House of Many Ways Read Free Page B

lump into his mouth and ate it. Then he looked up at Charmain for more. Charmain was fascinated by his politeness. She broke off another lump. And then another. In the end, they shared the pasty half and half.
    “That’s all,” Charmain said, shaking crumbs off her skirt. “We’ll have to make this bagful last, as there seems to be no other food in this house. Now show me what to do next, Waif.”
    Waif promptly trotted over to what seemed to be the back door, where he stood wagging his wisp of a tail and whispering out a tiny whine. Charmain opened the door—which was just as difficult to open as the other two—and followed Waif out into the backyard, thinking that this meant she was supposed to pump water for the sink. But Waif trotted past the pump and over to the rather mangy-looking apple tree in the corner, where he raised a very short leg and peed against the tree.
    “I see,” Charmain said. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, not me. And it doesn’t look as if you’re doing the tree much good, Waif.”
    Waif gave her a look and went trotting to and fro around the yard, sniffing at things and raising a leg against clumps of grass. Charmain could see he felt quite safe in this yard. Come to think of it, so did she. There was a warm, secure feeling, as if Great-Uncle William had put wizardly protections around the place. She stood by the pump and stared up beyond the fence to the steeply rising mountains. There was a faint breeze blowing down from theheights, bringing a smell of snow and new flowers, which somehow reminded Charmain of the elves. She wondered if they had taken Great-Uncle William up there.
    And they’d better bring him back soon, she thought. I shall go mad after more than a day here!
    There was a small hut in the corner by the house. Charmain went over to investigate it, muttering, “Spades, I suppose, and flowerpots and things.” But when she had hauled its stiff door open, she found a vast copper tank inside and a mangle and a place to light a fire under the tank. She stared at it all, the way you stare at a strange exhibit in a museum for a while, until she remembered that there was a similar shed in her own yard at home. It was a place just as mysterious to her as this one, since she had always been forbidden to go into it, but she did know that, once a week, a red-handed, purple-faced washerwoman came and made a lot of steam in this shed, out of which came clean clothes somehow.
    Ah. A wash house, she thought. I think you have to put those laundry bags in the tank and boil themup. But how? I’m beginning to think I’ve led a much too sheltered life.
    “And a good thing too,” she said aloud, thinking of the washerwoman’s red hands and mauve face.
    But that doesn’t help me wash dishes, she thought. Or about a bath. Am I supposed to boil myself in that tank? And where shall I sleep, for goodness’ sake?
    Leaving the door open for Waif, she went back indoors, where she marched past the sink, the bags of laundry, the crowded table, and the heap of her own things on the floor, and dragged open the door in the far wall. Beyond it was the musty living room again.
    “This is hopeless!” she said. “Where are bedrooms? Where is a bathroom?”
    Great-Uncle William’s tired voice spoke out of the air. “For bedrooms and bathroom, turn left as soon as you open the kitchen door, my dear. Please forgive any disorder you find.”
    Charmain looked back through the open kitchen door to the kitchen beyond it. “Oh, yes?” she said. “Well, let’s see.” She walked carefully backwardinto the kitchen and shut the door in front of her. Then she hauled it open again, with what she was beginning to think of as the usual struggle, and turned briskly left into the door frame before she had time to think of it as impossible.
    She found herself in a passageway with an open window at the far end. The breeze coming in through the window was strongly full of the mountain smell of snow and