Free The Deavys by Alan Dean Foster Page A

struck him beneath the table and he turned to see Rose glaring at him. The expressions her sisters wore were no less intense. Clearly, they expected him to raise the subject.
    Well, he was the oldest. Who should he ask first? Given how exhausted his mom was looking, he decided to query both of them simultaneously.
    â€œYou know, it’s been kind of boring around here lately.”
    â€œOh?” His mother’s reaction was noncommittal, while Martin, having returned from the kitchen, remained focused on his dessert and his visibly faltering wife. “How so?”
    â€œWell, we’re all caught up on our homework, and we—the girls and I—were kind of wondering what we were going to do next week since we’re still off from school.”
    He plunged onward. “The girls and I, we were thinking of maybe doing something different this year. After all, we’re all a lot older now.”
    â€œYes, dear.” Melinda Mae slowly dabbed a napkin at her spice-stained lips. Her essence might be faded, but there was nothing slow about her wit. “One year older than last year, to be precise.”
    â€œI take it, Simwan, that you and your sisters have something specific in mind?” His father was staring at him. To the average Ord, Martin Deavy came across as a pretty ordinary guy. To someone in the Knowledge, however, he was considerably more. Ords couldn’t see the fire in Martin’s eyes. Simwan could, all too easily.
    He was intimidated, but things had progressed too far for him to back down now. “We, uh, thought we might spend the week in the city.”
    â€œOh,” Melinda Mae said conversationally, “you want to go over and spend the week with the Clarendon kids in Marksburg? I certainly don’t see any problem with that.”
    Another sharp pain in his right leg. Throwing Rose a brief, murderous glare, he forced himself to smile as he turned back to his parents again. “Not exactly, Mom. We kind of think it’s time we learn a little more about the wider world. You know: museums, life on the street, national monuments—that sort of thing.” He took a breath and plunged ahead. “Actually, we were thinking of spending the week in New York.”
    Melinda Mae put down her napkin. She might be suffering from the absence of the Truth, but she was not insensible. “New York? For a week? By yourselves? ”
    â€œOut of the question,” Martin Deavy murmured quietly and without rancor.
    The girls’ desperation burst through as Amber took over from her brother. “Please, Dad, Mom! We’ll be careful. We know what to do.”
    â€œAnd what not to do,” a restless Rose added earnestly.
    â€œAnd how to behave,” Amber added.
    â€œAnd how not to behave,” N/Ice put in gravely.
    â€œI’m sixteen,” Simwan pointed out quickly. “I’ll take care, and watch out for the girls.”
    â€œYou’ll watch out for who ?” Rose snapped back at him. “More likely it’s us who’ll be looking out for you!”
    â€œYou’re twelve, Rose dear.” An unusually pale Melinda Mae was gentle without being condescending.
    â€œI know,” her daughter agreed, “but we’re a coubet. That means we’re really thirty-six!”
    â€œNot exactly, sweetheart,” Martin Deavy corrected her patiently. “We don’t recognize the math of multiplied expectation at this dinner table. On the other hand, it’s true that you’re not an Ord twelve, either.”
    His wife looked mildly shocked. “ Martin . You’re not actually thinking of letting them do this?”
    â€œWell now, hon, I don’t know.” Scanning their pleading, anxious expressions, he smiled fondly at his offspring. “I think it’s admirable that they want to experience the big time on their own, and that they believe they can deal with it. I’d rather see them spending