Free The Rebirth of Wonder by Lawrence Watt-Evans Page B

is assuredly a fascinating
item.”
    More of the Bringers had arrived – though as
always, Art hadn't seen them enter. He began to wonder about some
secret entrance somewhere; had they cut a new door in the wall or
something?
    Wherever they had come from, they were
interested in the knife, and he found himself passing it around,
like a kid at show-and-tell.
    At least this got him introduced to the
remaining members of the group; the obese Oriental was Wang Yuan,
the aging black woman was Tituba Smith, and the herculean black man
was Mr. Rabbitt – no first name was given, and Art found himself
without the nerve to ask.
    None of them recognized the dagger, leaving
him as baffled as ever about its origins.
    While Granny Yeager and Dr. Torralva were
studying it, Art took the opportunity to remark to Innisfree, “I
tried to look up Merton Ambrose at the library, and couldn't find a
thing.”
    Innisfree's mouth quirked. “I am not
surprised,” he said, his accent definitely Scottish for the
moment.
    “ No?”
    Innisfree looked sideways at Art for a
moment, studying him. “I suppose I should explain, Arthur.”
    Art did not reply, but simply looked at
Innisfree, his eyebrows raised expectantly.
    Innisfree sighed.
    “ The Bringers of Wonder,” he said, “are perhaps more
nearly a philosophical society than a thespian troupe – or at
least, they once were. And Merton Ambrose held the post I now
hold. The Return of
Magic was his masterwork, but it was only
printed privately, not published to the general public. Among us,
it's recognized as a classic, I would say, but virtually no one
else has ever heard of it, and it can't be found in any ordinary
town library.”
    “ Oh,” Art said. “Um.
Then do you expect much of a crowd for your
performance?”
    Innisfree seemed surprised by the question;
he eyed Art carefully before answering, “I believe those we wish to
see it will come see it, and that will be enough.”
    “ Boy!” Ms. Yeager
shouted before Art could think of another question. “Come take your
damned gewgaw and get out of our way, we have work to
do!”
    “ Yes, ma'am,” he
said. He collected the dagger and a few apologetic glances from the
others, and headed for the stairs.
     
     

Chapter Ten
     
    That session was relatively short; Art was
called upstairs at seven, and went home for a late dinner. Call for
the following day was for six – Art had noticed the trend toward a
later and later start, and he entirely approved. Six o'clock meant
he ate dinner first, a little early, and arrived at the theater
about a quarter to.
    The day had not been one of the best he ever
had; he had been thinking about driving into Boston, to see if the
Boston Public Library had anything about Merton Ambrose, but he had
wanted to take Marilyn along for company, and he couldn't find her
anywhere.
    By the time someone finally told him that
she'd gone swimming with Anne and Susan, it was too late to make
the trip to Boston by himself. Instead he had spent the afternoon
wandering around town, looking at the shops and watching the
tourists and sweating in the heat.
    At a quarter to six it was still hot outside,
and the inside of the theater was sweltering, but the sky had
clouded over and he heard thunder rumbling in the distance as he
let himself in. No one was in sight anywhere near the theater,
inside or out.
    He walked up to the box office and turned on
the air conditioning; by the time he had crossed the lobby and
re-entered the house, the Bringers were all waiting silently for
him onstage.
    He had actually been expecting that. He
accepted without question the mystery of how they all appeared so
suddenly and quietly; it had become familiar and contemptible. He
waved brusquely to the group as he passed and headed wordlessly for
the basement.
    There was no point in trying to learn
anything about what they were really up to. They weren't going to
tell him, and he had other things to do than argue with them. He
was in no mood to