Part 12 (1/2)

”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 17th, 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, Rozasharn,” 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 pa.s.sed 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 lat.i.tude of choices.”Responsible of Bright.w.a.ter,” 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 Bright.w.a.ter is our guest!” Rozasharn of McDaniels protested.

”As were Halliday Joseph McDaniels the 14th and his wife and son, at Castle Bright.w.a.ter 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 a.s.sure 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 ent.i.ty 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 Bright.w.a.ter.”