Small world by King Tabitha

Author:King, Tabitha
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: New York : New American Library
Published: 1982-03-25T16:00:00+00:00

She giggled once or twice but mostly did her damage in a wordless, panting fury. When the carafe was empty, she used it to smash a mirror. With the end of it, she ran out of hysteria.

Calmly, she dragged an elegant little Boston rocker to the Blue Room from its place in the East Room, and stationed it so that she could look out onto the grounds. The lights that illumined it at night had come on automatically. She could make out the Carousel, standing silent in the middle of its circle of blackgreen grass, and the fantastic shapes of the trees and bushes around it. She wished she knew how to turn it on. It was the Giants who controlled the Carousel. If it were running, by chance or choice, she might have chosen it over this room, and would have liked to hear its music again. Here, though, she could ruin the carpets. In fact, she had a considerable start on most of them already.

A spasm gripped her bowels and she withstood it. Standing up, she walked to the center of the room, slipped down her shorts, and peed on the Aubusson. That done, she ignored the acrid smell of her own urine, and took her seat again. The art blade was a little dulled by its recent use, and her hands trembled, but she found the proper vein in her left wrist with very little effort. Dropping the blade, she snatched up the bottle of white wine, and chugged a good portion of it. It spilled out of her mouth and ran down her chin. Her head was notably unsteady; it was an effort to keep her balance in the chair. Closing her eyes, she leaned back. She took a deep breath, and thought she could smell, somewhere, a tarry smoke.

"Some birthday party," she whispered. "Happy birthday to

me," she sang softly. •'Happy birthday, dear Leyna . . ." she paused to coUect a shaky breath ". . . Happy birthday to me.

She wanted to clap for herself but her left arm was numb and unresponsive, her right growing very weak. She opened her eyes to stare up at the chandelier that hung like a huge lit birthday cake overhead. She thought it swayed, that the flames of its false candles wavered, and then she realized it was her own vision. From somewhere in her brain, black explosions obtruded into her sight. She heard something that might have been a faucet dripping, but her nose, curiously acute, told her it was warm, salt, coppery. She could feel it spattenng her bare feet. With great relief, she remembered it was not her birthday at all.

In the third-floor bedroom that had been hers, the facsimile Queen's bedroom, the scraps of cloth around the stripped wire glowed. The smell of ozone was strong m the room. At last, a faint explosion, as the synthetic cloth, heated to the pomt of combustion by the electrical wiring, burst into flames. There was a lot to bum; it was a well-furnished house.

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