The Devil Delivered and Other Tales Page 32

  Walking across the clearing, I asked: “I thought you threw that ax away?”

  “I did, because I didn’t need it then. But I needed it now, so ’ere it is. One thin you gotta remember, Tyke, an that’s when you throw somethin away, make sure y’can get it back if’n ya need it.”

  The trail was empty. “Grandma Matchie! You shoulda seen all the rats! All over the place!”

  “Course, this is Rat Portage Lake, ain’t it?”

  Understanding the importance of telling the truth:

  Now they had some kind of doctor in the office too, and it was getting crowded. He was completely round, with his big wide tie all spotted with blueberry yogurt. And his face was round too, and so was his mustache and his glasses and his red-veined cheeks.

  He puffed right up to the desk and started crowding its surface with all kinds of crazy things. “Now,” he wheezed, “if you’ll just have a seat here, Jock Junior,” and he pulled a chair up to the edge of the desk, “we can get started.”

  I don’t think the doctor was very smart, because he had me do all kinds of stupid things—puzzles and stuff that I suppose had him stumped so he wanted my help. And he had a watch that he kept looking at as if he forgot what time it was every few seconds or so. I felt sorry for him, so I finished all those puzzles as fast as I could.

  “That’s not possible!” the doctor exclaimed, looking up from his watch and goggling at the principal. “That’s just not possible!”

  “Why?” I asked. “What time is it? Maybe your watch is wrong.”

  “No, no, it’s not—” He frowned at me, and I put on that innocent dumb expression on my face, looking up at him and making my eyes as wide as possible. “I mean,” he muttered, “you don’t understand—”

  I smiled blankly, and he stopped, and his frown grew deeper the longer he stared at me. After a moment he started rummaging in his briefcase. “I have a test here, Jock Junior. And I’d like you to try it. Don’t worry if you can’t answer most of the questions—they’re designed for older people.…” He found it and placed it on the desktop in front of me and gave me a brand-new pencil which I started chewing right away because that’s what I do with all new pencils and pens and erasers and stuff.

  “So, are you ready to start, Jock Junior?”

  I examined the pencil critically, then said, “Okay.”

  “Right. Ready? Go!”

  A couple minutes later I was finished. Those were the easiest questions I’d ever answered. And the geography section was a snap.

  The doctor peered closely at the sheets when I gave them to him. He checked his watch again and then started reading. After a minute he looked up and gaped at me. “But, but—” His round face was all sweaty so I found an old Kleenex in my pocket and gave it to him. Mopping his face, he stopped suddenly and stared down at the Kleenex.

  “Sorry, there’s some chewing gum in it,” I said. “I forgot.”

  “Who told you all the answers to these questions?” he asked, all fatherly now that he’d recovered. “Because, I must tell you, they’re all wrong.”

  I made my eyes even wider. “They are? But Grandma Matchie told me! She tells me everything!”

  “Well, she’s wrong, I’m afraid.”

  “You mean the Rockies didn’t come from buffalo droppings?” I demanded, a scrunch starting on my face.

  “No, of course not!” the doctor said.

  “Now, young man,” the principal said grimly. “You know that Grandma Matchie doesn’t really exist, don’t you. I mean, there’s no record of you ever having had a Grandma Matchie and—”

  The doctor shook his head quickly, beetling his busy brows. Leaning toward me he gazed into my eyes. “This invisible friend of yours, this ‘Grandma Matchie,’ she’s—”

  “She’s not invisible!” I exclaimed. With a helpless, pleading look on my face I turned to Dad and Mom. “Tell them! Tell them about Grandma Matchie!”

  Mom looked at Dad and Dad looked at Mom. “Well, uh,” Dad muttered. “I don’t … really … think we can, uh, say for sure … really … that is—”

  “Liars!” I screamed.

  “Now, son,” the doctor said, “I’m sure you know the importance of telling the truth.” He cleared his throat and leaned back. “Don’t you?”

  I bit my lip. “I have,” I said weakly. “I have told the truth!”

  “Now, son, it’s obvious that you’re a very imaginative child, but—”

  I scrunched my face until tears came out and I balled my fists. “It’s the truth!” I wailed, squeezing my eyes shut. “You don’t know what’s the truth! You don’t know!”

  “Now, we are much older than you, you’ll agree.…”

  Opening my eyes reluctantly, I nodded, staring down at the desk.

  “And you’ll agree also that we have a better idea of the truth than you do—”

  “No!”

  “Yes, we have, son. So you just tell your Grandma Matchie friend that she shouldn’t go around telling you things that aren’t true, because then she’d be lying, and—”

  And that’s just what I was waiting for. “Tell her yourself!” I laughed, jumping to my feet. “GRANDMA MATCHIE!” I screamed. “IT’S TIME! JUST LIKE YOU SAID!”

  “Jock Junior!” Mom was on her feet. “You didn’t!”

  I let out a maniacal laugh like the ones I’ve heard in horror movies and ran to the window overlooking the playground.

  “Gothic on a stick!”

  “Oh my!”

  After a moment the doctor smiled and said, “Now. You see? There’s no one—” Just then we heard a rumble, coming up from the floor, and everything began to shibble and shake. The pencil rolled off the desk and the doctor’s briefcase tipped over, spewling tests and answers all over the place. He stepped all over them as he ran with everyone else to the window.

  And coming across the playground, busting down the wire fence, was Grandma Matchie, riding Bjugstad and holding a chain with its other end around Satan Himself’s neck, who was being dragged along on his belly, and Lunker, thrashing about and roaring in the air like it was water, with One Armed Trapper sitting on her head. And there was the Major, rowing like mad across the grass in his broke-in-half H.M.S. Hood, and there was Leap Year, and a thousand million two buffalo and demon fish and glowing lamp rays and rats singing French songs and all of them.

  We jumped back as Grandma Matchie—Bjugstad making one giant leap—came sailing up at us. With a huge crash they burst through the window and most of the wall, and everyone scattered. And there stood Bjugstad, legs wide, snorting and humphing and grunting and shaking pieces of wall from his head (he had shrunk himself down so he could fit into the room); and Grandma Matchie jumped down from him and stood there with her fists on her hips. Glowering, her gaze fell on the doctor and the principal and Big Nose, all of them cowering in the far corner near the door.

  “So, it’s finally come, has it?” she growled, her eyes all afire.

  I stepped up and said: “They all want to be taught the importance of telling the truth, Grandma Matchie.”

  “Oh, do they now? Well, Tyke, what should we show em first?”

  I was feeling kindhearted, so I replied: “How to be sportin.”

  “Sportin, eh? Well, that’s what we’ll tell em, Tyke.”

  By this time Bjugstad had calmed down and was contentedly eating all the doctor’s tests and answers. And from outside we could see (it was easy with all the wall gone) the whole playground filled with rats and buffalo and everyone else, playing soccer. They had strings tied everywhere, and the rats had barricaded their goal with canoes and bags and stuff, but the Major went round from behind and scored easily, sending the ball flying back out into the field. Shouts and roars of laughter filled the air.

  The whole school must have been watching, I bet.

  “We’ll tell ya all ’bout sportin, now,” Grandma Matchie announced. “An we’ll tell it like this!” and she advanced on them, and they all tried to fit through the
crack in the corner that wasn’t there, and if even if it was they were too big anyway. I could’ve told them all about that, but why bother?

  “Doc. You live in a fishbowl and spend all day glapin, glapin, glapin!”

  “That’s not true!” he shouted, climbing to his feet.

  “Course not!” Grandma Matchie snapped, then she grinned. “But it could be, if’n I wuz t’say so.” And she turned to Big Nose. “An you, you’re jus a Big Nose breathin down all the kids’ backs!”

  “WHAT?” Big Nose jumped to her feet, grabbing her nose. “But my nose is small!”

  “Yep. An if y’wanna keep it that, use it less often an keep it away from where it ain’t s’pposed t’be in the first place!” And she spun to face the principal. “An you’re the most impert’nent ear-flapper of em all!”

  He leapt to his feet, his eyes blazing. “I AM NOT!”

  Grandma Matchie shook her head sadly. “Fraid y’are.”

  Then it was Mom’s turn, and boy did she go white! “Ester! Well! Have you anythin t’say fur yerself afore I pass judgment pon ya?”

  “We, uh, I didn’t think anyone would understand—”

  Grandma Matchie raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Mebee next time you’ll let em decide fur emselves, eh?”

  Wringing her hands, Mom nodded weakly and stared down at her feet.

  “From now on,” Grandma Matchie pronounced, “there’ll be no brooms allowed in my cabin!”

  “Oh my, oh my!”

  But there was no room for argument—you could see that. And when Grandma Matchie glared at Dad, you could see he was wishing he was back in his Jacuzzi. “So, I embarrass you, do I, Jock Senior?”

  He went red.

  “You’ll have t’get used to bein embarrassed, then, won’t ya? Cause we’re all movin in with ya! Fur a whole month! Alla us!”

  Cheering noises came from outside, and Dad gulped, but he didn’t say one word of protest. He knew better.

  And now, they all knew better.

  Fishin’ with Grandma Matchie:

  Big jesters are just little jesters in disguise, that’s all. I really don’t mind being ferreted out every now and then, and that corner’s not so scary once you suddenize that the last laugh is, as always, yours.

  So the next time your Big Nose tells you to tell her what you did for summer vacation, you’ll know what to do. The thing about Bigness is that when you’re small it’s easy to sneak around it, or under it. Pretend you’re an ant carrying your favorite Adam’s Egg under a big, flat rock. And when the time’s right just break that Egg and eat it for breakfast.

  You’ll never be hungry again, I bet.

  TOR BOOKS BY STEVEN ERIKSON

  Gardens of the Moon

  Deadhouse Gates

  Memories of Ice

  House of Chains

  Midnight Tides

  The Bonehunters

  Reaper’s Gale

  Toll the Hounds

  Dust of Dreams

  The Crippled God

  The Devil Delivered and Other Tales

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Archaeologist and anthropologist Steven Erikson’s debut novel, Gardens of the Moon, was short-listed for the World Fantasy Award. His New York Times bestselling series, The Malazan Book of the Fallen, has been hailed as a masterpiece of epic fantasy. He lives in Cornwall, England. To find out more, visit www.malazanempire.com and www.stevenerikson.com.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in these stories are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  THE DEVIL DELIVERED AND OTHER TALES

  Copyright © 2012 by Steven Erikson

  All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph by Chip Simons/Getty Images

  The Devil Delivered was first published in Great Britain by PS Publishing in 2005.

  Revolvo was first published in Great Britain by PS Publishing in 2008.

  Fishin’ with Grandma Matchie was first published in Great Britain by PS Publishing in 2005.

  A Tor Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

  175 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10010

  www.tor-forge.com

  Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

  Erikson, Steven.

  The devil delivered and other tales / Steven Erikson.—1st ed.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-7653-3002-4 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-0-7653-3003-1 (trade paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-4668-0389-3 (e-book)

  I. Title.

  PR9199.4.E745D48 2012

  813'.6—dc23

  2012009389

  e-ISBN 9781466803893

  First Edition: June 2012