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Book: Tales of the Dragon's Bard, Volume 1: Eventide by Tracy Hickman, Laura Hickman
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Authors: Tracy Hickman, Laura Hickman
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holding the unlit lamp, and listened.
No sound at all.
She drew in a deep breath.
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
The milliner blinked, uncertain as to what to do.
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
It was the door—the back door to her kitchen off the alley.
Someone was banging at her door.
Merinda turned from the workbench, wishing fervently that she had not quenched the lamp. The glow from the alley window had brightened and she could make out the stairs at the far end of her workspace, one set leading up to the rooms where she and Harv lived above the shop and the other set leading down to the storeroom in the cellar space beneath. The right-hand door led to the storefront, but the door to the left would take her into the kitchen and closer to the banging on the door.
She could make out the bright, cheerful outline of the door that led into the kitchen, illuminated by the hearth fire still burning there. Merinda knew that she needed to light the lamp and that the hearth was now the most ready means of doing so.
“It’s your kitchen, Merinda,” she muttered to herself; then she took another deep breath and pushed through the door.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
“I’m coming!” Merinda shouted as she pushed a stalk of dried goldenrod into the fire and relit her lamp. The kitchen hearth was burning low in the evening. Merinda had intended to bank it before going to bed but was now glad she had not. The flame sprang to life on the lamp’s wick, illuminating the cheerful kitchen and making it feel comfortably familiar. The long, beautiful table in the center of the room and the carefully built, oversized hearth dominated the space. The three windows set in the wall across from the hearth normally afforded a view of Harv’s work yard and sheds—now completely obscured by the night and its storm. Her china cabinet stood next to the alley door with all of her best plates—such few as she had managed to collect—carefully cleaned and stacked. Her kitchen was her joy, the place where she and Harv filled most of their evenings together.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
“Just a moment!” Merinda glanced around the room, wondering what kind of company she would be entertaining on a night like this. She frowned at the far corner of the room. With her husband away, Merinda liked to keep busy, and she had spent part of the day cleaning out a few pieces of trash from the cellar. She had not gotten as far as taking it all to the yard, however, and it remained an unsightly stack in the corner. She decided that there was no help for it now—whoever was in need at her door would have to put up with her house as it stood.
Merinda gripped the lamp, wished again that her husband were home, and opened the door.
The gale nearly doused her lamp, but the dim glow of the hearth fire gave enough light to see.
On the stoop before her, standing up to its neck in a drift of snow, was a pixie, its wings stiff and coated with ice. It stood shivering uncontrollably, its arms folded across its chest. Its normally brilliant shine was replaced now by a blue glow that illuminated the surrounding snow.
Merinda slammed shut the door.
Merinda had no love for pixies and no patience with their antics. They were a notorious public nuisance in Eventide and the perpetual bane of Xander Lamplighter, the Constable Pro Tempore, whose knack for capturing these small, flying hoodlums was a serious relief to the townsfolk and ensured him of his job. It was Xander’s suggestion, in fact, that pixies caught in their nefarious acts be incarcerated in the streetlamps lining Trader’s Square and Charter Square during summer evenings, allowing the public areas to be well lit by their glow while punishing them at the same time. Ariela Soliandrus, the Gossip Fairy, had let everyone in town know just how terrible pixies were and that they were never to be trusted in civilized communities. The fact that fairies and pixies were distantly related only seemed to lend credence to Ariela’s assertions.
No sound at all.
She drew in a deep breath.
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
The milliner blinked, uncertain as to what to do.
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
It was the door—the back door to her kitchen off the alley.
Someone was banging at her door.
Merinda turned from the workbench, wishing fervently that she had not quenched the lamp. The glow from the alley window had brightened and she could make out the stairs at the far end of her workspace, one set leading up to the rooms where she and Harv lived above the shop and the other set leading down to the storeroom in the cellar space beneath. The right-hand door led to the storefront, but the door to the left would take her into the kitchen and closer to the banging on the door.
She could make out the bright, cheerful outline of the door that led into the kitchen, illuminated by the hearth fire still burning there. Merinda knew that she needed to light the lamp and that the hearth was now the most ready means of doing so.
“It’s your kitchen, Merinda,” she muttered to herself; then she took another deep breath and pushed through the door.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
“I’m coming!” Merinda shouted as she pushed a stalk of dried goldenrod into the fire and relit her lamp. The kitchen hearth was burning low in the evening. Merinda had intended to bank it before going to bed but was now glad she had not. The flame sprang to life on the lamp’s wick, illuminating the cheerful kitchen and making it feel comfortably familiar. The long, beautiful table in the center of the room and the carefully built, oversized hearth dominated the space. The three windows set in the wall across from the hearth normally afforded a view of Harv’s work yard and sheds—now completely obscured by the night and its storm. Her china cabinet stood next to the alley door with all of her best plates—such few as she had managed to collect—carefully cleaned and stacked. Her kitchen was her joy, the place where she and Harv filled most of their evenings together.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
“Just a moment!” Merinda glanced around the room, wondering what kind of company she would be entertaining on a night like this. She frowned at the far corner of the room. With her husband away, Merinda liked to keep busy, and she had spent part of the day cleaning out a few pieces of trash from the cellar. She had not gotten as far as taking it all to the yard, however, and it remained an unsightly stack in the corner. She decided that there was no help for it now—whoever was in need at her door would have to put up with her house as it stood.
Merinda gripped the lamp, wished again that her husband were home, and opened the door.
The gale nearly doused her lamp, but the dim glow of the hearth fire gave enough light to see.
On the stoop before her, standing up to its neck in a drift of snow, was a pixie, its wings stiff and coated with ice. It stood shivering uncontrollably, its arms folded across its chest. Its normally brilliant shine was replaced now by a blue glow that illuminated the surrounding snow.
Merinda slammed shut the door.
Merinda had no love for pixies and no patience with their antics. They were a notorious public nuisance in Eventide and the perpetual bane of Xander Lamplighter, the Constable Pro Tempore, whose knack for capturing these small, flying hoodlums was a serious relief to the townsfolk and ensured him of his job. It was Xander’s suggestion, in fact, that pixies caught in their nefarious acts be incarcerated in the streetlamps lining Trader’s Square and Charter Square during summer evenings, allowing the public areas to be well lit by their glow while punishing them at the same time. Ariela Soliandrus, the Gossip Fairy, had let everyone in town know just how terrible pixies were and that they were never to be trusted in civilized communities. The fact that fairies and pixies were distantly related only seemed to lend credence to Ariela’s assertions.