Read Online Out of Oz: The Final Volume in the Wicked Years by Gregory Maguire - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gregory Maguire
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fingernails, Rain.”
“But you don’t teach her the alphabet.” Cherrystone sounded incredulous.
“I can’t do everything. I have prettibels to propagate. Until recently I didn’t know this girl by name, so how could I know if she could read or not? Perhaps it’s time for the cheese board. Rain, clear the plates.”
“I’l take them through,” caled Miss Murth, stifling a shadowed yawn.
“My granddaughter is learning her letters,” said the General. “Letters are a kind of magic, Rain. Coming together, they spel words, and words then are a kind of spel, too.”
“She doesn’t want to learn to read. She wants to carry those plates to the window. Leave her be, Traper.” But Glinda was now on this. Could she play the hand? She’d never been good at bluffing when the local gentry came by for a couple of rubbers of Three-Hand Snuckett.
She picked up one of the papers and pretended to look at it for the article on prettibels, and then she moved the paper up close until it almost touched her lips. A little blind, to buy her some time, while Cherrystone asked the girl, “What does this letter look like? This thing?”
Rain said, “It looks like a stick for finding water with.”
“Doesn’t it just. It is caled Y .”
“Why?”
“Indeed.”
“Too too touching,” said Glinda, “but I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. Our broomgirl is thicker than mud on the moor. Now, Rain, unless you want to annoy me, leave the General alone. He is a busy man and he needs his cheese.”
“I have the board,” caled Miss Murth through the lace, which was now swaying in a stiffer wind off the lake. “A nice Arjiki goat-cheese and a Munchkinlander corriale, and an aged Zimmersweet made with the ash layer. Though one corner may be the wrong color of mold; it’s hard to tel in this light.”
“Would you like to learn to read, Rain?” asked Cherrystone.
“Do you specialize in impossible tasks?” interrupted Glinda. “You might as wel ask a rural Munchkin-wife if she would like to brush the teeth of a mature draffe. The little scold can’t reach and she won’t reach no matter how many lessons in growing taler you squander upon her.”
“My granddaughter is seven and she can read,” said Cherrystone. “How old are you, Rain?”
“Now you’re impertinent. Rain, go with Miss Murth.” The girl shrugged and slung one leg over the windowsil. Straddling it, her hair falen back about her neck, she reviewed the diners on the roof of the porch. Looking at the girl’s curious expression, with a certain thril Glinda thought: she’s learning to read already. Letters are only the half of it.
She kept the paper over her face to hide her tiny twitch of triumph. What if Rain could be taught to read? She might sidle places in the house no one else could visit. Peer at maps. Directives to the field officers. Might be risky, but stil…
When the girl had gone, and they had demolished a good deal of the cheese and two glasses of port each, Glinda returned to the subject to clinch the deal. “Do you want to help me survive the boredom of this incarceration, Traper? Shal we enter into a little wager? I’l wager you can’t teach our broomgirl to read by the end of the summer. That is, assuming your tasks wil keep you here al summer.”
“About our tenure here, I can make no comment. But I’ve had a grand time helping my daughters learn to read, when I was home on leave, and my granddaughter too. I can make of your stupid little maid a capable reader of simple texts in a month or two. By Summersend, anyway, if we’re here that long. It’s a deal.”
She raised her glass; the edges chinked to seal the wager.
“But you must have a chalenge of your own,” he said. “I shal dare you to … oh, what is it you can’t do? Is there anything?” She hoped he wouldn’t say generate a new strain of prettibell . “I’ve always had Chef, of one name or another,” she said. “I suppose I could enter into the fun
“But you don’t teach her the alphabet.” Cherrystone sounded incredulous.
“I can’t do everything. I have prettibels to propagate. Until recently I didn’t know this girl by name, so how could I know if she could read or not? Perhaps it’s time for the cheese board. Rain, clear the plates.”
“I’l take them through,” caled Miss Murth, stifling a shadowed yawn.
“My granddaughter is learning her letters,” said the General. “Letters are a kind of magic, Rain. Coming together, they spel words, and words then are a kind of spel, too.”
“She doesn’t want to learn to read. She wants to carry those plates to the window. Leave her be, Traper.” But Glinda was now on this. Could she play the hand? She’d never been good at bluffing when the local gentry came by for a couple of rubbers of Three-Hand Snuckett.
She picked up one of the papers and pretended to look at it for the article on prettibels, and then she moved the paper up close until it almost touched her lips. A little blind, to buy her some time, while Cherrystone asked the girl, “What does this letter look like? This thing?”
Rain said, “It looks like a stick for finding water with.”
“Doesn’t it just. It is caled Y .”
“Why?”
“Indeed.”
“Too too touching,” said Glinda, “but I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. Our broomgirl is thicker than mud on the moor. Now, Rain, unless you want to annoy me, leave the General alone. He is a busy man and he needs his cheese.”
“I have the board,” caled Miss Murth through the lace, which was now swaying in a stiffer wind off the lake. “A nice Arjiki goat-cheese and a Munchkinlander corriale, and an aged Zimmersweet made with the ash layer. Though one corner may be the wrong color of mold; it’s hard to tel in this light.”
“Would you like to learn to read, Rain?” asked Cherrystone.
“Do you specialize in impossible tasks?” interrupted Glinda. “You might as wel ask a rural Munchkin-wife if she would like to brush the teeth of a mature draffe. The little scold can’t reach and she won’t reach no matter how many lessons in growing taler you squander upon her.”
“My granddaughter is seven and she can read,” said Cherrystone. “How old are you, Rain?”
“Now you’re impertinent. Rain, go with Miss Murth.” The girl shrugged and slung one leg over the windowsil. Straddling it, her hair falen back about her neck, she reviewed the diners on the roof of the porch. Looking at the girl’s curious expression, with a certain thril Glinda thought: she’s learning to read already. Letters are only the half of it.
She kept the paper over her face to hide her tiny twitch of triumph. What if Rain could be taught to read? She might sidle places in the house no one else could visit. Peer at maps. Directives to the field officers. Might be risky, but stil…
When the girl had gone, and they had demolished a good deal of the cheese and two glasses of port each, Glinda returned to the subject to clinch the deal. “Do you want to help me survive the boredom of this incarceration, Traper? Shal we enter into a little wager? I’l wager you can’t teach our broomgirl to read by the end of the summer. That is, assuming your tasks wil keep you here al summer.”
“About our tenure here, I can make no comment. But I’ve had a grand time helping my daughters learn to read, when I was home on leave, and my granddaughter too. I can make of your stupid little maid a capable reader of simple texts in a month or two. By Summersend, anyway, if we’re here that long. It’s a deal.”
She raised her glass; the edges chinked to seal the wager.
“But you must have a chalenge of your own,” he said. “I shal dare you to … oh, what is it you can’t do? Is there anything?” She hoped he wouldn’t say generate a new strain of prettibell . “I’ve always had Chef, of one name or another,” she said. “I suppose I could enter into the fun
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