Tales of Old Earth by Michael Swanwick Page B

mother—her step mother, more likely—did, but didn’t care. To her, this was simply what women did. I couldn’t help notice what good legs Melusine had.
    â€œThis will take a few minutes. While we’re waiting, I direct your attention to Chef Rupert’s excellent pastries.”
    I faded back to polite applause, and began the round of table hopping. A joke here, a word of praise there. It’s banana oil makes the world go round.
    When I got to the de Chervilles, Hawkins’ face was white.
    â€œSir!” He shot to his feet. “A word with you.”
    He almost dragged me away from the table.
    When we were in private, he was so upset he was stuttering. “Th-that young woman, w-wants me t-to …”
    â€œI know what she wants,” I said coolly. “She’s of legal age—make your own decision.”
    â€œYou don’t understand! I can’t possibly go back to that table.” Hawkins was genuinely anguished. I thought at first that he’d been hearing rumors, dark hints about his future career. Somehow, though, that didn’t smell right. There was something else going on here.
    â€œAll right,” I said. “Slip out now. But I don’t like secrets. Record a full explanation and leave it in my office. No evasions, understand?”
    â€œYes, sir.” A look of relief spread itself across his handsome young face. “Thank you, sir.”
    He started to leave.
    â€œOh, and one more thing,” I said casually, hating myself. “Don’t go anywhere near your tent until the fund-raiser’s broken up.”
    The de Chervilles weren’t exactly thrilled when I told them that Hawkins had fallen ill, and I’d be taking his place. But then I took a tyrannosaur tooth from my pocket and gave it to Philippe. It was just a shed—rexes drop a lot of teeth—but no need to mention that.
    â€œIt looks sharp,” Mrs. de Cherville said, with a touch of alarm.
    â€œSerrated, too. You might want to ask your mother if you can use it for a knife, next time you have steak,” I suggested.
    Which won him over completely. Kids are fickle. Philippe immediately forgot all about Hawkins.
    Melusine, however, did not. Eyes flashing with anger, she stood, throwing her napkin to the floor. “I want to know,” she began, “just what you think you’re—”
    Fortunately, that was when Satan arrived.
    The tyrannosaur came running up the hillside at a speed you’d have to be an experienced paleontologist to know was less than optimal. Even a dying T. rex moves fast .
    People gasped.
    I took the microphone out of my pocket, and moved quickly to the front of the room. “Folks, we just got lucky. I’d like to inform those of you with tables by the window that the glass is rated at twenty tons per square inch. You’re in no danger whatsoever. But you are in for quite a show. Those who are in the rear might want to get a little closer.”
    Young Philippe was off like a shot.
    The creature was almost to us. “A tyrannosaur has a hyperacute sense of smell,” I reminded them. “When it scents blood, its brain is overwhelmed. It goes into a feeding frenzy.”
    A few droplets of blood had spattered the window. Seeing us through the glass, Satan leaped and tried to smash through it.
    Whoomp ! The glass boomed and shivered with the impact. There were shrieks and screams from the diners, and several people started to their feet.
    At my signal, the string quartet took up their instruments again, and began to play while Satan leaped and tore and snarled, a perfect avatar of rage and fury. They chose the scherzo from Shostokovich’s piano quintet.
    Scherzos are supposed to be funny, but most have a whirlwind, uninhibited quality that makes them particularly appropriate to nightmares and the madness of predatory dinosaurs.
    Whoomp! That mighty head struck the window again and again and again. For a