The Last Changeling by Jane Yolen Read Free Book Online Page B

toffly. “I have forgotten my manners. And—”
    â€œAnd you’re unused to dealing with my people as, well, people,” the manservant said, interrupting Aspen again. “Everyone to you is an animal or a manimal.” He held Aspen’s gaze with his steel-grey eyes, daring him to contradict the statement. Aspen felt that the man was judging him, marking his pros and cons in a mental clerk’s ledger. He did not think the man was wasting a lot of ink in the “pros” column.
    â€œUm . . . yes . . . look . . . I . . .” Aspen sighed. He really didn’t want to apologize to the clerk again. But he did not want to offend the touchy creature, either. Or make the stunning Maggie Light think less of him. “Perhaps, if I could just talk to your master, and thank him for his assistance, we could . . .” He trailed off as the clerk looked at him as if he were Dagmarra’s spit drying in the dust outside the wagon.
    Shaking his head, the clerk turned to the dwarfs. “Dagmarra. Boys. Let’s get moving before the soldiers remember where they were going. And do what they remember they were planning to do.”
    The dwarfs nodded and shuttled out. Thridi was last through the door, and Aspen thought he heard him mutter, “Dim-witted, you might say.”
    The clerk then looked at Snail. “When you are done greeting your
minstrel,
your
wastrel
, perhaps we could have a word alone?” To Maggie he practically snarled, “I don’t want to see him again.”
    â€œYes, Professor,” she said to his back as he stomped out of the room, making the sound of soldiers leading a man to his execution.
    Aspen gaped at the door through which the dwarfs and the clerk had just exited. Then he looked at Maggie, who was frowning. It did not make her any less beautiful. Only then did he turn to Snail, who was glaring at him.
    â€œProfessor?” he said. “
That’s
Professor Odds?”
    â€œYes,” Snail said grimly, “and odds are you weren’t expecting someone like him.” She followed the professor out the door.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Aspen said to no one in particular.
    Maggie Light gave a soft giggle that burbled like a mountain brook. “Not yet you aren’t, but I imagine you will be soon. He can do that to people.” She put a light hand on his shoulder. “Come, let’s find you somewhere to stay, Popinjay.
This
room is already taken.”

SNAIL’S JOURNEY BEGINS
    T he professor slumped into a chair by a workbench in the small room. To the side of the workbench was a single bed, its covers pulled so tight, they almost seemed painted on.
    The workbench itself was covered with small silvery beads and strands of wire. There were silver implements like nothing Snail had ever seen: odd pincers with tiny pointed ends, hefty scissors that looked as if they could shear through cold iron, and three sizes of hammers, each smaller than the last. A pair of very strange glasses lay to one side, with lenses as thick as winter ice.
    Snail thought the professor might be a crafter who made jewelry to sell at their performances, not a magician at all. She’d seen no jewels on either the dwarf woman or Maggie Light, but that could mean nothing.
After all, midwives don’t deliver their own babies
. How often had Mistress Softhands said so.
    But, she told herself, some of those tools might be useful for midwives. She glanced again at the scissors, saw a small pair in silver that might be just the thing. And a pair of silver tongs small enough to fit this task. She wondered if she might ask the professor to borrow them in case . . .
    Then she had to laugh at herself. Tongs. Just what a midwife always needs. But these are much too tiny to fit around a baby’s head, whether elf or brownie. Besides, who would be giving birth here—
Maggie Light? The dwarf