own humor as he dumped more rushes on the pile.
“One does the best one can with the talents allotted one,” she replied with a suspicious expression of self-satisfied false humility.
His suspicion was confirmed. His twinge became absolute fear as the rush rug became a basket large enough to hold, technically speaking, either a man or a woman. Colin had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling it was intended to hold a man.
“It’s a boat!” Maggie exclaimed proudly, as pleased as if she were announcing the sex of her first-born babe, when she floated the flimsy-looking thing on the edge of the flood.
“Uh-uh,” the minstrel said firmly.
“Oh, really . It’s quite strong. I’m sure it will hold you.” She looked up at him with an expression of purest concern for his safety and comfort.
“Hold me while I do what?” He stood very still as he waited for her answer.
“While you rescue that poor stranded beastie, of course.”
“That DRAGON!?” The stillness exploded into an orgy of pacing and wild gesticulation and he changed octaves several times as he spoke. “Look here, Maggie. I’m every bit as much an animal lover as you are, but why in the name of all that’s sane would I want to rescue that dragon? I like it exactly where it is!”
“We have to rescue her because she flies, of course, is why.” She used the sort of voice she might use to explain to a small child why the sky is blue. She didn’t stay within earshot of his indignant sputterings, either, but went to the packhorse and began to unstrap their belongings.
“Well, see here, Maggie. Now just stop. Just because I don’t agree with you doesn’t mean I’m about to leave you here alone! Put those things back, won’t you?” By the fury with which she was unwinding the bindings of their packs, throwing the bundles indiscriminately on the ground to fall where they may, he reckoned she was ready to remain behind if he insisted on sensibly returning to civilization. He perceived her bizarre unpacking methods to be a demonstration both of the sorcerous passion, if not power, she’d discussed earlier, and also any possible determination to remain at the river as a means to make him guilty enough that he’d stay and do as she demanded.
She ignored him, however, as he flapped around putting things that fell off the horse back on whereupon they fell right back off again without the benefit of the length of braided leather rope that had bound them on. This rope Maggie was busying herself winding around her hand and elbow. After trying to replace the cat basket one more time to have it fall to his feet, spilling out the snug old piece of blanket intended to insure Ching’s comfort, Colin decided against trying to strap his fiddle back on and instead placed it gently on the ground, out of reach of the chestnut’s hooves should it decide to take a stomp or two.
Maggie was looking pleased as she wound the rope. Fortunately, they’d brought far more gear than they really needed and the rope was quite long. Rummaging in the pile of belongings, she removed the extra clothing she had brought from its sack, and stuffed it in with the foods. The sack she began to fill with mud from the banks of the swollen Troutroute, digging the stuff up in great gooey gobs, and depositing it in the sack with a sucking “plop.”
Colin had continued to pursue her progress with alarm and not a little personal interest. Perhaps she had not been entirely frank about the scope of her magical powers, and was capable of a great deal more than she’d admitted. Perhaps she was now concocting a gigantic, magical, enormously powerful, arcane—poultice—though whether its purpose might be for rescuing tangled dragons or chastising recalcitrant troubadours he was uncertain.
She lashed the muddy sack securely to the end of the rope and hefted it. Turning to him, she inquired sweetly. “I don’t suppose you’re a fantastic shot with a sling or anything like
“One does the best one can with the talents allotted one,” she replied with a suspicious expression of self-satisfied false humility.
His suspicion was confirmed. His twinge became absolute fear as the rush rug became a basket large enough to hold, technically speaking, either a man or a woman. Colin had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling it was intended to hold a man.
“It’s a boat!” Maggie exclaimed proudly, as pleased as if she were announcing the sex of her first-born babe, when she floated the flimsy-looking thing on the edge of the flood.
“Uh-uh,” the minstrel said firmly.
“Oh, really . It’s quite strong. I’m sure it will hold you.” She looked up at him with an expression of purest concern for his safety and comfort.
“Hold me while I do what?” He stood very still as he waited for her answer.
“While you rescue that poor stranded beastie, of course.”
“That DRAGON!?” The stillness exploded into an orgy of pacing and wild gesticulation and he changed octaves several times as he spoke. “Look here, Maggie. I’m every bit as much an animal lover as you are, but why in the name of all that’s sane would I want to rescue that dragon? I like it exactly where it is!”
“We have to rescue her because she flies, of course, is why.” She used the sort of voice she might use to explain to a small child why the sky is blue. She didn’t stay within earshot of his indignant sputterings, either, but went to the packhorse and began to unstrap their belongings.
“Well, see here, Maggie. Now just stop. Just because I don’t agree with you doesn’t mean I’m about to leave you here alone! Put those things back, won’t you?” By the fury with which she was unwinding the bindings of their packs, throwing the bundles indiscriminately on the ground to fall where they may, he reckoned she was ready to remain behind if he insisted on sensibly returning to civilization. He perceived her bizarre unpacking methods to be a demonstration both of the sorcerous passion, if not power, she’d discussed earlier, and also any possible determination to remain at the river as a means to make him guilty enough that he’d stay and do as she demanded.
She ignored him, however, as he flapped around putting things that fell off the horse back on whereupon they fell right back off again without the benefit of the length of braided leather rope that had bound them on. This rope Maggie was busying herself winding around her hand and elbow. After trying to replace the cat basket one more time to have it fall to his feet, spilling out the snug old piece of blanket intended to insure Ching’s comfort, Colin decided against trying to strap his fiddle back on and instead placed it gently on the ground, out of reach of the chestnut’s hooves should it decide to take a stomp or two.
Maggie was looking pleased as she wound the rope. Fortunately, they’d brought far more gear than they really needed and the rope was quite long. Rummaging in the pile of belongings, she removed the extra clothing she had brought from its sack, and stuffed it in with the foods. The sack she began to fill with mud from the banks of the swollen Troutroute, digging the stuff up in great gooey gobs, and depositing it in the sack with a sucking “plop.”
Colin had continued to pursue her progress with alarm and not a little personal interest. Perhaps she had not been entirely frank about the scope of her magical powers, and was capable of a great deal more than she’d admitted. Perhaps she was now concocting a gigantic, magical, enormously powerful, arcane—poultice—though whether its purpose might be for rescuing tangled dragons or chastising recalcitrant troubadours he was uncertain.
She lashed the muddy sack securely to the end of the rope and hefted it. Turning to him, she inquired sweetly. “I don’t suppose you’re a fantastic shot with a sling or anything like
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