The Pixilated Peeress Read Online Free PDF Page B

charcoal-stained hands on his black, symbol-spangled robe. "If ye'll take yon seats, my dears, we shall commence." He put away his spect acles, fumbled for another pair, and opened a volume.
     
                  The next hour was, for Thorolf, the mixture of te dium and apprehension that every lengthy magical op eration aroused in him, much like the sensations of a soldier awaiting the command to advance. Bar di chanted in unknown tongues, made passes with a wand, and shouted names to summon unseen presences. The light ing dimmed; the space within the pentacle was filled with fog or smoke.
     
                  Thorolf thought he could discern substantial forms-colored russet, rose, yellow, and aquamarine — moving within. There were momentary hints of faces, limbs, and tentacles; but they shifted, dissolved, and reassem bled in different configurations before he c o uld perceive a substantial shape. He felt a prickling at the roots of his hair, as if an army of ants were crawling over him. A sidelong glance showed Yvette leaning back with her eyes closed, breathing heavily.
     
                  After what seemed hours, Bardi cried a dis missal. The fog in the pentacle faded. One candle guttered. The iatromage scuffed a couple of lines of the pentacle.
     
                  "That is it," he croaked. "My dears, ye may now go about your affairs. Remember that, about midnight, the lady will swiftly become short, dark, and dumpy. And now good night, for so powerful a spell doth tax one of my years."
     
    -
     
                  Leading Salnia with one hand and supporting Yvette's arm with the other, Thorolf walked along the rounded cobbles, slippery with drizzle. Darkness had fallen; the watchfires at the main crossings gave a nickering, rubescent light. Two men of the Constabulary, with hal berds on their shoulders, greeted Thorolf. One called: "Hey, be this our virtuous sergeant on a tryst at last? "
     
                  " Nay," growled Thorolf. "Know, knav es, that this be the rightful Queen of Armoria, and we plot to oust the usurper."
     
                  Thorolf stopped before the Green Dragon Inn, where he was known. In the light of the lantern over the door, Yvette looked puzzled. Then her face cleared. "Oh, I see! You di d but jest about my rank. I thank you for the promotion." She giggled.
     
                  "Better late than never," said Thorolf. "I'll essay to get you a private room."
     
                  "Oh, fiddle-dee-dee! Where mean you to sleep?"
     
                  "Back at the barracks."
     
                  "Rubbish, my good Sergeant ! Think you, when I'm fleeing Gondomar the Tedious and have by good hap found a lusty bodyguard, that I'd let him go off leaving me de fenseless? You shall spend the night with me, and that is that. Sleep on the floor if you will, but you shall stay withi n sight and call. The Queen of Armoria commands it!"
     
                  Thus they found themselves in what, Thorolf thought, must be the room that Vasco the innkeeper reserved for nobility. The bed was big enough for three, and there was plenty of room besides. There was a dressing table and a mirror, a dressing chair, and a settee, as well as a writing desk with another chair. Such splendor, Thorolf thought, had resulted from Yvette's queenly demand:
     
                  "Your very best, Master Taverner!"
     
                  Thorolf left the room to Yvette while he washed off the grime of travel in the common bathtub. Escorting her to dinner, he found himself unconsciously assuming the toplofty air of a nobleman to match her born-to-command manner. That and her courtly accent had reduced even the experienced Vasco to subservience de spite Yvette's proletarian costume. When they were seated, Vasco produced a dusty bottle, saying:
     
                  "Firanzian,