Esther M Friesner - Chicks 04 - The Chick Is In The Mail, Angielskie [EN](4)(2)
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The Chick is in the Mail
Table of Contents Introduction
To His Iron-Clad Mistress
Sweet Charity
The Catcher in the Rhine
With the Knight Male (apologies to Rudyard Kipling)
Patterns in the Chain
Arms and the Woman
Fun With Hieroglyphics
Troll By Jury
Looking for Rhonda Honda
The Case of Prince Charming
Incognito, Ergo Sum
Chain of Command
The Thief and the Roller Derby Queen:
An essay on the importance
of formal education
The Right Bitch
Foxy Boxer Gal Fights Giant Monster King!
Hallah Iron-Thighs & the Change of Life
About the Authors
The Chick is in the Mail
by Esther Friesner and Martin Harry
Greenberg
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any
resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright (c) 2000 by Esther Friesner & Martin Harry Greenberg. All materials original to this volume
are copyright (c) 2000 by the authors individually.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 0-671-31950-7
Cover art by Larry Elmore
First printing, October 2000
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH
Printed in the United States of America
TROLL BY JURY
In the center of the sand-strewn ring, Duke Janifer stood between the two combatants and nervously
asked, "Ladies, are you certain you wouldn't like to reconsider this trial by combat to the death?"
"
I
would," Zoli said. "It's not combat, it's bloody murder. I've eaten seafood that had more hope of killing
me than
this
idiot." She gestured scornfully at Goodwife Eyebright.
"
Will
you withdraw?" Duke Janifer turned to Goodwife Eyebright, entreating her with his eyes.
"Pleeease?"
Eyebright stood herself up a bit taller and held the sword she'd been given as though it were a carpet
beater. "I'd sooner die."
"I was afraid you'd say that." The duke sighed, shrugged, and tossed a bright orange kerchief high into
the air. As he dashed from the arena he called back over one shoulder. "When it hits the ground, start
fighting."
The audience gasped and held its breath. Zoli went into her preferred fighting stance, grim and silent,
eyes fixed on the floating kerchief. Goodwife Eyebright, on the other hand, began jabbering the instant
the bit of cloth left the duke's hand.
"My gracious, aren't you in a hurry? I'm sure it's not going to take you long to kill me, but don't you
worry about that. Nor about all my poor little lambkins that'll be left orphaned and helpless, oh no, don't
you give any of them a second thought. You've done your duty, you don't have to bother your head
about whether they'll be decently clothed and fed and who'll tuck them into their cold, lonesome little
beds of a winter's night with not ever the comfort of a loving mother's kiss on their tiny tear-stained faces,
no. Don't you concern yourself over their bitter tears or their heartbreaking sobs or their—"
Under Goodwife Eyebright's verbal barrage, Zoli's shoulder trembled and her sword drooped by
degrees, leaving a hole in her defensive posture fit to drive an oxcart through. . . .
—from "Troll by Jury"
ALSO IN THIS SERIES:
Chicks in Chainmail
edited by Esther Friesner
Did You Say Chicks?!
edited by Esther Friesner
Chicks and Chained Males
edited by Esther Friesner
Mathemagics
by Margaret Ball
BAEN BOOKS by ESTHER FRIESNER
Child of the Eagle
Wishing Season
Introduction
Esther Friesner
Tradition is a wonderful thing. It gives us a sense of history, of belonging to something greater than
ourselves, but it most of all gives us someone and/or something other than ourselves to blame for the
embarrassing stuff we feel compelled to do. Yes sir, every time you find yourself serving the
fruitcake-that-tastes-like-a-doorstop at Christmas, or saying, "Prithee, my comely wench, but mightst
thou servest me an hotte dogge with ye workes?" at a local Ren Faire, or fighting the neighborhood
raccoons for property rights to a swiftly rotting jack-o'-lantern at Hallowe'en, or singing the Whiffenpoof
Song at the big Harvard-Yale game when you wouldn't know a whiffen if it poofed all over you, you can
always defend your actions with the proud and clarion cry: "It's a
tradition
!"
(You can also try blaming it on your kids, if you prefer, but that won't work with the Whiffenpoof Song.
Even kids aren't
that
gullible.)
Now here at the
Chicks in Chainmail
series of hard-hitting and culturally enriched anthologies, we've
got a little tradition of our own. We call it Blaming Someone for the Title of the Current Book. Your
humble and obedient editor took full responsibility—and rightly so—for the series concept as well as for
the title of the first book, but since then, although the concept has remained true and fixed as the pole
star, the blame for the titles of individual volumes in the series has gone skipping merrily hither, thither,
and yon.
So let it be known, now and for all time, that the person who came up with the title for
this
one is Mr.
Robin Wayne Bailey of Kansas City, Missouri, a fine writer and a great American. (He also has a story
in this anthology, but please note that there is
no connection
between coming up with a title for our fourth
Chicks
book and getting a story accepted. None. So don't go getting any erroneous ideas. Thank you.)
Now that we've settled that, I'd like to share with you one of the joys of Editorhood. Recently, along
with the rest of the
Chicks
series fanmail, I received a rather . . . unique missive from a gentleman by the
name of Jeffrey Tolliver who resides in the great state of Ohio. With Mr. Tolliver's consent, I now share
with you a brief description of the contents of his letter:
Chicks in chain mail.
Yes, that's right, your eyes have not betrayed you: Mr. Tolliver is a talented and creative maker of chain
mail armor and so, inspired no doubt by the literary splendors of this august series, he crafted chain mail
for five (count 'em, five) stuffed chickens. Of the
toy
stuffed chicken variety. Chain mail on a
roast
stuffed
chicken is just
sick.
I have photographic proof of this chicken bechain-mailing in my possession. He named them after the
Dionne quintuplets and, in my opinion, they are darned cute. He also crafted two wonderful sets of chain
mail for a pair of teddybears, Leif Bearicson and Bearic the Red and encourages us all to support our
right to arm bears.
None of this is my fault either. I've got witnesses.
With stuff like that happening in the so-called Real World, you would think that the contributors to this
volume of
Chicks
might be hard-pressed to outdo it on the strange-and-wonderful scale, but they did.
You'll find tales here by some Repeat Offenders as well as by some First-Timers. You'll also find
characters who have appeared in previous
Chicks
books cheek-by-jowl with new creations. Think of it
as opening a box of chocolates, only without anyone doing a bad Forrest Gump imitation. Make it a nice,
big
box of chocolates, while you're at it, Godiva for preference, and go heavy on the cherry cordials. I
hope you'll be pleased.
Now before I free you to romp barefoot through the rest of this volume, I'd like to take a moment of
your time for something serious: This book is dedicated to the memory of my mother, Beatrice Friesner,
who passed away in the autumn of 1999. She went through the Depression, World War II, taught in a
one-room schoolhouse in upstate New York before serving in the New York City public
schools—junior and senior high—for over thirty years, and raised me. (Her own mother insisted that her
daughter as well as her sons get a college education even when most people scoffed, saying that higher
education was wasted on a girl. Ha!) She faced plenty of trials and adversity in her life, but she never
backed down and she always put up a good, honorable fight. I consider her and her mother before her to
be true Warrior Women.
I also consider this to be one tradition that is well worth carrying on.
To His Iron-Clad Mistress
Kent Patterson
You don't need no chain mail bra, dear.
You don't need no brass pants, too.
You don't need to dress in armor
When I'm snuggled close to you.
Don't think that you can charm me,
Or prove our love more real,
By buying all your underwear
From the boutique at U.S. Steel.
So what say we drop the hardware,
The swords and shields and toys,
And make love less like Sherman tanks,
And more like girls and boys.
Sweet Charity
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl upanicza.keep.pl
The Chick is in the Mail
Table of Contents Introduction
To His Iron-Clad Mistress
Sweet Charity
The Catcher in the Rhine
With the Knight Male (apologies to Rudyard Kipling)
Patterns in the Chain
Arms and the Woman
Fun With Hieroglyphics
Troll By Jury
Looking for Rhonda Honda
The Case of Prince Charming
Incognito, Ergo Sum
Chain of Command
The Thief and the Roller Derby Queen:
An essay on the importance
of formal education
The Right Bitch
Foxy Boxer Gal Fights Giant Monster King!
Hallah Iron-Thighs & the Change of Life
About the Authors
The Chick is in the Mail
by Esther Friesner and Martin Harry
Greenberg
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any
resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright (c) 2000 by Esther Friesner & Martin Harry Greenberg. All materials original to this volume
are copyright (c) 2000 by the authors individually.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 0-671-31950-7
Cover art by Larry Elmore
First printing, October 2000
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH
Printed in the United States of America
TROLL BY JURY
In the center of the sand-strewn ring, Duke Janifer stood between the two combatants and nervously
asked, "Ladies, are you certain you wouldn't like to reconsider this trial by combat to the death?"
"
I
would," Zoli said. "It's not combat, it's bloody murder. I've eaten seafood that had more hope of killing
me than
this
idiot." She gestured scornfully at Goodwife Eyebright.
"
Will
you withdraw?" Duke Janifer turned to Goodwife Eyebright, entreating her with his eyes.
"Pleeease?"
Eyebright stood herself up a bit taller and held the sword she'd been given as though it were a carpet
beater. "I'd sooner die."
"I was afraid you'd say that." The duke sighed, shrugged, and tossed a bright orange kerchief high into
the air. As he dashed from the arena he called back over one shoulder. "When it hits the ground, start
fighting."
The audience gasped and held its breath. Zoli went into her preferred fighting stance, grim and silent,
eyes fixed on the floating kerchief. Goodwife Eyebright, on the other hand, began jabbering the instant
the bit of cloth left the duke's hand.
"My gracious, aren't you in a hurry? I'm sure it's not going to take you long to kill me, but don't you
worry about that. Nor about all my poor little lambkins that'll be left orphaned and helpless, oh no, don't
you give any of them a second thought. You've done your duty, you don't have to bother your head
about whether they'll be decently clothed and fed and who'll tuck them into their cold, lonesome little
beds of a winter's night with not ever the comfort of a loving mother's kiss on their tiny tear-stained faces,
no. Don't you concern yourself over their bitter tears or their heartbreaking sobs or their—"
Under Goodwife Eyebright's verbal barrage, Zoli's shoulder trembled and her sword drooped by
degrees, leaving a hole in her defensive posture fit to drive an oxcart through. . . .
—from "Troll by Jury"
ALSO IN THIS SERIES:
Chicks in Chainmail
edited by Esther Friesner
Did You Say Chicks?!
edited by Esther Friesner
Chicks and Chained Males
edited by Esther Friesner
Mathemagics
by Margaret Ball
BAEN BOOKS by ESTHER FRIESNER
Child of the Eagle
Wishing Season
Introduction
Esther Friesner
Tradition is a wonderful thing. It gives us a sense of history, of belonging to something greater than
ourselves, but it most of all gives us someone and/or something other than ourselves to blame for the
embarrassing stuff we feel compelled to do. Yes sir, every time you find yourself serving the
fruitcake-that-tastes-like-a-doorstop at Christmas, or saying, "Prithee, my comely wench, but mightst
thou servest me an hotte dogge with ye workes?" at a local Ren Faire, or fighting the neighborhood
raccoons for property rights to a swiftly rotting jack-o'-lantern at Hallowe'en, or singing the Whiffenpoof
Song at the big Harvard-Yale game when you wouldn't know a whiffen if it poofed all over you, you can
always defend your actions with the proud and clarion cry: "It's a
tradition
!"
(You can also try blaming it on your kids, if you prefer, but that won't work with the Whiffenpoof Song.
Even kids aren't
that
gullible.)
Now here at the
Chicks in Chainmail
series of hard-hitting and culturally enriched anthologies, we've
got a little tradition of our own. We call it Blaming Someone for the Title of the Current Book. Your
humble and obedient editor took full responsibility—and rightly so—for the series concept as well as for
the title of the first book, but since then, although the concept has remained true and fixed as the pole
star, the blame for the titles of individual volumes in the series has gone skipping merrily hither, thither,
and yon.
So let it be known, now and for all time, that the person who came up with the title for
this
one is Mr.
Robin Wayne Bailey of Kansas City, Missouri, a fine writer and a great American. (He also has a story
in this anthology, but please note that there is
no connection
between coming up with a title for our fourth
Chicks
book and getting a story accepted. None. So don't go getting any erroneous ideas. Thank you.)
Now that we've settled that, I'd like to share with you one of the joys of Editorhood. Recently, along
with the rest of the
Chicks
series fanmail, I received a rather . . . unique missive from a gentleman by the
name of Jeffrey Tolliver who resides in the great state of Ohio. With Mr. Tolliver's consent, I now share
with you a brief description of the contents of his letter:
Chicks in chain mail.
Yes, that's right, your eyes have not betrayed you: Mr. Tolliver is a talented and creative maker of chain
mail armor and so, inspired no doubt by the literary splendors of this august series, he crafted chain mail
for five (count 'em, five) stuffed chickens. Of the
toy
stuffed chicken variety. Chain mail on a
roast
stuffed
chicken is just
sick.
I have photographic proof of this chicken bechain-mailing in my possession. He named them after the
Dionne quintuplets and, in my opinion, they are darned cute. He also crafted two wonderful sets of chain
mail for a pair of teddybears, Leif Bearicson and Bearic the Red and encourages us all to support our
right to arm bears.
None of this is my fault either. I've got witnesses.
With stuff like that happening in the so-called Real World, you would think that the contributors to this
volume of
Chicks
might be hard-pressed to outdo it on the strange-and-wonderful scale, but they did.
You'll find tales here by some Repeat Offenders as well as by some First-Timers. You'll also find
characters who have appeared in previous
Chicks
books cheek-by-jowl with new creations. Think of it
as opening a box of chocolates, only without anyone doing a bad Forrest Gump imitation. Make it a nice,
big
box of chocolates, while you're at it, Godiva for preference, and go heavy on the cherry cordials. I
hope you'll be pleased.
Now before I free you to romp barefoot through the rest of this volume, I'd like to take a moment of
your time for something serious: This book is dedicated to the memory of my mother, Beatrice Friesner,
who passed away in the autumn of 1999. She went through the Depression, World War II, taught in a
one-room schoolhouse in upstate New York before serving in the New York City public
schools—junior and senior high—for over thirty years, and raised me. (Her own mother insisted that her
daughter as well as her sons get a college education even when most people scoffed, saying that higher
education was wasted on a girl. Ha!) She faced plenty of trials and adversity in her life, but she never
backed down and she always put up a good, honorable fight. I consider her and her mother before her to
be true Warrior Women.
I also consider this to be one tradition that is well worth carrying on.
To His Iron-Clad Mistress
Kent Patterson
You don't need no chain mail bra, dear.
You don't need no brass pants, too.
You don't need to dress in armor
When I'm snuggled close to you.
Don't think that you can charm me,
Or prove our love more real,
By buying all your underwear
From the boutique at U.S. Steel.
So what say we drop the hardware,
The swords and shields and toys,
And make love less like Sherman tanks,
And more like girls and boys.
Sweet Charity
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]