The Cinderella Theorem Read Online Free

throne. It
says:
     
    ‘If both be Smythe, you can live with.
     If one be not, then you cannot–
    Until the time of fifteen years,
    Has passed away like drying tears.
    Else the babe will never see
    The salty land of Smythe’s E. G.’
     
    “Basically,
the law says that if one of the parents of the heir is not a Smythian, then the
heir and the Smythian parent must be separated for fifteen years. Otherwise,
the child will never be able to enter Smythe’s SFL. Since it was so vital that
(a) I remain in the land to protect the characters, and (b) you be able to come
in as heir later, we felt this was the only option.”
    What?
What kind of law is that?
    However,
on the brighter, mathematical side of things, I enjoyed the way my father
delineated his points–(a) and (b). That’s a very mathematical approach to
arguing. But on the negative side, he did appear out of nowhere in my bathtub.
    “So,
you had to live in the Salt Land—”
    “Smythe’s
SFL,” Tub Man interrupted.
    “Whatever,”
I continued, “you had to live there and not see me until I was fifteen or else
I wouldn’t be able to come later?”
    “Exactly,”
he said. “It’s a very ancient law, likely created to discourage royalty from
marrying outsiders. Plus, it sets up a very “fairy tale” scenario: a new
parent, forced to never see his child for fifteen years, a secret princess, all
the waiting and hoping. It’s what good fairy tales are made of. So your mother
lived in the castle with me until it was almost time for you to be born. Then,
when it was unsafe for her to still be in the kingdom, she came back to this
house.”
    “Oh,”
I said, resisting the urge to make an equation out of this. “Has the, uh,
‘door’ to Smythe’s SFL always been through the upstairs tub?”
    “No,
it hasn’t,” Tub Man answered. “It can be anywhere. We chose to have it from
this house, because this is where you and your mother were going to be living. When
my father was the King-Protector, the door was in the attic of his favorite
theatre. My grandfather entered this world through the janitor’s closet at a
county courthouse. But the strangest entry of all was my
great-great-great-grandmother’s portal. She came in through the hold of a ship.
She could never be certain where she was going to arrive. She would be off the
coast of Jamaica one time and in the middle of the Pacific Ocean the next.”
    I
interrupted. “You’re saying that the hold of a ship is stranger than the
upstairs tub?” I rapidly created an equation:
     
    Regarding
strangeness in arrival areas from E. G. Smythe’s Salty Fire Land:
    the hold of a ship > upstairs tub.
     
    “You
think the tub’s stranger?” he asked.
    I
just looked at him. “What if I had been going to the bathroom instead of
just brushing my teeth? What if someone was in the shower when you wanted to
portal yourself to the real world?”
    “Oh!”
My father said suddenly, understanding what I was meaning. “On the Smythe’s SFL
side, there’s a dial that tells you when the upstairs bathroom is occupied and
what the person is doing.”
    “ What
the person is doing? ”
    “In
general terms, Lily.” My mother jumped in. “The settings on the dial are for
shower, toilet, washing face, and brushing teeth.”
    “What
if I was changing clothes?” I asked. I am sorry, but I do not think that a dial
on a door explaining what I am doing in the bathroom is conducive to a happy
home environment.
    “Then
the dial would just say other .” My mother said patiently, stacking our
empty plates. “People in Smythe’s SFL do not use the door without permission
from the King, and never unless the door says unoccupied .”
    “Or
brushing teeth.” I mumbled a little sarcastically.
    “I
was so excited about seeing you, that I portaled over anyway.” His face
crumbled like an unsound theorem. “I didn’t think that—”
    “Of
course, you didn’t,” My mother said, quickly. “I’ll get dessert. Lily, Come