Advanced Mythology Read Online Free PDF Page B

pointedly not looking at Tiron as she swept through with a platterful of cookies and pastries. Keith thought for one moment of asking what was going on, but decided he didn’t want to bring up weddings. Not with Diane in earshot.
    “Leave that be! You should never have brought that up in the first place.”
    At the sound of angry voices Keith glanced over toward another serving table set against the wall across the room. It held a selection of beverages in barrels, bottles, and punch bowls. Marm, the Folks’ brewer, seemed to be having a furious argument with Tay, Dola’s father. Marm appeared to have won the battle. He snatched a wooden mug from the other male’s hands and brought it to Keith.
    “It ought to be my honor to offer you the produce of our cellar,” Marm said, shamefacedly, knowing that everyone had been watching them. “Imagine, I don’t know where the young ones lose their manners.” Tay flushed, staining his ice-fair skin the color of the wine. “The first pressings from our own vineyard come to maturity. You’re responsible for this vintage, in a way.”
    “And I didn’t have to stomp a single grape,” Keith said solemnly, raising the cup to his lips. “Delicious. Wow! It packs a little kick, too.” Marm looked smugly pleased.
    “The cup’s my contribution,” said Tiron. “It’s a gift for you from us all. It will last forever, and nothing you put in it will sour or poison you.”
    Keith examined the wooden mug. His name was etched around the base. The handle was a simple carving of a unicorn, so perfect it looked as if it had just that moment reared up to look into the interior. “Thanks, Tiron. It’s beautiful.”
    “And if you tip it up too often, all we’ll see is the backside of a horse,” Marm guffawed. “And there’s one on the cup, too.”
    “I have something for you, too,” said Catra. She offered Keith a sheet of marbled paper. It looked like a letter, written both in English and the elves’ language. Little of it was comprehensible except for Keith’s name inscribed in large characters in the center of the page, but he recognized the format.
    “Hey, a diploma. So I’m officially an Artis Baccalaureatis of the Select Learning Academy for Leprechauns and Others under the Master, otherwise known as SLALOM?”
    The others laughed. The Elf Master pursed his lips. “It is gut that you yourself cannot go farther downhill in your studies.”
    “Yeah, but I can dodge like anything,” Keith said.
    In spite of his worries, Holl grinned.
    “You’ve started something again, widely. Now they’ll all be calling it that.”
    “I won’t get one of those just yet,” Dunn said, “but you know what it’s like.” Sheepishly, he pulled a sheaf of papers rolled into a cylinder from his back pocket and handed it to the Elf Master, who raised his eyebrows as he scanned the first page. “Trying to make a buck makes it hard to get to my homework, but I’m trying. As long as I’m working for my brother I can’t get down here again for at least a year.”
    “Hey, I understand. I know I’m lucky to be able to go on for an advanced degree.” Keith examined the document, wishing he could read it. Although it was set out in a graceful calligraphy that would make the sheepskin printers die with envy, the sheet was plain. “Beautiful. But shouldn’t you doll this up a little bit? You know, a seal and a ribbon, or a portrait, or something?”
    “The document fulfills its function,” the Master informed him, austerely. “You should not need a literal reminder uf your accomplishment, but as Lee Eisley told me some years ago, it is uf psychological benefit. It says vhat it needs to say. No more is needed.” Lee met Keith’s eyes and shrugged.
    “Well, you could make it fancier. Just for fun.” The Master raised his eyebrows, but Keith rattled on, caught up in the idea. “I could design you a seal like the one the University has, maybe even a school logo. Hey, that reminds