"Esther M. Friesner - Chicks 04 - The Chick Is In The Mail" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friesner Esther M)

didn't use cosmetics, but she liked what she saw in the mirror. A shy redhead offered her dangling
emerald earrings, and a luscious brunette contributed an emerald necklace so spectacular that Mirabel
knew it must be a fake. At last Dorcas handed her a fluffy shawl, refused her offer of payment for the
loan of all this finery ("Don't be silly, dear; we're friends") and ushered her out the back door.
***

So, in the gathering gloom, Mirabel Stonefist found herself going to the ball in the most gorgeous outfit
she'd ever worn. Although it was a cold evening, and so much exposed flesh should have chilled her, she
felt warm through with excitement. She would be careful with her borrowed glamour, she told herself. No
jogging elbows, no tripping, no catching the lace on someone's belt buckle. She'd take everything back
the next day, safe and sound.

"HeyтАФStonefist!"

She looked up, and there were the sergeantsтАФsix of them anywayтАФin their dress blues.

"Yessir?" Even on Ball Night, she couldn't avoid calling them "sir," at least once.

"Did you write the invitations this year?"

"Some of them," Mirabel said cautiously. "Why?"

"We didn't get ours," Sergeant Gorse said. "Didn't you notice we weren't on the list?"

"I didn't do all of them," Mirabel said. "Everybody helps. Are you sure they didn't just get lost? What did
Primula say?"

"We can't ask Primula," Sergeant Gorse said, "because that child at the door won't let us in without an
invitation, and she won't call Primula to the door. Get this straightened out."

"Of course," Mirabel said. She paused. "Are you sure it didn't have anything to do with the tropical fruit
surprise?"
"Yes!" they all said. Mirabel shrugged, and turned away to the door.

"Good evening, Miss Mirabel," said the child. The flaps of her red felt cap liner almost reached her
shoulders; the little bronze cap with its tiny spike glittered in the torchlight. "I'm being really careful about
the cards."

"Good for you," Mirabel said absently, looking around for Primula. Stalls offering the orphans'
handiwork filled every alcove; guests were expected to buy patchwork pigs, lopsided clay bowls, and
other useless items to swell the Orphans' Fund. PrimulaтАФwearing the same stiff black bombazine
trimmed in purple bobbles that she'd worn for the past millenniumтАФleaned over the piecework table.
Mirabel threaded her way through the crowd, nodding to acquaintances, and heard the last of the lecture.

"тАФNow rememberтАФyou curtsey and say `Thank you, kind sir' or `kind missus' as the case may be, and
hand them the purchase first, then the change. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Miss Primula." The freckled girl in charge of this stall was older than the doorkeeperтАФold enough
to be allowed to handle money. Primula turned away, and caught sight of Mirabel.