Roc And A Hard Place (3 page)

“I am Humfrey's fifth and a half wife,” the woman explained.  “I am taking my turn with him this month.  I was his first love and last wife, because of a complicated story that wouldn't interest you.  My husband will see you now.

Wira will take you up to his study.”

Maybe a half wife was like a half soul:  enough to do the whole job.

“This way, please,” Wira said, showing the way.  She moved up a narrow winding stair without faltering; obviously she knew the premises well.

The study was a gloomy little chamber crowded with books and vials.  'This hasn't changed a bit in ninety years,’ Metria remarked.

“Of course it hasn't, Demoness,” Humfrey grumped from within.  “Neither have you, except for that split personality you recently developed.”

“Nice to meet you, too, again.  Magician,” Metria said.

“You don't look much more than a day older, either.” Of course, she knew he had elixir from the Fountain of Youth, which he imbibed to keep himself about a century old.

“Enough of this politeness.  Ask your Question.”

“How can I get the stork to take my summons seriously?”

“That will be apparent after you complete your Service. Go to the Simurgh.”

“Go where?”

“Your mind may be addled, Demoness, but not your hearing.  Begone.”

“Now, just a urine-picking instant.  Magician!  You can't just—”

“Please, don't argue with him,” Wira whispered.  “That only aggravates—”

“Pea,” Humfrey said.

“I certainly will not!” Metria declared.  “Demonesses don't have to, and even if I did, I wouldn't—”

“As in vegetable,” Wira said.  “Pea-picking.  Now, please—“

“But he hasn't Answered me!” Metria protested.  “And no one can fly to the Simurgh, not even a demoness.  I demand a proper Answer!”

“After the service,” Humfrey muttered, turning a page of his giant tome.

Mentia made a sudden internal lunge and took over the body.  “Yes, of course,” she said, and followed Wira out of the study.

“You're so much more sensible, Mentia, even if you don't have half a soul,” Wira remarked.

“I am more sensible because I don't have half a soul,” Mentia replied.  “My better half is befuddled by love and decency.  I am practical, especially in crazy situations like this.  We'll just have to walk to Mount Parnassus and see what the big bird wants.”

“But she isn't there,” MareAnn said, overhearing them as they reached the foot of the stairway.  “That's just her summer retreat, when the Tree of Seeds is fruiting.”

“But then we don't know where to find her.”

“Ah, but I can summon an equine who knows the way.”

“That's her talent,” Wira explained.  “She summons anything related to horses, except for unicorns.”

“Why not unicorns?” Mentia asked.

“She once could summon them too, but when she went to Hell and married Humfrey she lost her innocence.” Wira blushed, for it was indelicate to refer openly to matters shrouded by the Adult Conspiracy.  There might be a child in the vicinity.  “Now they ignore her.  It's very sad.”

Mentia had little sympathy.  “My better half never cared about innocence until she got half-souled.  She can't get near a unicorn either.  So summon a horse who knows the way.”

MareAnn led the way out of the castle and across the moat, which now looked quite ordinary.  She stood at the edge of an ordinary field that was where the sugar mountain had been.  Already a group of things were galloping across the plain.

Mentia stared.  There were four creatures, each with only one leg.  Two had narrow heads, and two had thin tails.  Their single hoofs thudded into the dirt in irregular order, clopclop, clop-clop, stirring up clouds of dust behind.  “What are those?”

“Quarter horses, of course,” MareAnn said.  Then, to the horses:  “Whoa!”

The four clopped to a halt before her.  Each quarter had a silver disk on the side, with ribbed edges.  On the front two disks, heads were inscribed; on the rear two, big birds with half-spread wings.

“Fall in,” MareAnn said.

The four creatures fell together, and suddenly were revealed as the four quarters of a regular horse, now complete.

Wira stepped up to pet him, and he nuzzled her hand until she produced a lump of sugar.  “Too bad you can't ride Eight Bits,” Wira remarked.

“That's his name?” Mentia asked.  She was a little crazy herself, but this was more than a little crazy.  “Why not?”

“Because he doesn't trust strange adults.  He just falls apart and scatters to the wind's four quarters.  But he does know the way, so you can follow him.”

“Maybe he should just tell us where to go, and we'll go there ourselves,” Mentia said.

“No, he can't speak,” MareAnn said.  “He can understand simple directions, but that's the limit.  Anything more puts a strain on him, and—”

“He falls apart,” Mentia finished, resigned to a tedious journey.

But Metria pushed to the surface.  “No, there's a better way.  How does Eight Bits feel about children?”

“Oh, he likes children,” MareAnn said.  “Especially if they are a quarter the size of adults.  But—”

Metria dissolved into smoke, then re-formed as the cutest, sweetest waif of a child anyone ever beheld.  Even Wira was surprised, realizing that something was different.  “I know Mentia and Metria, but who are you?”

“I am Woe Betide,” the waif said.  “I have a quarter soul—half of Metria's—and I love horses, and I will just be so pathetically sad if I can't ride this one that I'll dissolve in pitiful little misery.” She wiped away a huge glistening tear with one cute sleeve.

MareAnn exchanged half a glance with Wira, because it was one way:  The sightless young woman had no half to return.  “Maybe so,” she agreed.  She lifted the tyke to the four-quartered horse.

“Oh, goody-goody!” Woe Betide exclaimed, clapping her sweet little hands together.  “Let's go.”

But Wira wasn't sanguine about this.  “We shouldn't send a little child on such a wild ride alone,” she said.

“I'm not really a—” the tyke began, but then one of her selves stifled her before the horse could hear the rest.

MareAnn nodded.  “Perhaps we can find an adult companion for her.  I think there is a demoness who also knows the way, who still owes Humfrey part of a Service.”

“A demoness!” Woe Betide exclaimed.  “They aren't trustworthy!”

Again half a glance was exchanged.  “You are surely in a position to know,” MareAnn agreed.  “But when performing a Service, a person is bound to do it properly.  She Will not be released until you are safely there.”

The child's face made a cute grimace of resignation.  “Oh, all right.  Who is it?”

“Helen Back.”

“Helen Back!” the child cried.  “0 woe betide me!  She's the worst creature in demondom.  Do you know what she does?”

“Yes,” MareAnn agreed.  “But she will be bound not to do it for this mission.”

“I hope you're right,” the child said, looking truly woeful.

MareAnn snapped her fingers, and smoke formed.  It swirled before her.  “Am I released?” it inquired.

“After you accompany horse and rider safely to the Simurgh,” Wira said.

The smoke oriented on the pair.  “That's no horse—that's four quarters.  And that's no child—that's—”

“Woe Betide,” MareAnn and Wira said firmly together.

The smoke sighed mistily.  “So it's like that.  Okay, let's hit the trail.”

Woe Betide squeezed the horse's sides with her precious little legs.  “Go, Eight Bits,” she said.

And suddenly they were off, in a cloud of dust that left the two standing women coughing.

The quarter horse ran like the wind, but there was evidently a long way to go.  The Land of Xanth whizzed by in the manner land did, moving back magically fast nearby and slowly farther out, because distant regions felt less urgency about such things.  Woe Betide didn't know enough geography to tell what direction they were going, and was too young to really care.

“I wish I had a lollipop,” she said.

The cloud of smoke appeared, floating beside her and keeping the pace.  “What flavor?”

“Mustard gas.”

A hand formed, bearing a yellow pop that was giving off vile yellow fumes.  “Done.”

The child snatched it and sniffed its fumes.  She coughed and retched, and her darling little face turned blotchy purple.

“Perfect!” she wheezed.  “This stuff would smother an army.”

“So what did you ask the Good Magician?” the cloud inquired.  “Not that I care.”

“How to make a signal the stork will heed,” Woe Betide said as her voice crept back into her ravaged throat.

The horse's ears twitched.  Fracture lines appeared along his body, as if he were about to come unglued.

“Because when I grow up in an umpteen million years, I'll need to know!” Woe Betide exclaimed.  “Of course, right now I'm still a cute innocent little child, so am protected by the Adult Conspiracy, and wouldn't ever even dream of knowing anything like that.  So the Good Magician hasn't Answered me yet, but when the time comes, he will.”

Eight Bits relaxed, and the fracture lines faded.  All creatures of Xanth knew the importance of maintaining the Adult Conspiracy; no child could be allowed to learn the secret of summoning the stork so that it would bring a baby.  Or the Words of Evil Power that would scorch vegetation and burn maidenly ears red.  Or anything that was Too Interesting for a child's own good.  Of course, children didn't much like the Conspiracy, but such was the magic of its nature that the instant they grew up, they joined it.  Demons honored few rules of decent behavior, but they liked conspiracies.

The cloud of smoke that was Helen Back seemed to find the situation amusing.  “Are you sure you're a child?” she inquired.  “It seems to me that I almost remember you in some other form, much older—“

“And what did you ask Humfrey?” Woe Betide asked quickly.

“Where to find a summer salt,” Helen answered.  “I collect exotic salts, and I have winter, spring, and fall salt, but could never find summer salt.  I looked all over, from here to—” She paused.  “But of course, I can't use that word before an innocent little child.”

And Metria couldn't reveal her true status while riding the quarter horse, lest he sunder into fourths.  The demoness was teasing her as only such an infernal creature could, trying to trick her into betraying her age.  Fortunately she already knew about such travels:  The demoness had gone from here to Helen Back.  And she always brought what was most needed, at the least opportune time.  Or what was least needed, at exactly the right time.  Woe Betide had tried to mess that up, by asking for a  horrible flavor of lollipop, but it hadn't worked, and she had had to eat the awful thing.

“So after you finish with me, the Good Magician will tell you where to find that salt,” Woe Betide said.  “Then you can sit below the salt and be a creature for all seasons.”

“Something like that,” Helen agreed.  A face formed in the cloud.  “You certainly seem mature for an itty bitty innocent child.”

“It's all illusion.  I'm not what I seem.”

Helen couldn't argue with that.  They continued for a while in silence as the scenery went by.  Far mountains shifted grandly, showing first one side, then another.  Forests sprang up, grew tall, then quit.  For a while they followed a paved road.  Every time it came to an intersection with another road, it puffed itself up into double the size, trying to impress them.  But it didn't work, because the other roads did the same.  Sometimes the crossing roads contested for power, throwing out masses of curving lanes.  The object seemed to be to touch the other road where it couldn't touch back, but evidently the roads had been at this contest for a long time, because every lane connected.  Some intersections looked like diamonds, and some like cloverleaves, and some like masses of spaghetti.  Sometimes a road chickened out and tunneled under the other, or bridged over it, but often there were still confusingly outflung lanes trying to score.

Helen got bored with this, so resumed dialogue.  “What does the Good Magician have to do with the Simurgh?”

“Wish I knew.  Where exactly does she live?”

“I thought you'd never ask.  She lives in Oaf.”

Woe Betide was puzzled.  “In what?”

 “Oaf.  It's a mountain range that encircles the Earth.”

“A mountain of earth?”

“Not exactly.  It's made of a single emerald.  It's pretty.”

“I suppose so.  The Simurgh must like pretty things.”

“The Simurgh likes the whole of everything.  But since she already has everything she needs or wants, what could you do for her?”

“I wish I knew,” Woe Betide admitted.  “Maybe she's getting ready to replace the universe again.”

Now the cloud was startled.  “What—with all of us in it?”

“Well, maybe it gets dull for her, after a while.  Or dirty.

She might prefer a fresh new one.”

“But what would happen to all of us?”

“Maybe we'd all be squished into nothingness.  Does it matter?”

Helen considered.  “Probably not.  But the human folk might mind.” Then the cloud stretched.  “I'm going to take half a snooze.  Wake me if anything interesting appears.” The cloud settled into a featureless blob.

Woe Betide was left to her own thoughts.  This really was a pretty easy trip.  In fact, it hadn't been all that hard to get into the Good Magician's castle.  True, Humfrey had grumped at her, but he had always been grumpy.  Had it been too easy?

The more she pondered, the more the suspicion grew:

Humfrey had wanted her to get in to ask her Question.  Because he had something for her to do.  Maybe he owed the Simurgh a favor.  Maybe the Simurgh had asked for the services of a demoness.  So Metria was it.

She sighed.  So be it.  She would do what she had to do, so she could prevail on the stork to deliver a baby to her.  It was probably a fair deal.

The horse slewed to a halt.  There was a massive chain across the road, so that they could not pass.  Woe Betide was tempted to float over it, but feared the horse wouldn't understand.  So she dismounted and stepped forward to inspect the nearest links.

Each one was in a flat oblong shape, with printing on it.

In fact, each had a single letter of the alphabet.  Woe Betide walked along beside the chain, reading the letters.  They spelled out:  THIS IS A CHAIN LETTER.  IT HAS BEEN THREE TIMES AROUND THE WORLD.  BREAK THE CHAIN AND YOU WILL BE SORRY.  JOE SCHMOE BROKE THE CHAIN AND NEXT DAY HE CAME DOWN WITH CROTTLED CREEPS.  JANE DOE PRESERVED THE CHAIN, AND SHE WON GREAT WONDERFULS.  REMEMBER, YOU MUST PASS THIS CHAIN MAIL ON WITHIN 48 HOURS, OR ELSE.

Woe Betide considered.  Was this interesting enough to wake Helen for?  The demoness would be really annoyed if she missed something good.  This seemed good.  So she decided to let Helen sleep.

Still, she needed to get past this chain.  She didn't have anything against it, but it was in her way, and she had a mission to attend to.

Could she go around it?  She looked to either side, but the chain extended as far as she could see.  That was because it went around the world three times.  Could she climb over it?

Maybe so, but Eight Bits couldn't; Could she squeeze under it?  Again, she might, but the quarter horse would probably fragment with the effort.

She shrugged.  She doubted that a chain belonged across the road anyway, whatever it might claim.  She also doubted that this was one of the Good Magician's challenges.  It was probably just routine mischief.  So she would break it.  She formed her little hands into big firm pincers and clamped them on half a link.  She concentrated her demon strength.

The key was to use the magic of narrowness:  a really thin edge could cut through the most solid substance, if pushed hard enough.

The letters on the links changed.  Now they said ooooowww!!  But she continued her pressure, until she crunched through her link.

Then she went after the other half link.  It tried to wiggle away, but she cuffed it hard enough to stun it.  Cuff links.

She remembered that advice from somewhere.  She set her pincers and started crunching.

YOU'LL BE SORRY!  the letters spelled.  WHO BREAKS THE

CHAIN IS DOOMED.  AAAAAAHH!!

The half link snapped, and the chain fell apart.  The way was clear.

“What's this?”

Woe Betide jumped.  There was the cloud, with a horrendous head of hair on it.  “Nothing interesting,” she said.

“What are you wearing?”

“My Hell Toupee, of course.  I picked it up on one of my trips to—never mind.  I saw what you did:  you broke the chain.  You had better put on protective headgear too, before that chain gets organized to dump a century's worth of bad luck on you.”

“What kind of toupee?” the child inquired, interested.

The cloud did a hasty reconsideration.  “A Heck Toupee. That's what I said, I'm sure.”

“Let's just get out of here,” Woe Betide said, knowing she had put Helen on the defensive.  As long as she remained in this child form, the other demoness was at a disadvantage.

That was wonderful!

She mounted Eight Bits and zoom!  they were off again.

She glanced back and saw the chain writhing angrily, but it couldn't catch up with them.  She had broken the chain and gotten away with it.  That gave her demonly satisfaction.

They passed a big fisin' plant by a river, surrounded by electrici trees.  The plant was busy hauling old-dim and nuclear fish from the river and using them to fertilize the trees.

Some of the trees extended out across her route, so she slowed.  They hummed with power, and that made her a bit nervous; what were they up to?

She saw a huge fat boxlike creature trundling along beneath the trees.  She sought to guide her mount past it, but it blocked her way.  “Child, you are too small to be riding a big horse like that,” it said from its monstrous peg-toothed mouth.  “You should go home.”

“Why don't you go home?” Woe Betide asked boldly, because there was something about this creature she didn't much like.

“Because I never follow my own advice.  I'm a hippocrate.  I tell others how to run their lives, but none of that applies to my own life.”

That confirmed her dislike.  She wanted to get away from the creature, but it still balked her.  Then she saw a smaller animal hopping along.  It had long legs and was extremely furry.  She recognized it as a hare.  They were very popular with bald folk.  So she extended one arm infinitely long and grabbed it.  She plopped it on her head, so that it made her aspect entirely different.  In fact, it made her look like a hairy little troll.

The hippocrate had been looking around.  Now it looked back at her, and did a double take.  “What happened to the innocent little girl I was lecturing?” it asked.

“How would I know?  I'm not innocent.”

Disgruntled, the hippo waddled off, looking for the child, because it was much easier to tell children what to do than trolls.  She was free to ride on.

After a further interminable ride and float, they came to a huge green mountain.  It rose from the plain in a series of faceted cliffs, each one glinting brightly.

“Well, this is it,” Helen said.  “Oaf.  Climb to the top and there will be the Simurgh.  I've done my bit, and will begone.” The cloud vanished in a dirty noise.

Woe Betide dismounted.  She went to inspect the surface more closely.  It did indeed seem to be pure emerald.  The mountain was one big jewel.

The sun came out from behind a cloud.  Suddenly all the facets reflected dazzling beams.  One struck Eight Bits.  The horse, startled, fragmented into quarters, and the quarters galloped off in at least four directions.

Woe Betide sighed.  She was on her own.

She pondered, and concluded that since she no longer had the quarter horse, she could resume her adult form.  She puffed into smoke, and re-formed as Metria.

She could simply pop up to the top of the mountain, but she suspected that the Simurgh would not appreciate that.

The same went for flying up there.  In Xanth, the Simurgh forbade all flying in her vicinity, and it was probably the same here.  So the ascent would have to be done the tedious way.

Metria formed her hands and feet into big sucker disks.

Then she applied these to the flat surface of the nearest facet and began to climb.  The suckers popped as she pulled them free, and squished as she placed them higher.  It was another type of magic:  Suckers clung to polished flat surfaces.  At this rate a few hours would get her to the top.  Then she would find out what all this was about.

She heard a rumble.  She extended her neck, making it swanlike, and rotated her head to look backwards.

There was a floating shape, and it didn't belong to Helen Back.  It was Fracto Cumulo Nimbus, the worst of clouds.

She knew this was significant mischief.  Fracto was a demon himself, who had specialized in meteorology, and had a sure nose for trouble.  If someone had a nice picnic, Fracto came to wet on it.  if someone had an important mission requiring him to travel rapidly, Fracto came to turn the forest trails to slush ruts.  If someone camped out on a warm night, Fracto came to bury the landscape in colored snow.  And if someone happened to be climbing a sheer emerald cliff, Fracto came to make the surface slippery and blow that person away.

Of course, there were ways of dealing with the evil cloud, and Metria understood them well.  She could become a cloud herself, and float impervious to the weather.  She could even generate some lightning bolts of her own to shoot back at him.  But she wasn't sure that wouldn't count as flying, which would annoy the Simurgh.  Fracto, of course, didn't care whom he annoyed—or rather, did care, so as to be as annoying as possible.  But he wasn't here to ask any favors of the big bird.  So that was out.  Once she had turned herself into a stink horn, which had exploded in Fracto's midst, rendering him even more insufferably stinky than usual.  But again, that would require her getting into the air, and it didn't seem to be worth the risk.