A Pretty Mouth by Molly Tanzer

temples and a ruddy, narrow, pleasant face, but the person I saw gave me no hint as to his former appearance. He was swollen, bloated even; his hair was thinner, and his face drooped horribly on the left side from the palsy that struck him some weeks back. His skin was as brown as a walnut, and had a patchy, unwholesome appearance.
    I was glad Bill had prepared me for the sight, I do not know if I could have kept from crying out had I gone to see him unaware.
    Lizzie bustled into the room saying, “Well, well, my lord, what may I fetch you?”
    The series of sounds that came from my guardian’s mouth could not be called speech, yet Lizzie seemed to understand them well enough.
    “Such a fuss and for what? Only the want of a cup of Darjeeling!” she exclaimed.
    “My God, is that all?” cried Mr. Vincent, giving me quite a fright—I had not noticed him lurking like a spider on the other side of my lord’s bed.
    “I’ll have it for you before you can say Jack Robinson,” said Lizzie, “but while you wait, here’s something for you, my lord—your guest is here!”
    More wet grunting and smacking. Lizzie’s face fell.
    “Well, surely you will be pleased when you see who it is—come closer, my dear, don’t hang in the doorway like some sort of apparition!”
    With not a little trepidation I took a few faltering steps toward the bed. He really looked as miserable as the house itself; indeed, the only thing bright or beautiful about him was a curious jade pendant he wore on a chain upon his breast, just visible where his nightshirt was unbuttoned. Carved in the shape of a winged tortoise, it had a face more lupine than reptilian, and great clawed monkey-paw hands that gave the impression that the ornament was clinging to his skin. The craftsmanship looked almost Egyptian, and it glowed faintly in the gloaming. I thought I recognized the image … but I know not where, for surely he never wore it while I lived in this house.
    Something about it captivated me, made me long to look upon it further, to hold it in my hand and run my fingertips over the smoothness of the stone.
    “What a lovely necklace,” I blurted, unable to help myself.
    A grunt that sounded like agreement came from him—and then his bleary eyes focused on my face.
    “Whooo?” he said, like a tubercular owl.
    “Your letter bid me come,” said I, remembering myself at last. I took his hand in mine, but almost dropped it in surprise. It felt leathery and chitinous at once; I could not feel the bones beneath the skin. “It is I, Chelone Burchell, your ward. I had not expected to see you again. I am so glad—”
    There was more I was going to say, but, unexpectedly, my greeting induced a sort of apoplexy in the Lord Calipash. He began to cry out and wheeze and make such a ruckus I let go his hand immediately.
    “Never!” I managed to understand through it all, and also, “Begone!”
    This cut me to the quick. It was not as though I had forgotten what was supposed to be my permanent banishment when I received his missive! How could I fail to recall the day I was turned out of the house and sent alone in a coach to attend Miss Redcombe’s School for Girls of Quality? I was not even allowed to pack, my things were sent after me. All I had were the clothes on my back, a few shillings in my pocket, and a letter of explanation in my hand that stated, among other things, that payment would soon arrive to cover my education until I came of age; that I should stay at the school for all holidays unless invited to a friend’s house, and that every effort must be taken to keep me away from young men!
    And yet I had always hoped we would be reconciled, despite his returning every letter I ever sent him, unopened; that he would come to regret punishing me so severely for such a trifling youthful indiscretion.
    “I’m—sorry, the letter, it must have, I don’t know,” I stammered, backing away from the bed. The old man had begun to twitch and froth at