D. a band of communist pussycats
If a.01-kiloton warhead can kill 1000 people, how many times more powerful would a warhead have to be in order to kill all the lawyers in the world?
A. 100 times
B. 1000 times
C. 10,000 times
D. nuclear weapons aren’t that powerful
Author is to publisher as helpless swimmer is to:
A. poisonous jellyfish
B. riptide
C. shark
D. tidal wave
Book reviewer is to snake as literary critic is to:
A. jerk
B. weasel
C. alcoholic failed writer with two divorces under his belt
D. shithead
Essay Questions. Again, your answer should be limited to 500 words.
Discuss the problems inherent in the task of adapting this novel as (1) a screenplay; (2) a radio drama; (3) a “graphic novel” (comic book); (4) a set of collector dinner plates.
Briefly outline the eschatologies of the world’s major religions and compare and contrast them. Tell how you wouldn’t be caught dead in any of them, and are they kidding or what?
Write an essay praising the author in the most enthusiastic terms and send it to the publisher, along with an order for 15 copies of each of his books.
Suggested Projects:
Organize a jousting tournament in your neighborhood. Seek federal funding. The departments of Housing, Education and Welfare would be good places to start.
Organize a toad-fling in your neighborhood. Call it “performance art” or “conceptual art.” Seek federal funding. The National Endowment for the Arts would be a good place to start.
Eighteen
Malnovia — Elector’s Palace Office of the Chamberlain
“So kind of you to pay us this visit, my lord.”
The Chamberlain was an elderly man with a shiny bald pate and skin like wrinkled parchment. His eyes were sharp, his fingers long and thin. The office in which he sat was a rococo wonder, glinting with gold leaf on fancy scrollwork.
The chamber’s high, mullioned windows looked out on an expanse of formal garden. The weather was sunny and pleasant, matching the Chamberlain’s official disposition.
Nevertheless, Trent caught the hint of a nervous chill underneath all the diplomacy.
“Something of urgency came up,” Trent said. “I came as soon as I could. You’re very kind to receive me on such short notice. Chamberlain.”
Trent’s host raised both hands. “How could I refuse the brother of our late lamented Court Magician? What with the press of duties attending upon the funeral and other matters, I naturally assumed any request for a visit from a member of the family to be extremely urgent indeed.”
“It is.”
A servant came in, bearing a tray with a cut-glass decanter and long-stemmed glasses.
“Will you take some dry sack this afternoon, my lord?” the Chamberlain asked.
“Thank you.”
Wine poured and served, the servant left, closing tall doors behind him. The sound echoed in the high chamber.
“And now, my good lord,” the Chamberlain said, “would you be so kind as to tell me what brings you to our fair principality?”
Trent set his glass down on a small table at this side.
“I have reason to believe that my brother was murdered.”
After helping to sop up the wine that the Chamberlain had sprayed and spilled across the desk, Trent sat back down. He waited for the Chamberlain to stop choking.
At last, hoarse-voiced and weakly smiling, the Chamberlain said, “Went down the wrong pipe, that did.”
“Very sorry to be so brusque.”
“Think nothing of —” The Chamberlain coughed, took a gulp of sherry, coughed once again and cleared his throat. He then went on: “Whatever makes you think that your brother was — “ He swallowed hard. “Murdered?”
“One thing only. There is some sort of spell on him. A very subtle and hard-to-detect spell. And in fact it was only detected when the undertaker tried to cast a preservation spell on the body. The spell was warded off by something.”
The Chamberlain finished mopping the desk with is handkerchief and sat back. “This is very interesting. Uh … but of course, your brother was a magician. Could this spell be of his doing?”
“No. It is not his style.”
“I’m not sure I —”
“Each magician has his own, identifiable style, like an artist. It’s as unmistakable as a signature. I know my brother’s hand, and this spell is not his work.”[20]
“I see. Yes, I’ve heard that about magic and magicians.”
“It takes some sensitivity to perceive these subtleties, naturally.”
“Naturally. Doubtless you know whereof you speak.”
The Chamberlain drained his glass and poured himself another from the decanter.
He sat back, glass in hand. “Now, exactly, what is it you want of me?”
“I want an investigation, naturally.”
“An investigation? Ah, yes … yes.”
“I want the murderer brought to justice. To do that, you have to catch him — and to do
“Problem. Well, I actually can’t say at the moment. I see no reason why there would be any difficulty, looking at it at first blush. Of course, if there’s been a
Trent slumped back. “I take it there is some problem.”
The Chamberlain drank and set the glass on his sedulously polished desk. “I suppose it would be better to say that I see no barrier to our proceeding with a murder investigation, or any criminal investigation, provided I can present the Lord Prosecutor’s office with clear prima facie evidence of criminal wrongdoing.”
“In other words, you’re saying my word isn’t good enough.”
The Chamberlain raised a hand in protest. “My lord, I say no such thing. I have no reason to doubt you. But I can’t approach the Lord Prosecutor with anything but hard evidence. Not necessarily conclusive evidence, mind you, but evidence of some kind other than the conjecture, however well-founded, of an aggrieved relative, even one of so
