Free The Whim of the Dragon by PAMELA DEAN Page B

got into this mess.
    “Now,” said Fence. “If aught’s unclear to our visitors, let them ask us not to unmuddy them. And if aught’s unclear to you, Randolph, Celia, Matthew, ask now.”
    All of Ted’s relatives looked alarmed. He could at least postpone the inevitable. “Can you tell us,” he said, “the story of Shan?”
    “’Tis in the thicker blue book,” said Celia.
    So much for that.
    “Can you tell us,” said Celia, “of Andrew? This report of his spying mislikes me. What, as such, did he accomplish?”
    “Nothing,” said Ellen. “He was always thwarted.”
    “Was he so foolish, then?”
    “No,” said Ellen, “but he was wrong. He didn’t believe in magic.”
    “Which was a considerable handicap,” said Ruth dryly.
    “Fence,” said Matthew. “The antidote is hereby explained.”
    Celia said, “But how knew he one would kill the King?”
    “And who did so?” said Matthew, gloomily.
    Celia turned back to Ellen. “What hath Andrew yet to do?”
    “Nothing, I think,” said Ellen.
    “He betrayeth not this embassy?”
    “We don’t know,” said Ellen. “The embassy wasn’t in the game.”
    “How not?”
    Ted said quickly, “We ran out of time. It was September by then, and we had to go back to school.” It seemed to be the outsiders’ turn again, so he said, “What about Laura’s visions? They can’t really be a talent of her mother’s house.”
    “ Did Princess Laura have visions?” said Laura.
    “She had dreams that would have grown so,” said Celia, “but was too young for visions.” She looked intently at Laura. “What age hast thou?”
    “Eleven,” said Laura.
    “The Lady Laura was but nine,” said Celia.
    Celia and Matthew looked at one another. Nobody said anything. Ted thought what a strain this must be for all of them, confronted with the lying doubles of children they knew in their minds, but surely not yet in their hearts, to be dead, and to have been dead for three months. Ted remembered Laura’s vision, that Claudia had buried the bodies in the cellar of the Secret House. But keep the wolf far thence, that’s foe to men, he thought, for with his nails he’ll dig them up again.
    Ted made a sharp movement, as if he had found a spider walking up his arm, and both Fence and Celia turned inquiring faces his way. “Fence,” he said, “Edward says to keep the wolf far thence, that’s foe to men, for with his nails he’ll dig them up again.”
    “That’s another spell of Shan’s,” said Fence.
    “But why’s it in the back of my head? Are Laura’s visions another manifestation of it?”
    “Have all of you this affliction? Hath Patrick?”
    “Oh, yes,” said Ted. “But it’s not words, with him. It’s muscle memory. All the prestidigitation.”
    “But not the bladework?” said Fence.
    “No. And Laura has the visions, but she can’t ride a horse.”
    “I don’t have much,” said Ellen. “The name of a flower, or knowing that the pies have bones in them.”
    “The devising of Melanie,” said Fence, “was that some dear to her, whom Shan had killed, should speak to his lightest thought, as do the unicorns in the places of their abiding.”
    “What’s Melanie got against us?” said Ellen.
    “Could Claudia have learned it from her?” said Ted.
    “Or from another,” said Fence. “Or it may be that, being so like your others, wearing their clothes, sleeping in their beds, answering to their names and observing all their ways with the very comment of your souls, that you be not found out, you are like enough to them that you hear them speaking. For sorcery makes nothing happen that may not happen left alone. It can turn a trickle to a sea; but there must first be a trickle.”
    “Your turn,” said Ellen.
    “In your game,” said Celia, “who did murder King William?”
    Ted’s whole interior recoiled like a snapped rubber band. Fence was actually managing to give Celia an admiring glance, as if to say he should have thought of