Marianne, the Magus & the Manticore Read Online Free PDF Page B

explained why Mrs. Winesap had at first thought Makr Avehl was her brother.
    "So, he knew your name and looked you up in the book."
    "Most likely. Anyhow, just now I told him the reason you didn't answer was you weren't in and I'd be glad to leave a message for you to call him. Consider message delivered. OK?
    Seemed best."
    "Thanks, Mrs. Winesap."
    "One of these days, girl, you'll get tired of calling me 'Mrs.
    Winesap,' and the name 'Letitia' will just slip out. I won't mind, whenever that is." She shut the door firmly behind her, leaving Marianne in some limbo between laughter and tears.
    The door opened again to allow Mrs. Winesap to deliver herself of an utterance.
    "Marianne, whatever it is you don't like about that man, brother or not, you got a right. Don't you sit up here feeling guilty because you don't like him."
    This time tears won.
    Oh, yes, she did feel guilty about it. The only family she had left, the only kin, and she frequently wanted him gone.
    "Begone, burned, buried," she chanted quietly. If there was any actual guilt, it was Harvey's, not Marianne's, but knowing this didn't seem to make the horrid nagging weight of it any easier. She often tried to reduce the whole conflict to one of disparate personalities. "He is domineering," she told herself,
    "and authoritarian. He relishes power, and he uses it, but he is not some all-devouring monster." Saying this did not convince her this time any more than it had before.
    "So, I'll return his call," she told herself, plugging in the phone and tapping his number with hesitant fingers.
    "Harvey? Returning your call?" She listened with sup-pressed, seething warmth as he complained that she had not been in earlier, that she should not leave messages on his machine unless she would be available to take a call, that—.
    "Harvey, I am sorry. I didn't intend that you should have to take the trouble to call me. I just wanted you to know about the Zahmani Prime Minister from Alphenlicht. I thought you'd be interested."
    Oily sweet, the voice she hated. "Bitsy? Are you playing one of those infantile 'let's pretend' games again?"
    She heard her own voice replying, "Harvey, hold on a moment, will you? Someone's at the door." She took a deep breath, strode to the door, opened it, closed it, mumbled to herself, struck the wall with her hand. Her usual response to him under like circumstances would have been something full of self-doubt, something cringing. Harvey, I don't think so. He really did look as though he was related. He really did say...
    She returned to the phone. "Harve. Someone has come and I have to go now. If you catch the news tonight or tomorrow, you'll probably see the Prime Minister on it. He's here to speak at the U.N. Sorry I have to run." And hung up on Harvey S.
    Zahmani without waiting for permission.
    He would not want to appear foolish, not even to her. Give him time to find out that what she had told him was the simple truth, and he'd be less likely to take some irrevocably punitive decision about money matters—always his last argument when others failed. She unplugged the phone again, resolving not to connect herself to the world again until morning. "One more point for order," she sighed. "Score for order, for the day, one thousand and one."
    In the morning, she forgot to connect the phone. When she got home, it was ringing. There was no time to think who?
    How? She knew it was Makr Avehl and answered it without a qualm. "Thank you for the flowers," she said, her voice slipping sideways into childlike pleasure.
    "You said you intended to shop for some," he replied, "but I knew you wouldn't have time yesterday if you were in class.
    I took most of your afternoon, so it was only proper to repay."
    His voice was enthusiastic, warm. It changed suddenly. "I was in New York today, at the U.N. I met your brother. He's very like you in appearance."
    "Harvey's in Boston," she said. "Not at the U.N. You can't have—"
    "Sorry," he laughed. "I didn't lead