Myth 18 - MythChief by Asprin, Robert (good non fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

murmurs. I'd take an educated guess and say his client was a man, but since leaving Klah for the first time I had run into several genders and a range of voices as wide as the spectrum of sound. Eavesdropping left me absolutely none the wiser.

“What's going on in there, guys?” she asked, aiming a thumb at the kitchen.

“The client's going to do a Reynardan Cake ceremony,” I said.

“Really?” Bunny said, perking up. “Do you mind if I sit in, too?”

“Not at all,” I said. “I hope to learn something from it. Maybe give me some ideas.”

Bunny nodded. “As long as you don't expect any input from me, all right? We all agreed we'd help both of you, but one of us has to remain neutral, and I got nominated.”

“No problem,” I said. “Lunch?”

“I'd better stay here in case Aahz has any problems,” she said. “Can you bring me back a box of grilled lizard parts with honey-​mustard sauce?”

When we returned, my office had been transformed. Ceremonial balloons had been blown up and arranged in bunches upon the walls. An artful scattering of glitter lay across the floor. My office was rearranged so the desk was shoved against the wall underneath a huge, woven tapestry depicting a very happy dragon that didn't have a tail. All the chairs were set in a circle with their backs to one an-​other.

And on a low table covered with a brilliantly colored cloth sat the most gorgeous cake I had ever seen. It had to be at least three layers, but it was such a perfect cylinder that I couldn't guess where one left off and the next one began. The violet icing smelled delicious, its perfume combining vanilla, honey, citrus, and a dozen other de-​lightful fragrances I couldn't guess even though I'd bought the extracts to make it. Hermalaya had covered it with scrolls and ridges of frosting that while elaborate was not in the least overpowering or tacky. She had taken the colored-​sugar decorations that we had brought her and changed them so they looked handmade instead of cranked out of a cylinder. The Cake was just... perfect.

Beside this marvel of pastry sat a pile of plates that I had picked up at Polkey's, and an elaborate silver cake server that must have belonged to Hermalaya.

“Yum!” I went to pick up the server, ready to cut a piece of cake for myself. Hermalaya appeared from our kitchen and met me with a sharp paw to the chest. She had on a full apron and a cloth tied over her ears. Both were handsomely embroidered. She fended me away from the table with a sweet, indulgent expression that nevertheless brooked no nonsense. I backed off.

“Do not touch it. Now, the ceremony begins.” She smiled at us, showing all her sharp teeth, and put a hand on our shoulders. “Welcome,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for inviting us,” Bunny said, with a correct-​ing eye on me. Hermalaya looked surprised. “You know something of the Way of Cake?” “I read about it in a magazine. There's a similar custom on Klah.” Hermalaya nodded. “Then lead this one in the responses, will you? I will continue.”

I was mystified, but I followed Bunny's lead. The vixen princess led us to the small table. She knelt beside it. The billowing apron settled around her slender knees like a ball gown. She gestured to us to join her on the floor. Bunny assumed the correct stance with grace. I found it less easy to fold myself up. The hard floor made me want to squirm, but Hermalaya didn't move a hair in spite of the discomfort, so I could hardly complain.

“Now, as you are the guest of honor, Mister Skeeve, I will ask you how old you are?”

I told her, and she counted out small, colored candles from a small box. The number she placed on top of the Cake did not correspond in any way with the number I had said. She flicked her thumb and forepad together, and a tiny flame appeared between them. She touched the fire to each of the pristine white wicks. She closed her eyes with her hands shielding the flames and sang a keening song that traveled up and down the scales. Bunny nodded in time with the music. When the princess finished, she opened her eyes and looked at me.

“Blow them out,” Bunny whispered.

I obeyed, then had to scuttle backward, as Hermalaya seized the beautiful Cake server from the side of the table. She wielded it like an expert swordswoman might a longer blade.

Flick, flick! Four slender, perfect pieces of Cake had been dealt onto a pair of the small plates as slickly as cards. Inside the purple icing the layers were chocolate. My favorite. Hermalaya took another implement, this one with a rounded blade. She picked up a round earthenware pot that had been sitting just out of sight under the edge of the table. It looked humble and ordinary, like a jam jar, but from it she

scooped the most luscious-​looking ice cream I had ever seen. Somehow with a knife she managed to make perfect hemispheres, one of which she deposited upon the first sloping wedge of Cake. Bunny held her breath, but it didn't slide at all. That seemed to be impor-​tant. A dollop of whipped cream followed. Then the prin-​cess rubbed her fingers lightly together over the Cake, and a glorious rain of sprinkles descended,