It occurred to Wiz that the dragon had him too, but he tried to ignore that.
“All right, but if I win I want a larger prize, too.”
Griswold looked amused. “Gold? Jewels?”
Wiz almost agreed; then he caught sight of a farm implement leaning against the wall. It was a pruning hook, its two-foot curved blade wickedly sharp along its inner edge.
“Uh, no,” Wiz said. “I was thinking of something a little more personal.”
“What then?”
Wiz smiled as unpleasantly as he could manage. “Well, dragon skin does have a number of magically useful properties.”
The dragon hesitated for an instant. “Done and done,” he exclaimed.
“Fine. I’ll go first,”
Griswold nodded. “Tell me the riddle, then.”
“It isn’t one I tell you. I have to show it to you.”
The dragon brightened. “Charades? I haven’t had a good game of charades in ever so long.”
“Here are the rules,” Wiz told him. emac. Instantly a two-foot-tall demon wearing granny glasses and a green eyeshade popped into existence next to him.
Griswold watched him closely, alert for any sign of treachery.
APL dot man list exe, he commanded.
The demon drew a quill pen from behind one bat ear and began to scribble furiously. Line after line of fiery letters grew before them. Each line defined one of the commands of Jerry’s version of APL. There were a lot of them and the emac took several minutes to write them all in the air.
“Hmm. Ah, yes,” Griswold said.
“Now, have you memorized them?”
“Of course.” The dragon didn’t sound quite so confident now.
“Fine,” Wiz said. emac.
? replied the editing demon.
clear end exe. The emac rubbed the air furiously and the characters vanished. The demon bowed and it vanished as well.
“Now.” Wiz picked up a stick and scratched furiously in the dirt.
“I’ll bet you can’t tell me what this does.”
Griswold craned his neck forward to stare at the symbols in the dirt.
“Um, ah . . .”
“Come on,” Wiz said. “It’s perfectly logical and quite unambiguous. What is the result?”
“Well . . .”
The dragon drew his brows together in a mighty frown. He stuck his forked tongue between his ivory fangs and let it loll out one side of his mouth. He cocked his head nearly upside down to get a better view of the characters.
Whistling tunelessly, Wiz strolled over to the wall and picked up the pruning hook. He ran his thumb along the edge nonchalantly and hefted it experimentally.
“You’re forfeit, you know,” Wiz said, turning back to the dragon.
“Time,” Griswold said desperately. “Give me more time!”
Wiz had never seen a dragon sweat before. He decided it was an interesting effect.
“Can’t you solve it?”
“Of course I can solve it,” Griswold said pettishly. “I just need a little more time.” His voice rose to a whine inside Wiz’s head. “The rules didn’t say anything about a time limit.”
“Very well.” Wiz laid the pruning hook aside and gestured magnanimously. “I will give you until the Moon is full again to solve the riddle. Now go.”
Griswold sagged with relief. “Thank you,” he practically blubbered. Then he hesitated and looked back at the humans huddled behind him. “Uh, I don’t suppose . . . just one . . . for a snack, you know?”
“GO!” Wiz roared, reaching for the pruning hook. Muttering to himself, the dragon leapt into the sky.
“Whhhoooooo,” Wiz breathed and collapsed against the wall, using the pruning hook for a cane. He was immediately engulfed by the hysterically grateful Baggots, all of whom were laughing, crying and hugging him simultaneously. Since the entire family apparently enjoyed garlic as much as they disdained bathing, and since their idea of a thankful hug could snap the spine of an ox, Wiz was less appreciative than he might have been. In fact, by the time he got out the farmyard gate he was limping and holding his ribs.
Seven: Settling In
Always live better than your clients.
The Consultants’ Handbook
News travels fast. The mayor and council hadn’t been at the Baggot Place, but they knew all about it by the time Wiz and Malkin made their way back to town. They were gathered inside the gate in a tight cluster when the pair strode back through.