“I have a plan,” said Ellwood. “I don’t want to go over it now, though. I am going up to sleep off this beer. Meet me back here at sundown and I shall go over it with you then.”
“What am I going to do until then?” I asked.
“I am not your mother, Eaglethorpe.”
“What a wonderful idea,” said I. “I shall go visit Tuki.”
“That’s good,” said he. “But just so I get an inkling of how your brain works, how did you come up with that idea?”
“You said ‘mother’. Tuki is my mother’s sister’s daughter.”
“All right,” said he. “The only thing is Tuki is your father’s brother’s daughter.”
“Yes, but she has pie.”
“Good thinking,” said he. Getting up, he walked to the stairway and stomped up the steps.
It was a short walk to the bakery, but as I was less walking and more staggering, it was longer than it might have seemed. The last fifty feet or so was shorter than the first fifty feet or so, as walking the part in between had warmed up my leg muscles enough that my journey became a bit straighter.
“Celia!” I gasped, as I literally ran into my sister inside the bakery, which is to say that I smacked my chin into her forehead and she smacked her forehead into my chin.
“Eaglethorpe,” said she. “How wonderful to see you. Tuki told me you were back in Aerithraine.”
“Tuki never told me you were back in Aerithraine,” said I.
“I never left Aerithraine.”
“You know what I mean,” said I. “She never told me that you were here.”
“Well I just got here. I just came into town to buy a new dress. I brought Tuki some new recipes that mother wanted her to have while I was here too.”
“Which recipes?” I wondered.
“Treacle Treat Pie, Caramel Sorrow Pie, and Buttermilk Bountiful Pie,” said she.
My mother was always wont to give her pies colorful names by adding an adjective or phrase. This did not lessen the flavorful nature of the pies one iota. My favorite pies were her BobAndy Sleepy Pie, her Apple You-Need-a-Shave Pie, and her Boysenberry Get-Your-Head-Out-of-your-Ass Pie.
“I’m staying at The Dodging Serpent,” said Celia. “Can you come by later tonight and see me?”
“I’m afraid I’m busy tonight,” said I.
“Too busy to come and see your little sister?” She stuck out her lip in an expression that only little sisters can muster.
“Yes, but perhaps we could meet tomorrow.”
“I’ll meet you here tomorrow about eight,” said she. “I warn you that I have to get off to an early start though. It’s a full day’s ride to Dewberry Hills.”
“I will be here,” I promised. “Perhaps when this is all over I can ride out to Dewberry Hills.”
“When all of what is over?” she asked.
“Nothing. Business. My business. Business that has nothing whatsoever to do with Queen Elleena of Aerithraine.”
“With whom you once had the pleasure of spending a fortnight,” completed Celia.
“Right. Nothing to do with her.”
“All right Eaglethorpe,” she said. “I shall see you on the morrow.”
My sister left and I stepped into the bakery to figuratively run into my cousin. She was balancing two pies on each arm, ready for Accordia to take them from her and place them on the cooling counter.
“What ho!” I called. “And more importantly, what pies?”
“I have a ginger pie, a transparent pie, a blueberry pie, and a boysenberry pie,” Tuki informed me.
“You know that’s not what it’s called,” said I.
“A Boysenberry Get-Your-Head-Out-of-your-Ass Pie,” she mumbled. “I use your mother’s recipes, but I don’t use her names.”
“I would wager that you would sell more pies if you did,” said I.
“I would take that wager and give you odds,” she replied.
So, I ate a piece of boysenberry pie, after which I ate a piece of transparent pie. This might not seem like a great deal of pie to the average person, but as I had just consumed a large breakfast, I was very full. I was so full that I became sleepy, and having nowhere else to sleep, I made my way back to the stables.
I stopped to say hello to my faithful steed, which is to say my horse Hysteria, before I climbed up into the hay loft for a nap. She was decidedly unpleasant to me, which is to say that she tried to take a bite out of my shoulder. I surmised that this was because I had promised her a carrot and here I was, having failed to bring her one. As I have mentioned, Hysteria is a horse who can hold a grudge if one breaks his promise with her. But I had not promised her a carrot today, but rather a carrot on the morrow, which is to say tomorrow or the day after today.”
“Stupid horse,” said I. “I said a carrot on the morrow, not a carrot today.”
“Would it kill you to bring a carrot two days in a row?” Hysteria asked.
This shocked me somewhat, because in all the time I’d had her, Hysteria had never evidenced the slightest inclination or ability to talk. I took a step back, and as I did so, I discovered that someone was on the other side, which is to say the other side of Hysteria. It was the stable girl and it had been her voice that I had heard, although I suspect that if Hysteria was to suddenly start talking, her voice would not be all that different from the pitch-fork wielding waif.
“I thought you were my horse speaking,” said I. “I suppose it is because your voice has a certain equine quality.”
“Or it could be because you are a drunken fool,” said she.
“Obnoxious child,” said I, turning and climbing up the ladder to the loft. “I am almost completely sober.”