#11 The Table (Part III)
At once the table collapsed. Again the wrongness hit me: there was no loud booming sound of wood hitting tile as one would expect in a large, undecorated basement apartment. It sounded . . it sounded empty somehow. Too light. More like reedy wind chimes than fully realized wood.
The collection of wood bits at my feet made no sense at first. They were an optical illusion my eyes would not sort out. This was the remnant's of Thorn's table, a table made by a carver-magician. A table Thunder assured me was important in the community. A table that gave stability to the officials of the City of Tamorace. I couldn't see the table for the hollowed insides. Perfectly empty. Except . . .
Except for the envelope protruding green-stick like from the top of one of the shattered legs. Dread filled me. I reached for the envelope.