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"No, no, Marigold, not like that," A
The tyros went at it again in the practice yard, A
"Well done!" A
In the circle of watchers, Elizabeth whispered to Catherine, "Mar really is getting better, isn't she?"
"She was never that bad," Catherine said loyally.
"Oh, come on, you know she was terrible. But with A
"I still don't like her, Liz. But she's tough, I'll give her that. She's out there like a champion even after what the loremaster called her in class today. And she's being very nice to Marigold."
"She should be, after what-"
"Shhh," Catherine said. "Here he comes!"
The girls held their breaths. Carefully the circle shifted, a feminine realignment to shield Marigold and A
"He's going to pack," Elizabeth said. "He got a summons from Queen Eleanor's court. He leaves tomorrow."
The two girls covered their mouths and giggled.
In the practice circle, steadily improving under A
I had nailed the lid of my box and packed the fragile items, such as the spell pool, in barrels lined with hay. The headmistress had given me a cheap cloak pin and a cold speech of farewell, the ungrateful bitch. As I checked under the bed for any forgotten items, I noticed the note pi
Come to the wood at moonriseto meet Dame Cecilie.Methinks you will regret itif you do not.
My first reaction was outrage. Who would dare… The writing was large and round and girlish, an inkblot on one corner.
"Ever deplore," said one of those damned ravens, and for some reason, a cold spear pricked my spine.
Bluebells bloomed in the wood, and honeysuckle and loosestrife and violets. Summer light filtered down between the green leaves, dappling the ground with gold. It was two days before graduation. The air was light and warm.
"Lloorrremmmaaasssttterrr Gggwwillaaammm…"
And she was there, First Dame Cecilie of Castle Thlevin… dressed in bloody armor, pale as death, one-armed until she moved.
"Hey no
"What is the meaning of-"
"You can guess the meaning, Bill," A
All I could do was stare in stupefaction.
"It was a mummery," A
I opened my mouth, but no words came out, only a bleat. "Marrr-"
"Marigold didn't know it was us," A
"Or else," Elizabeth said.
"Don't you have anything to say, Bill? Your mouth is wide open. Don't you want to call us silly bitches or stupid idiots or worthless dung?"
Marigold said, "Maybe that's enough, A
"Oh, he's sorry, aren't you, Bill? He's sorry he thought we were too stupid and too defenseless to take care of ourselves."
A
Suddenly I remembered that the emblem on Marigold's breastplate, the one that was always coming loose, was two clasped female hands.
"Your lore doesn't include everything," Catherine said to me. "We girls have lore among ourselves, you know. We go armored in each other."
"Whereas you go armored in failure," A
"That's us," said Elizabeth, "we're your new life. Serving us as we come up to court, one by one by one."
"Never yore," a raven said. "Forever more."
And I could say nothing at all, just gaze at them in horror: the stupid silly bitches, the clasped hands, the unthinkable future.
Fun With Hieroglyphics by Margaret Ball
After thirty minutes of staring at a blank screen, I was finally inspired by the distinctive death-rattle sound of Norah's old Chevy coughing itself to a halt at the curb outside – not to words, but at least to action. I grabbed the mouse and clicked on the spreadsheet window I'd left minimized in the bottom left-hand corner of the screen. The resulting display of De
All 0,000 words and 0 K of it.
"Riva?" Norah called through the screen door as she came in with someone trailing her. "Is Jason ready yet? Oh, this is my friend Stephanie. She's a tech writer at Xycorp, that's why she looks like a grownup."
"How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not a `tech writer'? My title is manager of hard-copy composition and distribution resources," Stephanie corrected Norah. A faint line showed between her two perfectly arched, perfectly shaped brows. Her mouth was painted a clear, bright red mouth-shape and her eyes were outlined with curving, dark brown eye-shapes that matched her hair. At least, I assumed it was hair. It didn't stick to her forehead or creep across her cheeks or cling to the back of her neck the way everybody else's hair did in Austin 's spring humidity and heat.
"Whatever," Norah agreed cheerfully. She sank down in a wicker chair that creaked under her plump form. "How's the book coming, Riva?" She turned to Stephanie. "Riva's another writer, did I tell you? But she never comes to Austin Writers League meetings-that's where I met Steph," she interpolated in my direction before looking back at Stephanie. "Her Salla and my Jason are working on some kind of truly dumb school project together."
"Theoretically," I agreed, happy to drop the subject of my nonexistent second book. "They said they needed to do some research at the library. I dropped them off about an hour ago. They were going to take the bus home. But if I know them, they haven't started their research yet; they're still kvetching about the dumb project. Sorry, Norah. I'll bring Jason home when they show up."
"Well, it is dumb," Norah said. "Develop a 3-D diorama in an empty oatmeal box, illustrating the building of the Pyramids."
"It does seem more like third-grade work than eighth-grade," I agreed. "But they've also got the option of staging a one-act play dramatizing some incident of Egyptian history."