Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - A Baroque Fable

VIP免费

2024-12-24 0 0 373.99KB 148 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

THIS STORY TAKES place once-upon-a-time; not a real time that has come and gone, or a time dial

has yet to happen, or even quite a high-and-far-off (-out) time where so many stones take place; this is a

time that never happened but ought to have, in one of those places that are called fabulous since, of

course, they exist only in fables.

Because this is one of those tales, it must begin with a proper little verse, something pompous and

frivolous, to set the tone of the thing and to bow to tradition.

That special once-upon-a-time is here

When wonders and nostalgic dreams abound

When aggravations of this world all leave

And for a while care knits up its sleeve.

Here you may gather cherished memories around

And merrily indulge, your conscience clear,

The special whimsy and delight you found

When younger, in the realms of make-believe.

So much for tradition.

Now that you are in the mood, think of towering powdered wigs and cascades of lace, of adorable

heroines and staunch heroes, of mighty wizards and malefic sorcerers, of perspicacious kings and odious

tyrants, of soothsayers and enchantments, and all the other stuff of faery, for this is that

once-upon-a-time, where even witches had a sense of fashion.

We begin in the darkest pan of the Woebegone Wood, a place known as the Wailing Gorge. Trees

unlucky enough to grow here are festooned with so much moss that it is difficult to know what they are

like underneath. There is very little light here, and what small amount of it reaches down through the

overgrowth is a murky color, as if it had run out of breath. A river rushes down from the craggy heights in

a hurry to get away, and it has very little manners about how it goes. Everything here is dank and the

smell is miasmic.

There are two sets of inhabitants here. One is a large family of Trolls who roister much of the time. They

live in the caves behind the falls and it is rare that anyone sees them, which is probably just as well. The

other is an elderly witch (who nonetheless has some pretentions to beauty of a particular sort), her

abominable familiar who is an obnoxious floofy cat, and her servant (more about her in a moment).

Alfreida Broomtail, the witch, lives in a hut, one of those low-slung hovels with a thatched roof that has

things growing out of it. There are very few windows, all of mem tiny and hard to see through, and

generally one of them is full of Liri-poop who spends most of the time polishing his claws with his tongue.

There are excellent reasons not to disturb him. Beneath one of the windows is a large, rickety table that

takes up most of the wall and about a quarter of the floor. It is covered with jars and bottles and vials

and sachets and boxes and small cooking pots that send off various dreadful odors. This is where

Alfreida spends most of her time when she is not too busy with her personal toilette. Occasionally she

sweeps everything off the roughhewn surface, and so there are heaps and piles of unidentified debris on

the floor—the rats and spiders are very territorial about them. Naturally there is a fireplace, with the

traditional cauldron hanging on a blackened iron hook over the glowing coals. The hearth is very neat,

and the smells coming from the cauldron are delicious; Alfreida is much too busy to cook, and the task is

left to her servant.

For illumination mere are candles in tilting sconces tacked to the walls wherever there is room for mem,

and so haphazard are they that their flames appear to lurch around the room, from hearth to door to table

to bed and back to the hearth again. Little wax stalagmites rise under the candles, their relative heights

revealing how long the sconce above has been there.

A BAROQUE FABLE 3

Alfreida herself is busy at the table sorting out cobwebs. She is a fine, scrawny ruin of a woman, with

bones poking at her skin like unfriendly tenants. This afternoon she is wearing a splendid, ancient dress of

a rusty, muddy shade that might once have been dark blue. The brocade taffeta is shapeless and without

shine, and the scraps of lace at the corsage and the cuffs only serve to make the whole ensemble appear

more bedraggled. Over the years she has lived alone, she has got into the habit of talking to herself. It is

quite useless to talk to Liripoop, who rarely pays attention to anything except his own vanity.

"Bats' toes, bats' toes, where arc they? What sly things they are, oh, yes." With a cry she seizes a lump of

a jar and pulls the stopper out. "There. Theretherethere!" Delightedly she drops some small, anonymous

bits into the pot sitting by her right elbow. "Now for the kernels of gallowsbane fruit!" Her twiggy fingers

hover over the confusion and she clicks them with impatience.

On the windowsill, Liripoop regards her contemptuously. He stretches out his front paws, crosses them

just so, and lets his claws out to their full, glorious, scimitar length.

"And now, wartflower. Where's the wartflower. No good reason for it to be missing, that's what I say."

She reaches down, pushing several containers aside, but finally stands back in vexation. "There are some

things that don't know when funny is funny."

From the distance, the Trolls can be heard singing. They usually start about this time every afternoon and

have sometimes kept at it all night.

"Gruesomefy churns the water down

Bringing us victims, hey-hof Horses and riders washed down

Who simply forgot to say woah! Murky and damp our houses are

Deep in the slime and mud caves—"

Alfreida grits her teeth and makes a face in the direction of the horrible song. "Some peopleP she

mutters.

"While to the tune of frightened screams Our mummy whimpers and—"

4 Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

"Liripoop, can't you—" Alfreida complains, as she always does.

—raves... Chorus: LoUopping, slobbering—"

"—do something to—"

"—monstrous Trolls!

We hide under bridges, we hide in deep holes!

We gibber and scribble—"

Alfreida takes up the largest bottle she can easily reach and heaves it in the general direction of the

sounds. The bottle smashes satisfyingly and sends a thin, noxious odor through the room to blend with the

others.

"—our names in the ooze!

We feast on whomever, whenever we choose!"

"They'll be at it all night at this rate!" Alfreida shouts to the ceiling. She claps her hands on her hips and

glares at Liripoop. "You could do something; you know you could. But there you sit! Some people don't

know what lucky is."

Ever so delicately, Liripoop yawns, taking great care to show all of his long, pointed teeth. The tip of his

plume of a tail gives one ominous twitch.

"It's all very well for you," Alfreida rails at him. "All you ever have to do is sit there and wait for the mice

to come. You're not so put upon as others I could name." She reaches for a featherduster made with

nettles, but does little more than wave it threateningly in the air. (Above her, one or two bats are changed

into snails; one of them drops onto the table and lands in a box of ground ginger.) She knows better man

to get into a row with Liripoop; he knows it, too.

"Morbidly through the gloom we slosh,

Our thick, icky limbs distorted! Quaking our prey that—"

As much to save face as anything, Alfreida stomps over to the door and pulls it open. "You! Trolls!

Much more noise out

A BAROQUE FABLE 5

of you and I'll set the cacodemons on you!" She sounds more irritated than she is. If the truth were

known, she actually looks forward to these afternoon tussles with the Trolls.

"—ichor we plaster our reeking walls—"

Alfreida slams the door and braces it with her back, the very picture of the chatelaine defending the

castle. She glares at the nearest candle and is satisfied only when the little flame quivers and goes out. It

would be too much to say that she smiles, but she changes enough to be pleased. "A body can't get an

indecent spell done without them caterwauling about how special they are and breaking into one's

concentration. It's a shame they're not so modest as some of us."

Liripoop blinks very thoroughly.

Beyond the door, the song of the Trolls grows rowdier and a bit louder. Alfreida gives up her post and

goes back to the table. "Where did I leave off?"

If this question is directed at Liripoop, he ignores it superbly.

She busies herself with sorting out bottles and at last finds a badly blown bottle with a wax seal across

the top. With an eager cry, she grabs it and breaks the wax off at once. "Oh, yes, what a fine vintage it

is!" she cackles as she pours out the gooey substance into the pot. "This is just what's needed."

Delicately Liripoop gets down from the sill and stalks away toward the hearth where he begins a most

fastidious grooming of his tail.

"Just listen to them. Those Trolls!" Alfreida says sotto voce. She is trying to find just the right wooden

spoon to stir her concoction. "No shame at all, the way they carry on." There is no spoon to be found,

and at last she relents, screeching, "Esmeralda!" (Remember, she has a servant.) She potters over to the

far end of the table, hoping that perhaps she will find what she needs there. "Those Trolls have no sense

of the order of things. What if I should go around trying to be so impressive? Not that I haven't got things

to recommend me."

Liripoop yowls and makes a face that on a human would be a smirk.

"I won't have you entertaining those notions," Alfreida warns him, but with little force. "In my youth, I will

have you know, I was thought to be most remarkable for my appearance. Even Osgood said—that

wretch!—I was very, very

6 Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

unusual." She lifts a spoon and considers it, but apparently it is not what she needs, for she puts it down

once more. "But I'm not like those Trolls, not at all. Esmeralda! I know a bit more about conduct and

courtesy, you may be sure of that."

Liripoop abandons his washing and finds a perfect spot; he gathers all his paws together, drops his chin

on them and drapes his tail over his nose. His mad orange eyes do not quite close.

In her zeal to find the spoon, Alfreida oversets three little boxes. They fall to the floor and spill out three

dissimilar dusts. "Exterpation!" Her hands raise up, gathered as tightly as her twig-fingers will permit. She

is on the verge of a fine tantrum. "Es-mer-al-da!"

Timidly the door is opened and Alfreida's unfortunate servant comes into the hut. In spite of the torn

clothes and smudge of dirt on her cheek, it is clear to anyone with decent vision and half a brain that mis

is one of the loveliest females ever to grace a once-upon-a-time. She is fair and glowing; her complexion

is softer and more delicate than a rose petal; her hair falls in ridiculously perfect flaxen waves; her eyes,

fringed with long, sweeping lashes, are die same deep shade as the best Dutch chocolate. At the moment

she looks on Alfreida with pretty dismay. "Yes?"

"About time!" Alfreida shrieks.

"You told me to give your spiders"—here she shudders, a blossom in the wind—"pedicures."

"What an abominable creature you are. You made a perfect mull of drowning kittens yesterday and now

this!" Her temper flares more brightly. "A spoon! My spell requires a spoon! What have you done with

the spoons?"

"I... washed them," Esmeralda ventures, not daring to raise her voice above a breathless whisper.

"Washed them? Washed them? What is the matter with you? Don't you know enough not to wash

things? Some people take too much on their judgment!" She stamps closer to Esmeralda, who shrinks

back. "Not content with everything else, you're washing things!"

"But—"

"If I want a thing washed, I will tell you to wash it, do you understand me? Some people don't know

when to listen. Some people don't know when to let others do the thinking! Some people assume they're

able to... to..." Alfreida has

A BAROQUE FABLE 7

turned an alarming shade of puce, and she gasps for air. In the sudden silence, the Trolls are beard once

again, more off-key man ever.

"—and scribble our names in the ooze!—"

"A-A-A-a-a-a-gh-h-h!" goes Alfreida, shoving the door closed.

"Mercy," Esmeralda breathes.

"Not from me, you little Wither-head," Alfreida crows, having found a victim on whom to vent her wrath.

"You've done one thing too many, and you'll have to take the brunt of my punishment for your mistakes.

Yes, yesyesyes. You mink I'm an old soft-hearted creature, don't you? tike some others I could mention,

but 1*11 have a chance to learn otherwise."

Esmeralda stares in horror at the witch. "But I've tried to obey you. I've done as you wished, and I

haven't attempted to escape or do you any disservice, just as I promised."

"And you think I paid any notice of that?" Alfreida scoffs. "What a moron you must think I am. Just a silly

old woman, who only needs a little cajoling before she changes her mind about everything." Alfreida

looks down at Liripoop and coos, "You could tell her a thing or two, couldn't you?" The cat does not

respond, which is wise of it. "You sly wench! I'll turn you over to the Trolls if you go too far. You'll

discover how well-off you've been with me, if you end up with the Trolls. Some people mink that

reasonableness and lenience is weakness, but that's poppycock. You're in the Woebegone Vfood now,

you pretty nit, and you'd better think twice about what you do and say." Her pebble-gray eyes reveal no

trace of emotion, but her face is stretched out in a grotesque smile.

"But honestly. Mistress Broomtail, I have never wanted to turn against you. You've warned me mat all

my family's crops would be blighted if I did, and I cannot be the instrument of their distress." Esmeralda

lifts her hands (the nails, miraculously, are clean and unbroken) to her cheeks and starts to weep.

"It is strange that you would try to trick me. I can see through every word, you dizzard. There are some

who might be taken in by you, but not me." She raises her hands ominously. "There are some who might

take vengeance on you in other ways."

Chelsea Quinn Yarbio

"Oh, gracious," Esmeralda whispers.

"You're not going to gel away with that twaddle about your poor papa's acres, no, you're not." Her

expression changes to one of the most spurious good will. "Still missing your family, are you? After all this

time? How sweet."

Liripoop gives a loud cat-snort but shows no other sign of paying attention.

With an enchanting link sniff, Esmeralda tries to stop her tears. "Oh, you cannot know how much I miss

my home and family. It was so wonderful to be there, with my father and my mother and brothers and

sisters and—"

"It sounds too crowded to stand," Alfreida mutters with an impatient and ominous twitch to the ragged

wisps of black lace at her elbows.

"—and our little dog Slurpy. We were so happy, helping each other and singing nice songs in the evening

while we scrubbed the little cottage clean again." Her sigh is a faint, adorable loss of air through her partly

opened lips.

"Oh, for the use of a genie, just for a minute," Alfreida beseeches the air, her eyes turned up toward the

smoke-blacked beams of her hovel. "There are some people who could learn a trick or two from a

genie."

"But don't you see?" Esmeralda asks. "It was so wonderful because we all loved each other and helped

each other and we were all happy to do this, and we were all the better for it." She clasps her hands

together as she remembers.

"All the better for it? All the better for it, she says," Alfreida warns the pots and vials in front of her. "All

the better for what, you great gawk?" She picks up the stopper from a jar and wags it at Esmeralda.

"You listen to me, you horrible creature. You were none of you happy. You were none of you improving

yourselves and helping each other, you were making sure you got what you want, and that's all there is to

it. The rest is a lot of goopy talk. You believe something like that, you'll believe that sweeping up after the

Trolls could be fun!" She flings the stopper into the air. "I don't know. I bring you here, I try to show you

what's what, and all you can. do is talk about drudgery as if it were some kind of picnic, a treat!"

Here Esmeralda touches her throat with her beautiful fingers. "Don't you know that so long as we are

kind, others will be kind in return?"

A BAROQUE FABLE 9

"Listen to the nonsense," Alfreida admonishes Liripoop, who pays no attention at all. She shakes her

head as she looks at Esmeralda. "What kind of fairy talc were you living in? Bah! Bahbahbah! Some

people don't have the first notion of the world-** She flounces away from the table making an angry

show of herself. "Some people don't know why they're liked, what they are worth to die world. No they

don't. Some people think mat they need only look wistful and the world will do what they want. Well, we

don't all have soft hair and melting eyes and rosy skin like a certain dummy I could name. We don't all

bat our lashes and whisper pretty little things to get our way."

Esmerakla cannot bring herself to rebuke Alfreida for her behavior, though she knows it is rude. Instead,

she does as her mother taught her. "I'm sure your friends must be good and kind, and treasure you. They

know and appreciate all your good qualities and think you quite becoming—"

"Me?" This is almost more man Alfreida can stomach.

"Striking, anyway," Esmeralda amends. She looks away from Alfreida, uncertain now to go on, and not

wishing to give offense to her abductress. "It is very sad, you know. Since you've brought me to this dark

forest, I've not been able to discover anything that pleases you. I've tried to do as you wish, and I respect

your abilities, and I... I want to assure you that I would not do anything to give you reason to... take the

action you said you might." She turns her pleading eyes to Alfreida. "Why will you not tell me what I am

to do to please you?"

Alfreida snorts. "Haven't you paid attention to anything I've said? Are you really as dense as all mat? If

you think to fool me with a deep game, you had better change your mind. You do not know what I am

capable of doing, especially when I'm bored."

"Bored?" Esmeralda repeats, seizing on what she hopes is a clue to Alfreida's unpredictable behavior. "Is

that it? You are alone here, but for your cat and the Trolls. Oh, I should have realized." Her eyes shine

wim inspiration. "You miss your friends, don't you? I should never have reminded you of how lonely

you've become. Forgive me, please."

"Forgive something so ridiculous! What an odd idea she has of forgiveness," Alfreida remarks to

Liripoop, her scrag-gfed brows moving up and down to indicate something of

Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

significance. When Alfreida's brows waggle, it is a very bad sign.

"I do realize that I'm not the best companion for you, but I will try to improve. Tell me what you wish me

to study—not anything too awful—and I will do my best to learn it, so that I can offer you some

intelligent conversation when we are finished with the work of the day." Her eyes are growing pensive

now, and she droops where she stands. Her pretty, amazingly clean frock shows off her posture to the

best advantage and her half-closed lips would appear pouting on anyone less patently innocent.

"So you wish to please me? Will you listen to it, Liripoop, the moron wants to please me. How

delightful." Her tone is filled with something that Esmeralda does not recognize; it is malice. "There must

be some little thing I could think of, if I put my mind to it. What do you say, Liripoop? Isn't there

something that would be simply perfect?"

Liripoop gives a slow, studied stretch, then drops his chin back on his feet.

For once, Esmeralda has the good sense to be apprehensive. "I didn't mean... I don't want to be a bother

to you, but if there is something... you might not want to..." Even dithering, she is lovely, which Alfreida

notices with a cultivated sneer.

"You want to please me, and the way you are, no matter what you did, you would please someone, I'm

sure." She reaches out, tapping her long, booked fingernails on one of the metal pots. The noise is like

pebbles or teeth rolled down a metal washboard. "I'm sure," she muses, her eyes half closing, taking on

an expression very like Liripoop's. "Yes. But what if you were changed? What then?" The sly eyes do

not open, but they whisk from Esmeralda's face to the cat's and back again. "What if you were plain?

What if you were ugly? What if you were hideous? What if you were frightful? Do you think anyone

would be glad to have you help them, and make you fed so happy? Not a chance, not a chance. No one

would want you near them, no one! That idiot dog of yours would bite you if be didn't run bowling out of

the room." Alfreida cackles with glee at the dwught, exactly as all wicked witches are supposed to do.

"We'd see what's what then, wouldn't we?"

Esmeralda had turned divinely pale. "What are you say-

A BAROQUE FABLE

ing? Why should such things make a difference? I am certain mat you have let your disappointments sour

you, and I am sorry for it. It isn't possible that you could be right." Her indignation is almost as splendid

to behold as her dismay was. "It is just that you are an unfortunate, neglected, unhappy old witch!"

Both Alfreida and Esmeralda are stupefied by her outburst, as much because it is a pretty good summary

of the problem than anything else. Liripoop licks his nose in a thorough and studious manner.

"What was that?" Alfreida demands ominously.

"Oh, dear," Esmeralda cries, shrinking back. "What a dreadful thing for me to say to you. What can I

nave been thinking of, to speak of you in that way?"

"It wasn't your family's crops," Alfreida declares with a slow nod. "They'll be eating weeds before the

summer is over, you spiteful little worm."

Esmeralda looks around the hut, overcome by distress. "I never meant that, never. I was... foolish!

stupid!"

'That you were," Alfreida agrees with spurious good will.

"I'd do anything to make amends. I beg your pardon." She curtsies, as graceful as a willow bending in the

wind. This does nothing to appease Alfreida, who rolls up her eyes in exasperation.

"What a ninny it is. What an aggravating ninny." Her chuckle is low and nasty. "And it expects me to

forgive and forget the insult. Well, I'm not so blind as some I could name. And I'm not so

namby-pamby."

"No, certainly you're not. You have great perspicacity," Esmeralda assures her, eager to placate her

captress. "You are more learned and erudite than anyone I've ever met."

"Fine words for someone who should be scratching out bequests," Alfreida warns her, then pauses. "You

do want to get back into my good graces, don't you. You're not just saying that to convince me you're

harmless."

Esmeralda is not wise enough to be nervous at this sudden change of humor on Alfreida's pan, so she

nods earnestly, the color coming back into her cheeks. "Oh, yes. Yes, it would mean so much to me.

And then my family would not have to starve and I would be able to tend to the chores you have set me

in a manner you will like." She smiles mistily. Or perhaps she is merely nearsighted.

12 Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

"Indeed," Alfreida says with a permissive wave of her hand. "Well, then 1 will have to think about it,

won't IT'

"Oh, please; yes, please," Esmeralda breathes

Alfreida shakes her head and looks down once more at her pots. "Some people are remarkably dense."

She smiles, a jagged, crocodile sort of smile. "I'll have to give you that chance, won't I? It wouldn't do for

me to prohibit you. No, not at all."

"Thank you, thank you," Esmeralda whispers, all but dropping to her knees in gratitude. "I knew you

could not be so cold-hearted to forbid me to have the opportunity to redeem myself in your good

opinion."

"What mouthfuls you say," Alfreida remarks sweetly. "If you'll just go to the cave and get my grimoire, I'll

see what I can come up with for you to do." She indicates the door. "Be sure you close it firmly. I need

time to think, and the Trolls are making too much noise for that."

"The grimoire. Yes, I will fetch it. Right away." She rushes to the door and with some effort tugs it open.

"—in the mold-green moonlight Where horror unknown waits and—"

"SHUT IT!" Alfreida bellows, and glares in secret satisfaction at the door. "That will keep her busy white

1 make a few preparations. Something tike this requires planning and concentration, and no one can

manage that with an abominably sweet wretch prattling along about goodness and happiness." Liripoop

gives a low purr, he knows what's coming. "And when she comes back, I'll show her." Alfreida begins to

hum, her tone-deaf meanderings painful to everyone including Liripoop, who turns his back on Alfreida

and ignores the whole thing. "What a pretty little cotton-head she is, no doubt about it. High time she

learned it's a rougher world than she knows. Yes. Yesyesyes. When she comes back, I'll turn her into a

toad." This gives Alfreida such amusement that she has to jig about the room in order to accommodate

her mirth. As she goes, she kicks the occasional bit of furniture out of her way. "Must have a good open

space, mustn't we? Large enough to do the work. Toad magic, now that takes a smallish pentacle." She

begins to pace out the lines on the floor, then stops abruptly. "Not a toad. No, that's

A BAROQUE FABLE

far too easy. An obnoxious thing like her, she'd find someone who likes toads. It must be worse than

that."

Liripoop is no help at all.

"What about a sickly bat? One of those weak ones, that are always falling into people's hair? What

would that cream-puff do when a flightly old lady fainted at the sight of her?" She looks toward her cat,

as if expecting approval, but Uri-poop pays no attention. "If not a bat, what about something large and

terrible, something really unpleasant?" The notion appeals to Alfreida as she says this, and her grin is

unnerving to see. "I think that I might come up with a spell or two that would do the trick." She hops

experimentally. "A slip of a thing like Esmeralda is going to take more man a jot of magic to get up to

size, but there are some who are thought to be the best around who are not equal to my abilities, not that

I would think to boast of it." Her voice has turned sweetly modest, not a very pleasant thing at all.

Liripoop rolls onto his back and looks up at her in an expectant way, then utters a few strange cat sounds

which Alfreida listens to attentively. When he has finished this, he rolls back into a ball and claps his paws

over his eyes.

"Why, I never thought about that at all," Alfreida says to him, as if in conversation. "It didn't occur to me.

I must not be completely myself today, to have overlooked such an obvious thing." A speculative gleam

comes into her eyes. "And there would be real advantages to your plan, Liripoop. You're always

showing me the way, 1 must admit it." She looks about among the pots. "What might work best? Tigers

and lions are out—I haven't got the space for them. But there are other things..." She reaches out for

some white powder. "The pentacle first, I think, while I work out what I am going to do with her."

Alfreida kicks a few more bits of furniture into the corners of the room. Other bits of legs and arms of

chairs already broken there attest to how regular a habit this is with her. When she has cleared a good

portion of the center of the room, she wets her fingers and holds them up. "No draft except for the

chimney, and dial's to be expected."

Liripoop rolls closer to the hearth, as if to aid her, or it may be that he is only exercising good judgment.

"The floor will do as it is," Alfreida announces to the air. She begins to pace and measure as she goes,

still holding the box of white powder. "I won't need the candles; I won't want

Chelsea Quinn Yaibro

to keep anything in." Her laughter has degenerated to a cackle. "And then, it's only a matter of choosing

the right form and putting her in it." The cackle grows worse. Alfreida is beginning to enjoy herself,

something that bodes very little good for anyone other than Alfreida. "The pentacle, the pen-tacle. And

mat disgusting creature!" It would be too much to say that she actually skips, but she comes dangerously

close to it. "She'll be quite hideous, quite, quite hideous. How delightful it will be."

As if in protest, Liripoop gets up, stretches, and then leaps up to the narrow stone projection that serves

as a mantle above the hearth. He recommences washing his tail.

"What would make her feel most awful?" This occupies her thoughts briefly. "And what would cause the

greatest uproar? What would bring all the neighbors running to stare and curse?" Her eyes widen

suddenly. "I have it! I have it! Extirpation, I have it!" This time her hop is more emphatic. "A dragon,

that's it. A dragon. I'll turn that syrupy blossom into a horrible, repulsive, ghastly, horrendous dragon,

with scales and flames. That will cause tongues to wag, even among the Trolls." The more she

contemplates this, the happier it makes her. She opens her box of white powder and begins the task of

marking out the pentacle on the floor. She croons to herself as she goes. "A dragon, Esmeralda a dragon.

Why, there hasn't been a dragon in the Woebegone Wood for centuries, and almost everyone's forgotten

what they're like. And to have them know that I did it, well, it would be about time for some of them to

realize the talents I possess are not to be trifled with." She has finished about half the pentacle and she

pauses to look over her work. "Coming along very nicely. What do you say, Liripoop?" The cat could

not be bothered.

Nothing daunted, Alfreida continues with her chores. "Think of it. All the nobility from Addlepate and

Alabaster-on-Gelasta will come riding out here, and 1*11 have them! What a plate of understanding

charity and help they'll serve Esmeralda! And what / will do to them." She finds this so amusing that she

almost drops die box of white powder. "What fun it's going to be! Ah! And what a lasting lesson it's

going to give to a remarkably stupid fuzzy-brain." She is glowing more and more enthusiastic for her dire

project; the ramifications ait becoming apparent to her, and me more of mem she recognizes, the better

she fceis. "Those know-H-aOs

A BAROQUE FABLE

in Addlepate. Well! Humgudgeon thinks he's the master enchanter in these parts. Fat lot of boasting,

that's all he's good for. Why, I could out-enchant the whole lot of them, including Humgudgeon. I've got

more imagination than any of them, I've shown that over and over. My skills keep getting better." She

stops congratulating herself to put the finishing touches on her pentacle. "There's more evil in my little—"

"... hide in deep holes! We—"

Alfreida screams as Esmeralda hastens to close the door behind her, once again shutting out the rowdy

carolling of die Trolls.

"Will you warn a body when you're coming, you inexcusable dottard? Ail this skulking about makes me

nervy." Alfreida glowers at Esmeralda, pouting as she does.

Esmeralda is chagrinned, and she blushes rosily. "I'm sorry, Mistress Broomtait. I never intended to

frighten you."

As if it were not bad enough to have been startled, this revelation is almost more than Alfreida can bear.

"Frighten? You, frighten me? Will you listen to this loathsome abomination?" Suddenly Alfreida laughs,

anticipating the revenge she is about to achieve.

"Mistress Broomtail, I—" Esmeralda says apprehensively, her mouth turning down, but not enough to

mar the shape and curve of it.

"Don't interrupt me," Alfreida orders. "I'm thinking." So saying, she takes the time to walk around the

pentacle once more, as much to congratulate herself for her cleverness as to be certain she has

performed her magic correctly. "Quite satisfactory, I should think. There are those who would say that it

takes more than the spells and a pentacle to do things right, but they haven't the experience that some of

us can claim."

This is more promising man Esmeralda had feared it might be, and so she tremblingly proffers the tome

she has brought. "I have... your book, Mistress Broomtail."

"BookT* Alfreida turns and abruptly snatches the volume from Esmeralda. "It bad better be the right

one," she warns as she starts to open it. In fact, she owns no more than three books, and the other two

are nothing like her grimoire, one being a small volume on herbs, and the other a dissertation on manners

and fashion now mote than Unity years out of dale.

Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

"Ah. Well, you can get tilings right on occasion, can't you, especially when you're told just what to do."

Esmeralda can think of nothing to say in response, and so for a change she remains silent. Her hands lie

against the folds of her sprigged muslin skirt, joined delicately. Somehow or other she has managed to

keep her shoes clean and they still have a trace of polish to them. She looks wistfully toward Uripoop,

wanting to pet him, but afraid of what he might do, since he has shown himself to be disinclined to

attention from her in the past.

"I'm almost ready," Alfreida announces after she peers at the various containers on her table. "I have

everything I need, I think."

"Do you want me to leave?" Always before when Alfreida has been about to do magic, she has ordered

Esmeralda out of the hovel, no matter what the time or the weather. It being a dank afternoon with

promise of a gelid night, Esmeralda cannot help but look longingly at the hearth where the fire still has a

little life in it and the cauldron bubbles.

"Oh, no. Nonono. Wouldn't think of it. You ought to see what I can do when I'm in fine form. This is as

good a time as any. But"—she points to the center of the room— "I want you to stand there. For your...

protection." Her giggle is like shards of ice sliding over metal.

Liripoop opens his eyes indignantly, then assumes his usual inscrutable pose.

"Is there any place in particular I should stand? I don't want to interfere," Esmeralda says. She is

concerned about this sudden change of demeanour on Alfreida's pan. She knows that she ought to trust

others, but for once she has trouble convincing herself of this.

"You see the star? Well, you go and stand in the middle of it, so you'll be safe."

"This five-pointed one?" Esmeralda asks, still uneasy.

"Perfect. Now don't move, and don't speak, and don't do anything unless I tell you to, all right?" Once

again she giggles and, if anything, it is worse than before.

"I scuffed one of the points. Should I fix it?" Esmeralda looks at the pentagram, not wanting to disobey

Alfreida, but worried that there might be some hazard if UK pentagram is not correct. Alfreida has often

railed at her when magical things were not just so.

"Urn?" Alfreida murmurs, looking up from the book. "Oh,

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

THISSTORYTAKESplaceonce-upon-a-time;notarealtimethathascomeandgone,oratimedialhasyettohappen,orevenquiteahigh-and-far-off(-out)timewheresomanystonestakeplace;thisisatimethatneverhappenedbutoughttohave,inoneofthoseplacesthatarecalledfabuloussince,ofcourse,theyexistonlyinfables.Becausethisisoneofthose...

展开>> 收起<<

Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - A Baroque Fable.pdf

共148页,预览30页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - A Baroque Fable

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: