The Dragonbone Chair Read Online Free PDF Page B

rose in the air behind him. At last he straightened up, hefting a large glass-sided box. He waded to the table, set the glass cube down, and picked a pair of flasks out of a rack, apparently at random.
    The liquid in one of them was the color of the sunset skies outside; it smoked like a censer. The other was full of something blue and viscous which flowed ever so slowly down into the box as Morgenes upended the two flasks. Mixing, the fluids turned as clear as mountain air. The doctor threw his hand out like a traveling performer, and there was a moment’s pause.
    “Frogs?” Morgenes asked, waggling his fingers. Simon rushed forward, pulling the two he had caught out of his coat pockets. The doctor took them and dropped them into the tank with a flourish. The pair of surprised amphibians plunked into the transparent liquid, sank slowly to the bottom, then began to swim vigorously about in their new home. Simon laughed with as much surprise as amusement.
    “Is it water?”
    The old man turned to look at him with bright eyes. “More or less, more or less ... So!” Now Morgenes dragged long, bent fingers through his sparse fringe of beard. “So ... thank you for the frogs. I think I know what to do with them already. Quite painless. They may even enjoy it, although I doubt they’ll like wearing the boots.”
    “Boots?” wondered Simon, but the doctor was off and bustling again, this time pushing a stack of maps from a low stool. He beckoned Simon to sit.
    “Well then, young man, what will you take as due coin for your day’s work? A fithing piece? Or perhaps you would like Coccindrilis here for a pet?” Chuckling, the doctor brandished a mummified lizard.
    Simon hesitated for a moment over the lizard—it would be a lovely thing to slip into the linen basket for the new girl Hepzibath to discover—but no. The thought of the chambermaids and cleaning stuck in his mind, irritating him. Something wanted to be remembered, but Simon pushed it back. “No,” he said at last, “I’d like to hear some stories.”
    “Stories?” Morgenes bent forward quizzically. “Stories? You would be much better off going to old Shem Horsegroom in the stables if you want to hear such things.”
    “Not that kind,” Simon said hastily. He hoped he hadn’t offended the little man. Old people were so sensitive! “Stories about real things. How things used to be—battles, dragons—things that happened!”
    “Aaahh.” Morgenes sat up, and the smile returned to his pink face. “I see. You mean history.” The doctor rubbed his hands. “That’s better—much better!” He sprang to his feet and began pacing, stepping nimbly over the oddments scattered about the floor. “Well, what do you want to hear about, lad? The fall of Naarved? The Battle of Ach Samrath?”
    “Tell me about the castle,” Simon said. “The Hayholt. Did the king build it? How old is it?”
    “The castle ...” The doctor stopped pacing, plucked up a corner of his worn-shiny gray robe, and began to rub absently at one of Simon’s favorite curiosities: a suit of armor, exotically designed and colored in wildflower-bright blues and yellows, made entirely from polished wood.
    “Hmmm ... the castle ...” Morgenes repeated. “Well, that’s certainly a two-frog story, at the very least. Actually, if I were to tell you the whole story, you would have to drain the moat and bring your warty prisoners in by the cartload to pay for it. But it is the bare bones of the tale that I think you want today, and I can certainly give you that. Hold yourself still for a moment while I find something to wet my throat.”
    As Simon tried to sit quietly, Morgenes went to his long table and picked up a beaker of brown, frothy liquid. He sniffed it suspiciously, brought it to his lips, and downed a small gulp. After a moment of consideration he licked his bare upper lip and pulled his beard happily.
    “Ah, the Stanshire Dark. No doubt on the subject, ale is the stuff! What