CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nobody
I
“So then I turn around and the snake’s, like, right there, going RAAAWWRRR! Well, just his head, though, because before that Yellow Guy chopped it off with the girl’s knife. Oh yeah, I guess I told you that already. Well, but then his head came back to life! Just like that rattlesnake, remember Mom? Except, that didn’t really happen; I just thought it would, but this one really did! Hey, I’m thirsty! Let’s go down to the creek!” Wilburn stopped talking and looked at Ez expectantly.
Ez realized her mouth was hanging open. She was… so… utterly… lost. The only solid conclusion she'd been able to draw from Wilburn’s narrative thus far was that she had radically overemphasized the role of math in his education. She ought to have focused more on verbal fluency. Trying to follow her son’s meandering account felt like a rebuke from On High, a custom-tailored punishment for her parental failures.
“The creek…” Ez repeated, struggling for mental traction. “Um, what’s wrong with the rain barrel?”
“Got smashed,” Wilburn said.
Ez nodded. Sure. That made sense. Rain barrel smashed. No water in the rain barrel. Wilburn thirsty. Go down to the creek. It was the most rational thing anyone had said all day. Come to think of it, Ez was awfully thirsty too. Ever since waking up in the wreckage of the cottage, she’d been tuning out her physical discomfort for the sake of tuning in to the ongoing conference of insanity. Had she drunk a solitary drop of anything today? All of a sudden, the creek seemed like an excellent idea.
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“Help me up, please,” Ez said, holding out her hand. Wilburn took it. He wasn’t big enough to offer her much leverage, but Ez was in the habit of training him to be in the habit of being a gentleman, and helping a lady up was one of those gentlemanly—Ez found herself sitting on air, shaking hands with her very proud son. She looked down, and gingerly extended her boots to touch the grass, wincing as her battered skeleton absorbed her weight. “I keep forgetting you’re a wizard,” she said, ruefully.
“That’s okay,” Wilburn said, “I’ll keep reminding you.”
I just bet you will… Ez thought. “Coming?” she asked, glancing at Gramma Fark.
Gramma sat chewing on her pipe, its ember long since having died. She looked no less confused than Ez, but even more annoyed about it. “Oh, I reckon,” Gramma grumbled. She shooed away Wilburn’s offered hand and climbed to her feet without even the assistance of her cane. It wasn’t fair. Gramma was sixty-six and moving like a teenager, whereas Ez was twenty-seven and moving like a rheumatic centenarian. Those hongos. If only the tiny purple mushrooms worked on ordinary people… Ez assumed they didn’t, since Gramma hadn’t offered her any… She hoped she was right in crediting the older woman with that much human decency at least.
Thoralf caught up with the trio as they ambled down the steep hillside toward the creek. More hobbled in Ez’s case. She still hadn’t found time to assess her injuries from last night’s battle with the vexpids. None of her important bones were broken, as best she could tell… but damn was she sore. Everything hurt. It was hard to judge how much of the pain was due to injury, as opposed to good old-fashioned muscle strain. The frenzy of battle had given Ez a workout such as she hadn’t had in years… or maybe ever.
Mostly, she figured, time and rest would be all the doctoring she needed. Her left knee, though… that was concerning. It had swollen hugely, to the point that her pant leg had grown tight, and every step she took felt like a nail was being driven through her kneecap. Ez was doubly grateful that the Astral bangle prevented Wilburn from overhearing her thoughts, as this allowed her to indulge in a silent rhapsody of the very most vicious profanity imaginable—which helped. A bigger help came in the form of Gramma hassling Wilburn to resume his story while they walked, forcing Ez to focus on the challenge of deciphering his syntax—a bit of a silver lining, she supposed.