Now it was his turn to goggle at me. "What? Yew think it rude to be polite?"
"Maybe I don't like being condescended to."
"Well, hn! When yoor done eating up, I can give yer a lift back and putcha in the snow, if yew like." He snorted and laughed, pleased at his own wit.
Then he put his fork down and pointed his finger toward my face, very rudely, I thought: "Lookee here, life is more cruel to women than it is to men, and there is no use saying it's not! Here yew are, a woman stood up at the altar, or one who says she is, and yoor telling me women and men got dealt the same hand of cards?"
I felt I had to stand up for my sex: "The equality between men and women requires that they be treated the same."
"Yeah? Well, I don't know what kind of men you know, but the ones I know always feel a little hurt when yew give 'em a hand. Y'know? I'm not saying it's right or wrong, I'm just saying women make it easier for yew to help them. And being pretty as a Sunday morning doesn't hurt matters either.
"Besides, no girl ever tried to hijack my load. You think it don't happen, but it does. In Liverpool, I was once.
"But, listen here! Don't turn down help when someone reaches out his hand, hn? It's the only thing that keeps human beings alive on the Earth, and I am right about that!"
He picked up his fork and stabbed it back into the pile of pancakes. He chewed for a moment, and then spoke with his mouth full, mumbling. I had never seen someone talk with food in their mouth before, and I stared in amazement. But I suppose there was no Mrs. Wren in his life to slap him with a ruler for bad table manners.
This is what he said: "Little missy, I stopped when yew fell, 'cause I hear'd a cry, a high cry, and I thought yew were holding a baby in yoor arms. And yew fell down."
He swallowed a bit; then he continued: "Maybe I shouldna stopped for a woman with a baby on Christmas Day, issat what yew think? But I hear'd the cry and I stopped. Didn't expect it was yer pet screeching."
We ate in silence for a while. I felt a bit like a wretch. This man was the only person who had rescued me with whom I had argued. (How many times had I been rescued… ? Just the Grendel menace: once by Boggin, once by Telegonus, once by the eagle… was there one I had forgotten? Romus had rescued me from Erichtho…)
I started to apologize, but he waved my words away, and changed the subject. Sam said, "What can yew do with your magic powers? Talk to the departed, tip tables, tell fortunes, that sort of thing?"
I said, "Well, maybe I can show you…"
I looked into the fourth dimension again. I saw two things at once. The rooms of the little restaurant were laid out like a blueprint. I could see Jerry in the back room. He was on the telephone, saying, "Yes, Constable, I am not very likely to be mistaken! It is one of the five strange children from the Branshead estate. How is it possible I could not know one of them? The ones who never get any older…"
At the same time, I saw the moral strand running to me jerk, and flicker with light. This time, I used one of the other senses to look at the first sense, and sought its internal nature. Magic. I was seeing a magic spell. A finding spell.
I jumped to my feet. I pulled and pushed on the higher parts of my body, but it was mostly still numb. I could not deploy my wings or move into hyperspace.
Sam dropped his fork. "Um. Don't get excited———Is, ah, is everything… ?"
"Sam!" I leaned across the table and kissed him.
He looked, at once, startled, pleased, surprised, and worried. "Hold on…"
"Thanks for saving me! You're my second rescuer today, fourth one this week. I must run. I have enemies. Bad, bad people. Actually, um, gods. Old gods from the pagan days. They are beyond your strength. Don't follow me!"
I stepped toward the door and he grabbed at my arm. My "pet bird" snapped at his fingers with the razor-edged bolt-cutters of his beak, but I yanked the bird back with one hand before he drew blood.
The snapping bird made Sam flinch, and I was away.
Even had Sam been faster than me in the sprint (which I doubt), he was not faster than me in the steeplechase. I leaped from table to table in a straight line toward the door, and cleared one or two chairs in my way with a good takeoff, slightly wobbly landing. I lost the bearskin rug behind me during one jump.
The little bell tinkled, and I was out the door.
On the street, Waterside Street. Still deserted. Maybe everyone was at church; I could hear bells tolling solemnly in the distance. Which way? Would any direct tion do? Away from the docks, though: I might have to come back here, and it would not do to lead any pursuit that direction.
I turned and sprinted up Main Street, which was more or less straight, heading toward the hill where the church and the courthouse were. I tucked the bird under my arm like a ball.
And Sam came pounding down the street after me. He still had a napkin tucked in his collar, and was carrying a fork in one fist He had left his coat behind. His form was not bad, for an old guy. Maybe he did rugby when he was younger.
Up the street About one hundred yards ahead of me was a carriage circle, with a circle of grass in the middle, and a pillar bearing the names of local townsmen who died in the Great War. They had put a statue of an angel up recently; at least I did not remember seeing it there before, tall atop the pillar. They had painted it for Christmas, blue and white. I was still at least a quarter mile from the church…
Wait a minute. Why was I going toward the church? If that was where all the townspeople were, (a) I might be putting them in danger, (b) they might call the coppers on me, just as Jerry had done. This was the worst direction of all to be going.
I stopped at the carriage circle, blowing puffs of white and looking left and right. There were lanes running north and south.
The angel on the pillar turned his head, spread his peacock-blue wings, raised his bow. There was an arrow in the string.
"Phaethusa, Helion's daughter, I make it fated that you will be struck by this shaft if you do not surrender to me. I am Corus. I am the North by Northwest Wind, a humble god, perhaps, for only one-sixteenth part of the infinite sky is mine; but I am great enough to wound you."
I stood with one hand on my knee, bird in the other, blowing white puffs. I shook my head. "No. No, thanks. I'm sick and tired of surrendering."
He said, "Do you toy with me, Chaoticist?"
"Lord Mavors said you can't kill us! How are you going to stop me if you don't risk killing me!"
"I make it fated that you shall not die when my arrow strikes. With such a fate, I may strike your eye with no fear the shaft will enter your brain-pan, or hit your thigh, hand, bosom, marring and maiming, as I will."
I straightened up, and held up the wounded eagle in both hands. "Look out! I've got a magic bird… this bird will save me! And I am not a monster or anything. I'm just a girl with a monster's powers, and I've never done anything wrong, so I don't want you to shoot me."
Sam came trotting into the carriage circle, slowed down, and walked up. His mouth and eyes were wide.
"Hey! Are yew an angel? Don't point that thing at the girl here. She's touched in the head!"
Corus said, "Creature of Prometheus, go, and I will spare you. I make it fated that when you wake after you have slept, this will fade like a strange dream. If you speak of it this day, you will not be believed, even by those that love you…"
"Is my wife up there with yew all? Second wife, Annie, I mean…"
"Go!"
He turned the arrow toward Sam.
Sam set his jaw and looked stubborn.
I said, "Um, Sam, maybe you should…"
The bowstring sang.
I jumped in front of Sam and threw out my arms. The eagle, released, flapped and jumped in front of me.
The eagle moved faster than was possible, as if he were trying to bat the speeding arrow out of midair with his wing. The arrow passed through the one wing, lost all velocity, turned sideways, and slapped against me before it clattered to the pavement.