The Giant's Seat

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The Giant's Seat Page 22

by Dave Butler


  When they were half-sized, they started to flutter. Slowly. They looked wet, but none of the four ventured to touch them.

  “You know, we left the flyer up on top of this ’ere rock when we went into Mountain ’Ouse,” Bob said, “an’ I saw it wrecked.”

  “You can’t be sure, Bob,” Ollie said gently. “Maybe the flyer’s all right.”

  “Nah,” Bob said, “it’s burned to nothing, mate. Along with the spare bits for Charlie, I reckon.” She looked down at the submarine tools. “So these will have to do.”

  Ollie nodded. “Sorry about the flyer.”

  “I’m more sorry about those spare parts.” Bob nodded at the pixie’s budding wings, which took a deep flap as if acknowledging her interest. “I suppose the baroness could go ’ave a butcher’s.”

  “Butcher’s hook, look,” Charlie reminded himself. “Gnat’s not the baroness yet.”

  “Nah, but she will be. You see the way she killed that ’Ound?” Bob scratched her chin. “I wonder if she can count the kobold as one of ’er three…what is it, three deeds?”

  Ollie snorted. “You’re dreaming, mate. Three mighty beasts. If that fussy little midget counts, she might as well come pick a louse off my neck and call it number three.”

  “You ’ave lice, Ollie?”

  “Nah.” He shrugged. “A louse never sticks around once I change into a snake.”

  “Nice flange benefit, that.”

  “Fringe, Bob.”

  There was a soft, wet tearing sound, and Natalie de Minimis rose. Strands of silk fell off her like a gown, and she stood in the torn remnants of her cocoon. She smiled broadly and flapped her beautiful, full-sized, iridescent green wings.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  Thanks to Michelle Frey, Stephen Brown, and the rest of the team at Knopf, for shaping my stories into things of greatness.

  Thanks to Deborah Warren, for connecting me with editors and cheering me on.

  And thanks to Kevin J. Anderson, Rebecca Moesta, Alexi Vandenberg, Quincy J. Allen, Aaron Michael Ritchey, Ramón Terrell, Michelle Corsillo, Cat Rambo, Barbara Buffington, and my other fellow laborers in the WordFire shop, for helping Charlie Pondicherry find friends all across the nation.

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