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“You’re the only miracle man left alive in Florin,” the skinny guy said.

“Oh, so that’s why you come to me? One of you said, ‘What’ll we do with this corpse?’ And the other one said, ‘Let’s take a flyer on that miracle man the King fired,’ and the first one probably said, ‘What’ve we got to lose; he can’t kill a corpse’ and the other one probably said—”Advertisement

“You were a wonderful miracle man,” the skinny guy said. “It was all politics that got you fired.”

“Don’t insult me and say wonderful—I was great—I am great—there was never—never, you hear me, sonny, a miracle man could match me—half the miracle techniques I invented—and then they fired me…” Suddenly his voice trailed off. He was very old and weak and the effort at passionate speech had drained him.

“Sir, please, sit down—” the skinny guy said.

“Don’t ‘sir’ me, sonny,” Miracle Max said. He was tough when he was young and he was still tough. “I got work to do. I was feeding my witch when you came in; I got to finish that now,” and he lifted the hut trap door and took the ladder down into the cellar, locking the trap door behind him. When that was done, he put his finger to his lips and ran to the old woman cooking hot chocolate over the coals. Max had married Valerie back a million years ago, it seemed like, at Miracle School, where she worked as a potion ladler. She wasn’t, of course, a witch, but when Max started practice, every miracle man had to have one, so, since Valerie didn’t mind, he called her a witch in public and she learned enough of the witch trade to pass herself off as one under pressure. “Listen! Listen!” Max whispered, gesturing repeatedly toward the hut above. “Upstairs you’ll never guess what I got—a giant and a spick.”

“A giant on a stick?” Valerie said, clutching her heart; her hearing wasn’t what it once was.

“Spick! Spick! A Spanish fella. Scars and everything, a very tough cookie.”

“Let them steal what they want; what do we have worth fighting over?”

“They don’t want to steal, they want to buy. Me. They got a corpse up there and they want a miracle.”

“You were always good at dead,” Valerie said. She hadn’t seen him trying so hard not to seem excited since the firing had all but done him in. She very carefully kept her own excitement under control. If only he would work again. Her Max was such a genius, they’d all come back, every patient. Max would be honored again and they could move out of the hut. In the old days, the hut was where they tried experiments. Now it was home. “You had nothing else pressing on for the evening, why not take the case?”

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“I could, I admit that, no question, but suppose I did? You know human nature; they’d probably try getting out without paying. How can I force a giant to pay if he doesn’t want to? Who needs that kinda grief? I’ll send them on their way and you bring me up a nice cup of chocolate. Besides, I was halfway through an article on eagles’ claws that was very well written.”

“Get the money in advance. Go. Demand. If they say no, out with them. If they say yes, bring the money down to me, I’ll feed it to the frog, they’ll never find it even if they change their mind and try to rob it back.”

Max started back up the ladder. “What should I ask for? I haven’t done a miracle—it’s what, three years now? Prices may have skyrocketed. Fifty, you think? If they got fifty, I’ll consider. If not, out they go.”

“Right,” Valerie agreed, and the minute Max had shut the trap door, she clambered silently up the ladder and pressed her ear to the ceiling. pqdm.com