Witch Doctor - Wiz in Rhyme-3 (45 page)

"How hollow of you!" Gilbert cried. "Would you rush to sin, false man?

"I am a poet," Frisson said doggedly. "I hear you speak of sin, but with the memory of that splendid form within me, the words have no meaning."

"They have to me!" Gilbert strode over to me and gripped the vines, shaking them with sudden rage, straining at them with strength that spoke of sublimation and should have moved half a ton. He had some effect, too-the vines keened, so highly pitched that it went right through my head.

"Leave off!" I cried. "You're hurting them!"

"What matter pain, when virtue's at stake?" Gilbert raged. "What matter the pain of a plant, for Heaven's sake?"

"Yes, for Heaven's sake!" I shouted. "I thought you were a Christian! "

He froze, staring at me blankly. "Why, so I am!"

"Then isn't charity as high on your list as chastity? Isn't it just as important that you not hurt another living being, as that you keep from having sex?"

"Nay," he said, "for sex-" He winced at the word, but forced himself to use it. "-sex is one among the means by which we are hurt, or hurt one another! To take a woman's virginity is to hurt her most shrewdly, to steal her greatest treasure and break her heart-and therefore, to take a man's will hurt him likewise, though he know it not! Even to fornicate with one not a virgin, will surely hurt her heart-or his, for that matter-and will cause that hurt whether she and he deny it to themselves or not! 'Tis to be used, exploited! " Now, that struck me as a sick attitude. I really wished I could disagree with him.

Unfortunately, I couldn't-not if I was really trying to be honest with myself. What he had said was possibly true and fitted my own experiences. Of course, it was sick nonetheless-or was it the exploiting that was sick?

"There are limits," I argued. "Under the right circumstances, sex can be a wonderful thing."

"Aye, if both are in love, and wedded!"

"Love is not needed," a throaty, musical voice behind me said.

"Only desire need be felt."

Now, to call that voice "musical" is like saying that champagne is old grape juice. it was lilting, it was transporting, and most of all, it was stimulating. It resonated in my loins and set up a charge that shot up to make my head giddy.

So, before I turned around, I made a stern effort to get control of myself, reminding me that she was just another woman who was looking for an angle to get what she wanted out of me, while giving as little of herself as she could. Thus buoying my concept of manliness, I turned slowly, saying, "Nymph Thyme, I presu-" I couldn't finish the word. The descriptions hadn't just failed to do her justice, they hadn't even leveled charges. She was even more beautiful and seductive and sensuous than they'd said-and nobody had mentioned her face, but for a few seconds, I couldn't notice anything else. Her face was heart-shaped under glossy black hair that tumbled down about her face and shoulders; her sloe eyes were huge and slumberous, shaded by long, thick lashes under delicate, arching eyebrows. Her nose was a delicious, tip-tilted confection that fairly begged to be kissed, and her lips were wide, full, dusky red, and aching to be tasted. Her gown was very low cut, but that mass of black

hair tumbled in to fill what the dress revealed, allowing only tantalizing glimpses of cleavage between softly swelling mounds, which fulfilled every promise a man could ever have dreamed of as they strained the fabric of a velvet bodice that was the exact same shade as her skin. Frisson had been right-it fairly compelled me to reach out and touch it.

But I fought the compulsion and forced my eyes to stay on her face. The ripe lips parted, moistened, and breathed, "Come, lordly gallant! Will you not tarry with me, to enter my abode and taste of my pleasures? " Believe me, I was tempted. Tempted? I could barely keep my feet from moving. But I must admit to a certain incipient panic underneath it all, the old conviction that whatever she was really after, it wasn't entirely for my own good. Angelique! Save me!

After all, what's a true love for?

And she did save me-or the memory of her, anyway. Pale and smoke-thin as her wraith was, it still outshone in beauty and allure this gorgeous wench in more-than-full color right before me. How?

Maybe it was Angelique's innocent faith in love and her sheer goodness. Maybe it was the sweetness of her spirit. Most likely, it was all of it rolled into one, the totality that was that single wonderful being, Angelique.

Whatever it was, the memory of her protected me against the vamp right then, dimmed Thyme's attraction to bearable levels, and made me aware all over again that I was confronting a magical being on her home turf, and that the attraction I was feeling was anything but natural. That being the case, I needed to fight magic with magic.

"Frisson!

Give me a verse! " A grubby, spider-leg hand pushed a scrap of paper into mine. I snapped it open, tore my gaze off the purring vision before me, glued it to the letters, and chanted,

"Lovely wanton! Could I command Troops of knights from every land, They'd bow before you, and admire Each curve so sweet that wakes desire!

Swaying or still, clothed or bare, Your lips, your eyes, your raven hair, Your breasts, your thighs

I stopped right there. No use helping the enemy, now, is there?

I should have realized. What else would Frisson have been writing about while he was stuck in a cage on Thyme's island? What else would he have been thinking about?

I was on my own. And I didn't want to work magic. That might have demonstrated that I believed in it, which I was determined not to do.

But, hey-if they were somebody else's words, that wasn't my doing, was it? Even if I made a few changes.

All right, so I was rationalizing-but logic wouldn't help me out of this bind.

Kipling would.

"A fool, there was, and he made his prayer (Even as you and I! I To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair (We called her the Woman Who Did Not Care@, But the fool he called her his lady fair @Even as you and I!).

A fool there was and his goods he spent (Even as you and I!) Honor and faith and a sure intent (And it wasn't the least what the lady meant@, But a fool must follow his natural bent (Even as you and I!). And it isn't the shame and it isn't the blame That stings like a white-hot brand.

It's coming to know that she never knew why (Seeing at last she could never know why@ And never could understand." The nymph stared at me in disbelief. "I? Be wit out mercy?"

"You don't really give a damn about what happens to the men you use," I said. "It's the same effect, no matter the cause."

"To be sure, I care! I seek only to give as much pleasure as I take!"

"Yeah, but you don't think about the aftermath." Still, I was getting the idea-I needed a stronger verse.

And quickly-her eyelids were drooping, and she was sashaying closer. Behind me, I heard Frisson groan. Before me, I could hear her begin to sing, in a voice that awakened every hormone I had and made each one thrum through my blood. I missed the words, but they didn't matter.

Of course they did! I tried again.

"Her true love hath her heart, though she not his: A poor exchange, one for mere liking given.

She holds his dear, but hers he seems to miss, Yet dotes she on him, and for his love is driven."

She stared at me, those huge, marvelous eyes growing even more huge. Then they filled with tears that overflowed and ran down her cheeks as she turned her face away. "Alas! How can I be true to love, who know only the pleasures of the body?"

I stared appalled, and behind me, Frisson cried, "Wizard Saul!

You are a beast, to make so beauteous a damsel cry! Lady, wait! For I shall comfort you! " "I could not ... could not accept ... I1 she sobbed, "for I have ...

I have one whom I ... Oh! What is this pain in my breast?" Frisson let out a cry of despair. "Wizard! You have destroyed my hope! My hope of a few hours alone with this nymph!"

"I have?" I looked from him to her, totally confused. She looked up at me, tears flowing. "Aye, for I burn within for the sweet and gentle monk who dwells now in my house. What have you done, Wizard? For I can no longer bear the thought of coupling with any man save him-and he will not surrender to my blandishments!

Oh! What is this pain?" And she pressed a delicate hand over those glorious breasts.

"It is her heart," Gilbert said, with heavy satisfaction, behind me.

"A heart!" She stared up at him, appalled. "In a nymph? Nay, I prithee! I1

It made sense. In a fertility sprite that was ready for any encounter, anything resembling memory, or lingering fondness for any one male, would definitely be a liability.

I decided to be a little more direct.

"Now this is the law I shall give you, And bound to its mass you shall stayFor the head and the hoof of the law, And the haunch and the hump is-obey!"

Her eyes went wide in sheer horror. "What would you do? No man may command me-for I must command every man!"

"Not any more," I said severely. "Just try to disobey now."

"I shall go!" She turned on her heel.

"You will stay," I said quickly.

She froze, one foot up in the air. "I ... I cannot ... summon the

will! " "No," I said softly. "My magic compels you." Actually, I had a notion it was sheer suggestion, but why should I have told her that?

"I shall summon my own magic!" she cried. "I shall enchant my self free!"

"Watch out," I warned her. "Give me any more grief, and I might find a way to give you a soul."

it was pure bluff, of course-even agnostic me knew that only God can make a soul-but it straightened her up and put the light of terror into her eyes. "Oh, nay! You would not make me mortal!"

"Any way I can," I assured her, "so let's not make it necessary, okay? just show us to this houseguest of yours."

Foreboding shadowed her face. "What wish you with him?"

"We need a consultant." I chose my words carefully. "I understand he's an expert."

"He is? At what is he expert?"

I took her in from head to toe in a single glance. "Nothing you're interested in-but I'm afraid he's not learning anything you have to teach, either. As the phrase goes, I don't think the two of you have any common area of interest."

"But we have! I need simply convince him!" I eyed her askance. "Not having too much luck at it, are you?" She flushed, and snapped, " 'Tis purely a matter of time. He is male, is he not? And any male will succumb to me, given Thyme." Frisson made a mewing noise behind me.

"Prove it," I said. "Show him to us-but first, let my friends out."

"Wherefore should I?" But her feet were already moving toward the cage, and a look of alarm spread over her face. "How is this! I do not wish it!"

"But I do," I said softly. "My spell, remember?"

"No mortal wizard can have power o'er me! Not here, on mine own island!"

"Guess again," I said, still softly. "Sorry to have to do this, ut we really can't take the time for an extended persuasive campaign." Especially since, if we did, I was afraid I was the one who would be persuaded. "Just let them out, there's a good nymph, okay? Then introduce us to this houseguest of yours."

We came through the musk-scented forest, out of the trees into a meadow of grass mingled with mint, and saw her bower.

"Bower" is the only word that could describe it. I suppose it was technically a house-but with a house, you expect the wood to have been cut down. This one was made of trees growing side by side, with just enough space between them for windows. The boughs intertwined overhead to form a very snug roof-evergreen, I noticed. I didn't think winter would do much here except rain, but she was ready for that. And, of course, flowers. Each tree trunk held a climbing vine that sported blossoms of all hues-the blue and purple of orchids, the red and white of roses, the yellows and oranges of melon flowers. It was a gay and dazzling profusion, and its perfume filled the air. I didn't see how any man could get a lick of work done in there, let alone think about anything but sex.

We came in the front door-a wider-than-average opening between two trunks, shaded by a huge evergreen bough-and stepped into the bedroom. Actually, I don't think that bower had anything but a bedroom-it was all one room, and it was floored with heaps of cushions. Oh, sure, there was a low table, just big enough for dinner for two, though it was low enough that you pretty much had to lie down and prop yourself up with an elbow, Roman-fashion, and there were a few other horizontal surfaces filled with knickknacks-at a guess, one was a vanity, and the other was a wine cabinet. There was a tapestry, too, hiding a large space at the far end that might have served as a closet, though I didn't get the impression that our hostess was big on clothes. Neither were the figures on the tapestry.

But most of the floor space was taken up by a huge bed that looked to be solid padding eighteen inches thick, the softest and most inviting bed I've ever seen. For that matter, the whole room was one big invitation, and I didn't see how any man could ever summon the resolution to leave.

Which made it all the more stark a contrast, to have a high writing desk and a stool over against one window, a roll of parchment bathed in a ray of sunlight that lanced down over the shoulder of the brownrobed monk who sat there, industriously scratching away with a quill pen.

I stared.

He must have felt my gaze-or heard us enter, and what man could keep from looking up at Thyme' But he saw me, and Frisson the hollow-cheeked and Gilbert the gaunt, right behind me. He stared in surprise. His face was round and pleasant, but creased with lines of strain. There were a few gray hairs mixed in with the brown around the bald circle of his tonsure. His face broke into a glad smile.

"Why, 'tis company! How welcome are they!"

"Scarcely at all." Thyme pouted. "Are you so easily distracted from me, man of letters,"' "Nay." He turned a fond gaze on her.