“My grandmother.”

“Does she yet live?”

“No.”

“Ah, then they will soon need another Elinore.” The sphinx began to pace around her. She tried to hold still, but finally began to turn to keep the monster in sight. She could not fight it off, but at least she could see it coming. It was the best she could think to do.

“What was used to make the dye of your cloak, Elinore the Soon to be Dead?”

Elinore frowned at her. This couldn’t be the first question, because it was too easy. Was it a trap? “Is this the first question?”

“Yes, unless you want a different one.”

“No, this is a lovely question. Yarrow. Yarrow made the dye.”

“Hmm,” said the sphinx, gliding around and around her. “The ingredients for gingerbread, what are they?”

Gingerbread was a rare treat, very expensive, but Elinore’s family had money enough for such luxuries. “Butter and sugar, spices and flour, eggs and molasses and milk.”

“Did you supervise the baking at your home?”

“No, I would never dream of supervising our head cook; she would not tolerate it, not from me.”

“Then how did you learn to make such a delicacy?”