Part 19 (2/2)
”Twenty-nine, child, twenty-nine!” said Granny Heatherknit.
”Nearly thirty,” I insisted, ”and you did not one thing to help me the
whole time I was gone.””For which,” said Granny Flyswift, jabbing the air in front of her with her knitting needles, ”for which there are three good and sufficient reasons! One-this was your own tomfool idea, and none of ours, and none of our advice asked before you set out on it, hot out of here like a Mule with a burr under its tail! Two-you know the conditions on a Quest... adventures aplenty required and supposed to be unpleasant, or it doesn't count-and Granny Golightly herself reminded you of that in case it'd slipped your mind! And three-the best way for any child to learn that a flame'll burn him is to let him stick his finger in it; that makes for remembrance.”
”Yes, ma'am, Granny Flyswift,” I said. I had it all coming.
”Now what did you learn that's useful to anybody but your stubborn self, missy?” demanded Granny Heatherknit again.
Charity's daughter Caroline-Ann, sitting on a windowseat with her
skirts drawn up and her legs tucked under, asked if that couldn't wait till I'd had some supper. She was twelve years old, and a lot like her mother.
”No-sir,” said Granny Heatherknit. ”She's still able to sing for that
supper, and I'm right interested in her tune.”
”Well,” I said, ”I learned that a girl of sixteen as can put her hair up in a figure-eight and knows all the modern dances should not be called a child or treated like one.”
The Grannys peered at each other and snickered; and I wondered what foul task they had poor Silverweb of McDaniels doing that very minute.
”And, I learned that a giant cavecat stinks, in more ways than one. I learned that broken ribs are as inconvenient the second time as the first, and that where everybody's trying to keep the corks in their homebrew n.o.body has much time for the export trade.”
”So far, so accurate,” said Granny Heatherknit. ”Go on.”
”I learned that being licked to death is nasty.”
”No argument with that.”
”I learned that just about anything propped up in the moonlight and painted the right color is sufficient to turn a guilty head. I learned that one continent can hold two very small birds, and only one of them have gumption enough to fly. I learned that just because a
Granny isn't using the old formspeech doesn't mean her garlic won't work.”
”She's only fifty-nine,” snorted Granny Flyswift. ”Give her time,
she'll outgrow her notions.””She did very well,” I told the old woman. ”Very well indeed.”And I went on. ”I learned that a Family truly set on a curse can bring one down on them. And, last of all, I learned that a person can't knit with both hands tied together.”
”Think not?” said Flyswift.
”Well, I surely couldn't.”
Granny Heatherknit scrunched up her eyebrows over her gla.s.ses - which she didn't need and doubtful she ever would-and I could see her counting.
”You left out Castle Purdy,” she said. ”What happened there?”
”There's what I will tell,” I answered, ”and there's what I won't.” (And about the Gentle coming to see me-I wouldn't.) ”Hmmmph,” said Granny Heatherknit. ”That might be the most
important piece of all.””None of it,” said Caroline-Ann of Airy sadly, ”meant anything to me. As usual.”
To my surprise, Granny Heatherknit turned to her and spoke almost
gently; that girl must have a way with her.”Caroline-Ann,” said the Granny, ”if you keep in mind that what Responsible of Bright.w.a.ter's doing is trying to see how much she can not tell-despite being asked most politely-you'll understand why you found her remarks on the murky side. She's riddling, can't you hear that?”
”It didn't rhyme,” said Caroline-Ann. ”I never recognize riddles
when they don't rhyme.”
”Well, take the list she gave you and rhyme it, then,” said Granny Heatherknit. ”Set it to a tune for us, Caroline-Ann... good exercise for you, and we'll have something new for tale-telling makings.”
”Granny Heatherknit, that would be hard!” objected Caroline-Ann, and that seemed to me accurate. ”You don't mean I have to?”
<script>