Unidentified Funny Objects 2 by Robert Silverberg, Jim C. Hines, Jody Lynn Nye, Mike Resnick, Ken Liu, Tim Pratt, Esther Frisner Read Free Book Online Page A

racket that the wizard at the podium had to shout to make himself heard when he said, “Oh, and one more thing: you’re going to have to put any gold coins you might be carrying into  this bowl and drain yourself of any venom into this one, and it can’t be more than three hogsheads’ worth of liquid, and put your hind paws on those two outlines over there , and put your forepaws on that , and if you’d just remove your shoes—”
    Naphtheena could have pointed out that, as a dragon, she never wore shoes. She could have, but by that point all of her logical faculties were engulfed by a tidal wave of wrath: compelling, unstoppable, inevitable and, in the parlance of the Extemely Common Lingo, mind-blowing.
    Dragons’ minds seldom blow alone. There was a loud report of a volume somewhere between  pop! and  ka-PLOWIE! The corps of officious wizards, the Grand Gateway, the waiting dragons, the barracks and even those hiding around the corner of same were all liberally splattered with bits of reeking azure dragon flesh. There wasn’t an un-gaping mouth in the vicinity, with one exception:
    M’sieu Bertrand flicked a shred of the late Naphtheena’s pancreas off his tunic and smiled.
    “It worked?” Trissa the enchantress goggled.
    “It worked!” Prince Gomitino recovered from his initial shock and clapped his hands with glee.
    “But of course,” said M’sieu Betrand. “Logically, it couldn’t help but to do so. After all, what did I tell you to summon by your spells, Ma’m’selle?”
    “You said—” Trissa was still a little gobsmacked by what she had just witnessed. “You said to summon whatever cosmic force was exasperating, frustrating and maddening enough to make a dragon lose its temper, but you never specified—”
    “Nor did I need to. Some choices are best left to the cosmos itself, is it not so? And I think you must agree that the cosmos provided just what we needed.” He cocked his head at Prince Gomitino and extended one hand. “I believe fifteen per cent is customary, Your Highness, but in this case, wouldn’t you say—?”
    Which was how a humble Sesinaypazoonpeepian waiter came to rule over twenty per cent of the lovely little realm of Yvitelli, which he renamed the Duchy of Sayrvicompri, though he still charged Prince Gomitino extra for the dragon’s biscotti.
    Et voilá tout l’histoire.

Nebula Award winner Esther Friesner is the author of thirty-nine novels and over one hundred ninety short stories, in addition to being the editor of ten popular anthologies. Her works have been published in the United States, the United Kingdom, Japan, Germany, Russia, France, Poland and Italy. She is also a published poet and a produced playwright. Her articles on fiction writing have appeared in Writer’s Market and Writer’s Digest Books .

ITEM NOT AS DESCRIBED
    By J.W. Alden

    From: Vaenala the Unbound
    To: Kobe Thompson
    Subject: this will not suffice
    Mr. Thompson,
    I received your parcel today. Considering the distance between us (by my reckoning, at least a thousand leagues as the crow flies), I feel honor-bound to thank you for the speedy shipping time. I'm afraid I cannot thank you for the contents of said package, however. This is clearly not the Lost Blade of Cragthor.
    Had you at least done your research, you might have known that Cragthor was very particular about his weapons and how they were made. For one, you would not have caught him dead wielding anything but Vorlexian steel, which bears the telltale ripples and mottles of ancient pattern welding. If Vorlexian hands wrought this blade, I'm a halfling's uncle. It looks more like something out of a cutlery drawer. I suppose I will give you a point or two for attempting to recreate the runic markings left behind by the goblin blood Vorlexians dipped their weapons in, but for future reference: goblin blood is black , not red.
    Now, I am a sensible being, Mr. Thompson. I will give