Free Excalibur Rising by Eileen Hodgetts Page B

her hand and allowing her mind to interpret the shifting shapes of the past.  The goblet had spoken to her, or maybe holding it had helped her to recall something she had read.  The paper was different.  She recalled how it had felt in her fingers, not dead, and not like a newly made object without a history, but like a barrier.  The paper was alive but alien, the inked characters deliberately resistant to her probing. She had spoken words without knowing what they meant.  She had talked about a gate, a portal, time standing still.  The words were not her own, they had come from some other place. 
     The bedroom door crashed open and Todd strode into the room, with Maria behind him.
     “Nicely done,” said Todd.  “You really got him going. What are you going to do for an encore?”
     “What are you doing?” Violet asked. “You can’t come in here.  They’ll see you, and then what will they think.  You’re supposed to be my secretary, or assistant, or whatever.”
     “Well at least he doesn’t have to be the maid,” said Maria, plopping herself down on the corner of the bed and kicking off her shoes. “This uniform is hot, it’s nylon, it doesn’t breathe.  I don’t know how real maids manage.  And as for carrying that heavy tray around….”
     “It’s better than poncing around looking like I just stepped out of a Fred Astaire movie,” said Todd, scrabbling to unknot his striped Ascot. 
     “And you think all this spandex is comfortable?” said Violet, pulling at the spandex girdle that was allowing her to squeeze into the blue suit.
     “Well, you’re not exactly stock size,” said Todd, “and that’s all we had in wardrobe.  Any more of those chocolate croissants and that whole suit would have exploded.”
     He dropped down on the bed and sat companionably close to Maria.  “But you did good,” he said. “How much of it was real?”
     “All of it,” said Violet.
     Todd patted her hand. “If you say so,” he said. “I don’t think that professor was buying it, cynical bastard.  But you really went over the top and you know what Mom used to say, less is more.”
     “Mom’s not here any longer,” said Violet, “and it’s up to me.  We can’t keep this place going on your very occasional stage gigs___”
     “I try,” Todd interrupted.
    “I know you do,” said Violet, “which is more than I can say for Maria.”
     “You want me to be a waitress for real?” said Maria, who had entirely lost her Spanish accent.
     “No,” said Violet, “we’re going to make this work.  We’re going to find this damned sword and make a pile of money, and Todd can buy himself a theatre, and Maria can do whatever she likes.”
     “I want to paint,” said Maria.
     “Speaking of paint,” said Todd, “Ryan put his hand in the wet paint on the gazebo.”
      “Oh God,” said Violet, “what did you say?”
     “Something appropriately flaky,” said Todd.  “Mind the paint, or sorry about the paint, or something like that.  I really had no idea what to say.  It should have been dry.  I finished it at midnight.”
     “It looked really good,” Maria said encouragingly.  “Did you like what I did to the library?”
     “I haven’t seen it yet,” said Violet.  She pulled herself upright against the pillows.  “You’d both better get out of here,” she said.  “What if someone sees you?”
     “The professor has gone downtown,” said Maria, “and the Mafia boss is making threatening phone calls on his cell.”
      “Okay,” said Violet, “so we have a little time.  Did you get onto Carlton Lewis?”
      “That,” said Todd, “was a stroke of genius.”
      “Well, thank you,” said Violet in surprise.
     “Not your genius,” Todd said, “my genius.  How long ago was it that