,” I said, keeping my eye on the soup bowl as I talked, “but I was truly not expecting mischief right in the middle of a Solemn Service. And I am sorry that yourall’s supper is being spoiled on my account, I assure you.”

“This is more fun than supper,” said Boy Salem.

“This is more fun than a
picnic
,” said Charlotte, and there was general agreement among the young ones. And I had to admit that from their point of view it
was
all very entertaining; no doubt they’d be pleased to have me back any time, even if it meant they all went hungry while I was there.

The entity responsible for all this fooled us, next go-round. It was neither a coiled poison-snake, nor a carrion bird, nor yet a loathsome mess of stuff mixed and coiled—another possibility—that gazed up at me. It made the children clap their hands, all but Eben Nathaniel, who was old enough to know better. And I felt Granny Twinsorrel’s hand come down hard and grip my shoulder.

“Is it real,
too
?” breathed one of the little girls, before Boy Salem could put in his two cents’ worth.

“Certainly not,” said their big brother Eben Nathaniel with contempt. “There’s no such thing.”

And the boy had it right. There was no such thing as a unicorn, not on Old Earth, not on Ozark, and what sat before me was only an illusion. But it was beautifully formed. About eleven inches high, not counting the gleaming single horn all fluted and spiraled, as pure white as new snow, with its flawless tiny hoofs delicately poised in the soup broth and its beautiful eyes perfectly serene, soup or no soup. It even had about its neck a tiny bridle of gold, with a rosette of silver.

“
That
now,” said Granny Twinsorrel, “you’ll not touch! That’s torn it. Just put your silver spoon in the bowl, Responsible of Brightwater.”

The children were crying out that that would kill it, and Rozashara of McDaniels was reassuring them that you can’t kill what doesn’t exist, and Salem Sheridan looked grimmer than a lot of large rocks I’d seen in my time.

Like a soapbubble, the instant my silver spoon touched the soup, the creature disappeared with an almost soundless pop. I sat there thinking, while Boy Salem—who had mightily wanted to keep the little unicorn, and I didn’t blame him, I would of liked to have it my own self—was comforted. The Granny picked up the offending bowl and handed it to the servingmaid, who looked scared to death but managed to ask, “Shall I try again, then?”

“One minute,” said the Granny. “Just keep your places and hold on. I intend to have my supper this night, and have it in
peace
.”

She plunged her hand deep into her skirt pocket—which showed me she’d either been prepared for at least some of this or always went prepared, just in case—and pulled out wards enough to seal off a good-sized mansion. The noses of the children quivered some at the reek of the garlic, and I.didn’t blame them. I was sorry I dared not take off the smell ... but we’d had scandal enough, I judged, for one evening. Garlic that didn’t smell and worked nonetheless would have been an offense to decency, and we’d just have to put up with the current odoriferous situation for the sake of the little ones.

When every door and window was properly warded the Granny went back to her chair and sat down.

“
Now
,” she said, “let us begin again, before we all starve and none of the food left’s fit to eat. Let the soup be served, and give Responsible of Brightwater a different bowl again, and put fresh hot broth in everybody else’s.”

“The Granny’s put out,” said the servingmaid in my ear, as if I couldn’t of seen that for myself, and she set down a fresh bowl of soup at my place. Where it stayed soup, though I took my first bite gingerly, I had no interest in something like a mouthful of live worms and straight pins.

“Responsible of Brightwater,” said Salem Sheridan Lewis then, all of us sedately eating our soup, “because I approve of the Confederation of Continents, and because I despise mischief—not to mention treason—I approve of this Quest of yours. Our Granny has explained clear enough the manner in which it must be done and the reasoning behind it—and as I say, I approve. But I’ll be right pleased when you are safely home again and we Families can go back to a normal way of life. Unlike Boy Salem there, I don’t care for this sort of thing ... it stinks of evil as well as the garlic.”

Another apology seemed in order, and I made it, but he waved it aside.

“You’re doing what’s necessary,” he said, “and from what we’ve heard—and seen!—it hasn’t been pleasant for you so far No need for you to be sorry for doing your plain duty.”

Rozasham of McDanieIs paused between two bites and looked at Granny Twinsorrel.

“Granny,” she asked, “is Responsible in any danger? Any real danger I mean, not just folderols like this exhibition at my table?”

“Don’t ask, Rozasham,” said Granny, “you’ll only rattle cages. Just eat your supper.”

“There’s berry pie,” somebody said, and I was glad to hear it. It would take more than a few creepy-crawlies in broth to spoil my pleasure in berry pie.

“What I
won’t
do,” Salem Sheridan Lewis went on, as if nothing had been said in between, “is have any celebration of all this. It does not strike me as seemly in any way, and I won’t have it.”

“But, my dear—” Rozasham began, or tried to begin; he went right on without so much as pausing.