Read Brothers to Dragons for Free Online Page B

strength. Professor Buckler seemed to know it, for he moved slowly, and waited whenever Job lagged.
    On the fourth floor, at an open door leading to a lamp-lit room, he turned to Job. "There is one matter that we should resolve before we enter, if for no other reason than protocol. What is your name?"
    "Job Napoleon Salk." Job could smell food again, and that was making him giddy, more than the climb or his general exhaustion.
    "A name to conjure with," said Professor Buckler. And then, as they went on through into the room and approached a long red couch where a dark-haired woman was sitting, "Miss Magnolia, this is Job Napoleon Salk. I ran across him by accident on my evening stroll—although chance, of course, always favors the prepared mind. I think, my dear, that he may be exactly what we need."
    She turned and gave Job a suspicious frown. He stared back. He had never seen anything remotely like her. The long, fringed dress that she wore was of a plush crimson velvet, matching the couch, and around her neck a string of brilliants threw off a thousand glittering reflections of the lamplight. She wore lipstick, rouge, and eye shadow, skillfully applied. Job had seen plenty of street tarts, but he had never before met a woman who regarded makeup as an art. All he knew was that her scowl drew curved black brows down over dark-socketed eyes, and pursed the fullest, reddest lips that he had ever seen.
    "You're as big a bobo as ever, Prof." Her voice was deep. "Find it on the street, no matter what it looks like, you wanna pick it up. What you gonna do with him now?"
    "He has not eaten," said Professor Buckler. "Since—when?"
    Job was staring at the woman and did not answer.
    "Well, for much too long, from the look of him." There was an old windup clock ticking away on the wall, and the professor nodded his head towards it. "I know that it is early, Magnolia, but is anything ready yet?"
    Early? It was nearly eleven o'clock at night—not even Colonel della Porta's second supper had been so late. But the woman was nodding, her dark ringlets bobbing up and down over her forehead and by the side of her head.
    "Yeah. Lucky for him. Toria and Tracy worked morning and afternoon, they wanted an early night. Take him through. We'll have this out later. I have to wait for a delivery."
    The man nodded and walked on through a white door. After a moment of hesitation, Job followed. Two more rooms, one of them equipped with dining tables and chairs, and they were in a kitchen. It was not of the scale of the kitchens in Cloak House—but the food! It was more in quantity, and as good in quality, as anything that Job had seen in Colonel della Porta's private quarters.
    The professor wandered along a line of half a dozen covered dishes, lifting the tops off and sniffing the contents. He shrugged. "Well, it is certainly not for me. I may have a little soup later. But take a plate and help yourself."
    Job had seen what was in those dishes: pork and rice, thick-sliced beef, whole fish in thick yellow sauce, boiled potatoes and carrots and pasta and peas and corn. He took a plate from a warmed pile, then hesitated.
    "Which one am I to eat?"
    "What?" The professor shook his head vaguely, and his white hair fell forward over his forehead. "Well, I don't know. Anything you want. The fish is probably good."
    Job had never tasted fish, and didn't dare to. But there were plenty of other things. He hesitated at first, but when the man did nothing to restrain him he piled his plate higher and higher. Only exhaustion kept him from eating himself sick. By the time that he had finished his second plate his eyes were closing, and he was only dimly aware of climbing more stairs and of being shown to a bed in a high-ceilinged room. He lay down (in Cloak House, day clothes and night clothes were identical) and at once fell asleep.
    * * *
    Job had gone to bed more tired than he had ever been. Nighttime noise did not wake him; but silence and sunshine did.
    He