Two To The Fifth (5 page)

Truly, Cyrus thought, women did manage men. “Maybe you could help me with something else, before we return to business. I am at best an ordinary person, only imperfectly human or machine. Yet full-human women seem to be attracted to me. Even part-human, like the witch and the dust devil. Why should this be? I am in doubt that most women are so foolish as to be guided only by appearance.”

“It is similar to my situation,” Sofia said. “The ambiance governs. They knew through some subtle foresight that you were about to become a play producer All women want to be actresses, could they but confess it to themselves.”

“All women are actresses,” Wira said.

Sofia nodded. “Of course. They were playing up to you in the hope that you would cast them in nice roles.”

“That must be it.” he agreed. “But as yet I have no plays to cast anyone in, let alone a bevy of young women.”

“So you will write plays to make suitable parts for them. Then you will be properly armed.”

“I will,” he said, amazed anew, “I am already getting ideas, thanks to your insights. But how can doing this enable me to be summoned by Ragna Roc?”

“This is the real challenge.” Sofia said. “You must write and produce plays so interesting and entertaining that audiences will throng to see them. In time Ragna will learn about it, and want to see them for himself. He will summon you and your troupe for a command performance.”

“And the Three Princesses will be part of the troupe,” Cyrus said, seeing it.

“Exactly, Of course the Princesses will be in disguise. You will treat them exactly as ordinary girls. Which, really they are, apart from their power No one must catch on to their identity as Sorceresses.”

“I don't know how it can be concealed. The moment they do real magic—”

“They will weave an ambient spell to conceal their nature, and an aversion spell to make others incurious about them. But you will know, and help mask them, in the event one forgets and lets go with a spell. They are after all children, apt to be impulsive. You will be the responsible adult.”

“That's ironic.” Cyrus said. “And I don't mean to pun on my metal skeleton. I am only two years old myself.”

“But crafted as a twenty-year-old adult. Your memories and responses are adult, even though you were never a child.”

“I am adult,” he agreed. “I will treat them as children. But I'll never forget that they are Sorceresses.”

“That is sensible. If there is one person you never want to truly annoy, it is a Sorceress. A woman scorned is trouble, and a Sorceress scorned is downright dangerous.”

“But neither can you afford to treat them with undue respect,” Wira said. “Lest you give away their nature.”

“I feel unqualified.”

“The Challenges showed you had the necessary qualities,” Sofia said. “You will handle it.”

“I hope so. Still, the larger mission is daunting. I wish I had some guidelines.”

“There is a guideline,” Wira said, “Magician Humfrey told me. It is Two to the Fifth.”

“Two to the Fifth? I am not making much sense of that. What does it mean?”

“We don't know,” Sofia said, “Himself's pronouncements tend to be obscure. Sometime I wonder whether he knows their meaning himself. But they are invariably relevant.”

“You will simply have to figure it out,” Wira said.

“I am at a loss. Two perhaps I can understand. Could that mean that there will be two main characters in this play, I mean mission? Myself and another?”

“Maybe yourself and your woman,” Sofia said. “The right woman can make a man.”

“And the wrong one can break him,” Wira said.

“So I had better be sure the right one selects me.”

Both women nodded.

“But what about the Fifth?” he asked. “If we have two, must they go to find a fifth person? Who would that be?”

“We don't know,” Sofia said. “But presumably you are the one equipped to figure it out.”

“Maybe if I find the right woman, or she finds me, she'll be able to fathom it.”

“There is that hope,” Sofia agreed, “We have done what we can. Probably your best course will be to write a play, then go out to recruit players for it. In the course of that recruitment you can pass by Castle Roogna, where you will pick up the Three Princesses.”

“But wouldn't that make their identity obvious? I should not go near Castle Roogna.”

“Oh! You are correct. The Princesses will have to join you elsewhere, somewhere along the way. They will surely find you.”

“Just so long as they do so before Ragna Roc summons my troupe.”

“They surely will.” she agreed. “I have prepared a private room for you where you can work on the play. You can join us for meals, and there's a serviceable chamber pot under the bed. Will you be needing anything else?”

“Inspiration,” he said grimly.

“That should seek you out when you are ready.”

Wira guided him up the winding stars, past the Good Magician's cramped study, and to an isolated turret. A single small window peeked out at the sunlight, which spilled in to touch the floor in one spot. This was his creative retreat.

“Lunch is in half an hour, in the dining room,” Wira said. “Just come down to the ground floor and follow your nose. We'll all be there.”

“All?”

“All except Magician Humfrey. I serve him in his study so he won't miss a line of his tome. The people currently doing their Services. You met them on your way in.”

“Oh.”

“And my husband Hugo. I wouldn't be here without him.”

“Oh,” he repeated dully. “Of course.” Then, as she was about to depart: “What's it like, being married?”

“It's wonderful,” she said dreamily. “There's always someone to hug.” Then she was gone.

The chamber had a bed, and sure enough there was a ceramic pot under it. Also a basin and sponge, and a pitcher of water. He would be able to wash readily enough.

In a nook of the main room there was a small table and chair, with a quill pen, a bottle of ink, and a blank scroll. All he needed to write his first play.

He sat down at the table and lifted the pen. His mind went utterly blank. So much for inspiration; it wasn't seeking him yet. He did want to write; he just didn't know how to begin.

He got up and went to the window. He peered out. There was the moat, and the countryside surrounding the castle. No inspiration there either.

He spied a door, and opened it. It was a closet, with a change of clothing. Including a nice clean pair of socks, of course.

He lay on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to imagine a suitable play. But all he could think of was how much nicer it would be to share the bed with a woman. Any woman. Maybe one like Tess, who was so clearly competent to educate him in the appropriate manner. When he had embraced her bare body in the pool—

He woke to find sunlight in his face. Time must have passed, allowing the sunbeam to move across the room. He jumped up. Was he too late for lunch?

He went down the winding stairs to the ground floor, where Wira intercepted him. “Just in time,” she said. “This way.” She led him to a new room.

There was a small group of people seated around a square table. Cyrus recognized them: Tuff Stuff, Acro Nymph, Dusti Devil, Sofia, and an unremarkable man who must have been Hugo, Wira's husband. “Hello,” Cyrus said.

“Hello,” they chorused in return.

The Sand Witch appeared with a platter of sandwiches. She was wearing her luscious young form. “Sorry, no more knucklers,” she said. “They're reserved for Challenges.” She leaned down to set them on the center of the table, showing rather more flesh than strictly necessary, and sat down herself.

He had thought of being in bed with someone like Tess. Now he realized that the Witch would also do. Of course she wasn't really interested; she had merely been playing a role in the Challenge.

The others reached for the sandwiches closest to them, so Cyrus did too. His turned out to be hamhand on ryeder, his favorite kind. The others looked similarly satisfied with theirs. It seemed the witch knew her business. There were also cups of boot rear for a beverage.

“Did you finish your play?” Dusti inquired, sipping some boot and bouncing in place as it scored. That caused her décolletage to ripple intriguingly, surely by coincidence.

“I haven't even started it,” he answered sheepishly. “No inspiration.”

“Poor boy. Maybe I should join you up there. Give you a whirl. I'm sure I could inspire you.”

“No you don't, tart,” the Witch said. “I've got seniority.” She turned to Cyrus. “I am more mature than I may appear at the moment, and thoroughly experienced.” She inhaled. Full-figured women seemed unusually good at inhaling.

Cyrus's eyeballs had heated when she leaned forward. Now they heated again. He felt the steam rising from them. “You seem quite mature to me.”

“Oh come off it,” Acro snapped. “I can do that, and I'm only a fraction her age.” She tore open her shirt, taking a breath.

Cyrus's eyes congealed in place.

“Now look what you've done,” Dusti said. “I'll have the devil of a time getting his sight back.” She dissolved into a whirlwind, hovered over the table, and blocked his view of the nymph.

His eyes thawed. But then in the whirling funnel he saw another bosom, formed of small clouds of dust, darkly inviting. The little devil! His eyes locked up again.

A stone plaque came before his face. It was a slab of volcanic rock, held there by Tuff, “Thank you,” he said as his eyes recovered again.

“Spoilsport,” Dusti muttered, reforming in her place.

“Somebody has to protect a poor helpless man from you teases,” Tuff said.

“Some day one of us will find out just how durable your stone is, Stuff,” the Witch said darkly, taking a swig of her boot.

“Anytime, Sandy.” Apparently he was calling her bluff.

The Witch aimed a Glance at him, but then caused it to veer harmlessly aside. “Perhaps.”

“So have you figured out my talent yet, Cyrus?” Acro asked, changing the subject.

“Not yet. But I think it has to be related to your name. There must be some magic use for acronyms.”

“But how can making words from words be magic?”

His mind started focusing. “Perhaps if such a derived word had magic properties. For example, if you encountered a magically closed door, and there was a sign saying 'Door's password needed. Closed until then.” You might excerpt OPEN and it would open."

“I wonder,” she said. “It seems far-fetched. Those aren't even all first letters.”

“It's not my specialty. Maybe you can do it right.”

The others were silent, interested. Acro pondered. “Let's say I want to lift something magically, like this cup.” She focused on her almost empty boot rear cup. “Under a Plump pillow, UP.”

The cup sailed up, slopping out its remaining boot rear.

“It worked!” she exclaimed, thrilled.

“Try it with other letters,” Tuff suggested, laying down a small tuff stone. “It would be a stronger talent if any letters would do.”

“Under a plUmP pillow.” The stone flew up.

“Congratulations,” the Witch said. “I suppose this means you won't be staying here any more.”

“You just want to get rid of me!”

“Less competition,” the Witch agreed, glancing sidelong at Cyrus. “Your plump pillows are too effective.”

Acro considered. “I'll go when he goes. I want to be in a play.”

“Don't we all,” Dusti said.

“So one of you wants to go to his room tonight,” Tuff said. “Why don't you compete for it more aptly? Say, the first one to get to his room without using the stairs gets him.”

“I'm not agreeing to that,” Cyrus protested, appalled.

“Who asked you?” Dusti asked. “This is our deal.” The other two nodded.

Cyrus remembered about how some woman would select him. Maybe it was best just to let it happen. They were all interesting women. So he stifled any further comment.

“Very well,” the Witch said. “I can fly my broom. Dusti can whirl through air. Now Acro can craft a word to fly or conjure her way there. Let's meet outside, and Tuff can give us a starting signal. Are we agreed?”

“What about the losers?” Dusti asked.

“They compete again for Tuff.”

“Hey!” Tuff said.

“You devised the contest,” the Witch informed him. “You're overdue for a comeuppance.”

“One of us will melt your stone,” Dusti said. “We were just waiting for the right pretext.”

Tuff looked as uncertain as Cyrus felt, but he seemed to be stuck for it. The girls were showing their hand. Or whatever. Cyrus had had no idea that women could be like this, but he realized that it was just as well he was finding out. It put him on guard, for whatever that was worth.

He retired to his room and waited for what was to be. Which woman would win? Did he care? One part of him loved being the object of such attention, even if he knew it was just because they wanted to convince him to cast them in a play.

He looked out the window. There they were on the pavement just within the moat: three women and one man. Tuff raised one arm, then brought it abruptly down.

They were off. The Witch jumped on her broom and started flying, but it was slow; evidently the angle was too steep for it to handle. She had to start looping around an ascending spiral, slowly. The dust devil became a whirlwind, rising somewhat faster, but having trouble with nearby foliage that interfered with the circulation. And Acro stood in place, concentrating on her mental exercise. It would take her longer to start, but she might be much faster once she got it.

The broom and dust devil collided, probably by accident. The Witch dropped to the ground, cursing bleepishly, while the whirlwind went to pieces and had to reform. Both had lost time.

They got it together again. This time the broom flew to one side, and the whirlwind to the other. Acro still stood there, focusing.

Cyrus watched as the Witch gained elevation, achieving the height of his window. She was struggling with the effort of maneuvering her broom, her long hair flying back, her bosom heaving, her skirt fluttering up to flash her nicely formed legs. He found her quite intriguing, even if she was older than she looked, and half hoped she would be the winner After all, he needed a woman with experience, so she would know exactly what to do.