Read Online Saving the Sammi by Frank Tuttle - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Frank Tuttle
Tags: Fantasy
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roused birds and dogs
all up and down the lane. "But I still say my flying coils will one day make airships and lifting gas obsolete."
Mug groaned. "I just hope it's not today, Mistress," he said, as his cage swung to and fro.
Meralda caught sight of the Palace through a break in the leaves left by yet another fallen giant
oak. Ragged grey clouds raced past behind the spires, though here and there a patch of bright blue sky peeked through.
"I'm no penny-novel air pirate," said Meralda, as she steadied Mug's cage. "It will be years before any of my coils actually fly."
"Good to hear," said Mug. His cage swung, caught in a sudden puff of damp wind, and Mug fell silent the rest of the way to the Palace.
* * *
Meralda's hopes of hailing a cab after making her way through the storm-ravaged
King Streets on foot were dashed when she emerged from the canopy of oaks onto
Straightway and discovered the storm's leavings were not limited to downed trees and suspended pastry wagons.
All five lanes of Straightway were filled with debris of every sort. Chairs and tables lay smashed or upended on the cobbles. Store signs, torn from their hooks, lay splintered all about. Lampposts, globes smashed, footings still trailing gas lines, lay in heaps, bent and twisted. Papers and waybills danced in the wind, rustling and flapping about to the consternation of the crows, who were themselves pecking through the debris for scraps. Meralda recognized one enormous blue- and-yellow umbrella, which rolled on its side to reveal the crest of the King's Kitchen Diner.
That's at least four blocks west of here, she realized. What a monstrous storm!
Meralda could see a cab in the distance, waiting for a Roadworks crew to clear the street.
That will take hours, she thought, and so she took up Mug's cage and marched the remaining
eleven blocks to the Palace, marveling at the damage as she passed.
The Palace, at least, was intact. Still the tallest building in all of Tirlin,
the Palace's four great spires gleamed in the brief bursts of sun that managed to peek through the clouds. The wind sent the spire pennants snapping and cracking, though the green and white pennant on the east spire was ripped along its length and the red and gold one that once adorned the north tower was gone altogether. Meralda stepped into the Palace's shadow, careful to keep Mug's cage from being jostled by the crowds passing on the crowded sidewalk.
The guards at the West Door smiled and nodded, noting her arrival and the time in their enormous old log-book as they did every morning.
"Bad storm," said one, as he closed the book. "Trees uprooted everywhere, we hear."
"Could we refrain from using the word 'uproot' for the day," snapped Mug, from beneath his
sheet. A single red eye popped out and swiveled toward Meralda. "Really? Do I go about starting
every conversation with tales of grisly bipedal dismemberment?"
"There you are, Thaumaturge," said a booming voice from down the west wing hall.
The Captain barged through a slow-moving trio of Palace household staff. In his hands
he held two steaming mugs of coffee. "I see the houseplant is in his usual fine mood," he said, handing Meralda one of the cups.
"Dangle you from a rope and let you swing the entire way downtown, see how cheerful you feel," muttered Mug.
Meralda lifted the coffee to her lips and took a cautious sip.
"Thank you, Captain," she said. "I take it you've been waiting for me?"
"I have," replied the grizzled old soldier, without any hint of a smile. "I'd have a word with you in the Laboratory, if you don't mind."
Meralda nodded. "That bad?"
"I'll send for a pot of coffee, too," replied the Captain, falling into step beside Meralda. "You'll want it, I suspect. And more."
Meralda hefted Mug's cage and hurried for the stair.
* * *
"At half-past ten of the clock last night, Palace staff on the eleventh floor reported something striking the south wall," said the Captain. "Nine
all up and down the lane. "But I still say my flying coils will one day make airships and lifting gas obsolete."
Mug groaned. "I just hope it's not today, Mistress," he said, as his cage swung to and fro.
Meralda caught sight of the Palace through a break in the leaves left by yet another fallen giant
oak. Ragged grey clouds raced past behind the spires, though here and there a patch of bright blue sky peeked through.
"I'm no penny-novel air pirate," said Meralda, as she steadied Mug's cage. "It will be years before any of my coils actually fly."
"Good to hear," said Mug. His cage swung, caught in a sudden puff of damp wind, and Mug fell silent the rest of the way to the Palace.
* * *
Meralda's hopes of hailing a cab after making her way through the storm-ravaged
King Streets on foot were dashed when she emerged from the canopy of oaks onto
Straightway and discovered the storm's leavings were not limited to downed trees and suspended pastry wagons.
All five lanes of Straightway were filled with debris of every sort. Chairs and tables lay smashed or upended on the cobbles. Store signs, torn from their hooks, lay splintered all about. Lampposts, globes smashed, footings still trailing gas lines, lay in heaps, bent and twisted. Papers and waybills danced in the wind, rustling and flapping about to the consternation of the crows, who were themselves pecking through the debris for scraps. Meralda recognized one enormous blue- and-yellow umbrella, which rolled on its side to reveal the crest of the King's Kitchen Diner.
That's at least four blocks west of here, she realized. What a monstrous storm!
Meralda could see a cab in the distance, waiting for a Roadworks crew to clear the street.
That will take hours, she thought, and so she took up Mug's cage and marched the remaining
eleven blocks to the Palace, marveling at the damage as she passed.
The Palace, at least, was intact. Still the tallest building in all of Tirlin,
the Palace's four great spires gleamed in the brief bursts of sun that managed to peek through the clouds. The wind sent the spire pennants snapping and cracking, though the green and white pennant on the east spire was ripped along its length and the red and gold one that once adorned the north tower was gone altogether. Meralda stepped into the Palace's shadow, careful to keep Mug's cage from being jostled by the crowds passing on the crowded sidewalk.
The guards at the West Door smiled and nodded, noting her arrival and the time in their enormous old log-book as they did every morning.
"Bad storm," said one, as he closed the book. "Trees uprooted everywhere, we hear."
"Could we refrain from using the word 'uproot' for the day," snapped Mug, from beneath his
sheet. A single red eye popped out and swiveled toward Meralda. "Really? Do I go about starting
every conversation with tales of grisly bipedal dismemberment?"
"There you are, Thaumaturge," said a booming voice from down the west wing hall.
The Captain barged through a slow-moving trio of Palace household staff. In his hands
he held two steaming mugs of coffee. "I see the houseplant is in his usual fine mood," he said, handing Meralda one of the cups.
"Dangle you from a rope and let you swing the entire way downtown, see how cheerful you feel," muttered Mug.
Meralda lifted the coffee to her lips and took a cautious sip.
"Thank you, Captain," she said. "I take it you've been waiting for me?"
"I have," replied the grizzled old soldier, without any hint of a smile. "I'd have a word with you in the Laboratory, if you don't mind."
Meralda nodded. "That bad?"
"I'll send for a pot of coffee, too," replied the Captain, falling into step beside Meralda. "You'll want it, I suspect. And more."
Meralda hefted Mug's cage and hurried for the stair.
* * *
"At half-past ten of the clock last night, Palace staff on the eleventh floor reported something striking the south wall," said the Captain. "Nine
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