Roc And A Hard Place (11 page)

Jordan followed, glancing up a bit apprehensively.  He had once tried to carry Threnody into the castle, and almost brought it down.

When it was clear that the castle was not about to fall, everyone else took a breath.  Then they all hurried to catch up.

“This is the throne room,” Ida said, “where—“

“Where my father.  King Gromden, used to sit on the throne, and hold me in his lap,” Threnody said, remembering.  “He told me that one day I would sit there.” Her face clouded.  “But of course, he didn't know what would happen.”

They moved on.  “Here is the courtyard,” Ida said, “where the Roses of Roogna grow.” She paused, but Threnody didn't comment.  Metria knew why:  Rose of Roogna had brought the magic roses centuries after the castle had been deserted, long after King Gromden's time.  So Threnody had never seen them.  “The roses represent a test of true love, so great care must be used when invoking them.”

They went on, visiting all the historic chambers of the ancient castle, until they came to the one where the great magic Tapestry hung on the wall.  “Oh, yes, I spent many happy hours watching this!” Threnody exclaimed.  “It shows all the history of Xanth.  Sometimes I even dreamed I was there, part of the great adventures of the past.”

“Me, too,” Ida murmured, and her moon bobbed.  She glanced at Threnody, and the two exchanged a smile.

The tour concluded with the room assigned to Threnody.

There had been no rumble of protest from any of the stones or timbers.  The curse had indeed been abated.

Then Threnody began to weep.  Jordan fetched her a handkerchief, somewhat out of sorts; like any barbarian, he had no idea what to do with a crying woman.  But they were not tears of pain or grief, but of relief:  Threnody had finally returned to the home of her childhood.  Her fondest wish had been realized.

Then she turned to Metria, her face shining wet, and held out her hand.  Metria put the summons token into it.

But Threnody was accepting more than the token.

“Mother,” she said, in a way she had never done before.

This time the cutting bitterness was gone.  She caught Metria's hand and drew her in for a hug.  “Mother, I forgive you any wrong I thought you did me or my father.  Will you forgive me.  for my attitude?”

Suddenly the weight of Metria's soul pressed her down— and then released her.  For centuries she hadn't cared what her daughter thought, and indeed had seldom if ever even thought of her.  But her soul changed all that, and now she wanted more than anything else to have that relationship.

Now her own eyes were streaming.  “Yes!  Yes, my daughter, yes,” she said, not caring how foolish it might sound.

Then they were crying together, while the others stood in a circle and watched, and no one was embarrassed.  Two curses had actually been lifted:  the one on the castle, and the one on their relationship.

“I think we have seen enough,” Cheiron said.  “Cynthia will remain here until it is time for the trial, but we must return home.”

“We will remain here also,” Che said.  “The trip has already proved worthwhile.” He glanced at Cynthia, who, though she was only ten, managed to blush.

Metria had to agree.

But Metria could not stay to appreciate the joy at the castle; she had plenty of other business to see to.  She needed to summons-serve the two Mundanes, Kim and Dug, and to do that she needed to find Arnolde Centaur and get him rejuvenated, and to do that she needed to find Jenny Elf and her cat who could find anything.  So how could she find Jenny Elf?

Well, Jenny had served as a Companion in the game that had brought the two Mundanes to Xanth.  Metria herself had participated in that game; she remembered the rehearsals and preparations, supervised by Professor Grossclout.  After the game, the various parties had gone their various ways.  But Grossclout surely knew where every one of them was.  So she would ask him.  She resolved this time not to let him get to her.  She would be her normal indifferent self, no matter what.

No sooner thought than done.  She popped across to the demon caves.  There was the Professor, breaking in a new class.  “But if you survive,” he thundered at the rows of mushy demon faces before him, “you just may wind up thinking like real demons!” He glowered, evidently doubting that such a thing was possible.  The students were obviously cowed, horsed, sheeped, and pigged, daring neither peep nor poop in response.  Only Grossclout was able to manage that;it was his talent to intimidate those who could not be intimidated.

Metria nerved herself and broke the tense silence.  “Hey, Prof—where's Jenny Elf?”

The glower cracked around the edges.  Wisps of smoke rose from the Professor's glowing eyeballs.  “What are you doing here again?” he demanded, shaking with indignity.  In fact, the whole classroom shook with it.

Hey—it was working!  She was actually resisting his intimidation.  But she knew she had to hang on to her attitude, because if she ever lost it, she would never recover it.  “Oh, did I interrupt something?  Sorry about that.” Her conscience required her to apologize when she transgressed, and it was hard to be in Grossclout's presence without developing a feeling of transgressing.

“Come into my office, Demoness,” he said, with a calm fraught with such menace as to be terrifying.

“Sure, Prof.” She popped in, shoring up her weak knees with metallic bracing.

He popped in after her.  “Now, to what do I owe the displeasure of this intrusion, Demoness?” he demanded the moment his glower softened enough to allow the words out.

“Even your mushmind must know better than to interrupt one of my classes—which you have now done twice.”

She shored up her spine, stiffened her jaw, and spoke.

“You know that trial?  The one you're going to judge?”

“Of course I know that trial, you exasperating creature!  I have scheduled it into my calendar.”

“Well, you do want all the Jurors there, don't you?”

“I want every creature there who is supposed to be there, of course.  Why aren't you out fetching them all in?”

“Because I can't find Jenny Elf.  Do you know where she is?”

“Of course I know where she is!”

“Then tell me, and I'll begone.”

“Ah, the temptation,” he murmured.  Then his eyes scowled into canniness.  “Demoness, it is not my chore to locate the folk on your list for you.  What will you do for me, in exchange for that information?”

Her aplomb dropped and bounced on the floor.  She hastily stooped to recover it, stretching her miniskirt tight in the process.  “Why, Prof, I didn't know you cared.  You mean all those centuries I flashed my full-fleshed short-skirted legs at you, and my translucent well-filled blouses, weren't wasted?  You actually noticed?”

“Of course I didn't!  Neither did I observe that you wore a different color of panty every day, including tasteless candy-stripe and polka-dot with no material in the dots, in contrast to the more conservative matching herringbone undergarments you have on now.  Why should I deign to notice the apparel of a student who never completed one single assignment!”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed.  “So since you don't want anything interesting of me, what's on your potent mind, Prof?”

His glare focused into a gaze of disturbing intensity.  “I have a son,” he announced.

She knew that, but had to maintain her pose.  “Well, then, you-must have looked under the skirt of some student demoness once.  Never again, eh.  Prof?”

“Cease your ludicrous efforts to bait me, Demoness.  You know my son.  Demon Prince Vore.  He consumes others.”

“Yes, I tried to seduce him once, but he ate me instead.

He's a real brute.  Maybe he mistook my candy-stripe undies for the real thing.  What's your point.  Prof?  It's not like you to be so mushy about business.”

She thought he would explode, but instead he deflated.

“Touché, Demoness.  You may indeed have the ability to accomplish my desire.”

“No, I can't harangue a formerly self-respecting class into a mound of quivering mush,” she said.

“I am speaking of your propensity for aggravation.  I have not encountered any creature to better you in that respect.”

“Why, thank you.  Prof!” she said, turning pastel pink.

“And to think I achieved it without completing one single assignment!”

“And supreme talent must be respected, whatever its nature.  I want you to exert yourself on behalf of my son.”

“I told you, when I tried—”

“He's young, foolish, and imperative.  But it's time he matured.  He is, after all, about twenty-three, in human terms.”

“Which is twenty-three hundred in demon terms, but who's counting?”

“Precisely.  I think the only thing that will settle him down is marriage.”

“Now, wait.  Prof!  I'm already married.”

“Yes, I remember.  I performed the ceremony.”

“And you knew I'd get half-souled and develop a conscience, love, loyalty, and all that,” she said accusingly.

“That I'd be hopelessly tied down by my new awareness of things right, proper, and decent.”

“To be sure.  And that is what I want for my son.”

Her eyes went so round, they bowed out of her face.  “Oh, Prof, you play dirty!  Your son will rue the day he ever became related to you.”

“Naturally.  And some century he may even squeeze some of the mush from his skull.  He actually does possess some qualities to be recommended.  He is honorable, handsome, intelligent, and has fair judgment about things.  He merely requires seasoning, to reduce his natural bloodthirstiness.

Find me a souled woman for him to marry, and convince him to marry her.  That is what I want from you, you impertinent tease.”

“All that—in exchange for telling me where Jenny Elf is?”

“To be sure.”

“I'd be crazy to make that deal!”

“Ask your worser self.”

'Make that deal, blockhead,' Mentia said.  'The Professor always has something devious in mind.  You have only to rise to the occasion.’ Metria sighed.  Her worser self had good judgment in crazy situations, and she would have to trust that.  “Agreed.  So where's Jenny Elf?”

“In the naga caves.”

“What's she doing there?”

“After she and Nada Naga were released from the Companions game, they found they liked each other.  Nada invited Jenny to stay with them, and she accepted.  She has been there ever since.  Her cat has been useful when the naga wish to locate things, such as plaid diamonds.”

“Now, why didn't I think of that myself?” Metria asked rhetorically.

“Because your skull is filled with mush.  Now I shall expect to see my son ready for marriage within a fortnight.”

“Great expectations,” she muttered as she popped off.

The naga caves were near the lair of Draco Dragon.  The naga maintained reasonably cordial relations with the dragon, having a common enemy in the local goblin horde.  Eventually Gwenny Goblin of Goblin Mountain would extend her authority to cover the cave goblins, but meanwhile they were their normal obnoxious selves.  Fortunately the naga mutual assistance treaty with the humans had shored up their resources, and the goblins had not been able to make headway against them.

She popped directly into the throne chamber.  King Nabob was there, looking glum.  He was in his natural form, that of a large serpent with a human head.  He could become a full serpent or full human in form if he chose to, but evidently saw no need to when his natural form was so much better.

“Hello, your majesty,” she said.  “I'm Demoness Metria, looking for Jenny Elf.  Why so gourd canine?”

He turned his crowned head toward her, seeming unsurprised by her appearance.  Probably his daughter had told him about the odd demoness.  “Hello, Metria.  What kind of emotion?”

“Sadness, grief, affliction, lamentation, suffering, mortification—“

“Melancholy?”

“Whatever,” she agreed crossly.

He elected to be roundabout, as was the prerogative of senior heavyset Kings.  “How is marriage treating you?”

“Actually, that's what brings me here, by a devious route that wouldn't interest you.”

“Well, it might.  You see, I'm entertaining the monsters under my daughter's bed while she's out, and they really appreciate a good story.”

“But your daughter's adult!  She shouldn't have monsters under her bed anymore.”

“True.  But Jenny Elf does, and I'm old enough to be in my second childhood, so Fingers now resides under my throne, and Knuckles joins him there at times.”

“Oh.  May I meet them?”

“Not if you're adult.”

Woe Betide appeared.  “Gee, I'd really like to meet them,” she said, a huge tear welling.

The King nodded.  “Certainly; I'll introduce you.  Woe, here are Fingers and Knuckles McPalm.  Monsters, this is Woe Betide, a childish demoness.”

Two hands flickered briefly from the shadow under the throne.  Bed monsters were very shy in daytime.

So Metria reverted and told him the story.  “And now I need to locate Jenny Elf, so I can serve her with her summons, and borrow her cat.  Nada too—she's on the jury list as well.”

“They are off hunting plaid diamonds at the moment, but should return soon.  Now I will tell you why I am so fruit dog, um, glum.  It is because my daughter the Princess is twenty-six years old and unmarried, and my competence is fading.  She must marry a Prince who can take over the reins and snows of power, yet she shows no sign of doing so.”

“What of your fine handsome son.  Prince Naldo?  Can't he take the snows?”

“He married beneath him.  Mind you, the merwoman is a fine figure of a woman, very fine, especially in salt water, but not fit to be Queen of the naga.  So Nada will have to take up the slack, and beguile a suitable Prince soon.  Otherwise our people will lose credence, and the goblins will gain confidence and encroach.  Unfortunately, Princes do not grow on trees, and she refuses even to consider any who happen to be younger than she is.  So she continues to get older, while the naga prospects wane.”

Metria began to get a glimmer of the devious notion the Demon Professor had.  He had known there was a highly eligible Princess here.  “How about a demon prince?” she asked.

“Demons are soulless creatures, capable of any mischief, and not to be trusted.”

“Suppose one got souled, or at least half-souled?”

“Why, then he would be eligible,” Nabob said, surprised.

“But demons seldom have souls, because they avoid them, knowing their consequence.  In fact, it may be fairly stated that the only likely way to burden a demon with a soul is by trickery.”

“Such as by marrying a mortal with a soul,” Metria agreed.  “And having one perform the ceremony in such a way that half the mortal's soul transfers.”

“Exactly.  How did you know?”

“I learned the hard way, when I married a mortal.  I thought it was temporary, but I changed my mind when I got souled.”

Nabob suddenly was extremely interested.  “You know of a suitable demon Prince?”

“Prince Vore, Professor Grossclout's son.  Grossclout wants him married within the fortnight.  He believes a few decades of marriage would settle the Prince down, and maybe squeeze a bit of mush from his skull.”

“This is fascinating news!  But I can think of two significant objections.”

“Vore and Nada,” Metria said.  “Neither will want to marry the other.”

“Precisely.  It is not feasible to apply coercive measures to royal scions.  It's bad precedent, and makes for negative family relations.  So I'm afraid this won't slither.”

“Yet there must be a way.  There's always a way to fulfill Grossclout's requirement, however devious.  That's how he teaches his classes.  It is merely necessary to squeeze the mush out and find it.”

“I wonder,” he said thoughtfully.  “It reminds me of something probably irrelevant—”

“That's also the way Grossclout's examples work.  I have seen it hundreds of times, in the course of ignoring his classes.  The very thing a mushmind passes over as irrelevant turns out to be the answer.”

“This is a story we tell our children about demon interference in human relations.  I believe it actually derives from Mundania, where the only magic exists in their imagination.

It's called the demons' beauty contest.”

“But demons can assume any form.  I am beautiful because I choose to be; my inner essence is as ugly as ever.

Any beauty contest among our kind would be meaningless.”

“True.  My daughter's human form is beautiful for similar reason.  So these demons had a different kind of contest.

The male demon chose a very handsome mortal Prince, and the female chose a lovely mortal Princess.  Or maybe it was the other way around.  The judgement was which of the two mortals was better looking.”

“But demons wouldn't agree,” she protested.  “He would insist that his mortal was best, and she would insist that hers was best.  Demons are extremely unreasonable, because their opinions are as malleable as their bodies.”

“Precisely.  So they needed a different way to judge the contest—a way that did not depend on the opinions of demons.”

“But what would that be?  They certainly wouldn't accept the opinions of mortals.”

“Yes they would.  Or they did in the story.  They brought the two fair mortals together naked and let them judge.”

“This is absolutely crazy!  Two mortals who didn't even know each other?  They'd both run in opposite directions.