The Deavys (20 page)

“OH YUCK!” Though all three Deavy sisters exclaimed it in harmony, it did nothing to take the edge off the method all three were going to have to employ.

Standing back and looking on, Simwan almost felt sorry for them. He was able to temper his concern by remembering every nasty trick, every practical joke, they had ever played on him. Together with Pithfwid, he stood under a tree and watched as the girls removed their shoes and socks, rolled the legs of their jeans up to their knees, and waded out into the chilly, murky, shallow pond. One at a time, they would scoop up a frog, bring it up to their grimacing faces, and kiss it. Glow after towering glow repeatedly illuminated the mist and drizzle as enchanted amphibian after enchanted amphibian was provisionally restored to temporary humanness.

It was a tiring, boring, exasperating task: one in which Simwan was glad he did not have to participate. Frustration mounted in tandem with the increasing number of transformed frogs. Through the magic of their kisses the busy, and increasingly numb-lipped, Deavy coubet brought forth from the depths of the pond enchanted policemen, firemen, a dry cleaner, a couple of street musicians, a Coptic priest, several thoroughly bewildered members of Genghis Khan's Golden Horde, a Polish tailor from Krakow, assorted sailors who had been lost overboard from their respective vessels, marooned, or who had overdosed on assorted alcoholic stimulants, and the entire basketball team of the town of Bantaral, Paraguay, who had been lost in a plane crash in the lowland jungles of the Amazon.

An attack of unrepentant nausea finally forced Amber to the sidelines, where Simwan did his best to comfort her while her two sisters osculated valiantly on. Rose was beginning to stagger herself when the thirtieth (or maybe it was the fortieth) entity she had brought back to humanness regarded her with a mixture of uncertainty and sternness and declared loudly, “Who disturbs King Thadd, and with a maidenly kiss summons him to resume this shape?”

Not sports shorts or fireman's coat, but rather regal robes draped the handsome, impressive figure. The crown that adorned his high-browed forehead was more of a crownlet: short on jewels and workmanship, but lustrous with gold beads and hammered plate. His eyes were dark and penetrating, his nose majestic, and his neatly trimmed beard ever so slightly flecked with gray. As the self-proclaimed king proceeded to lick the memory of Rose's kiss from his lips, a newly alert Simwan thought the revealed royal tongue a bit long. “I summon you,” a greatly relieved (because she would not have to kiss any more frogs) Rose informed him. Gesturing with one arm, she added, “I, Rose Deavy, and my sisters, Amber and N/Ice, and our lazy good-for-nothing-except-making-jokes-about brother, Simwan, and our most estimable cat, Pithfwid.”

The King of the Pond looked around. Already, policemen and musicians, sailors and basketball players, were periodically reverting to their previous batrachian bodies.

“No ordinary kisses can suspend such strong enchantments.”

“We have to travel to the north end of the park, and to find what we seek there we have to travel
through
the park. Certain parts of its reality that are closed to Ords are open to us, and vice versa.” Turning to his right, Simwan indicated the wall of turtles that cut through the middle of the pond. “This barrier of Testudines is one of the versas. We
have
to get through. To do that we were told to put the request to you, as King of the Pond, to grant us passage.”

“And rightly so,” the monarch of the muck agreed. “The question remains: Why should I?” He inspected Simwan up and down. “I do not know you. I do not know, or care, about your purpose in crossing the park. It has nothing to do with me, or with my realm.” Extending and raising both arms, he gestured expansively. “The Pond is a dominion unto itself, clear and clean and devoid of the illnesses that infect both the ordinary and non-ordinary worlds. We enchanted who dwell within it delight in having as little as possible to do with either.”

This wasn't going as Simwan had hoped. “Please, Your Majesty. You don't understand. If we can't continue our journey, then we won't be able to fulfill our quest. If we fail in that, terrible things are going to happen in the town where we come from, and maybe beyond. Our mother …” He had a sudden burst of insight. Or maybe it was just one of those occasional sharp, unexpected pains that sometimes stabbed him behind his left eye. He'd know in a moment.

“A stream runs behind our house, on our property, and there are ponds there, too. Every year both are full of frogs, and if we can't go on with our journey, that stream is going to be diverted and those ponds are going to dry up, and
all those frogs are going to lose their homes
.” He paused to let that sink in and then added for good measure, “
Thousands
of them.”

The king looked appropriately stunned. “That sounds like a truly catastrophic event. But,” and he brought his face closer to Simwan's, “how many of those frogs are enchanted folk? For that matter, how do I know that any of them are enchanted?”

Stuck for an answer, Simwan tried to stall by looking thoughtful. This resulted in him adopting the expression that tended to make Ords frown at him and pretty girls giggle and point. It was not what he intended.

It was Rose who came to the rescue. Like the rest of the coubet, she was not intimidated by much of anything. Certainly not by a mere king.

“As far as my sisters and I are concerned,
all
frogs are enchanted!”

Straightening, the sovereign of slime eyed her sternly—and then broke out in a wide grin. An exceptionally wide grin that, given its source, was to be expected.

“A wise response. Not necessarily a knowledgeable one, but wise. In truth, all frogs are enchanted. I suppose I should not be surprised by your reply, since you and your sisters are also enchanting.”

Almost old enough to blush at such a compliment, Rose did the next best thing by turning away so he could not see her face.

“Very well.” Splashing quietly and carefully through the pond, the king faced the slowly shifting wall of turtles and tortoises. “I'll cede you the path you seek. But it will cost you.”

One hand dropping reflexively to his side, Simwan felt of his wallet. The pocket demon within stirred slightly, then went back to sleep. Would an enchanted king see the ruse inherent in enchanted currency? “We're just four kids visiting the city. We don't have a lot of money.”

“Money?” The now outwardly affable king smiled through his beard. “What would I do with money? If it was wealth that I wanted, I would have found a way to stay human.” His attention shifted back to the coubet. “What I would like is another kiss. From each of you, if you please.”

The girls exchanged a glance. “Okay,” agreed Amber readily as she stepped forward. One by one, she and her sisters planted firm but chaste kisses on the king's face, choosing their angle of delivery and site of contact as carefully as any bomber pilot targeting an objective.

N/Ice was last. She didn't even wipe her lips when she stepped back. “That wasn't so bad,” she murmured. “I thought it might be slimy.”

“Or beardy,” added a reflective, and slightly conflicted, Rose.

A look of fond remembrance washed over the king's countenance like watercolor on a white board. In addition, there appeared a dampness at the corner of one eye that was no lingering manifestation of his present condition but rather a sincere reflection of something long lost and almost forgotten.

“So much time passed,” he murmured, more to himself than to his audience. “Innocence and beauty. Friendliness and warmth.” Hauling himself back to the present, he looked down at the coubet and smiled. “I get a lot of tongue, but nary a true kiss. Thank you for reminding me of what it is like, and of the deeper meanings that it holds.”

Simwan could not keep from asking the question that had been bothering him ever since Rose had applied her initial, restoring kiss. “Why go back to what you were? Isn't there some way for you to remain a king, or at least stay human?”

The tall, dignified figure peered down at him. “Do you think enchantments are so easily broken? Nothing against the effectiveness of your siblings' young lips, lad, but to permanently break such a powerful spell would require the attention of one who is older, more deeply attuned to the individual who is I, and of royal blood herself.” He sighed heavily. “Perhaps one day she will come. If not, well, I am still a king. Small, green, and uncloaked, perhaps, but a king nonetheless.” Turning to face the living barrier, he started to raise his hands.

“Wait.” Simwan had one more question. “If in your enchantment you take the form of a frog, how is it that you can command turtles?”

The king looked back him without lowering his arms. “We water-folk have all manner and variety of arrangements. That is what happens when you have much in common with another kind besides simply sharing the same living space.”

Reaching into his regal coat, he withdrew something small and stringed. Simwan could not see it clearly, but he could hear the sharp, precise notes that reverberated through the afternoon air as the king ran a couple of fingers across the concealed instrument.

That was all it took; a few plucks on a magic twanger, and the wall of turtles began to fall. Well, not fall, Simwan corrected himself. A portion of the barrier simply dispersed in two different directions, slowly and with considerable deliberation. The large turtles that formed the foundation lumbered ponderously to one side or the other while their smaller relations slid or tumbled clear.

“There you go.” Slipping his mysterious, unseen little instrument back inside his coat, the king stepped off to one side and extended an inviting arm northward. “Hop to it.”

As soon as all of them had passed through and were making their way to the other side of the extended pond, they turned to wave farewell to the king. Standing in the gap, flanked on either side by turtles stacked ten feet high like so many four-legged building blocks, the very solitude of his temporarily restored humanness adding to his nobility, King Thadd waved back. Behind him, soldiers and bakers, ballplayers and musicians, all the enchanted who had been provisionally brought back to their human selves by the coubet's energetic kisses, were shrinking. Within a few moments, the watery surrounds were once again dominated by a counterpoint of chirruping and croaking.

“That wasn't easy.” Stepping out of the shallow water on the far side of the pond, Amber bent to roll down first one pants leg, then the other. “Kissing them all.”

“Could've been worse,” N/Ice pointed out. “I don't see any sign of warts.”

“He was a nice king.” Rose, who after all had been compelled to deliver herself of not one but two kisses to the man in question, wore an expression Simwan had never seen on his sister before. “I wonder if he'll still be here and still be enchanted when I grow up.”

“Forget it, girl,” Amber chided her sternly. “It wouldn't make any difference. For one thing, you've got no royal blood in you.”

“Hey,” Rose shot back as she turned on her sister, “it's not like I'd want to
marry
the guy, or anything.” Her vociferous demurral notwithstanding, vestiges of that unprecedented expression hinted at returning. “But I bet he'd be an interesting date.”

“You know,” N/Ice put in, “we never even thought to ask him what he'd been king of. Before the Pond, I mean.” Alarmingly, she showed signs of embracing the same expression that had come over Rose. “I think you're right, sis. In a few years, it might be really interesting to come back here and talk to him again. And maybe try a different kind of kiss.”

“Well,” murmured Amber, “there's only one way to decide for sure.”

Her sisters eyed her uncertainly. “How's that?” wondered Rose.

Amber's expression cracked, though to her credit she never quite lost control. “We'd have to take a Thadd poll.”

Simwan shook his head despairingly as he watched Rose and N/Ice chase their sister across the slight grassy rise ahead of them. Thankfully, the rain had let up again, though it was still cloudy and damp. Behind him, the turtle barrier had vanished, lost in the mist and the rising up in its wake of the ordinary part of the park.

“Sisters,” he muttered. “When they're not fighting with me, they're fighting with one another.” He looked down at the cat pacing him. At the moment, Pithfwid had chosen to appear golden brown with patches of white. “Do you think they can stop being little girls long enough to deal with something as grim as the Crub?”

“Separately, your chattering siblings are children on the cusp of adulthood. Together, they are a coubet. Those are two very different things,” the cat reminded him. “Children would have no chance against such as the Crub. A coubet—now that's something else entirely.” He glanced backward. “A good thing indeed that we are once again on our way. That confrontation was no less difficult for me than it was for your sisters.”

Simwan looked uncertain. “Why was it difficult for you? You didn't have to kiss any frogs.”

“No, but I did have to struggle to mind my manners. I happen to be very fond of frog legs, and I suspect that had I made a meal of one of the king's subjects, he would have been much less inclined to grant us safe passage.”

Simwan nodded understandingly. He could not quite sympathize with the cat, however, because he had never eaten frog legs. That was one more unforeseen consequence of their recent encounter.

Now, he never could.

XVIII

The appearance of more Ords than they had encountered since they had first entered the park was, in its perfectly ordinary, unspectacular way, comforting and reassuring. Though the mist and light rain continued, the vast flat expanse of the Great Lawn allowed the advancing Deavys to see a fair distance in any direction for the first time since they had left the vicinity of the zoo. Ignoring inviting side paths and suggestive signs, the Deavys struck out straight across the lawn. Heading north and very slightly west, they deviated from their chosen course only once, so that everyone could take a long draught from a public drinking fountain. Possibly the signs of normality all around caused them to relax more than they should have. Or maybe the fog that suddenly dropped over them like a blanket of wet soot was enough by itself to shut out the non-ordinary part of the park. Whether the fog was responsible, or whether they had entered into another, subtler variation of the landscape, it was impossible to tell. One consequence soon became obvious, however. Regardless of the cause, exercising Ords and their attendant pets, spooning couples, and puffing joggers were soon once more lost to sight, swallowed up by the returning mist.

After a short but brisk walk they found themselves on the paved walkway that bordered the vast expanse of the Reservoir. Looking like a cloaked, seated statue, an old woman was feeding stale popcorn to sodden pigeons. Otherwise the area fronting the water, like most of the park on this cold, damp October day, was devoid of visitors.

The decision to take a short break to rest and catch their breath was a unanimous one. There were benches of concrete and wood and metal to sit on, and the fog had lifted sufficiently for them to see partway across the perfectly flat body of water that was by far the largest such expanse in the park. Shining through the misty overcast like a sheet of unrolled steel, it spread out before them. The Reservoir occupied about a sixth of the park's total area while even the Ord version extended nearly from one side to the other, east to west.

Choosing one bench, N/Ice glanced to her right to make sure none of the Ords were looking in their direction. She need not have concerned herself. The few joggers were steadily passing in and out of sight; the old lady was intent on her voracious avian friends. Cupping both hands together in front of her mouth, N/Ice inclined her head toward her palms and uttered a short, sharp, simple spell. A flush of radiance appeared in the bowl formed by her hands, the light shining pale red through the narrow gaps between her fingers. As she pulled her palms apart, she puckered her lips and blew gently. Impelled forward and down by her breath, the ball of pale yellow light she had called forth struck the concrete bench and sank into it like butter melting into a hot baked potato. The luminance dissipated rapidly, taking with it all the moisture that had accumulated on the bench's back and seat.

The girls promptly sat down on the freshly dried bench. Since the coubet backsides took up its entire length, Simwan was left standing. He didn't mind. As a big brother of all sisters, being left out was just something he had gotten used to. Pithfwid had no such problem. With three warm, comfortable, girlish laps to choose from, he selected one and jumped possessively up into Amber's.

After calling up a few thousand ants to clean the dirt off their clothes, the girls—and Simwan—felt refreshed as they walked up to the edge of the concrete barrier that held back the deceptively tranquil body of fresh water known as the Reservoir. Simwan stood quietly studying the gray expanse. It was too deep to wade, as they had done at Turtle Pond, and it extended nearly from one side of the park to the other. Somehow, they had to get across.

Movement drew his attention away from the beckoning water. The freshly cleansed coubet had come up alongside him. For all their noisy bravado, the girls were once again waiting for him to make a decision.

“We have to get across,” he told them, reiterating what they already knew, “but the prospect scares me. Remember what the nice old guy with the snack cart told us.”

Rose repeated it aloud. “‘Beware the Reservoir.'”

Her brother nodded somberly. “If his warnings are as well made as his drinks, I don't think we should take the chance.”

Amber spoke while surveying the empty expanse. “Then what do we do?”

Turning, N/Ice gestured at the walkway that traced the Reservoir's southern boundary. “There's more park to the west of the Reservoir than there is to the east. One thing I remember from the map is that the park's main bridle path runs south to north on that side.” Her tone was hopeful. “We could follow it. It could be the Path of Singular Significance that the senior lady langur told us to take.”

Simwan was unsure. “I dunno. She also told us that to get to the Crub's lair we should follow on
straight
through the park. That's pretty much what we've been doing.” He gestured westward, into the fog and drizzle. “If we turn off to the left now, we won't be going straight anymore.”

Rose was deep in thought as she kicked idly at the pavement with one foot. Finally, she looked up and declared, “Well, straight on or not, I'm still pretty dry in spite of the rain, and I'm sure not going for a
swim.
”

“Me neither.” N/Ice sounded just as defiant as her sister.

Despite the misgivings he felt over the looming and seemingly unavoidable change of direction, Simwan was not ashamed to be outvoted. Their parents had raised them to live side by side not just as brother and sisters, but also as a small democracy. In the event of a tie, Pithfwid was available to break any deadlock. Simwan eyed his remaining sibling.

“Amber?”

“I think we should take to heart what the man with the snack cart told us: to beware the Reservoir.” Even in the mist-diffused light of late afternoon, her unblinking eyes shone like discs of polished slate speckled with gold dust.

Simwan chose not to argue. For one thing, he couldn't think of a better course of action. Nor did he particularly fancy stripping off
his
clothes and going for what promised to be a cold, cold swim, either.

But as they started westward along the gently curving pavement, he could not get the monkey's admonition out of his mind. For the first time since they had left the zoo, they were no longer proceeding northward, were no longer heading straight toward their goal.

He just had to hope that in spite of that, they would still get where they were going.