Dragons of the Watch - Donita K. Paul [70]
“Old One brought us breakfast?”
“Yes. Come to the rotunda when you’re ready. I’ll try to keep him from eating it all.”
A few minutes later she arrived in one of her outlandish outfits. He really needed to go look for more of her belongings. She smiled shyly at him, and he guarded his thoughts. He didn’t need her to misconstrue his opinion. Ellie wore odd combinations, but she managed to look comfortable, not self-conscious. He admired that trait immensely as he recalled the display of despair exhibited by society ladies when something minor jeopardized their elegant getup.
Old One sat in his chair, a plate in his lap and a tankard in one hand. He raised the tankard, toasting the new arrival. “Here’s to the lady who bakes. We eat whatever she makes. Her daggarts are scrumptious, without any lumps such … as would chase her lovers away.”
Ellie’s eyes grew big, and a smile quivered at the edge of her mouth, as if she didn’t quite know how to react to this type of poetry.
She contained her lips in a prim line and answered. “I’m hoping to lure some children into our care. And I’ve never had lovers who objected to my cooking.”
“Ah,” said the old man with mischief lighting his face. “So your many lovers didn’t object to your cooking. Very wise of them.”
Ellie clasped her hands together and twisted. “I meant that I hadn’t any lovers. Not ones who objected. Not ones who didn’t object. No lovers. My family liked my cooking well enough.”
“Well, quit dawdling,” commanded Old One. “Climb up to your breakfast so we can get on with the day.” Pushing against the chair arms to aid his struggle, he stood. “I’ll just go upstairs and get things ready.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Bealomondore. “Ellie, stay there. I’ll bring things down to you.”
A pot of tea and cups already sat on one of the stacks of thick books. Bealomondore balanced a plate as he descended from the wooden chair.
“Bacon!” Ellie took the plate and sat on a shorter stack of books. “I haven’t had bacon for a long time.”
“The toast and jam is good too.”
She took a bite. “Mmm. Razterberry.”
Bealomondore poured tea and then sat opposite her with the book table between them.
“What did he mean, Bealomondore? About getting things ready?”
“He seems to be in a jolly mood this morning. He plans for you to bake daggarts in his kitchen.”
“I don’t mind baking, but how do we get up there? I’m not eager to climb two flights of stairs.”
“He’s worked it out. There’s a dumbwaiter.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know what a dumbwaiter is.”
“It’s a box that carries things between different floors. In this case, it was meant to carry books. Someone pulls on a rope. There’s a pulley at the top, so it greatly reduces the amount of strength needed to haul something upward or lower it.”
“So Old One is going to do the hauling?”
“He’s very keen on having more daggarts.”
“Do you think he’s strong enough to pull us up to the top floor? He looks weak to me. And he moves even slower than my gramps.”
Bealomondore pondered the danger involved. He certainly couldn’t put Ellie in the dumbwaiter if there was any possibility of it being dropped. “I’ll go up first, and then maybe there would be some way for me to help him if his strength gives out.”
“It would be handy to have one of those wizards you talked about here.”
“Ellie, I believe it is because of some wizard that we are in this predicament. I don’t know what would happen if a different wizard came along and stuck his finger in the pot.”
“Guess you’re right—too many cooks spoil the broth,” she agreed.
They tidied up a bit after they finished breakfast. Then Bealomondore led Ellie to the workroom she’d seen before. In the corner, a box sat in a cubby in the wall.
Bealomondore patted the floor of the enclosure. “This is the car. It’s guided by two rails so it won’t tip during the trip up or down.”
He pushed an empty wooden crate to the cleared space under the dumbwaiter. After stepping up, he reached for and tugged a rope.