The Warlock Enraged-Warlock 4
bring a stylus and some paper, didn't we?"
    "We did," the robot's voice answered, "but it is at the bottom, under the hardtack."
    "Well, of course! I wasn't expecting a booming correspondence on this jaunt." Rod dug deep, came up with writing materials, and wrote out a rather informal note, asking that the bearer be allowed to speak with Their Majesties. He folded it, tucked the stylus away, and turned to Cordelia. "Seal, please."
    The witchlet stared at it, brow puckering in furious concentration. Then she beamed, and nodded.
    "All done?" Rod tested it; the paper was sealed all around the edges; molecules from each half of the sheet had wandered in among the other half's. Rod grinned. "Thanks, cabbage." He turned to Grathum, handing him the letter.
    "Present this to the sentry. Not being able to read, he'll call the captain of the guard, who'll call for Sir Maris, who'll probably allow only two of you to come before Their Majesties—and even then, only when you're surrounded by ten of the Queen's Own Bodyguard. Don't let them bother you—they'll just be decoration." He pursed his lips.
    "Though I wouldn't make any sudden moves, when you're in the throne room..."
    Grathum bobbed his head, wide-eyed. "E'en as thou dost say, milord." Then he frowned. "But... milord..."
    "Go ahead." Rod waved an expansive gesture. Grathum still hesitated, then blurted, "Why dost thou call thy lass a 'cabbage?'"
    "'Cause she's got a head on her shoulders," Rod explained. "Off with you, now." 4
    The family watched the little company march off southward. When they had disappeared into the woodland. Rod turned back to his family. "Thank you, children. I was very proud of you."
    They blossomed under his praise. Cordelia caught his hand and returned, "And / was proud of thee. Papa, that thou didst not lose thy temper!"
    Rod fought to keep his smile and said only, "Yes. Well, every little improvement counts, doesn't it?" He turned to sit on a convenient rock. "We could use a little rest, after all that excitement."
    "And food!" Geoffrey plopped himself down on the grass in front of Rod. "May I hunt. Papa?"
    "No," Rod said slowly, "there are those laws against poaching, and this tinker disguise still seems to be useful."
    "But it doth not deceive the sorcerer and his coven," Magnus said, folding himself down beside Geoffrey.
    "True, but it does seem to make the folk we encounter more willing to talk. Grathum said things to the tinker, that he was careful to hold back from the Lord High Warlock."
    "Indeed," Gwen confirmed. "He was .so overawed that his true feelings did not even come into his mind, when he •
    knew thou wert noble."
    48

THE WARLOCK ENRAGED 49
    "Which I still don't believe," Rod noted, "but he did. That's what's important. So we remain a tinker family, on the surface."
    "Then, no hunting?" Geoffrey pouted.
    "Yes," Rod nodded. "No."
    "But we're hungry!" Cordelia complained.
    "There is an answer to that." Gwen opened a bundle and spread it out. "Biscuits, cheese, apples—and good spring water, which Magnus may fetch."
    Magnus heaved a martyred sigh and went to fetch the bucket.
    "I know," Rod commiserated. "It's not easy, being the eldest."
    Magnus set the bucket down in the center of the family ring and scowled at it. With a sudden slosh, it filled with water.
    Rod gazed at it, then lifted his eyes to his eldest. "I take it you remembered the last brook we crossed?" Magnus nodded, folding himself down cross-legged.
    "Though milk would be better."
    "You may not teleport it out," Rod said sternly. "How do you think the poor cow would feel? Besides, it'd take too long to cool, after Mama pasteurized it."
    "She could heat it in the cow," Cordelia offered.
    "Haven't we done that poor beast enough meanness already?"
    "Rabbit would be better," Geoffrey groused. Gwen shook her head. "There is not time to roast it. We must yet march northward a whiles this day, children." Geoffrey sighed, and laid a slice of cheese on a biscuit.
    "Will we cross

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