conference with the Elders. Jon-Tom waited nervously.
Finally she stuck her head out of the pile and inquired
almost reluctantly, “What strange sort of magic is this?”
Jon-Tom took a deep breath and rose. Putting aside the
duar, he began stripping to the waist.
Roseroar came over to whisper in his ear. “Suh, are yo
preparin’ some trick ah should know about? Should ah be
ready with mah swords?”
“No, Roseroar. No tricks.”
She shrugged and moved away, shaking her head.
Jon-Tom started windmilling his arms, loosening up.
Grelgen immediately retreated several steps and raised
the wand threateningly. “All you need is to learn this
magic,” he said brightly. “A regular program of aerobics.
Not only will it reduce your unnatural craving for protein,
it should bring back your old aerodynamic figures.”
“What does that mean?” asked one of the younger
fairies.
“It means we’ll be able to fly again, stupid,” replied
one of the Elders as he jabbed the questioner in the ribs.
“Fly again.” The refrain was taken up by the rest of the
crowd.
“It’s a trick!” snapped Grelgen, but the weight of
opinion (so to speak) was against her.
“All right.” She tucked her wand under one arm and
glared up at Jon-Tom. “You get your chance, man. If this
is a trick to buy time, it better be good, because it’s going
to be your last one.”
“It’s no trick,” Jon-Tom assured her, feeling the sweat
starting to trickle from beneath his arms. And he hadn’t
even begun yet.
“Look, I’m no Richard Simmons, but I can see we need
to start with the basics.” He was aware he had the