“Uh, Zifnab, where did you say father was leading … er … his people?” Calandra glared at him, but, as Paithan had hoped, his father perked up. “Yes, where?” Lenthan asked shyly, blushing.
The old man raised a chicken leg toward heaven.
“The roof?” Lenthan was somewhat confused.
The old man raised the chicken leg higher.
“Heaven? The stars?”
Zifnab nodded, momentarily unable to speak. Bits of chicken dribbled down his beard.
•
“My rockets! I knew it! Did you hear that, Elixnoir?” Lenthan turned to the elven astrologer, who had left off earing and was glowering at the human.
“My dear Lenthan, please consider this rationally. Your rockets are quite marvelous and we’re making considerable progress in sending them above treetop level but to talk of them carrying people to the stars! Let me explain. Here is a model of our world according to the legends handed down to us by the ancients and confirmed by our own observations. Hand me that pricklepear. Now, this”—he held up the pricklepear—“is Pryan and this is our sun.” Elixnoir glanced about, momentarily at a loss for a sun.
“One sun,” said Paithan, picking up a kumquat.
“Thank you,” said the astrologer. “Would you mind—I’m running out of hands.”
“Not at all.” Paithan was enjoying himself hugely. He didn’t dare look at Aleatha, or he knew he’d break out laughing. Acting on Elixnoir’s instructions, he gravely positioned the kumquat a short distance from the pricklepear.
“Now this”—the astrologer lifted a sugar cube. Holding it a long distance from the kumquat, he began to rotate it around the pricklepear—“represents one of the stars. Just look at how far it is from our world! You can imagine what an enormous amount of distance you would have to travel …”
“At least seven kumquats,” murmured Paithan to his sister.
“He was quick enough to believe in Father when it meant a free meal,” Aleatha returned coolly.
“Lenthan!” The astrologer looked severe, pointed at Zifnab. “This man is a humbug! I—”
“Who are you calling humbug?”
The dragon’s voice shook the house. Wine sloshed from glasses, spilling over the lace tablecloth-Small, fragile items slid from end tables and tumbled to the floor. From the study came a thud, a bookcase toppling. Aleatha glanced out a window, saw a girl running, shrieking, from the kitchen.
“I don’t believe you’ll have to worry about the scullery maid any longer, Cal.”
“This is intolerable.” Calandra rose to her feet. The frost that rimed her nose had spread across her face, freezing the features and freezing the blood of those who saw her. Her thin, spare body seemed all sharp angles and every angle liable to hurt anyone who got near her. Lenthan cowered visibly. Paithan, lips twitching, concentrated on folding his lapcloth into a cocked hat. Aleatha sighed and drummed her nails on the table.
“Father,” spoke Calandra in awful tones, “when dinner is concluded I want that old man and his … his …”
“Careful, Cal,” suggested Paithan, not looking up. “You’ll have the house down around our ears—”
“I want them out of my house!” Calandra’s hands gripped the back of her chair, the knuckles white. Her body shook with the chill wind of her ire, the only chill wind that blew in the tropical land. “Old man!” Her voice rose shrilly.
“Do you hear me?”
“Eh?” Zifnab glanced around. Seeing his hostess, he smiled al her benignly and shook his head. “No, thank you, my dear. Couldn’t possibly eat another bite. What’s for dessert?” Paithan gave a half-giggle, smothered the other half in his lapcloth. Calandra turned, and stormed from the room, her skirts crackling about her ankles.
“Now, Cal,” Paithan called in conciliatory tones. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh—”
A door slammed.
“Actually, you know, Lenthan, old fellow,” said Zifnab, gesturing with the chicken leg, which he had picked clean, “we won’t be using your rockets at all. No, they’re not nearly big enough. We’ll have a lot of people to transport, you see, and that’ll take a large vessel. Very large.” He tapped himself thoughtfully on the nose with the bone. “And, as what’s-his-name with the collar says, it’s a long way to the stars.”
“If you will excuse me, Quindiniar,” said the elven astrologer, rising to his feet, his eyes flashing fire. “I will be taking my leave, as well.”
“—especially since it looks as if dessert’s canceled,” said Aleatha, her voice pitched so that the astrologer would be certain to hear. He did; his collar tips quivered, his nose achieved a seemingly impossible angle.
“But don’t worry,” continued Zifnab, placidly ignoring the commotion around him. “We’ll have a ship—a big sucker. It’ll land right smack-dab in the backyard and it’ll have a man to fly it. Young man. Owns a dog. Very quiet—not the dog, the man. Something funny about his hands, though. Always keeps them bandaged. That’s the reason why we have to continue firing off the rockets, you see. Most important, your rockets.”
“They are?” Lenthan was still confused.
“I’m leaving!” stated the astrologer.
• , “Promises, promises.” Paithan sighed, sipped at his wine.
“Yes, of course, rockets are important. Otherwise how’s he going to find us?” demanded the old man.
“He who?” inquired Paithan.
“The he who has the ship. Pay attention!” snapped Zifnab testily.
“Oh, that he who.” Paithan leaned over to his sister. “He owns a dog,” he said confidentially.
“You see, Lenthan—may I call you Lenthan?” inquired the old man politely. “You see, Lenthan, we need a big ship because your wife will want to see all the children again. Been a long time, you know. And they’ve grown so much.”
“What?” Lenthan’s eyes flared open, his cheeks paled. He clasped a trembling hand over his heart. “What did you say? My wife!”
“Blasphemy!” cried the astrologer.
The soft whir of the fans and the slight rustling of the feathery blades were the room’s only sounds. Paithan had set his lapcloth on his plate and was staring down at it, frowning.
“For once I agree with that fool.” Aleatha rose to her feet and glided over to stand behind her father’s chair, her hands on his shoulders.
“Papa,” she said, a tenderness in her voice that no one else in the family ever heard, “it’s been a tiring day. Don’t you think you should go to bed?”
“No, my dear. I’m not the least bit tired.” Lenthan had not taken his eyes from the old man. “Please, sir, what did you say about my wife?” Zifnab didn’t appear to hear him. During the ensuing quiet, the old man’s head had slumped forward, his bearded chin rested on his breast, his eyes dosed. He gave a muffled snore.
Lenthan reached out his hand. “Zifnab—”
“Papa, please!” Aleatha dosed her soft fingers over her father’s blacked and bum-scarred hand. “Our guest is exhausted. Paithan, call for the servants to help the wizard to his room.”
Brother and sister exchanged glances, both having the same idea. With any luck we can smuggle him out of the house tonight. Maybe feed him to his own dragon. Then, in the morning, when he’s gone, we’ll be able to convince Father that he was nothing but an insane old human.
“Sir …” said Lenthan, shaking off his daughter’s hand and catching hold of the old man’s. “Zifnab!”
The old man jerked awake. “Who?” he demanded, glaring around bleary-eyed.
“Where?”
“Papa!”
“Hush, my dear. Go run along and play, there’s a good girl. Papa’s busy, right now. Now, sir, you were talking about my wife—” Aleatha looked pleadingly at Paithan. Her brother could only shrug. Biting her lip, fighting back tears, Aleatha gave her father’s shoulder a gentle pat, then fled from the room. Once out of sight in the drawing room, she pressed her hand over her mouth, sobbing… .