Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Elven Princess Read Free Page A

when she had set down the tray. Stew is a
wonderful food and even when it is not served by a nice, plump
serving wench with the top two buttons of her blouse undone. It
always seems to give me the same feeling when I eat it that a nice,
plump serving wench with the top two buttons of her blouse undone
gives me when I see her.
    “What are you doing now?” asked the
orphan.
    “Pondering stew,” said I.
    “Well stop it. Rather ponder this instead.
You eat half of your crabapple pie and I will eat half of my meat
pie. Then we can trade and eat the other halves of each others
pies.”
    “Alright,” I agreed. “But this will mean
that I have to eat my dessert first and my supper after.”
    “Just pretend that the meat pie is your
dessert and the crabapple pie is your supper.”
    “A crabapple pie could be a fine supper. In
fact I have been to countries where the most common part of a
supper is crabapple pie.”
    “Fine then.”
    “But a meat pie is in no country a
dessert.”
    “Then trade me now.”
    “How much have you eaten?” I asked.
    “About a fourth. How much have you
eaten?”
    “About a fifth.”
    “Then eat another twentieth,” said he. “Then
we will trade pies and each eat two thirds of what remains and then
trade them back. At that point, we will each eat what remains of
the pie we originally started with. That way you can think of the
first portion of the crabapple pie as an appetizer, the portion you
eat of the meat pie as your supper, and the final portion of the
crabapple pie as your dessert.”
    “You are a fine mathematician for an
orphan,” said I. “But it suits me. Will it not bother you that your
appetizer and your dessert are of meat pie and your supper is of
crabapple pie?”
    “I have decided that I will make this
sacrifice,” said he. “Since it was you that provided the meal.”

Chapter Five: Wherein I reveal the mystery
of my family.

    “You said that you do not live far from
here,” I mentioned, once we had finished the pies. One might say
the purloined pies, but I would not. I would instead insist that
they rightly belonged to us in recompense for our unjust
confinement.
    “That is correct,” said he.
    “The pies rightfully belong to us?”
    “No. I live not far from here. Are you
carrying on some other conversation in your head about the
pies?”
    “Of course not,” I replied. “You are an
orphan.”
    “I am well aware of that fact. There is no
need to keep rubbing it in my face.”
    “What I mean is you don’t have a proper home
any more now that you are an orphan.”
    “Even an orphan may have extended family,”
he explained. “Perhaps I live with them.”
    “Do you?”
    “One might suppose that I do.”
    “One might suppose a great many things,”
said I. “But would it not be better to base our future activities
less on supposition than on actual remembrances?”
    “One might suppose we should,” said he.
    “You have an odd way of talking,” I
commented. “You don’t quite sound orphanish at all.”
    “Really? How many orphans have you
known?”
    “Quite a few actually,” I revealed. “The
Queen of Aerithraine…”
    “With whom you once had the pleasure of
spending a fortnight.”
    “Indeed it is so. The Queen of Aerithraine,
with whom I once had… well, she has a soft spot for orphans. Some
years back she opened an orphanage called Elleena’s House.”
    “Is that because her name is Elleena?”
    “Why would her name cause her to have a soft
spot for orphans?” I wondered. “No, I believe it is because she was
an orphan herself.”
“No. Is it called Elleena’s House because her name is Elleena? And
how could a queen be an orphan? Doesn’t she have to be a princess?
Or did the King find her in an orphanage and come to sweep her off
her feet? That would be a lovely story.”
    “Well, there is no king,” said I.
    “Gah!” he exclaimed. “You are the worst
story-teller in the world. You are messing everything up and making
me