Read Online The Monsters of Stephen Enchanter by D.J. Natelson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: D.J. Natelson
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conjecture, moralizing, and a modicum of fact.”
“The moralizing was essential,” said Youngster. “Dad never told the story without it.”
“Not that that stopped you from begging him to tell it.”
“What I want to know,” said Stephen, annoyed, “is not how to use the story to control children, but what to do so I don’t get killed tomorrow! What are the monster’s weaknesses, its blind spots? How big is it, how intelligent?”
Tinkerfingers shrugged.
“We don’t know,” said Youngster. “We thought it was a legend.”
“It is legend,” said Miss Ironfist. “It is also true. And you have all the information you need: it is large, hungry, and breathes fire. The story also suggests that it is blind, or at least has poor eyesight—although since the story is fictionalized, I wouldn’t count on that.”
“Why are you helping me?” Stephen asked. “I though you hated me.”
Stephen thought she wasn’t going to answer again, but after a long delay, she said, “I don’t hate you, and I don’t like you. But careless magic-users are worse than none, and the Jolly Executioner wants to make use of you. I will abide by his judgment.”
“It won’t be that bad,” Tinkerfingers said. “The Jolly Executioner may seem peculiar to someone who doesn’t know him—or even who does—but he hasn’t led us wrong yet. This won’t be the first monster we’ve fought. And now we have enchanted weapons and enchanted monsters—or will have—to distract the beast and put out its flames. And maybe, if we’re very lucky, we’ll be able to kill it before it awakens.
“Then the only question is,” sighed Stephen, “exactly what I should enchant and how.”
“Enchant a monster, like the Jolly Executioner said,” suggested Miss Ironfist. “Make another snow serpent.”
Stephen shook his head. “It wouldn’t be powerful enough. It barely worked against wolves—it would be less good with a fire-breathing monster. One puff, and it’d go up in steam.”
“Make a muzzle,” said Youngster, “so it can’t breathe fire and we can attack it without worry.”
“I could do that,” Stephen agreed. “I could make it the strongest muzzle imaginable—if only you would volunteer to put it on the monster.”
“Um, no thank you. Maybe not.”
“If you can’t stop the flame,” said Tinkerfingers, “what about fire-proofing us? You must have warded buildings against fire—couldn’t you do the same with our clothing and skin?”
“Clothing is easy. My own robes are enchanted against excessive cold and heat, and fireproofing is indeed one of my staple warding techniques. Even in this limited time, I could enchant everyone’s clothing against fire—for all the good it would do you.”
“Why do you say that?” demanded a lean, pale man, whose sword Stephen had enchanted. Twitch was his name, and he had more nervous tics than anyone Stephen had ever met. At least half the company was listening in by now, and all of their faces showed that they had certain opinions on the subject—none of which agreed with the Enchanter’s.
“Because it’s true,” said Stephen. “Burn proof clothing wouldn’t do you a scrap of good. The issue here is less burning than heat—and there’s a limit to how much heat-proofing cloth will hold.”
“I get it!” Youngster exclaimed. “The flames are so hot that they turned the girl to dust instantly—she didn’t have time to burn.”
“And enchanted clothing wouldn’t protect the skin inside the clothing,” Tinkerfingers said. “You’d have to enchant our skin against heat.”
Stephen shook his head. “Not a chance. Enchanting living flesh is . . . well, it’s unwise. I won’t do it.”
“You’re hardly trying,” Twitch muttered.
“He’s enjoying the illusion of power,” said Miss
“The moralizing was essential,” said Youngster. “Dad never told the story without it.”
“Not that that stopped you from begging him to tell it.”
“What I want to know,” said Stephen, annoyed, “is not how to use the story to control children, but what to do so I don’t get killed tomorrow! What are the monster’s weaknesses, its blind spots? How big is it, how intelligent?”
Tinkerfingers shrugged.
“We don’t know,” said Youngster. “We thought it was a legend.”
“It is legend,” said Miss Ironfist. “It is also true. And you have all the information you need: it is large, hungry, and breathes fire. The story also suggests that it is blind, or at least has poor eyesight—although since the story is fictionalized, I wouldn’t count on that.”
“Why are you helping me?” Stephen asked. “I though you hated me.”
Stephen thought she wasn’t going to answer again, but after a long delay, she said, “I don’t hate you, and I don’t like you. But careless magic-users are worse than none, and the Jolly Executioner wants to make use of you. I will abide by his judgment.”
“It won’t be that bad,” Tinkerfingers said. “The Jolly Executioner may seem peculiar to someone who doesn’t know him—or even who does—but he hasn’t led us wrong yet. This won’t be the first monster we’ve fought. And now we have enchanted weapons and enchanted monsters—or will have—to distract the beast and put out its flames. And maybe, if we’re very lucky, we’ll be able to kill it before it awakens.
“Then the only question is,” sighed Stephen, “exactly what I should enchant and how.”
“Enchant a monster, like the Jolly Executioner said,” suggested Miss Ironfist. “Make another snow serpent.”
Stephen shook his head. “It wouldn’t be powerful enough. It barely worked against wolves—it would be less good with a fire-breathing monster. One puff, and it’d go up in steam.”
“Make a muzzle,” said Youngster, “so it can’t breathe fire and we can attack it without worry.”
“I could do that,” Stephen agreed. “I could make it the strongest muzzle imaginable—if only you would volunteer to put it on the monster.”
“Um, no thank you. Maybe not.”
“If you can’t stop the flame,” said Tinkerfingers, “what about fire-proofing us? You must have warded buildings against fire—couldn’t you do the same with our clothing and skin?”
“Clothing is easy. My own robes are enchanted against excessive cold and heat, and fireproofing is indeed one of my staple warding techniques. Even in this limited time, I could enchant everyone’s clothing against fire—for all the good it would do you.”
“Why do you say that?” demanded a lean, pale man, whose sword Stephen had enchanted. Twitch was his name, and he had more nervous tics than anyone Stephen had ever met. At least half the company was listening in by now, and all of their faces showed that they had certain opinions on the subject—none of which agreed with the Enchanter’s.
“Because it’s true,” said Stephen. “Burn proof clothing wouldn’t do you a scrap of good. The issue here is less burning than heat—and there’s a limit to how much heat-proofing cloth will hold.”
“I get it!” Youngster exclaimed. “The flames are so hot that they turned the girl to dust instantly—she didn’t have time to burn.”
“And enchanted clothing wouldn’t protect the skin inside the clothing,” Tinkerfingers said. “You’d have to enchant our skin against heat.”
Stephen shook his head. “Not a chance. Enchanting living flesh is . . . well, it’s unwise. I won’t do it.”
“You’re hardly trying,” Twitch muttered.
“He’s enjoying the illusion of power,” said Miss
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