Wistril Compleat Read Free Page B

you'll give me a straight answer, and the
shock of it all will knock me flat."
    A soft knock sounded at the door. "Come,"
said Wistril, frowning. "What the devil -- "
    A mob of too-solemn children crowded into the
room, bearing flowers and a pair of reluctant goats. Kern was at
the door before Wistril could rise.
    "The villagers want to show you their
appreciation," said Kern. "They've decided to hold a festival every
year in honor of Wistril of Kauph, Defender of Dervanny. The very
first festival starts in your courtyard as soon as you can join
them."
    "There are goats," said Wistril slowly, "In
my study."
    "Those aren't just any goats," said Kern
cheerfully. "They're the best pair in the valley. Remember how you
complimented the innkeeper on the cheese he gave you?"
    Wistril took a deep breath. "I remember,
apprentice," he said. "I have a very good memory."
    The Mayor of Dervanny sidled into Wistril's
study and cleared his throat. The Mayor's two youngest sons marched
forward, holding aloft a home-made iron helm on a threadbare velvet
chair-cushion.
    The larger goat bleated and sniffed Wistril's
desk speculatively. Wistril took the helm and placed it wordlessly
on his head. The Mayor produced a rolled parchment from beneath his
coat and prepared to read.
    "Apprentice," said Wistril quietly, "I could
have made the proper preparations, had I known a ceremony was
planned."
    "Master," said Kern, "You'd have rendered
yourself invisible and hidden until First Snow and you know it.
You're a hero now, like it or not, and this is what heroes do."
    "Indeed," said Wistril, glaring at the
goats.
    "The villagers wouldn't leave without
expressing their gratitude, Master," said Kern, in a language known
to none of the villagers. "They were adamant about it. Would you
shield them from injury only to subject them to insult?"
    Wistril shifted his glare from the goats to
Kern.
    "Apprentice -- "
    The Mayor harrumphed and began to read.
Wistril fell silent.
    Kern put his back to the wall, crossed his
arms, and forced himself to stifle a grin.
     
     
    Wistril
Afloat
     
    by Frank Tuttle
     
     
    "Vapid flummery," said Wistril of Kauph,
thumping his just-emptied ale-stein down on his ironwood desk for
emphasis. "Ignorant prattle. Rumor and superstition run amuck. Lake
monsters. Pfui."
    "Pfui," repeated the goblin-clock from its
perch by Wistril's glowstone pen-holder. "Nine of the clock," it
added, its voice loud and shrill in the carpeted expanse of
Wistril's fourth-floor study. "Nine of the clock."
    Kern, Wistril's apprentice, sighed and capped
his pen.
    "Master," said Kern, pushing himself back
slightly from his own smaller oak writing-desk, "Are you sure?
After all, two dozen people watched something rise up out of Lake
Ovinshoon."
    Wistril glowered. "Then two dozen people
mistook flotsam for kraken," he said. "What of it?"
    Kern scooped up the papers on his desk,
straightened them, and stacked them in his "out" basket. "You're
right, Master," said Kern. "So what if the villagers are afraid to
fish from the Lake?" Kern leaned back in his swivel-chair, crossed
his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. "Of course,
we'll never have fresh-caught Lake trout in Kempish wine sauce
again. And no more baked cypress bass on a bed of cherry rice,
topped with ripe spring gentrees and twice-glazed orentra buds. No
more fried catfish, either. I'll miss the hush-puppies most, I
think."
    Wistril glared. "Apprentice Kern," he said.
"Are you attempting to coerce me into a demented search for
sea-monsters by threatening me with an interruption of my culinary
preferences?"
    "Essentially," said Kern, swiveling his chair
away from his writing desk to face Wistril. "But keep in mind I'm
not making this up. Something big and ugly rose up out of the Lake
four days ago, and all three fishermen fled their boats and are
discussing potato farming. Of course, if you'd rather not exert
yourself, I'm sure we can get fish from somewhere. Trentil, maybe,
or