Part 11 (1/2)

”My son, Salem Sheridan Lewis the 44th, called Boy Salem,” said his father from the head of the table, and he introduced the other five children that had joined us for the meal. And the Granny, the youngest on Ozark and one of the sternest-fifty-nine-year-old Granny Twinsorrel. I bid them all a good evening, and helped myself to the soup.

Salem was a patient child; when the introductions had gone all the way around and the grownups were eating, he said it again, but this time he was asking.

”Magic-chests?” he asked me. ”All of cedar?”

”Usually,” I told him. ”Because it keeps everything so safe.”

His dark blue eyes shone, and I found him a handsome child despite the lack of three front teeth and the presence of a crazy-quilt

a.s.sortment of sc.r.a.pes and scabs and scratches. I expect he had fallen out of one or more of the cedar trees recently.

”What's in a magic-chest, Responsible of Bright.w.a.ter?” he asked

me then, and he held very still, waiting for me to answer. Which meant he'd asked it before, and it had done him no good. It would do him no good this time, either.

”Herbs and simples and gewgaws,” I said casually. ”And garlic.””In a cedar chest?” The child was shocked, and I chuckled.As it happened, the Magicians did keep their garlic in their magic- chests, but they saw to it that the smell of the stuff was on hold while it was in there.

”That's right,” I said. ”Garlic.”

”When I am a Magician of Rank,” said the boy with utter solemnity, like a Reverend p.r.o.nouncing a benediction, ”I won't do that. Or I'll make a Spell to take the smell off so it doesn't spoil the wood.”

Smart little d.i.c.kens, that one. I could tell by the twitch at the corner of his stern father's lips that this was a favorite child-the name told me that in any case-and that his promise was noticed. But the Master of the Castle spoke to him in no uncertain terms.

”When you are a Magician of Rank!” he said. ”Many a long, long year of study lies between you and that day, Boy Salem, if it ever comes-which I doubt. And many a difficult examination. You had best get your mind off garlic and concentrate on learning the Teaching Story you were set this week-you didn't have it right yet

last night, as I recall.”

”Or,” added a sister who looked to be about thirteen, with the same pansy blue eyes but considerably less scuffed up and battered as to the rest of her, ”you'll end up like your cousin Silverweb.”

”I'd not be such a ninny as that,” scoffed the boy, ”not ever! You know that, Charlotte.”

”Silverweb of McDaniels?” I set my soup spoon down and used my napkin hastily. ”Has something happened to her?”

”Nothing serious, Responsible,” said Rozasharn of McDaniels, ”and nothing that can't be mended. She's been left too long unmarried, and this is where that sort of thing leads to.”

”I hadn't heard,” I said. ”What's happened?”

”Well,” said Rozasharn, ”as I understand it Silverweb decided you needed somebody to be guardmaid-or companion, who knows? to be company at any rate-on your Quest. And that young one

packed a pair of saddlebags, stole a Mule from the McDaniels stables, and started off after you.”

”She didn't get far,” observed her husband, handing the meat platter

down the table. ”Her daddy caught up with her before noon the following day and took her straight back to Castle McDaniels.”

”For a licking,” said the one they called Boy Salem.

”Not for a licking,” corrected Granny Twinsorrel. ”Boy Salem, you'll never make a Magician if you don't learn to turn on your brain before you begin rattling off at the mouth. Young women of fifteen don't get lickings, it wouldn't be proper.”

The boy snorted, and wrinkled up his nose.”Not fair,” he said. ”Not fair atall.””What did they do to her?” I asked reluctantly, not really sure I wanted to know. I had high hopes for Silverweb, and I bore a

certain guilt for having ranked her when I was at Castle McDaniels.

”Packed her off to Castle Airy in disgrace,” said Salem Sheridan.

”And to the tender care of all three of the Grannys there. Seven weeks and a day, she's to be servingmaid to those Grannys. I do expect that will have some effect on her.”

Poor wretched Silverweb... I knew what that would mean. She'd hem miles and miles of burgundy draperies, and then be made to take the hems out and do them over till her fingers bled. She'd boil vats of herbs half as tall as she was, stirring them for hours at a time with a wooden staff. And she'd pick nutmeats- they'd have her doing that with bushels of nuts, staining her fingers black where they weren't bleeding. And scrubbing the Castle corridor floors with gritty sand. And worse.

”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.