Board Stiff (Xanth) (11 page)

Astrid just stood there uncertainly. Mitch glanced her way. Suddenly she began to jiggle too. Her body was well made for it, and in one and a half to two moments several men were heading her way.

“What did you do?” Pewter asked Mitch.

“I sent her an idea I got from Tiara,” Mitch said. “That’s my talent: to fetch and send ideas. Not big ones, and just one at a time, but sometimes it helps.”

So it seemed. Now that she had gotten started, Astrid was really animating her body. Kandy hoped she didn’t shake off any sequins.

Then two young women oriented on Ease and Pewter and dragged them into the dance too. The one opposite Ease had a nymph-like figure and seemed to be wearing little beside a bra and, well, her mid section seemed to be missing. She saw Ease staring without seeing, and explained: “Camouflage Panties. Don’t worry; they are there.” She caught his hand and put it on her hidden hip. “See?”

DON’T FREAK OUT! Kandy thought, catching him just in time. He couldn’t see the panties, but it seemed that touching them was just about as effective.

In due course the music paused, and the dancers sought refresh-mints along with boot rear, Peace Tree Tea, and cakes in the shape of cups.

A male bovine wandered onto the field. “Scram, Bull!” someone yelled, and the creature hastily departed.

Overhead two terns flew. One doubled sharply back the way it had come: a U-tern. The other flew in a straight line, never swerving: a tern pike. Then several male sheep whose wool resembled open books charged across the field, trampling flowers and upsetting tables: ram pages.

“What is that?” Tiara asked.

Ease looked. It was a giant hand wearing a skirt, walking along on its fingers. A HAND MAIDEN Kandy thought to Ease.

“A hand maiden,” he said.

“Oh, you’re so smart!”

She was flattering him, and he was enjoying it. Kandy stifled her resentment yet again.

“It getting hot,” Astrid said. “I’m going to the shade of that pine tree.”

“Don’t do that,” Pewter warned. “It’s a porcu-pine, with quills.”

There was a scream from the edge of the field. “My blood hound just dissolved!” a woman cried.

Kandy had seen that hound, which looked as if it were constantly bleeding; it was a pun. They looked toward the woman, and there before her was a puddle of blood. The hound had indeed gone all the way.

“That could be mischief,” Pewter murmured.

It was. The pun musical instruments were dissolving into gunk, as were the pun foods. So were some pun people. The malady was spreading slowly across the field, leaving putrid gunk behind.

“What is it?” Mitch asked, distraught.

“It is the plague,” Pewter said. “The pun dissolving virus has arrived.”

“We must stop it!”

“That is our Quest. But we have not yet found the antidote.”

Mitch rushed off toward the disaster. “Move out! Move out!” he cried. “Get away from the carnage. It’s a pun destroyer.”

That was not the best thing to do. People screamed and panicked, knocking each other down as they tried to escape.

“Do something!” Astrid told Pewter. “I know you can.”

“My firewall is operative only in my immediate vicinity,” Pewter said. “But I will do what I can.” Then his voice amplified enormously. “It affects only puns. If you’re not a pun there is no danger. Hold your ground.”

The people heard him and hesitated.

“Let the puns escape,” Pewter continued loudly. “Help them escape.”

Then the people knew what to do. They stopped stampeding and let the pun folk run unhampered. The virus advance was slow, and the people easily left it behind. But most of the puns were things that could not move on their own. They had to be carried, or they were doomed.

Mitch hastily organized a crew to pile stones, making a crude wall, in an attempt to stop the virus. But it surged over the wall unimpeded.

“Do something more,” Astrid told Pewter.

“I need an idea. I’m a machine, not an original thinker.”

“Mitch!” Astrid called. “Pewter needs an idea!”

“I’m busy at the moment,” Mitch called back.

“To save the pun folk,” Astrid clarified.

“Oh!” Mitch concentrated. “Fetching fetching . . . . sending!”

“Got it!” Pewter said. “There’s an old walled fort near the village. I will defend it with a firewall. But I need to get there before the virus does.”

“I’ll help,” Tiara said. “Can you make my hair stronger?”

“Yes.” Tiara’s neat hairdo puffed apart and her hair radiated straight out from her head like a spiked helmet. The tug was strong; her feet started to leave the ground. She skipped across to Pewter and flung her arms about him. “Now run!”

Pewter ran, and Tiara ran with him, lifting him so that he was light on his feet. They made excellent time. Ease and Astrid followed, falling behind despite their best efforts. That hair really did make a difference!

They reached the village, ran through it, and came to the fort. It was dilapidated but sturdy, and fairly small, but there was a fair amount of space in the central court. “I can do this,” Pewter said as they entered.

Tiara let go of him—and floated up over the fort. Quickly she reached up and wrapped a hank of her hair in her hand so that it no longer radiated. That cut down the flotation, and she sank slowly back to the ground.

Pewter climbed to the highest turret, which was barely a second story, and stood gazing around. He gestured. “Firewall is up,” he announced. “Now get the puns inside.”

Mitch had continued organizing, and had half a slew of pun people hurrying to the fort, accompanied by others carrying valued puns. One woman had a small potted pas-tree loaded with sweet breads; another carried a basket of acting rolls, with the rolls posturing grandly as if on stage. Another carried a basket of corn ears, many of them alertly listening, and yet another, musical beets playing a thumping melody. They all crowded into the little fort.

Sparks jumped as they crossed into it. “It’s the firewall,” Pewter explained. “It won’t hurt you, it just needs to be sure there’s none of the virus on you.”

Soon the fort was crowded with people and puns. The last ones just in time; after them the fire rose high, sizzling, as the virus touched it.

They stood and gazed out the front gate and narrow windows of the fort as the crackling continued. The virus surrounded the fort, trying to get in, but the firewall blocked it. Every time the plague tried, the wall of fire burned it up. After a while it stopped trying, but they knew it was still lurking out there, just waiting for some avenue inside, or for a pun to try to leave the fort. They were prisoners.

“Oh, my hair!” Tiara wailed. Indeed, it was tugging every which way, completely unruly; people were noticing.

“Pewter’s whole attention is taken up maintaining the firewall,” Astrid said. “He can’t pacify your hair without risking a break that could be disastrous.”

“Of course. I’m not complaining.” But she looked miserable.

“It’s interesting hair,” Mitch said. “And you really helped get Pewter here in time.”

Tiara melted, appreciating the insight. “But you wouldn’t want to be close to it.”

“Why not? It’s a challenge.” He took a double handful of it and put his face in it. “Makes me feel light-headed.”

Well, now, Kandy thought. Maybe Mitch and Tiara would get along.

“You shouldn’t grab her hair like that,” Ease said.

“You’re right,” Mitch said, embarrassed. “I got carried away, as it were. I was over-familiar. I apologize, Tiara.”

“Oh, there’s no need,” she said.

“In fact I’d better make it a gourd-style apology.”

“A what?”

Kandy knew what that was, but evidently Tiara didn’t, having been isolated so long.

“Like this.” Mitch took her carefully in his arms and gently kissed her. “Do you accept?”

Tiara was plainly stunned. “I don’t know,” she said uncertainly. “What has a kiss to do with it?”

“Then I must try again,” Mitch said. He kissed her more emphatically. “Now do you accept?”

She gazed at him, amazed. “I don’t--”

“So I must try again.” This time he kissed her so thoroughly that little hearts flew out. “Do you accept now?”

Kandy prompted Ease. “Say yes,” he called.

“Yes,” Tiara said faintly. “But what--?”

“That was a gourd style apology,” Mitch said. “They are never declined.”

“I can see why,” Tiara said dazedly.

“It is a social convention that originated in the dream realm of the gourd,” Mitch said. “Then it got loose in the waking realm. Folk seem to like it.”

“I wonder why,” Tiara said, sitting down to recover.

“That’s interesting,” Astrid said. “I’d try it, but I doubt my partner would survive.”

Then Mitch had to get back to business. “Folk, we’ll have to organize for a siege. We need to know how much food we have here, for one thing.”

The mare walked a little apart, and the villagers gathered around her, showing what they had salvaged. Kandy realized that though the mare might be a pun for mayor, she was doing the job. It would be a shame to let the virus get her.

Soon the report was in: there was one small pie tree in the fort, two tea peas, a spect rum, and an Apple tree, but that last grew app pills for magic mirrors rather than anything edible. So they would soon need more food, until they found a way to lift the siege.

“We’ll make a party of non-puns to go out and scout for more food and drink,” Mitch decided.

“That’s me,” Ease said.

“And me,” Tiara said. She evidently liked the idea of going out with Mitch. Kandy realized that the gourd-style apology had profoundly affected her.

“And me,” Astrid said.

The party of four (Kandy didn’t count) went out into the stricken landscape. They felt the tingle as they passed through the firewall.

What they found was desolation. The pun folk had been dissolved and the regular folk had fled. All around were messy puddles where puns had been. One made Kandy wince, to the extent she was able: a large hand-shaped splotch of goo, the remnant of the hand maiden.

“We can dip water from the river,” Mitch said. “We can pick fruits from non-pun fruit trees, and dig mundane vegetables from the ground. It won’t be a fancy repast, but it can be done.”

“Yes, of course,” Tiara said. Kandy suspected she was likely to agree with anything Mitch said, and not because she feared another apology.

They got to work doing it, and reasonably soon had several bags of assorted things. They brought them back, passing through the firewall and presenting them to the mare.

But there was a problem. The fruits could be eaten, but there were not enough to feed all the refugees. The vegetables were corn and potatoes, that needed to be cooked. For that they needed fire, and no one knew how to make it without magic, and no one had fire-making magic.

“Anyone have an idea?” Mitch asked.

A villager raised his hand. “Got it,” Mitch said. “Use the firewall.”

They made a fireplace, filled it with bits of wood and dry moss, then Ease poked some paper into the firewall. There was a crackle and it caught fire. It was a pun, but puns were protected here, by definition. Ease touched it to the kindling, making what might have been a difficult task easy. Soon they had a nice little blaze and were able to roast the potatoes and cook the corn.

But when they passed these foods out, the people didn’t like them. They were used to fresh pies from pie trees, while these were just individual things. No one knew how to cook. It was the same for the water: folk who had existed on boot rear and tsoda pop found plain water to be tasteless.

Mitch shook his head. “I fear we’re in for a long siege.”

A smoky blob formed beside the fire. “What is encountering here?”

“Oh, bleep!” Mitch swore. “I hope that’s not what I fear it is.”

Kandy hoped so too. She had heard of a pesky demoness who used inappropriate words. Who loved to seduce innocent men.

“What do you fear it is?” Ease asked.

“I don’t understand,” Tiara said. “Encountering?”

“Occurring, coming out, taking place, bechancing, materializing--” the voice said.

“Happening?”

“Whatever.” Now the smoke formed into the semblance of a dusky shapely woman: the demoness.

“And it is,” Mitch said, disgusted. “The notorious Demoness Metria.”

“Thank you,” the woman said. “I love being appreciated.”

“I still don’t understand,” Tiara said.

The demoness eyed her. “Well, maybe if you tried brushing your hair out, your head would function better.”

“I can’t do a thing with my hair!”

“Don’t let her bait you,” Mitch said quickly. “Metria is always mischief. She seeks out anything interesting, and comes to mess it up. Just ignore her and she’ll go away.”

“Obese fortune,” Metria said. “I’ll digress exactly when I choose to.”

“You’ll what?” Tiara asked innocently.

“Exit, straggle, diverge, quit, leave--”

“Depart?”

“Whatever,” Metria agreed irritably.

“If you know so many words, why can’t you get the right one?”

“She has a speech impediment,” Mitch said. “It dates from the time a sphinx stepped on her and scrambled her brains.”

“A sphinx!” Tiara said, impressed. “It’s a wonder she survived at all.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Metria said. “I fractured into three partial identities: myself, D. Mentia who is a little crazy, and Woe Betide, who is an innocent child. We don’t always get along.”

“I would probably like the child,” Tiara said. “I was locked up in a tower as a child, and I’m still getting used to the complicated outside realm.”

Metria softened visibly, her sharp curves turning woolly. “Maybe so. But about your hair--”

“Its my magic. It is anti-gravitic. It wants to float away, maybe taking my head away with it. I can’t control it, and it ruins my social life.”

“All it needs is a cardiopulmonary exercise.”

“A what?”

“A condit,” Mitch said impatiently. “Stop reacting to her lapses. That’s what she wants.”

“What kind of a con?” Metria asked.

“Ference, template, gress, sole, troll, solate--” Mitch said.

“Ditioner?”