Chicks - The Chick Is In The Mail Part 6

* Messrs. Burmeister and Carver, by killing thetournament dragon, had forced the cancellation of the entire second half of the program.

Both compensatory and punitive damages were sought.

When Duncan Whiteside finally dribbled to a halt, Judge Solomon looked at me and said, "You may now respond to these charges."

"Thank you, Your Honor. I will be brief."

I had seen the judge's eyes rolling during the previous presentation. Hubert Solomon was a man of famously few words, and he admired the same trait in others. I figured I had five good minutes and I did not intend to go a second over.

"Your Honor," I said, "I would draw your attention to Exhibit Seven, the contract between Helga Svensen andJoustin' Time Enterprises ."

"I have it."

"Article Nineteen, paragraph four, clause five. Let me read it aloud, since the print is awfully small. 'The terms and conditions of this contract will applyin toto to any designated representative of the contractor.'

Your honor, Burmeister and Carver are designated representatives of Helga Svensen. My colleague, Waldo Burmeister, represented Helga Svensen in the jousting tournament. I would simply make the comment that were an attorneynot deemed to be a designated representative of a client, the entire legal profession would be irreparably damaged."

"Your point is noted. Continue."

"Burmeister and Carver, jointly and severally, had no part in the decision to cancel the jousting tournament. Therefore we cannot be regarded as responsible for such a decision."

"Noted. Continue."

"Now, as to the dragon-"

"Objection!" Naturally, from Duncan Whiteside.

Judge Solomon had an odd frown on his face as he stared at me. "Mr. Carver, this is a serious matter. I hope that you are not proposing to argue that Mr. Burmeister did not kill the dragon."

"Not at all. Your Honor, it is a central point of our argument that Mr. Burmeister's lance undeniably killed the dragon. Now let me draw your attention to Article Seventeen of the contract. Again I quote: 'Anybona fide representative of a partic.i.p.ating team, such representative or representatives to be termed hereinafter collectivelythe contestant , may enter into single combat with the dragon. Should the contestant slay or otherwise defeat the dragon, the contestant will win the Grand Prize.' Since Mr.

Burmeister was a representative of Helga Svensen, and killed the dragon, the Grand Prize should be paid-"

"Objection!" The lead attorney forJoustin' Time was on his feet. "Your Honor, the dragon wasasleep when Mr. Burmeister killed it." "Mr. Whiteside, you must allow Mr. Carver to finish his sentences, otherwise-"

"Your Honor, the dragon-slaying part of the tournament had not even begun."

"Mr. Whiteside, you must also allowme to finish my sentences." Hubert Solomon was enjoying the tussle. Otherwise he would have bitten off Duncan Whiteside's head. He nodded to me. "Mr. Carver, proceed."

"Thank you. Your Honor, I have little to add. Nothing in the contract mentions the time or circ.u.mstances in which the dragon must be slain in order for a contestant to win the Grand Prize. Mr. Burmeister slew the dragon, and therefore won the Grand Prize. The amount owed to us is given in Exhibit Two."

"Very good." The judge abruptly stood up. "I now call a ten-minute recess."

He swept out. I knew where he was going-to private chambers for a good laugh.

I felt an urge to do the same. I headed for the exit, carefully avoiding the dismayed eyes of theJoustin'

Time team. They were not complete fools. They knew they had ten minutes to agree among themselves on the terms of a mediated settlement.

Near the door I came to the group of people who had arrived late. It offered the impression of a group, but actually it was just Helga Svensen and Flora McTavish.

Together! Clad today in light, springtime armor, they sat side by side smiling at the world.

"Mr. Carver." Helga reached out and enveloped my hand in hers. "You were brilliant, totally brilliant."

"You were." Flora beamed at me. "Helga told me you'd do it, but I didn't see how. You're a genius!"

"Not really." I coughed modestly. "It's far from over, you know. And all I did was read the fine print."

"Buthow you read it!" Flora's eyes were shining. "Would you be willing to readmy fine print?"

While I was pondering the possible implications of that question, Helga stood up. "I'm going to leave the two of you to talk. Is it too soon for me to go and see Waldo?"

I thought of my partner, splinted and swathed from head to toe. In his present condition I didn't think that even Waldo could get into too much trouble. "You can go and see him," I said, "but you won't see much of him."

"I'll tell him things are going well." She thundered out, shaking the floor with her girlish tread.

I turned to Flora. "I don't understand. She brought you here. She'stalking to you."

"Of course she is. Helga and I are best friends."

"But you drugged her and tried to kill her!"

"Oh, nonsense. Drugged her a wee bit, aye, but that's all in the game. I knew it wasn't Helga, the minute I saw that lance wobbling about. I thought she was snoring in her tent, and somebody had tied a stuffeddummy up there on her horse."

Stuffed, perhaps, and far too frequently for someone on a perennial diet; but Waldo was no dummy.

"There's a big tournament coming up on Ceres," Flora went on. "I'd like you to be there with me."

I could not talk any longer. A buzz of activity at the front of the room announced that Judge Solomon had entered and Duncan Whiteside was already stepping toward him, an anxious expression on his face.

I ran for the steps, calling over my shoulder, "Go there, and do what?"

Ithink that Flora, behind me, said, "Read my fine print." But it sounded an awful lot like, "Be my fine prince."

Patterns in the Chain

Steven Piziks

Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.

A shadow drifted across the mouth of Mother Berchte's cave. She waited and rocked, careful to keep her tail away from the stone rockers of her chair. White sparks snapped from her needles.

Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.

The shadow drifted closer, and Mother Berchte lost patience. "I see you," she growled. "Get in here."

The shadow froze.

"Yes, I mean you. Move it."

Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.

The shadow hesitantly stepped into the light thrown by the fireplace. The girl was young, not yet twenty.

She held a short sword before her with a farily competent air, though her grip was so tight Berchte was sure she was leaving permanent fingerprints on the hilt. The girl's red-blond hair had recently been hacked off. Probably with a blunt dagger, if Berchte was any judge.

"Well?" Mother Berchte prompted in her harsh voice. "What's your name, girlie?"

Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo. Berchte's needles glowed like angry volcanos. The girl tried not to recoil, and Mother Berchte grinned. Berchte knew full well she was an imposing sight, almost eight feet tall with horns on her head and fangs in her mouth and claws on her fingertips. And a tail, of course. The latter was a b.i.t.c.h if she wasn't careful with the rocking chair.

"Jeweline," the girl said timidly. "My name is Jeweline." Of course it is,Mother Berchte thought. "And?" she said aloud. "You didn't climb all the way up here just to tell me your name."

Jeweline took a deep breath. Although the inflation of her chest did nothing for Mother Berchte, it earned an admiring snort from Na.s.sirskaegi in his corner. Jeweline's head snapped around and her eyes widened for a split second before she could school her features back into impa.s.sivity. Berchte awarded her silent points for quick recovery. Many people reacted badly to giant goats the size of horses, but few hid their surprise so quickly. Na.s.sirskaegi yawned, revealing yellow teeth.

"Um . . . r-raiders attacked our holding," Jeweline said. "My parents were slain, my brothers murdered.

My sisters were taken. I need to rescue them."

"With that?" Mother Berchte pointed scornfully at Jeweline's sword with her chin. Her knitting needles flashed through another row, and the swiftly growing shirt clinked in her lap.

"With your help," Jeweline said. "If you'll give it."

Mother Berchte nodded and rocked, knitting without answering. Jeweline shifted uncomfortably. A drop of sweat trickled down her face.

Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.

"Well, why not?" Mother Berchte said at last. "That's a h.e.l.l of a climb, and you deserve something for it.

Choose one."

Jeweline peered about the dimly-lit cave. "Choose one what?"

Mother Berchte blew at the fireplace. The flames blazed up, throwing the cave into almost painful brightness. Dozens of mail shirts glittered and sparkled from every wall, each with a unique style and design. Different types of wire knitted artfully into the weave created patterns and pictures. This one showed a silvery dragon breathing copper fire. That one portrayed an exquisitely-rendered griffon leaping into a star-flecked sky. Another twisted the eye with a fractal pattern of falling red-gold leaves.

Jeweline gasped and lowered her sword. "You made all these?"

Mother Berchte grinned with crooked teeth and briefly held up the half-finished hauberk in her lap before returning to work. The needles sparked and flashed. Friction and torsion softened the wire, making it easier to work.

Jeweline whistled under her breath, sheathed her sword, and went over to examine the mail shirts.

Mother Berchte watched her until the girl's eye fell on a shirt hanging in a corner half hidden by a stout wooden wardrobe. The shirt was old and rusting. It looked like moths had been at it, though what kind of moths would go for solid steel even Mother Berchte didn't care to think about.

Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.

Jeweline put out a finger to touch the old hauberk, and a sly smile stole over her face. Mother Berchte narrowed her eyes and kept on knitting. The girl had obviously heard some of the old tales. Either that or she had been down to the river talking to Father Fluss. s...o...b..ry b.a.s.t.a.r.d. And Jeweline was just the type to set him s...o...b..ring. "What about this one?" Jeweline asked, holding up the rusty shirt.

"You don't want that one, girl," Mother Berchte replied evenly. "It's old and poorly made."

"I don't want to be greedy," Jeweline said in a modest voice. "I'll take it."

Mother Berchte shrugged without missing a st.i.tch. "It's your life."

Jeweline pulled the hauberk over her head, leaving wide streaks of rust in her hair, and hurried for the cave's entrance. At the last moment she turned back. "Thank you," she said sincerely, and left. Mother Berchte watched her go.

Na.s.sirskaegi bleated once.

"Sunrise, I expect," Berchte answered.

Something clinked and clanked at the mouth of the cave. Jeweline entered, sword at her side, battered mail revealing more than it probably should. She was covered with cuts, scratches, and bruises, and her movements were stiff. Behind her, the sun was chasing the last of the stars away from the pale blue sky.

"Didn't work, did it?" Mother Berchte said mildly. Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.

"You tricked me," Jeweline cried. "This shirt is worthless! If Father Fluss hadn't given me flashflowers to blind the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, I would have been killed."

"I told you not to take it, girl," Mother Berchte growled. Jeweline opened her mouth to protest, but Berchte cut her off. "Let me guess. You thought that the best shirt in the bunch would be disguised as a rusty piece of junk. You thought this was some stupid fairy tale to put the kiddies to sleep."

Jeweline snapped her mouth shut and set her jaw. "I just want to get my sisters away from those . . .

men."

"Then do something sensible," Mother Berchte scoffed. "The first lesson you have to learn is never settle for less than the best."

Jeweline squared her shoulders. "All right." She shrugged out of the rusty mail shirt, marched over to the wall of mail, and chose another, one tightly knitted from the stoutest steel, yet light enough to wear easily.

A two-headed eagle glowered defiantly in the design, and the shirt gleamed softly in the firelight as Jeweline pulled it on. Mother Berchte watched with interest.

Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.

"Thank you," Jeweline said curtly, and left.

Na.s.sirskaegi bleated a question.

"Sunset," Berchte replied.

* * *"You filthy, lying old b.i.t.c.h," Jeweline spat before Mother Berchte could say a word. Outside, the sun touched the horizon and turned the clouds a brilliant scarlet. "You told me not to settle for less than the best. Now look at me!"

The mail shirt was b.l.o.o.d.y and torn, and new scratches tore angry lines down both her arms. Mother Berchte bared her teeth and growled low in her throat at Jeweline's tone of voice, but Jeweline stood firm and matched Berchte's glare. After a moment, Berchte nodded approval.

Knitone, purltwo. Knitone, purltwo.