kneel down to eat. Heâd been a nice old chap, so far as she could recall; a bit sheepish, now she came to think about it, especially when her father was around.
Her mother had told Susan that her own father had been . . .
Now she came to think about that , she wasnât sure what her mother had told her. Parents were quite clever at not telling people things, even when they used a lot of words. Sheâd just been left with the impression that he wasnât around.
Now it was being suggested that he was renowned for being around all the time.
It was like having a relative in trade.
A god, now . . . a god would be something. Lady Odile Flume, in the fifth form, was always boasting that her great-great-grandmother had once been seduced by the god Blind Io in the form of a vase of daisies, which apparently made her a demi-hemi-semi-goddess. She said her mother found it useful to get a table in restaurants. Saying you were a close relative of Death probably would not have the same effect. You probably wouldnât even manage a seat near the kitchen.
If it was all some kind of dream, she didnât seem at any risk of waking up. Anyway, she didnât believe that kind of thing. Dreams werenât like this.
A path led from the stable-yard past a vegetable garden and, descending slightly, into an orchard of black-leaved trees. Glossy black apples hung from them. Off to one side were some white beehives.
And she knew sheâd seen it all before.
There was an apple tree that was quite, quite different from the others.
She stood and stared at it as memory flooded back.
She remembered being just old enough to see how logically stupid the whole idea was, and heâd been standing there, anxiously waiting to see what sheâd do . . .
Old certainties drained away, to be replaced by new certainties.
Now she understood whose granddaughter she was.
The Mended Drum had traditionally gone in for, well, traditional pub games, such as dominoes, darts and Stabbing People In The Back And Taking All Their Money. The new owner had decided to go up-market. This was the only available direction.
There had been the Quizzing Device, a three-ton water-driven monstrosity based on a recently discovered design by Leonard of Quirm. It had been a bad idea. Captain Carrot of the Watch, who had a mind like a needle under his open smiling face, had surreptitiously substituted a new roll of questions like: Were you nere Vortinâs Diamond Warehouse on the Nite of the 15th? and: Who was the Third Man Who did the Blagging At Bearhuggerâs Distillery Larst week? and had arrested three customers before they caught on.
The owner had promised another machine any day now. The Librarian, one of the tavernâs regulars, had been collecting pennies in readiness.
There was a small stage at one end of the bar. The owner had tried a lunch-time stripper, but only once. At the sight of a large orang-utan in the front row with a big innocent grin, a big bag of penny pieces and a big banana the poor girl had fled. Yet another entertainment Guild had blacklisted the Drum.
The new ownerâs name was Hibiscus Dunelm. It wasnât his fault. He really wanted to make the Drum, he said, a fun place. For two pins heâd have put stripy umbrellas outside.
He looked down at Glod.
âJust three of you?â he said.
âYes.â
âWhen I agreed to five dollars, you said you had a big band.â
âSay hello, Lias.â
âMy word, that is a big band.â Dunelm backed away. âI thought,â he said, âjust a few numbers that everyone knows? Just to provide some ambience.â
âAmbience,â said Imp, looking around the Drum. He was familiar with the word. But, in a place like this, it was all lost and alone. There were only three or four customers in at this early hour of the evening. They werenât paying any attention to the stage.
The wall behind the
Her mother had told Susan that her own father had been . . .
Now she came to think about that , she wasnât sure what her mother had told her. Parents were quite clever at not telling people things, even when they used a lot of words. Sheâd just been left with the impression that he wasnât around.
Now it was being suggested that he was renowned for being around all the time.
It was like having a relative in trade.
A god, now . . . a god would be something. Lady Odile Flume, in the fifth form, was always boasting that her great-great-grandmother had once been seduced by the god Blind Io in the form of a vase of daisies, which apparently made her a demi-hemi-semi-goddess. She said her mother found it useful to get a table in restaurants. Saying you were a close relative of Death probably would not have the same effect. You probably wouldnât even manage a seat near the kitchen.
If it was all some kind of dream, she didnât seem at any risk of waking up. Anyway, she didnât believe that kind of thing. Dreams werenât like this.
A path led from the stable-yard past a vegetable garden and, descending slightly, into an orchard of black-leaved trees. Glossy black apples hung from them. Off to one side were some white beehives.
And she knew sheâd seen it all before.
There was an apple tree that was quite, quite different from the others.
She stood and stared at it as memory flooded back.
She remembered being just old enough to see how logically stupid the whole idea was, and heâd been standing there, anxiously waiting to see what sheâd do . . .
Old certainties drained away, to be replaced by new certainties.
Now she understood whose granddaughter she was.
The Mended Drum had traditionally gone in for, well, traditional pub games, such as dominoes, darts and Stabbing People In The Back And Taking All Their Money. The new owner had decided to go up-market. This was the only available direction.
There had been the Quizzing Device, a three-ton water-driven monstrosity based on a recently discovered design by Leonard of Quirm. It had been a bad idea. Captain Carrot of the Watch, who had a mind like a needle under his open smiling face, had surreptitiously substituted a new roll of questions like: Were you nere Vortinâs Diamond Warehouse on the Nite of the 15th? and: Who was the Third Man Who did the Blagging At Bearhuggerâs Distillery Larst week? and had arrested three customers before they caught on.
The owner had promised another machine any day now. The Librarian, one of the tavernâs regulars, had been collecting pennies in readiness.
There was a small stage at one end of the bar. The owner had tried a lunch-time stripper, but only once. At the sight of a large orang-utan in the front row with a big innocent grin, a big bag of penny pieces and a big banana the poor girl had fled. Yet another entertainment Guild had blacklisted the Drum.
The new ownerâs name was Hibiscus Dunelm. It wasnât his fault. He really wanted to make the Drum, he said, a fun place. For two pins heâd have put stripy umbrellas outside.
He looked down at Glod.
âJust three of you?â he said.
âYes.â
âWhen I agreed to five dollars, you said you had a big band.â
âSay hello, Lias.â
âMy word, that is a big band.â Dunelm backed away. âI thought,â he said, âjust a few numbers that everyone knows? Just to provide some ambience.â
âAmbience,â said Imp, looking around the Drum. He was familiar with the word. But, in a place like this, it was all lost and alone. There were only three or four customers in at this early hour of the evening. They werenât paying any attention to the stage.
The wall behind the
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