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easy,” Maeve said.
    “Thank you. Keep an eye on her, because night is approaching.”
    “X xxxx.”
    “I will,” Maeve said.
    Crater served a fine eve ning meal complete with rhed whine and candy corn. There was even a fat July bug for Jumper. The man was an excellent host. Phanta donned a small tight uniform and waited on their table while Olive went to the kitchen to wash pots. The two obviously were earning their keep.
    Maeve had to remove her wax teeth to eat. She did so, and tore zestfully into her gory undercooked steak. Several other travelers came from their rooms to join in. One was Gene Blue, a blue man with the talent of making blue jeans. Another was Jamie, a short chubby man whose talent was to make things heavier. Fortunately he didn’t have to; he did it only when something needed it, like a table that needed not to be blown away. Jumper noted that the
    eyes of both men tended to follow the motions of the waitress, especially when her little skirt flounced as she moved. Maybe they were concerned that she not mislay their portions.
    “You know, Phanta, you’d look good in jeans,” Gene remarked. “I could make you a really tight-fitting pair.”
    “They’d only make me blue,” she replied, flouncing away from him. Again, Jumper feared he was missing something. These humans had nuances that were beyond the understanding of spiders. And as they feasted, night fell.
    “Well, now.”
    Haughty Harpy was gone. In her place was Hottie Harpie. She was prettier, with glossy long hair, perky tail feathers, a prominent bare bosom, and a challenging gaze.
    “You’re looking blue, handsome,” Hottie said to Gene Blue as she hopped over to his section of the counter. “I’ll bet I can cheer you up.”
    She inhaled, lifting her bosom almost under his nose. Harpies had essentially one anatomical feature of interest to human males, but that was impressive. There was a lot of good meat there. Not that Jumper would ever eat it, however succulent it might be. It wouldn’t be polite. Gene’s eyes widened, seeming about to crystallize. Apparently he was noticing her body.
    Then something odd happened. Her bosom fogged. It was still there, just concealed in puffs of cloudlike froth. Hardly any meat showed. Gene lost interest.
    “What the bleep is this?” Hottie demanded, her naughty word making the air around it glow despite the way it had been bleeped out. Jumper caught on. “You have been censored.”
    “Outrageous! No one can bleeping censor me!”
    But the Censor could. He smiled obscurely and faded out. He was imaginary, but his talent was real, and lingered after his departure, and Hottie’s hottest anatomy remained fogged out. Hottie swore up a storm that threatened to rival the one outside, but she had been effectively nullified. Finally she went to perch sullenly in a corner.
    “Thank you, Olive,” Jumper said.
    “Just get me safely to the Good Magician.”
    “We will certainly try.”
    Gene’s male eye wandered to Maeve. She met his gaze and drew her lip back in a pointed-tooth snarl. His eye hastily retreated. They concluded the meal. Then Olive imagined some friends with bodies like cans in skirts, but nice arms and legs, and they did a rousing cancan dance that the men watched avidly. It seemed that they admired the dancers’ ability to lift their legs really high, showing their cans. Jumper had just about given up trying to comprehend the interests of human folk.
    The girls went upstairs to their rooms. Jumper was too big to fit on the stairs, so he settled down at their base and closed five or six of his eyes to snooze. He tried never to close all his eyes at one time; a fat bug might escape his notice.
    In the night there came a faint scream. Jumper! Help! All eight eyes snapped awake. It was completely dark, but he could see well in darkness. There, coming down the stairs, was a ghost. It looked like a man, carry ing a bundle over his shoulder. It was the bundle that was screaming.