remembering. But the idea did persist, vaguely, as they went their various ways.
* * * * *
It was some of the ladies who found it, though they didn’t realize right away what they had found.
The Lady Bruze-wife of the Chief Basher, Clout-and some of the younger females had organized a forage into lower levels of the Pitt in search of mushrooms, fat crawlies and anything else that might be useful for stew. They were creeping furtively through the echoing shadows of what might once have been a vast dungeon, when one of them stopped, squinted and pointed. “What that?”
Several of them coming up behind her collided with one another, and some fell down. “Sh!” the Lady Bruze hissed. “Wha’ happen?”
“Somebody see somethin’,” someone said. “Then somebody fall down.”
“Oh.” The Lady Bruze looked back. “Who see somethin’?”
“Me,” one said.
“Lidda? What Lidda see?”
“Somethin’ there,” Lidda pointed again. “Wasn’ there minute ago.”
They all squinted in the gloom. There was something there. Just to the left of the path they were following, something vaguely ovoid lay in shadows among fallen stones. Cautiously, they crept closer for a better look.
“What that thing?” someone whispered.
“Kinda green,” another observed.
They gathered around it, looking at it first one way and then another. It was about waist-high to most of them, a dull, featureless thing like a squat globe, resting in the shadows. As they approached, it seemed to radiate softly-a dim, greenish glow coming from within it, barely visible even in the murk of the cavernous ancient place.
“Big mushroom, maybe?” someone suggested.
“Looks pretty solid,” another said.
Lidda crept closer and reached a hand toward the thing. When nothing happened, she prodded it quickly with a curious finger, then ducked back. Again it seemed as though the thing had glowed slightly, dim and greenish.
“Kinda sof’,” Lidda told them. “Not like mushroom, though. Like, uh, like leather.”
“Leather mushroom?” the Lady Bruze wondered. “Maybe good for stew?”
Lidda squatted, peered beneath the thing and shook her head. “No stem.” She leaned close to it, sniffing. “Don’ smell like mushroom, either.”
They looked at the thing curiously for a minute or two, then began wandering away. Having no idea what it was, and seeing no practical purpose for it, they lost interest in it.
The Lady Bruze looked around and saw her expedition scattering. “Come on. This not good for anything.”
Lidda lingered, though, fascinated by the way the thing seemed to glow dimly now and then.
“Lidda come on!” the Lady Bruze called, sounding angry. “I say come on, you s’pose to come on!”
Lidda waved absently, ignoring the command. The Lady Bruze could be a real pain sometimes. She repeated her inspection of the green thing. When she looked up, she was alone with it. The others had gone somewhere else. “Lady Bruze prob’ly right,” she told herself. “Thing not good for anything. Not up to her, though. I decide.”
On impulse, she hoisted herself atop the thing and sat, bouncing a bit to test it. It was soft and springy, and glowed happily as she sat there. “Make nice chair for sit,” she told herself, then recalled something she had heard. Somebody had been looking for a soft chair.
She looked around again in the eerie gloom of the ancient place. The other ladies were long gone, off on their foraging. She was alone, and not sure where they had gone. She shrugged, got down and took a deep breath. See if thing will move, she decided.
The thing was heavy, but Lidda was strong. Although she was barely three feet tall, she was sturdy and determined, and after the first hard shove, the thing rolled along handily. She kept pushing and it kept rolling, like a big, squashy ball. Driven by the guiding forces of all gully dwarves-inertia and inadvertence-and keeping a wary eye out for salamanders and other nasties, Lidda rolled her leathery green “chair” back the way the ladies had come, heading for This Place.
The journey took hours, and Lidda was nearly exhausted when she came into the firelight and clamor of the gully dwarves’ primary caverns. Crowds of the curious gathered around her, wondering what she had, but she fended them off and kept going. “Hands off,” she ordered. “This for What’s-’is-name.”
“Who?”
“Th’ Highbulp.”
“Oh, ol’ Glitch.”
“Yeah, him. Get outta way.”
She found the Highbulp where he usually was-in the center of things, demanding attention-and rolled the thing over to him. “Here,” she said. “For you.”
He stood, pushed his crown of rat’s teeth back from his eyes and squinted at what she had brought. “What this?”
“Chair,” she explained. “Sof’ chair, for Highbulp.”
“Chair?” He looked more closely. “This a roun’ thing. What kin’ chair roun’?”
“This kin’,” she said, irritated at the great leader’s attitude toward her gift.
Gandy, the Grand Notioner, came shuffling from somewhere, and squinted at the round thing. “What that?” he asked.
“Chair,” Lidda repeated. “Sof’ chair for Highbulp.”
Glitch gazed at the thing, beginning to sneer. “What kin’ chair look like that?” he pointed at it, turning to Gandy.
With the inspiration of his office, Gandy poked at the thing with his mop handle and nodded, looking wise. “Throne,” he declared. “Throne look like that.”
“Throne?” Glitch’s eyes widened. “This thing a throne? What I do with it?”
“Sit on it, Highbulp,” Gandy suggested.
Uncertainly, Glitch climbed atop the “throne” and sat. It felt soft and comfortable, and the fact that it glowed with greenish light as his backside began to warm it only added to the regal picture of himself that came to his mind. “Throne,” he pronounced, feeling very pleased with himself. “Highbulp’s throne.”
If Lidda had expected even a word of thanks, it was not forthcoming. Gratitude was not generally a primary quality of the Highbulp. Tired, irritated and a bit confused about why she had gone to so much trouble, she turned and wandered away, then paused when someone spoke to her. It was Gandy, leaning on his mop handle. “Who you?” he asked.
“Lidda,” she reminded him.
“Sure. Lidda. I ’member. That pretty good thing you bring, Lidda. Oughtta keep Highbulp quiet for day or so.”
“Fine,” she snapped, starting to turn away.
“Day or so,” Gandy repeated. “Then he think of somethin’ else, start all over again.”
“Highbulp a nuisance,” Lidda pointed out.
“Sure,” he agreed. “Goes with bein’ Highbulp. Be better if he had a wife. Keep him in line.”
“Him?” Lidda stared back at the preening, self-important little figure sitting on the green thing. The green was brighter now, glowing with a contented, pulsing light. “Who be dumb ’nough to marry
“Dunno,” said Gandy, shrugging. “How ’bout Lidda?”
With that she stomped away, angry and insulted.
Gandy watched her go, nodding his approval. “Pretty good choice,” he told himself. There was something about that particular female-something he had forgotten, but that now came back, dimly. She was stubborn, he recalled.
