Read Online Conjure Wife by Fritz Leiber - Free Book Online Page B

even slightly pleased. He knew his reasons were no more sensible than those of a savage afraid someone will learn his secret name, yet all the same he disliked the idea of Evelyn Sawtelle monkeying around with his voice. Like her dully malicious, small-socketed eyes, it suggested a prying for hidden weaknesses.
    And then Norman moved involuntarily for a third time. For suddenly out of the amplifier, but now mixed with his voice, came the sound of the bull-roarer that still had that devilish hint of an onrushing truck.
    “Oh there I’ve done it again,” said Evelyn Sawtelle rapidly, snatching at the dials. “Messing up your beautiful voice with that terrible music.” She grimaced. “But then, as you just said, Professor Saylor, sounds can’t hurt us.”
    Norman did not correct her typical misquoting. He looked at her curiously for a moment. She stood facing him, her hands behind her. Her husband, his nose twitching, had idled over to the still moving turntables and was gingerly poking a finger at one of them.
    “No,” said Norman slowly, “they can’t.” And then he excused himself with a brusque. “Well, thanks for the demonstration.”
    “We’ll see you tonight,” Evelyn called after him. Somehow it sounded like, “You won’t get rid of me.”
    How I detest that woman, thought Norman, as he hurried up the dark stair and down the corridor.
    Back at his office, he put in a good hour’s work on his notes. Then getting up to switch on the light, his glance happened to fall on the window.
    After a few moments, he jerked away and darted to the closet to get his field glasses.
    Someone must have a very obscure sense of humor to perpetrate such a complicated practical joke.
    Intently he searched the cement at the juncture of roof ridge and clawed feet, looking for the telltale cracks. He could not spot any, but that would not have been easy in the failing yellow light.
    The cement dragon now stood at the edge of the gutter, as if about to walk over to Morton along the architrave of the big gateway.
    He lifted his glasses to the creature’s head — blank and crude as an unfinished skull. Then on an impulse he dropped down to the row of sculptured heads, focused on Galileo, and read the little inscription he had not been able to make out before.
    “Eppur si muove.”
    The words Galileo was supposed to have muttered after recanting before the Inquisition his belief in the revolution of the earth around the sun.
    “Nevertheless, it moves.”
    A board creaked behind him, and he spun around.
    By his desk stood a young man, waxen pale, with thick red hair. His eyes stood out like milky marbles. One white, tendon-ridged hand gripped a .22 target pistol.
    Norman walked toward him, bearing slightly to the right.
    The skimpy barrel of the gun came up.
    “Hullo, Jennings,” said Norman. “You’ve been reinstated. Your grades have been changed to straight A’s.”
    The gun barrel slowed for an instant.
    Norman lunged in.
    The gun went off under his left arm, pinking the window.
    The gun clunked on the floor. Jenning’s skinny form went limp. As Norman sat him down on the chair, he began to sob, convulsively.
    Norman picked up the gun by the barrel, laid it in a drawer, locked the drawer, pocketed the key. Then he lifted the phone and asked for an on-campus number. The connection was made quickly. “Gunnison?” he asked.
    “Uh-huh, just caught me as I was leaving.”
    “Theodore Jennings’ parents live right near the college, don’t they? You know, the chap who flunked out last semester.”
    “Of course they do. What’s the matter?”
    “Better get them over here quick. And have them bring his doctor. He just tried to shoot me. Yes, his doctor. No, neither of us is hurt. But quickly.”
    Norman put down the phone. Jennings continued to sob agonizingly. Norman looked at him with disgust for a moment, then patted his shoulder.
    An hour later Gunnison sat down in the same chair, and let off a sigh of