Talking to Dragons by Patricia C. Wrede Page A

us? Who are you, anyway?”
    The woman looked through her glasses. “I know a lot of things. I’m a witch. My name is Morwen. And you?” She stopped. The cats looked at us.
    â€œPleased to meet you,” I said. “This is Shiara, and I’m Daystar.”
    â€œWhy do we have to wait?” Shiara asked again.
    â€œMixing magic and cooking is
never
a good idea,” Morwen said. “Don’t worry, the gingerbread won’t take much longer.” She got out a large jug and began pouring the contents into the mugs. “There!” she said as she set the jug down. “Help yourselves. I’ll be back in a minute.”
    Morwen went over to the second door and opened it. I got a glimpse of a small yard with a square garden, a well, and two more cats. Then the door closed with a swish of black robe. I stared at my mug, wondering how I was going to pick it up without putting my sword down. Then I heard a sniffle and turned my head. Shiara was not crying. Much.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” I said.
    â€œIt’s all my f-fault!” Shiara said miserably. “If you hadn’t been with me, you wouldn’t have run into that wizard at all, and if I hadn’t insisted on hiding that stupid staff, your hand wouldn’t have gotten . . .” Her voice trailed off into snuffles. I sighed.
    â€œIf you want my handkerchief, you’ll have to get it out yourself,” I said. “And it’s probably still pretty wet. But you can have it if you want it.”
    That made Shiara look like she was really going to burst into tears. Fortunately, just then the door opened and the witch came back in. When she saw Shiara, she set down the plants she was carrying and produced a large black handkerchief from somewhere inside her sleeve.
    â€œThat is
quite
enough of that,” she said, handing the handkerchief to Shiara. “It does nothing constructive, it makes everyone else feel bad, and it is extremely self-indulgent. Drink your cider. You’ll feel much better.”
    Just then one of the cats made a loud noise, sort of a cross between a purr and a meow. “Good, the gingerbread is done,” Morwen said. She got it out of the oven and gave us each a piece. Shiara looked much better by that time, even if she still didn’t seem really happy.
    Morwen put a large pot of water on the stove and then started sorting through the plants she had brought in. After a minute, she frowned.
    â€œTwo sprays or three?” she muttered. “I suppose I’d better look it up.” She put the plants down and went out again. A few seconds later, she came back holding a book. I saw a roomful of shelves behind her before the door closed.
    I blinked. My head didn’t feel fuzzy, but I was sure that a minute ago that door had led out to the yard. I looked around the room, but there weren’t any other doors, except the one we’d come in through. Finally I decided to ask.
    â€œExcuse me, Morwen, but would you mind telling me where that door leads?”
    Morwen stuck a finger in the book and looked up. “Wherever I want to get to. What good is a door if you can’t get somewhere useful by walking through it? Within reason, of course.” She went back to the book.
    I thought about it for a minute. Then I decided not to think about it. I was afraid it was going to make sense. Instead, I looked at my cider and gingerbread. I was just about ready to put the sword on the floor so I could eat when Morwen set the book down next to the plants and looked over at me.
    â€œDaystar, you aren’t—Oh, of course, you’re still holding the sword. No, don’t put it down yet. This will only take a few more minutes.” She picked up a handful of plants. “Come here, please, both of you.”
    We got up and walked over. Morwen had me stand next to the stove, holding the sword across the front of my chest so that the tip of it rested on the