“Good day, lovely piesmith,” said I, bowing at the waist.
“Good day, Sir.”
“Might I inquire whether that pie is bound for an inn or perhaps the market?”
“Indeed it is neither, Sir.”
“Then might I purchase it?” I asked.
“Might I ask first your name, Sir? You seem to be a man of heroic bearing and noble manner.”
“You are very perceptive, my pretty piesmith, for indeed I am Eaglethorpe Buxton, famous storyteller and adventurer. Really of late I have been more of an adventurer than a story-teller, for though my tales of the great heroes and their adventures have been repeated far and wide across the land, I find myself having even more wondrous adventures than any of the characters in my stories. Still, the appellation, which is to say the name of Buxton and of Eaglethorpe, is best known for stories so I still introduce myself as first a storyteller and then an adventurer.”
“It is so very nice to…”
“Now that I think about it, I should introduce myself as Eaglethorpe Buxton, playwright, adventurer, and storyteller, as my play ‘The Ideal Magic’ is such a success that I am sure I will be doing much more of that.”
“I’m very pleased to…”
“On the other hand, it might seem strange to say playwright, adventurer, and storyteller, seeing as how storytelling and play writing are so closely related. Perhaps one ought not to separate them from one another by placing them on either side of adventuring. And it is worth noting that I have been doing quite a bit of adventuring since writing the play.”
“Do you want pie or not?” she asked, one hand on her hip and the other holding up the delectable object in question.
“Oh yes. Pie please.”
“Come inside,” she said, leading me into a simple but clean little cottage, where I sat down at the only chair at the old but serviceable table.
She very fetchingly began to cut a generous piece of the pie. Though it smelled wonderful, I couldn’t quite place the combination of spices.
“What kind of pie is it?” I wondered.
