The doors opened, pushed by no visible hand. A bundle of tattered cloth and gray hair ambled in, surrounded by a cloud of chuckles. "Oh, you've done it now, you've really done it. Can't respect a man's property."
The baron hauled himself up to a straight-backed, respectful posture. "Be reasonable! I bade everyone stay away from your tower, but surely that doesn't mean ten miles away!"
"I'm not too good with distances, but curses though, and trouble, oh." The wizard gestured. A vase floated through the doors behind them and over the carpet to settle next to him. "Here, look carefully now, here, is the Perilous Vase. I won't tell you what happens if you put your arm in it. I'll hear it from my tower when you do, I promise you!" A terrible cloud surrounded the equally terrible doer of magic and dispersed, leaving nothing behind.
The baron stared at the vase, settling back in his seat while he did. "Does anyone feel compelled to put his arm in there?" The freemen and servants there all shook their heads. "Oh. Neither do I. Visitors, though . . ."
Hearing that, one of his sons ran to grab a lid from the kitchen and capped the vase. Today everything a yard from the uncanny tower is under cultivation, yet still the Perilous Vase waits for an arm, and the wizard waits too, tapping his foot in an oversized shoe.
Finis
No comments:
Post a Comment