"Well, really, Dobbilan," Ballimore said, "how do you think it looks if you're coughing and sneezing all over everything while you're ransacking? Have a little sense."
"I'd rather have a little dinner," said Dobbilan and sneezed again.
"If you sound like that tomorrow, you're staying home in bed," Ballimore informed her husband.
"I can't do that! I'm scheduled to pillage two villages and maraud half a county."
"You're in no condition to pillage a hen house, much less a village," Ballimore declared. "Besides, you've earned a bit of a rest, what with all the extra time you've been putting in lately, looting and marauding and I don't know what all."
"That's not the point."
"It's precisely the point. You're just being stubborn because you think having a bad cold is un-giantlike."
"Well, it is."
Ballimore shook her head and looked at Cimorene. "Men!" she said in tones of disgust.
"And don't you say 'men' to me," Dobbilan said. "It's my job we're talking about."
"Maybe you should try a different line of work," Mendanbar suggested.
"Eh?" Dobbilan peered down at him with interest. "Like what?"
"Consulting," Mendanbar said at random, because he hadn't actually thought about it.
"Consulting?"
"You know," said Cimorene. "Giving advice to people. You could teach other giants the best ways of-of ravaging and pillaging and marauding, and you could tell villages the best ways to keep giants away. With all your experience, I'll bet you'd be good at it."
"I never thought of that," Dobbilan said, rubbing his chin.
"I don't know why not," Ballimore said. "It's a very good idea. And you wouldn't be out in all sorts of weather, catching colds and flu and goodness knows what else."
"Plundering has gotten to be an awful lot of work lately," the giant admitted. "It would be a relief to stop. I'm getting too old to tramp through fields."
"I understand consulting pays very well, too," Mendanbar told him.
"I'll do it!" Dobbilan said with sudden decision. "Tomorrow morning, first thing. Thank you for the suggestion. What did you say your names were?"
"If you'd listen once in a while, you wouldn't have to ask me to repeat everything," Ballimore said. "This is Princess Cimorene, the one who's been with Kazul for the last year or so and gave me that marvelous biscuit recipe you like so much. And her young man is the King of the Enchanted Forest, who she's not running away with yet."
Mendanbar choked and shot an apprehensive look at Cimorene. She rolled her eyes and made a face at him but did not say anything, having apparently decided it was a waste of effort to correct the giantess.
"Pleased to meet you, Princess," Dobbilan said solemnly. "Nice to see you, King. What brings you to Flat Top Mountain?"
"They say it's business," Ballimore said before either Cimorene or Mendanbar could answer.
"Then it will have to wait until after dinner," Dobbilan announced. "I never discuss business at dinner. Or with dinner, for that matter."
He winked at Cimorene. "Besides, I'm hungry." He sneezed a third time. "Excuse me."
Ballimore began scolding again as Cimorene and Mendanbar nodded politely. Mendanbar was beginning to wonder how long they were going to have to stand next to the table, when Ballimore shooed her husband to a seat at one end and started for the other herself, saying over her shoulder, "Cimorene, dear, you and the King are on the right. Just walk around to the chair; it's all set up."
With some misgiving, Mendanbar escorted Cimorene past Dobbilan's chair toward the seat Ballimore had indicated. As they approached, he saw that the giantess had not been exaggerating. A set of normal-sized wooden steps, equipped with wheels so as to be easily movable, stood next to the giant right-hand chair, and two ordinary chairs were perched side by side on the seat at the top. The combination was, Mendanbar discovered, exactly the right height to reach the table.
Apparently, Ballimore was accustomed to having smaller people at dinner, for the plates and glasses were the usual size as well. As long as Mendanbar did not look down, it was easy to pretend he was sitting at an ordinary dinner table.
The food was very good. They started with fresh greens and went on to roast pig with cranberries, mushrooms in wine, and some sort of lumpy vegetable in a thick brown sauce that disguised it completely and tasted marvelous. There was a great deal of everything. Mendanbar supposed this was only to be expected at a giant's table, but Ballimore did not seem to realize that a person who was only a third her size would have a smaller appetite as well. She filled and refilled Mendanbar's plate until he was ready to burst.
Near the end of the meal, Cimorene leaned over and whispered, "Don't take any dessert."
"Why not?" Mendanbar asked.
"Ballimore's using her Cauldron of Plenty," Cimorene said, "and it doesn't do desserts very well. So unless you like burned mint custard or sour-cream-and-onion ice cream..."
"I see," Mendanbar said quickly. "Then it's a good thing I couldn't eat another bite even if I wanted to."
When dinner was over, Cimorene brought up the question of the magic carpet. Ballimore nodded at once.
"Of course you can borrow a carpet, Cimorene dear. I'll just take a look around and see what we have."
"You won't find much," said her husband, and sneezed loudly. "That last Englishman you let in took most of them. You should have let me find him and grind his bones, like I'm supposed to."
"Nonsense," said Ballimore, frowning at her husband. "We can afford a few cheap magic harps and a coin or two. I keep the good silver and Mother's jewelry in the top cupboard, where they can't reach it.
Besides, they're always such nice boys."
"Huh," said Dobbilan. "Beggars and thieves, if you ask me, and boring at that."
"What makes you say that?" Mendanbar asked curiously.
"They always do the same thing-come in, ask for a meal, hide, and then run off with a harp or a bag full of money the minute I fall asleep," Dobbilan said. "And they're always named Jack. Always. We've lived in this castle for twenty years, and every three months, regular as clockwork, one of those boys shows up, and there's never been a Tom, Dick, or Harry among 'em. Just Jacks. The English have no imagination."
"About the carpet," Cimorene reminded him.
"Oh, that. Well, the last Jack wasn't musical, and he cleaned us out of magic carpets instead of harps." Dobbilan sneezed again and began to cough.
"Bed for you, dear," Ballimore said firmly and shooed her husband out of the room. She followed him closely, muttering to herself about cough syrup and vaporizers and hot tea with lemon and honey. Mendanbar and Cimorene looked at each other.
"Is there anywhere else we can borrow a carpet?" Mendanbar asked.
"Not that I know of," Cimorene said with a worried frown. "We'll just have to walk. Drat. It'll take days."
"We could go back to the Enchanted Forest and-" "There," said Ballimore, coming briskly into the room and cutting Mendanbar off in mid-sentence. "He'll be much better in the morning. I'm afraid he's right about the carpets, Cimorene dear, but I'll just have a look around and see if there isn't something stuck off in a corner somewhere. I can't believe we're completely out."
"It's quite all right," Cimorene said. "We'll manage somehow."