Two To The Fifth (28 page)

“Maybe it will be all right,” Orienta said, a tear squeezing from the corner of one eye.

Cyrus wanted to get away from there, but did not want to be obvious about it. “You are too young to entertain guests my age.”

“But not for our age,” Piper said. “Why don't Dusty and Don and me stay with you while the troupe is in town? I know Dusty would like that.”

Dusty blushed.

“That would be nice,” Orienta said.

Piper knew that Don could hear and understand everything, and relay it to Cyrus. So if they learned another important clue, he would know.

Cyrus stood, “Then I will return to the troupe,” he said. “I will be in touch.”

“You will need to designate a place for the troupe to camp,” Piper told Orienta, “About twenty people, including a dragon.”

“A dragon!”

“She won't eat anyone, I promise.”

“She's another actress,” Dusty explained.

Cyrus departed. Things were working out reasonably well.

We learned more about the Roc, Rhythm thought. Surprisingly fair minded.

“But nevertheless a tyrant,” Cyrus murmured as he walked.

Sure, we have to stop him. But now we know him better.

“He doesn't brook any violation of his rules,” Cyrus said. “The way he deleted his own Minions—that's instructive and scary.”

It sure is. Also the way he can delete and undelete. That bird's a potent Sorcerer.

Cyrus reached the troupe and assembled it for an update. He described what he had learned about the conversion of the village. “So we must be exceedingly careful what we say and how we act,” he concluded. “We don't want the give the Roc any reason to come here and delete us.”

“We understand.” Curtis said.

“We do,” Crabapple said, taking his hand. That was interesting, because of course her hand was a pincer, the man would have snatched his hand away if he didn't trust her.

In due course the troupe entered the village and camped at the designated spot. The people set about pitching their tents and making their evening meal. Several villagers came to watch. They were clearly impressed by the way Jim made food for each person. But especially by the Dragon Lady, who settled down for a snooze without eating anyone.

That night Cyrus tuned in on Don. Piper was teasing Dusty about how he liked Orienta, and Orienta was pleasantly embarrassed, “He may want to remain here, when the troupe moves on,” Don said.

“Well, maybe he can,” Cyrus agreed, “He's not a member of the cast, and even if he were, we'd let him go if he wanted.”

“But he's Piper's friend,” Rhythm said.

“But not her boyfriend.”

She nodded. “It will be their decision. Orienta's a nice girl.”

“That's the weird thing about these captive villages.” he said. “They have nice people. We couldn't just destroy them to get rid of the roc.”

“We couldn't,” she agreed. Then she invoked the Decade spell, and their dialogue ended.

The first play was a big success. The villagers, uncomfortable about becoming isolated, related well to both the curse and Crabapple's dilemma.

After the play, Orienta brought her parents up to meet Cyrus. Gloha Goblin-Harpy was a petite winged woman of thirty-four, and Graeboe was a winged man, with no trace of his former identity as a giant. It certainly seemed that they had been happy here until the Roc came.

The second play was also well received, perhaps because the villagers related to the plight of the Dragon Lady, able to love a man only in the dream. The villagers' dream was freedom.

Piper, Dusty, and Don continued to visit with Orienta, between presentations. The four seemed to be getting along splendidly well. “Orienta has company her own age,” Rhythm said wisely. “She must really have missed that.”

As the audience assembled in the big tent where “The Riddle” was to be presented, there was a distant rumble of thunder “Bleep,” the Witch muttered. “That's Fracto, I know his voice. He's found out that folk are having fun.”

“And it's not just parades he wets on,” Demoness Kay said. She was getting her considerable makeup applied, to mask her zombie component.

“Maybe we can finish it before he gets here,” Xina said hopefully.

The others just looked at her. But what else was there to do, except to hope for the best?

The third play seemed to relate less well, but the villagers plainly were enjoying it. Cyrus watched faces as the Good Magician and his five and a half wives traveled and finally found the Demon Xanth, who was in the form of a donkey-headed dragon. The costume crew had done a great job making the Dragon Lady up with a donkey head.

“Nimby!” the Good Magician said. But the dragon ignored him.

“Demon Xanth,” Humfrey said.

The Demon still paid him no attention.

“Let me try,” Dara Demoness said. She put on a hula-hula dance that made the male eyeballs in the audience sweat. But still the Demon did not react.

“Poophead!” the Gorgon shouted. That brought the usual laughter from the audience. Naturally that would never happen in real life. But this was a halfway humorous play.

Now at last the donkey head glanced at them. “Um?”

“All Xanth is going haywire,” Humfrey said. “We conclude that the magic has diminished to half strength because you are seriously distracted. What is your problem?”

“I am distracted,” the Demon said. “By a riddle. I can't figure it out.”

“Ha!” Dara Demoness said. “Humfrey's good at riddles.”

“Not necessarily,” Humfrey grumped.

“He's the Magician of Information,” the Maiden Taiwan agreed.

“That has its limits,” Humfrey said, obviously ill at ease.

“He knows everything,” MareAnn said.

“Untrue. I don't know how to handle five and a half bossy wives.”

“You're sweet,” Rose said, kissing his eyebrow, which was as low as she could reach in her elaborate costume dress.

“Nobody knows how to handle one wife, let alone six,” the Demon said.

“Five and a half.” MareAnn said. “I'm the half.”

“You look whole to me.”

“Half a wife. It was a small ceremony. I'm a whole woman.” She lifted her skirt enough to show the barest glimmer of the hint of a panty. That was the most the actress, Piper, could afford to flash onstage. The audience, unaware of her age, loved it.

The donkey head managed to look slightly confused. “I still haven't figured out Chlorine.”

The Demon's wife Chlorine came onstage. “I heard that!” she snapped. She was portrayed by the Lady Bug, whose folded wing covers made a perfect robe. She was beautiful, as her role was supposed to be. “What are you doing with all these women?”

“They are my wives,” the Good Magician said, “The magical glitch in Xanth caused them all to appear at once. It is driving me to distraction.”

“You poor man,” Chlorine said, sympathetically. “Let me fetch you a glass of water to calm you down.”

“No thanks!” he said quickly. That brought a laugh: everyone knew that Chlorine's talent was poisoning water. “I'm merely here to see what I can do to fix the magical disruption.”

The Demon focused an eyeball on the Good Magician. “Then perhaps you can help me.”

“He will certainly try,” Sofia Socksorter said. “He can sort out just about anything except socks.” That brought another laugh.

“What is your riddle?” Humfrey asked. If there was an incongruity about the Magician of Information having to ask a question, it passed unnoticed.

“My son Nimbus brought it to me. It perplexed him, and now it perplexes me.”

“Is it about whose hair a barber cuts?” the Gorgon asked. “You know, he cuts everyone's hair who doesn't cut his own hair, so does he cut his own hair?”

“Woman, get your snaky locks away from here before I cut off their heads!” Humfrey snapped.

“Well, it could be that riddle,” the Gorgon said as her snakelets hissed.

“It's nonsense,” Humfrey said. “It belongs to a class of riddles that are paradoxical because they are self-referential. None of them are worth bothering with.” He returned to the Demon. “You can see why I am desperate to get things returned to the natural order.”

“That is no riddle,” Nimby agreed with half a smile. The actor, the Dragon Lady, had practiced assiduously to craft that degree of a smile on the donkey face.

“So what is your riddle?” Humfrey asked again, with a circular glare to silence all his wives and also Chlorine.

“The babysitter is tutoring our son Nimbus, and posed it as a riddle for him to stretch his mind with. He did not want to admit he couldn't solve it, so he brought it to me. Now I don't want to admit I can't solve it, and it is distracting me most annoyingly.”

“I'll say,” Dara agreed. “The only thing a man is supposed to be properly distracted by is a panty,” She hoisted her skirt to flash the male half of the audience. She had extremely well-filled panties, and would have been a seductive terror and a danger to herself and all men in the vicinity, had she not been portrayed by a zombie. As it was, half the men in the audience freaked anyway, not knowing she was a zombie demoness, until she dropped her skirt. They really liked this play. The women were for some reason mildly annoyed, but did like the notion of the wives running the Good Magician's life.

“Ignore Wife Number One,” Humfrey said tiredly. “She's got a demon hotbox.” That of course brought another laugh, for the naughty reference.

“Ignored,” Nimby said, shaking the glaze off an eyeball, “The riddle is this: why don't two chips of reverse wood nullify each other? Nimbus tried putting them together, and they didn't. Yet reverse wood reverses anything.”

“I have three answers for you,” Humfrey said, dramatically relieved that it was a simple question that would not require research in the Book of Answers. “You may select what pleases you.”

There was a deafening crack of thunder, followed by instantly heavy rain. Fracto had arrived.

They tried to continue, but the wind and thunder drowned out their lines, and the water collected in the pockets of the tent, weighing it down. The malign cloud wanted nothing less than to bring down the tent on their heads. They had to evacuate in a hurry, the play unfinished.

Fortunately they were able to extend their tour and finish it the following night. Then it was time to move on.

Cyrus talked with Orienta. “You aren't going to urge us to swear fealty to the Roc?”

The girl was appalled. “Why would you ever want to do that?”

“Andromeda, at Adver City, tried to persuade us.”

“That's hard to believe. She hates the Roc.”

“She wants to protect her village.” He did not mention how the woman had whispered other words, which confirmed the girl's statement.

Orienta nodded, “That's true. She does what she has to, as do we. But that didn't work, so I know there's no point. But I will say this: those who join voluntarily are treated well, and a number have high places in the Roc's forming Empire. You could do well for yourselves if you joined him.”

“But you aren't urging us?”

“I hope you don't. But I was obliged to tell you.”

“Thank you for your candor,” he said. “But we will be moving on.”

“Please don't tell that I didn't try to convert you. The Roc would be furious.”

“I will pretend that you tried very hard,” Cyrus said. “But that I was immovable.”

“Thank you. In public of course I have to make the case. But we're alone now.”

“Ah.” That explained her seeming change in attitude. She resembled Andromeda in this respect, doing what she had to, but not liking it.

“Can Dusty stay?”

“That's his choice.”

“Thank you.” Impulsively she kissed him on the cheek.

“You are welcome,” he said, moved.

The third city was Pompos. After the first two, Cyrus knew better than to expect anything similar. They could encounter something entirely different.

That turned out to be the case. At first the village looked normal, though its buildings were fancier than those of the others, as if the occupants were higher class. The people were also better dressed, as they went about their assorted businesses. As before, they ignored the visitors.

But that wasn't the remarkable thing. There was something distinctly different about this normal scene, Cyrus was appalled when he caught on.

“These folk are all deleted!” he said.

Curtis stared. “You're right!” He passed his hand through the wall of a house. “It's all illusion.”

“So it is,” Crabapple agreed, touching the trunk of a tree, and passing her shrouded hand right through it. “Even the trees!”

“Something must have truly annoyed the bird,” Cyrus said, awed.

They proceeded to the village center. “Hello,” Cyrus called. “Is anybody home?”

The door opened and an ordinary looking girl emerged. She held up a sign printed on a papered tablet: I am Layea, my talent is to make any man do my bidding, to a degree.

WELCOME TO POMPOS CITY.

Cyrus took stock. “You are illusion?” he asked.

She nodded.

“And you can see and hear me?”

She nodded again.

“I am Cyrus Cyborg, and this is Curtis Curse Friend. We represent a traveling troupe that puts on plays for village audiences. We were going to ask to make our presentations here, but if no one here is real any more, there may be no point.”

Layea hastily printed on the next sheet on her tablet, NO, WE ARE INTERESTED.

“But if—” He broke off, as she was already printing.

WE ARE ILLUSION TO YOU, BUT REAL TO OURSELVES. WE DESPERATELY CRAVE DIVERSION FROM OUR CRUEL FATE.

Oh. “Of course. I misunderstood. We shall be happy to present our plays here. Just designate a suitable spot for us to camp, and we will put them on one each evening.”

Layea smiled, THANK YOU SO MUCH! YOU MAY CAMP RIGHT HERE.

“On the street? But that will obstruct your passage.”

YOU CAN'T OBSTRUCT US. WE WILL WALK THROUGH YOU.

Oh, again. “Thank you. We will do that.” He turned to Curtis. “Why don't you see to that, and I will try to learn more about the local situation.”

Curtis understood perfectly. He nodded and walked away.

Cyrus faced Layea. “I would like to know how it came to this, if you care to tell it,” Because there was surely a lot to be learned about the nature and power of the Roc here.

I WILL BE HAPPY TO TELL YOU, BUT YOU MAY FIND IT UNBEARABLY DULL.

“We have seen evidence of the Roc's powers and actions in other villages,” Cyrus said. “But they were not like this. Something extraordinary must have happened here.”

She nodded. COME IN. She held the door open for him, though of course it had no substance; he could simply have walked through it.

Her house was typically organized inside, with nice curtains, a table, chairs, and a comfortable couch. I REGRET YOU CAN'T USE THE FURNITURE, she printed. YOU WILL HAVE TO MAKE YOURSELF COMFORTABLE ON THE FLOOR. THAT IS ALL THAT REMAINS REAL.

“I understand.” He felt a chair, verifying that it had no substance, and eased himself to the floor. Layea sat on the couch; for her it was solid. He remembered how Orienta had said she passed right through other illusion people, after being deleted herself; maybe stationary objects were different.

From his low vantage, he couldn't help seeing her legs. They were ordinary, like the rest of her, but the view under her skirt made them intriguing. He looked away, embarrassed.

But then he had to look back, because he had to read her printing. This was awkward.

OH—I'M SORRY, she printed. I WASN'T THINKING. She rearranged her legs so that less flesh showed. It seemed she was not trying to vamp him in the manner Andromeda had; she just had not fully adjusted to the perspective of a visitor on the floor instead of on a chair, understandably.

“Is there any way to manipulate your illusion?” he asked. “So instead of slow print, you could show me what happened?”

She scribbled: KATRIANA.

“She is someone who can do this?”

YES. SHE CAN REPLAY REAL SCENES VIA ILLUSION.

“That's what we need,” he agreed.

ONE MOMENT, PLEASE. She walked out of the house. He remained, getting comfortable on the floor. His metal bones made it easier.

Soon Layea returned with another woman. Katriana was older, and completely undistinguished. Except when she invoked her talent. She lifted her hands, and something appeared between them. It was a picture. She spread her hands, and the picture expanded between them. It showed the village of Pompos.

Layea held up a sign beside the picture, WHERE SHOULD WE START?

“At the beginning,” Cyrus said. “I want to understand the whole story.”

THAT WOULD BE OUR FIRST PROBLEM, AND OUR FRIEND ETTE.

“Ette?”

SHE'S A ROC. VERY PRETTY.

Roc Ette, surely a shapely bird, “Thank you.”

Katriana expanded the picture farther, until it was like a picture window into the scene. It showed a rock mine. Villagers were busily working with picks, hammers, and sieves, extracting small stones from the ground. On the hill above the mine was a huge nest occupied by a giant but quite lovely bird: Ette, prettiest of roc hens, with lovely plumage.

IT IS ETTE'S MINE, WHICH WE HAVE A DEAL TO WORK, Layea's sign beside the picture said. WE TRADE HER THINGS SHE WANTS, LIKE THE LATEST ROCK MUSIC.

The scene showed a villager carrying a rock shaped like a musical note up to the roc's nest: rock music. Cyrus's memory bank confirmed that rocs did like rock music, rock gardens, and rock candy.

The scene showed a close-up of the pebbles the villagers were extracting from the mine. They ranged from nondescript to ugly.

“What kind of stone do you mine?” Cyrus asked.

UGLY GEMS.

“I can see that. But who would want those?”

The picture showed a very pretty young village woman, the kind any village man would want to take home. She put an ugly stone on a cord and hung the cord around her neck, so that the stone dangled before her evocative bosom.

Suddenly the woman was unpretty, and her bosom was repulsive.

“Oh!” Cyrus exclaimed. “Not only is the gem ugly, it makes its wearer ugly! But still, who would want it?”

The young woman took off her stone, and became pretty again. Immediately a dirty young man approached her. He said something that was inaudible to Cyrus, but the girl flushed angrily and walked away. The man pursued her, uttering more embarrassing things. It seemed that he wanted to do things with her that the girl preferred to avoid.

Finally she put the stone back on. The man took one more look at her, shook his head in wonder, and departed.

“Oh,” Cyrus said. “It made her unattractive, so she was no longer bothered by aggressive men.”

YES. YOUNG WOMEN FIND OUR UGLY GEMS VERY USEFUL ON OCCASION. SOME WEAR THEM ALL THE TIME, EXCEPT AT HOME WITH THEIR HUSBANDS.

“Got it,” Cyrus said. “Pompos must have had a prosperous business.”

YES. IT ENABLED US TO BECOME UNBEARABLY POMPOUS. WE COULD AFFORD THE VERY FANCIEST THINGS, AND WE FELT SUPERIOR TO EVERYONE ELSE AND LET THEM KNOW IT. THEREIN LAY OUR DOOM.

“Oh? Ragna wanted your mine?”

NO. THE GOBLINS DID. THEY THOUGHT THAT OTHER CREATURES WOULD LIKE THEM BETTER IF THE GOBLINS COULD AFFORD FANCY POSSESSIONS. SO THEY DECIDED TO TAKE THE MINE FROM US.

Now the scene showed a horde of goblins pouring out of a mountain. They organized themselves into a crude army and marched on Pompos.

The villagers saw them coming, and were plainly appalled. This was not a warrior village, and they had no way to stop the invasion. What could they do?

Layea walked up the hill to talk with Roc Ette, who would also be affected by this. Could she help them?

The roc nodded. There was further dialogue, then Layea and several village men climbed into a large basket outside of the village. Ette flew down and caught its handle in her talons. She lifted it and carried them away. Evidently Katriana did not go on this journey, because the scene did not follow it.

Meanwhile the goblin horde was rapidly swarming toward the village. Would the special party return in time to stop it? The villagers were horrified, knowing that nothing but death, rapine, and slavery awaited them if the goblins took over. Their prettiest girls were fleeing, because their fate would be awful.

“But the ugly stones,” Cyrus protested, “Wouldn't they save the girls?”

NOT FROM GOBLINS. GOBLINS OFTEN DON'T FIND THEIR OWN WOMEN UGLY ENOUGH.

Oh, again.

ANYWAY, THE LADY GOBLINS WANTED THE STONES TOO, BECAUSE MALE GOBLINS ARE VERY AGGRESSIVE. AND THE STONES COULD BE TRADED FOR ALL MANNER OF FINE THINGS. THEN THEY COULD BE AS SNOOTY AS THE HUMAN FOLK HAD BEEN.

It was making ugly sense.

In due course the roc returned with the basket, and barely in time, for the goblins were upon the fringe of the village. There was no chance to land, so Ette flew over the swarm. The folk in the basket poured buckets of water out onto the heads of the goblins, thoroughly wetting them.

The effect was immediate. The goblins were enraged, and turned on each other, madly attacking. They hated everything, including their companions, and laid about them with their weapons.

“Like mundane rabies!” Cyrus exclaimed.

HATE ELIXIR, Layea agreed. OPPOSITE TO LOVE ELIXIR.

Which made the goblins mad, literally. The result was sheer carnage. Before long there was nothing left but a pile of brutally slain goblins.

There was an awful mess to clean up, but the villagers went to work in good spirits. They had to wear protective clothing to avoid being touched by any lingering hate elixir, and the growing stench was appalling. They persevered, and Ette carried baskets of pure water to rinse off the contaminated landscape, and in a few days they had the area clean again. Things returned to normal.

Roc Ette had enabled them to save their village and their mine. They owed her a huge favor.

“I should think so,” Cyrus agreed.

Time passed. Then a stranger appeared. He talked with Layea.

A MINION OF RAGNA ROC.

Layea listened courteously. Then she did something odd. She invited the Minion in, fed him a nice dinner, put on a dress that greatly enhanced her appearance, and took him to her bed. Her bare body was quite enticing, and the man was clearly enticed. So was Cyrus, who realized that she looked ordinary only when she wasn't trying. That was an inherent talent many women seemed to have.

“You really don't need to show me this,” Cyrus said, embarrassed.

IT IS NECESSARY.

In bed, naked, she balked, gently holding him off. There was something she wanted in exchange. What was it?

I PROFFERED A DEAL. I WOULD DO ANYTHING HE WANTED, ALL NIGHT, IF HE DID SOMETHING I WANTED NEXT MORNING.

“Of course he wanted something,” Cyrus said. “He's a man, and you're naked. Men want mainly one thing.” He winced internally as he said it, remembering how he had learned what it was. “But what did you want of him?”

THAT HE DRINK FROM A NEARBY SPRING.

“That seems like an unequal exchange.”

IT IS A SPECIAL SPRING.

The man shrugged and agreed. They made the deal. Then he took hold of her and stirred up some stork feathers. The Adult Conspiracy came into play, fudging out the details, but there was no question what was going on.

Cyrus found it voyeuristically interesting despite the lack of detail, and was ashamed of himself. Why did she regard it as necessary that he witness this private spectacle?

In the morning the Minion, evidently satisfied with the night, nevertheless returned to business: his gestures showed that he wanted Layea to swear allegiance to Ragna Roc, on behalf of the village. Layea still demurred, evidently protesting that she couldn't possibly make such an important decision in such a hurry; there would have to be a village meeting, discussion, and so on. When he became impatient, she kissed him and drew him back to the bed. He was nettled, but yielded; she had done well for him in the night, and had evidently not yet exhausted his passion.

When a full day had passed, and it was the same time it had been when the Minion arrived, her attitude shifted. She begged him to accompany her to a special place not far outside the village. It was a small spring, with a warning sign beside it: beware—lethe.

The Minion read the sign, and gesticulated. He wasn't touching that! But Layea insisted, pointing to the spring, reminding him that he had agreed to do it. He had, indeed, and finally, reluctantly, he lay down beside it, put his mouth down, and drank.

Then he got up, evidently dazed. Layea was gone and he was alone. He wandered away, remembering nothing. The village had been saved.

“But how—?” Cyrus asked, bewildered, “He saw the sign. He knew it would wipe out his memory.”

MY TALENT. I CAN MAKE ANY MAN DO MY WILL TWENTY-THREE MINUTES OUT OF TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. SO I KEPT HIM WITH ME THAT TIME, THEN ASKED HIM TO DRINK. I MUST ASK, NOT COMMAND, AND IT HAS TO BE WITHIN HIS CONSCIENCE. BUT HE HAD AGREED, AND IT WAS NOT CONTRARY TO HIS CONSCIENCE. SO MY TALENT WAS ABLE TO MAKE HIM DO IT. A DEAL IS A DEAL.

Cyrus worked it out. She had to know a man twenty-four hours before her talent became effective on him. So she had done what she had to, keeping him with her, doing whatever it took, until she could invoke her talent. Then she wiped him out.

“This is ugly,” he said.

Layea nodded, I HAD TO TELL YOU, EVEN IF IT MAKES YOU HATE ME.

“I don't hate you! I'm just—appalled.”

WHAT ELSE COULD I DO?

He pondered. He had seen the other two villages. The Minions of the Roc were merciless. She had a weapon, and she used it. “Nothing,” he said.

She looked relieved. She had not wanted to alienate him, but she had had a cruel choice to make. Submission to Ragna, or a desperate use of her power. She had done what she had done, to save her village.

“Yet my opinion isn't worth much,” Cyrus said. “You could have simply told me you distracted the Minion, without showing me exactly how. That would have saved you some embarrassment.”