strike Nita as particularly necessary, no matter what farmers might say about the need to exterminate “vermin.” If a fox was stealing someone’s chickens, let them shoot it cleanly, rather than chasing it in terror across half the countryside and getting dogs to rip it to shreds.
Meanwhile, there were other concerns. Kit? she said in her head.
A pause. Then, more distant than usual, but clear enough:
Yeah!
She paused a moment. What’s that noise?
I’m chewing, Kit said.
Oh no, you’re eating dinner!
It’s not such a fascinating experience that I can’t take a few minutes out to talk to you, he said. Nita got a distinct impression of slightly lumpy mashed potatoes, and restrained herself from swallowing. What’s happening?
This, she said, and gave him a series of pictures of the day as quickly as she could, ending with the fox. Great, huh?
Bored with me already, Kit said. I knew it .
Kit—!!
Maybe we should stick to image chatting on the manual if you’re going to let me hear you thinking about decking me.
Nita was shocked for a moment. Then she grinned. I am kind of wiped, she said. And this kind of takes it out of you, at a distance. I’ll talk to you more in the morning.
She felt Kit starting to nod, as if she was standing there. They both laughed as he caught himself. Have a good night, Kit said.
Thanks. Will do.
She let the contact ebb away, then got up and started carefully walking back the way she had come. Behind her, from the woodland, a fox was barking; perhaps a mile away, another answered it.
Nita smiled to herself and headed for the trailer.
***
As she had thought, she wasn’t able to stay up very late that night. Nita tried to watch some television, but the jetlag kept catching up with her. And if that problem wasn’t enough, even the more interesting channels were showing stuff that was six months out of sync with the various TV series Nita was watching at home. There was also a lot of stuff that looked interesting, but which kept running her up against the “Is That Even English?” barrier, or its more frustrating younger brother, “I Understood That But I Don’t Know What It Meant.” Though a wizard who’s good with the Speech normally has an advantage in comprehension of alien dialects, Nita found that this wasn’t helping her much with material televised from the depths of Glasgow. Finally she turned the TV off and went back to the trailer again to read… though not before opening a small can of cat food on the sly, and parceling it out to the cats. They accepted this with great pleasure, purring and rubbing and making their approval known: but none of them spoke to her.
Afterwards Nita went back to bed and slept some more. The dreams were not entirely pleasant. In one of them, she thought she felt the earth move, but it was probably just the wind shaking the trailer. When she woke up everything was quite still. It was early morning—how early she couldn’t tell any more without her watch: the different sunrise and sunset times here had her thoroughly confused. Nita fumbled around for her phone, and on checking it saw to her surprise that, even though the sun was well up the sky, it was only a little after seven AM.
She got up and dressed in yesterday’s clothes, slipped into the house, had a quick shower, dressed again—in clean clothes this time— and went to see what there was for breakfast. There were already several people in the kitchen, two of whom Nita had been introduced to before. One was Joe, the stable master, a tall lean young man with a grin so wide that Nita thought his face was in danger of cracking. Another was Derval, the head trainer, a tall curly-haired woman, eternally smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. She had a drawly accent that made her sound almost American. “There y’are then,” Derval said. “You want some tea?”
Nita was beginning to think that most conversations in Ireland were
Meanwhile, there were other concerns. Kit? she said in her head.
A pause. Then, more distant than usual, but clear enough:
Yeah!
She paused a moment. What’s that noise?
I’m chewing, Kit said.
Oh no, you’re eating dinner!
It’s not such a fascinating experience that I can’t take a few minutes out to talk to you, he said. Nita got a distinct impression of slightly lumpy mashed potatoes, and restrained herself from swallowing. What’s happening?
This, she said, and gave him a series of pictures of the day as quickly as she could, ending with the fox. Great, huh?
Bored with me already, Kit said. I knew it .
Kit—!!
Maybe we should stick to image chatting on the manual if you’re going to let me hear you thinking about decking me.
Nita was shocked for a moment. Then she grinned. I am kind of wiped, she said. And this kind of takes it out of you, at a distance. I’ll talk to you more in the morning.
She felt Kit starting to nod, as if she was standing there. They both laughed as he caught himself. Have a good night, Kit said.
Thanks. Will do.
She let the contact ebb away, then got up and started carefully walking back the way she had come. Behind her, from the woodland, a fox was barking; perhaps a mile away, another answered it.
Nita smiled to herself and headed for the trailer.
***
As she had thought, she wasn’t able to stay up very late that night. Nita tried to watch some television, but the jetlag kept catching up with her. And if that problem wasn’t enough, even the more interesting channels were showing stuff that was six months out of sync with the various TV series Nita was watching at home. There was also a lot of stuff that looked interesting, but which kept running her up against the “Is That Even English?” barrier, or its more frustrating younger brother, “I Understood That But I Don’t Know What It Meant.” Though a wizard who’s good with the Speech normally has an advantage in comprehension of alien dialects, Nita found that this wasn’t helping her much with material televised from the depths of Glasgow. Finally she turned the TV off and went back to the trailer again to read… though not before opening a small can of cat food on the sly, and parceling it out to the cats. They accepted this with great pleasure, purring and rubbing and making their approval known: but none of them spoke to her.
Afterwards Nita went back to bed and slept some more. The dreams were not entirely pleasant. In one of them, she thought she felt the earth move, but it was probably just the wind shaking the trailer. When she woke up everything was quite still. It was early morning—how early she couldn’t tell any more without her watch: the different sunrise and sunset times here had her thoroughly confused. Nita fumbled around for her phone, and on checking it saw to her surprise that, even though the sun was well up the sky, it was only a little after seven AM.
She got up and dressed in yesterday’s clothes, slipped into the house, had a quick shower, dressed again—in clean clothes this time— and went to see what there was for breakfast. There were already several people in the kitchen, two of whom Nita had been introduced to before. One was Joe, the stable master, a tall lean young man with a grin so wide that Nita thought his face was in danger of cracking. Another was Derval, the head trainer, a tall curly-haired woman, eternally smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. She had a drawly accent that made her sound almost American. “There y’are then,” Derval said. “You want some tea?”
Nita was beginning to think that most conversations in Ireland were
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