Chorus Skating Read Online Free PDF Page A

size from individual to individual. Nourishing but rather bland, not unlike enriched white bread. Don’t you know that most men lead lives of quiet desperation?”
    â€œThat’s from Walden , isn’t it?”
    The demon nodded. “Thoreau’s quite popular in the Nether Regions. All that talk about civil disobedience, you know. Anarchy has a distinctive flavor.”
    â€œWhy this unnatural concern for me?” Jon-Tom watched the blue demon intently.
    â€œI told you: you’re different. Also, we find your antics entertaining, and because of the nature of your work, it’s likely that someday one of us will have the opportunity to disembowel and consume you. Nothing personal, I assure you. But sweet tastes better than bitter.”
    â€œSo what this all comes down to is not altruism or concern for my welfare, but food?”
    The demon replied innocently, “Doesn’t everything?”
    â€œI told you, I can’t just go out and manufacture a crisis.”
    â€œOf course not. That’s my job. But surely the great spellsinger Jonathan Thomas Meriweather can think of something more suitable to engage his talent than defrosting the freezer and fluffing the sheets on his bed.” Fugwheez leaped ceilingward and hung dangling by one arm from the light fixture, looking like the ugliest and bluest of all apes.
    â€œMaybe… .” Jon-Tom let his fingers drift across the duar’s strings. The sound they produced in the kitchen was melancholy yet hopeful. “Maybe I haven’t been trying hard enough. Maybe it’s time I stopped waiting for something to happen and went looking for it.”
    â€œThat’s it!” Fugwheez cheered him on. “Be active, not reactive.” He skittered across the ceiling, irritating the glowspells. “And the next time you need something varnished, don’t hesitate to call on me. All I ask in return is that when you finally make a fatal slip, I get the first bite of your brains. I’m sure the flavor will be delicate and exceptionally sweet.”
    â€œIf that circumstance arises, I’ll try and make sure that you’re first in line,” Jon-Tom assured him dryly.
    â€œThen I bid you a fond farewell, Master Meriweather.” The fiend was becoming a blue vapor.
    â€œGood-bye, Fugwheez. And … thank you.”
    â€œDon’t mention it,” the vapor told him. “Therapy’s a hobby of mine. You’d be surprised how many demons and imps are deeply neurotic.” With that he swirled in upon himself and, like a puff of smoke, vanished into the nearest light fixture. The air in the kitchen turned pale blue for just an instant as the demon tested the protective parameters surrounding Jon-Tom. There sounded a mildly disappointed cry of “Darn!” when these held firm, and then the interior illumination came back on clean and white. Fugwheez was gone.
    And so was Jon-Tom—out the door, down the hall, and through the main entrance to the tree. Duar bouncing gently against his back, he strode determinedly away from his home and toward the riverbank. Sunlight sparkled on his iridescent vest. There was a spring to his step that had been missing for some time, and it wasn’t due to the presence in his boots of coiled steel conjured by some mystic metallurgical spell.
    â€œMudge? Mudge, get up!” He pounded forcefully on the door set flush with the smooth riverbank. When no reply was forthcoming from within, he stepped back and began to sing. Moments later he heard the internal latch click.
    The door swung open and he stepped through, having to bend low to clear the lintel. Designed to accommodate adult otters, it was a good two feet lower than he would have found comfortable.
    The ceilings were higher, but he still had to walk bent over as he made his way deeper into the riverbank, carefully avoiding any fixtures attached to the ceiling. The light was dim and he squinted as