Two To The Fifth (6 page)

Then he looked at the swirling dust devil, and thought about how evocative and shapely Dusti was in her solid form. She was interesting too, and spirited, and he would not at all mind if she won. She was young, but probably had more than half a notion what to do.

Meanwhile Acro remained on the ground, working on her words and letters. She intrigued him most of all, maybe because she had shown him the most flesh. She had freaked him out. If he had a choice, he would choose her. To bleep with experience.

The Witch oriented her broom and sailed toward him. But the dust devil was closing fast. They would arrive almost together.

Just as they did. Acro got her spell together and appeared right between them, grabbing for the window ledge. The three collided in a tangle of limbs, tresses, and screams. They fell down. Acro grabbing the end of the broom for support, as the Witch spun in the whirlwind.

There was a splash as they all landed in the moat. “Your fault!” “Yours!” “Both of yours!” They were all as mad as wet poultry.

Cyrus sighed. It seemed that none of them had won. Now he had no choice but to return to his writing. Which wasn't happening.

Finally Cyrus went to Wira, who was helping Sofia put away armfuls of balled socks. “I'm supposed to be writing my first play, but my mind is utterly blank. I don't know what to do.”

“I think I've heard of it,” Wira said. “It's called Writer's Brick. Something like that.”

“Block,” Sofia said, “Writer's Block. It's a mundane phenomenon.”

“But I'm not Mundane.”

“True.” She considered, “The specialists in plays are the Curse Fiends, You should go to them. They'll know what to do.”

“But they'll curse me.”

“I doubt it. They are seriously interested in all facets of play production. Go ask them for help. They'll be flattered, and will surely provide it.”

“The right approach,” he said, catching on.

Next morning he organized to depart. The three women clustered close, “What about us?” the Witch demanded. “We want to be Actresses.”

“Don't you still have your Service to the Good Magician to complete? There will be other querents needing dissuasion.”

“I can go,” Acro said. “I'm not bound, and I have my Answer, thanks to you, Cyrus. I will be happy to reward you for that, come nightfall.”

“Unfair!” Dusti protested. “We deserve our chances too.”

“The Good Magician will let you both go for this,” Wira said.

That aroused the Witch's suspicion. “Why?”

Cyrus knew why, but couldn't say it. His real mission was to save Xanth from Ragna Roc, and the play was merely the means.

“I can tell you this much,” Wira said. “It is important that the plays be as good as possible, with the best actors and actresses. But there may be danger. So you may go, as part of your Services, and completion of the troupe mission will also complete your Services. If you care to take the risk.”

“What risk?”

“Possible extinction.”

That made the three pause. But then they rallied. “I'm in anyway,” the Witch said. “At least I'll get to be an actress first.”

“Me too,” Dusti agreed.

“Then you may go,” Wira said. “But you may not mention the danger. It is a private matter that must not be exposed prematurely.”

“No gossiping?” the Witch asked, disappointed.

“None.”

“Bleep.”

“Also,” Cyrus said, “I will be recruiting other actors, according to the need of the plays. I can't promise you lead roles.”

“Worse yet,” Dusti said glumly. “Still, maybe we can persuade you. We can take turns sharing your tent. The three of us.” She glanced at the others to get their agreement.

“No,” Wira said firmly. “Such an arrangement would annoy the other actresses. Cyrus must not become intimate with any single actress, lest it prejudice the project as a whole.”

“Awww,” all three said together.

Cyrus was relieved. Had any of them been sincerely interested in him, he would have been interested in return. But he knew they were only trying to get preferential treatment. It was better to keep his distance from all of them.

So they set out as a party of four, carrying backpacks with spot supplies Wira and Sofia had provided.

Beyond the castle Don Donkey and Xina awaited them. “This is Don, my wood-burning robot ass,” Cyrus said. “These are three actresses.”

The donkey snorted. “They don't look like much.”

“Neither do you, metal butt,” the Witch snapped.

“Have you solved my problem?” Xina asked excitedly, her hair brightening.

“Yes. I am forming a repertoire company. You may join it and be an actress. Once I manage to write a suitable play.”

Xina squealed with girlish delight, her hair shifting to blue. “Wonderful!” She kissed him.

“Hey!” Acro said.

“But I can't promise you a leading role,” Cyrus said.

Xina looked as if she wanted to take back the kiss. “Oh.” Her hair turned black.

“I told you he couldn't be trusted,” Don said. “He's a cyborg.”

“I have to warn you that there may be danger,” Cyrus told Xina.

“There's always danger. I just want to be an actress.”

“Join the throng,” Acro said.

“We'd better move along,” Cyrus said. “I want to reach the curse fiends tomorrow.”

“The curse fiends!” Xina said, alarmed.

“He said there was danger,” the Witch reminded her snidely.

Xina put on a show of resignation, her hair becoming dishwater blond. “What must be, must be.”

“She is an actress,” Dusti said.

“If you like that type,” Acro said.

Cyrus marched on, and the four women fell in behind him. He could have ridden the donkey, but that would have seemed unfair to the women. They took turns, all liking the robot despite his taciturn nature.

The path curved to the north east. “We need to go south east,” Cyrus said. “To Lake Ogre Chobee.”

“Too bad,” Don said. “We'll have to leave the enchanted path.”

“But that will expose us to possible dangers,” Acro protested.

“Duh, pseudonymph,” Don said. “You knew it when you signed.”

“Anyone who wishes to leave the troupe now may do so,” Cyrus said.

“Oh, come off it,” the Witch snapped. “We've got a dust devil on our side.”

“And a robot,” Dusti said.

They stepped off the enchanted path. Immediately a big cat appeared, the size of a panther, its head the shape of the letter A. It licked its angular chops.

The Witch strode forth. “I recognize you. You're an A-cat. So get your A out of here.” She swung her broom, scoring on the cat's rear.

Surprised and dismayed, the cat bounded back into the forest.

“I probably shouldn't have done that,” the Witch said.

“Why not?” Xina asked, evidently impressed.

“Because these cats hunt in prides, and each one is worse than the others. Worse, a person can abolish only one cat, then is vulnerable to the others. We'll have to take turns dealing with them.”

Sure enough, another big cat bounded into view. This one's face resembled the letter B. It snarled at them.

“My turn,” Dusti said. She whirled into dust devil form and moved toward the cat. “Get your B-hind out of here!” the cloud of dust cried, flinging grit at the cat's eyes.

This cat, too, was taken aback. It turned tail and fled.

“Well done,” the Witch said. “But there'll be another.”

In a moment there was. This one's face resembled the letter C, and it seemed to have sharp vision. It stalked them menacingly.

“My turn, I think,” Acro said, “If I can work out a word fast enough.”

“GO.” Cyrus suggested.

“I've GOt it,” she agreed, “GO!”

And the cat, seeing the magic of it, departed.

Only to be replaced by another, with a D-face that looked as if someone had scribbled on it, “This must be mine,” Cyrus said.

“You look like a suitable morsel,” the D-cat remarked as it contemplated him.

“I'm not. I'm a cyborg, with rubbery flesh and metal bones. Not that it matters. I'm a play director, and I will cast you into the awfullest role imaginable, the one that no other actor will accept.” He lifted his arms as if about to cast a spell.

This cat was evidently not the smartest. It hesitated. Then as Cyrus began his invocation, it bounded away.

“So now who does get stuck with that role?” the Witch asked, smiling.

“The stupidest one,” he answered.

But in half a moment there was another, an E-cat, with a face like the letter E. “Eeeee!” it screamed, charging them.

Xina jumped to intercept it, her hair billowing out in the most sickly green imaginable. The cat saw it and screamed again, in revulsion. She kept coming, and it finally turned tail and was gone, retching.

“What was that?” Cyrus asked.

“Ogress coif.” Her hair was fading back to bearable.

The others laughed. That did explain it.

“It seems to me that talents aren't supposed to be repeated,” Acro said. “I once met a girl who could change her hair color.”

Cyrus sifted through his memory. “Talents don't generally repeat, except in the case of the Curse Fiends. But some can be very similar. Xina probably changes her hair in a different way than the other girl did.”

Another cat appeared. This one's face was in the form of an ugly letter F.

“That's the worst.” the Witch said. “It's from Mundania, where it terrorizes students. The F-cat won't allow anyone to pass unless he/she answers a silly question. No one with any sense can answer.”

“Then it must be my turn,” Don said, moving toward the cat. “I'm a silly ass.” He oriented on the cat. “Avast, you funny feline formula.”

The F-cat was more than ready. “If one dragon smokes from the east at three strides per moment, and another steams from the west at four bounds per trice, what will the temperature of the fire dragon be when they collide?”

“This is nonsense,” Cyrus muttered. “A smoker and a steamer have nothing to do with a fire breather.”

“That's the nature of the beast,” the Witch said. “Normal folk can't even understand its questions.”

“Four fifty-one Fahrenheit.” Don said.

The dragon's jaw dropped. “You answered it!” it said, dismayed.

“Now get your tail out of here.” Don said.

The F-cat did, and no more cats appeared. Apparently this party was too tough for them to prey on.

“How did you know the answer?” the Witch asked, impressed.

“It's one of the useless facts stored in my data bank,” Don said.

“But suppose the cat had asked a different question?”

“All the F-cat questions are stored there. It's a real memory dump.”

“We had better move on,” Cyrus said. But privately he was impressed with all of them; each member of the party had come through when needed.

They found an enchanted path leading toward Lake Ogre-Chobee and followed it. By evening they were well on their way. They came to a camping site where there was fresh water, pie trees, and a cabin for five.

“But we are a party of six,” the Witch said.

“I'll sleep outside,” Don said. “Actually I don't really sleep; I merely power down my limited cranial circuits to let them cool. I'm about due to forage for more wood anyway.”

“Five,” Acro said. “We'll just fit.”

Cyrus became alarmed. “I don't think I should join you.”

“You'd better join us,” the Witch said. “Otherwise one of us will sneak out to seduce you without the others knowing until it's too late.”

“Now who would do a thing like that?” Xina asked innocently.

“Who wouldn't?” the Witch retorted.

Xina's hair went limp. She knew the Witch was right.

The women organized things effectively, and they had a nice supper of pot pies and tsoda pop. They let Cyrus wash up in the pond first, alone, then shut him in the cabin while the rest of them washed with much laughing and screaming.

At last they rejoined him, “We have decided that it's not fair to leave you completely alone,” the Witch said. “So we'll take turns sharing your bed.”

“Fair?” he asked, alarmed, “What's fair about that?”

“Fair to us.” Dusti said. “Each one gets equal cuddling rights.”

“Cuddling?”

“That's all that's allowed,” Acro said. “Unfortunately. But we'll just have to make do.”

“I'm not sure I—”

“Just lie down in the center bed and sleep,” Xina said, “We've worked it all out.”

Bemused, Cyrus lay down and closed his eyes. Immediately someone joined him on the bed. He tried to ignore her, but she slid a hand into his shirt and nuzzled his neck.

Her female nearness was intoxicating. He felt guiltily urgent to do what he shouldn't do and probably would flub anyway. “Who are you?” he whispered.

“Guess,” she whispered back.

Because it was a whisper, he couldn't recognize the voice. “Will you answer a question?”

“No. I will merely whisper sweet nothings in your ear.” She touched his ear with her lips, “Sweet nothings!”

The worst of it was that the nonsense words really turned him on. She was playing with him, and he was powerless to stop it.

He focused on business. So he couldn't fathom her identity by her answers. What else was there? “Then I'll have to feel you.”

“Feel me,” she agreed eagerly.

He put a hand to her head. She had hair, but he didn't know what any of their hair felt like, so that didn't help. He needed to see its color. He felt her face, but found that he could not tell one girl's face from another without seeing it. He felt for her clothing, but she wore none. All her identifiers were missing. “I give up,” he said.

“The bleep you do! You haven't felt most of me.”

“But that would be too—too familiar.”

“Not when you have reason. Feel.” She took his hand and set it on her chest. It was some chest.

He freaked out. He lay there with his whole body locked in paralysis, unable to move a muscle or anything else.

“Foul!” another woman cried. “You freak him out, you lose your turn. That's the rule.”

“Bleep.” She removed his hand and left the bed.

By the time Cyrus recovered control of his body, it was too late to ask who she had been. But her last “bleep” had been voiced, and that gave him the clue: Dusti, She was better endowed than he had thought, at least with her clothes off. If he had thought to feel her forehead he would have found her little horns and known her that way. She was truly a little devil.

Now there was another beside him. “Hello, Cyrus,” she murmured, nibbling on his left ear.

“Xina,” he said.

“You bet. Now let's see if I can prevent you from freaking out. Put on this glove.”

“Glove?”

“Here.” She titled it to his hand, then found his other hand for the other glove. “Now touch my body.”

“But—”

“Here.” She carried one hand to her chest. He felt one or two marvelously soft mounds.

He reeled, but did not quite freak out. The gloves prevented direct contact, and that was enough. But it left him with deliciously naughty thoughts. “You—nice,” he said.

“To be sure. Remember that when you cast the lead lady role.”

“But that's supposed to be according to acting merit.”

“Merit, smerit. It goes to the most evocative body. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Well, as I understand it—”

She guided his gloved hand across truly evocative surfaces. He was right at the very verge of freakdom, but not quite. “Are you sure?”