Witch Doctor - Wiz in Rhyme-3 (47 page)

"Ah, well, as you will, then," she snapped, nettled-and, suddenly, somehow, she was no longer a torch of desire, but only a very beautiful female. "I cannot move you whiles your will holds firm. You are maddening, Ignatius!

"I regret that I cause you pain." He lowered his eyes.

"You do not regret it sharply enough." But her gaze kindled with mischief again.

Suddenly, I understood. "He intrigues, doesn't he? The only man who has ever resisted your blandishments."

"The fool!" Frisson moaned.

"Oh, there do be some few others." The words were ashes in her mouth. "There was a man with a strange gleam in his eye, who turned upon me and beat me till I fled; I found him quick passage on a ship I summoned by storm. And there was another monk, a friar in a white robe, who declared me to be a devil, a succubus, and sought to banish me by long and hateful verses. This island was a miserable and barren place while he lived."

I thought about asking how long that had been and how he had died, then thought better of it.

Friar Ignatius was shaking his head and muttering. "I could never do such a thing, no! Nay, she is a good woman, a sweet woman, and I confess to great fondness for her."

"But not so great as to surrender to lust," she said, with a sardonic smile. "What is this new emotion you have kindled in me, monk?

For I have never before laughed at mine own downfall."

"Frustrating," I said, "isn't it?"

"He chafes me no end," she agreed, "yet not as I would wish. Therefore shall I keep him here in my bower, until he gives in to his feelings, surrenders to sweet sensation-for if he does, he will fall fully in love with me, abjuring his vocation and even his religion," "Since the one follows the other," I murmured. "Just can't resist a challenge, can you? Isn't a temporary lapse into sin good enough for you? " Thyme shrugged, which set up secondary wave effects that were entirely too harmonious. "When first he came here, mayhap-yet now, my pride is affronted. I must have his total, abject devotion."

"You have it! 'Tis yours!" Frisson exclaimed, his eyes burning. She glanced at him with a flicker of long lashes and a lazy smile.

"Many thanks, man of song; yet 'tis he who has pricked my pride, not yourself. Nay, I must become the most important object in his life, or feel myself to be a woman of no worth. "But you are! You are sweet and kind!" Friar Ignatius almost put his hand on hers, but held it back just in time.

"Sweetness of temper is the least I offer you," she returned, "and the kindness of your taking is not the kind I would receive."

"He got under your skin right from the beginning, didn't he?" I said.

"Aye, but only in metaphor, more's the pity. Oh, he was but a mild diversion to me at first, naught but another shipwrecked man ' ; in truth, he was least and last-least of interest to me, and last of all his shipmates, the captain and crew. Yet when I had done with them and sent them on their way to deflower maidens no more-" "You destroyed their desire?" I stared, eyes wide.

She gave me a cynical smile. "Know, poor male, that the fulfillment of your fantasies would end them."

I wondered just what she had done to those sailors. Had they been so thoroughly sated that they could never work up a good case of lust again? Or would real women pale into insignificance, after her?

"Finished with them? What did you do to them?"

"Sent them all packing," she assured me. "My magic repaired their ship; my island replenished their larder. I wished them fair winds and sent them coasting away in their ship, chastened and much less likely to despoil women."

Of course, they might also go on a campaign of rape to re-prove their masculinity to themselves, but I didn't think Thyme had considered that. in fact, I didn't think she considered anything about anyone but herself. "Then you found Friar Ignatius wasn't willing."

"Aye," she said with bitter resignation. "Him, I could not seduce, and that made him a thing of fascination to me. So when I bade his fellows farewell, I kept him here, to amuse me-yet I've found naught of amusement, and less of satisfaction."

"And never will, I fear." Friar Ignatius sighed. "My regrets, sweet one. " "But you rose to the challenge," I interpreted.

"Aye," Thyme said, "and would warrant that he did, too, though he allows me no proof of it."

I understood. She'd had supreme confidence in her femininity, in her limited way-but that limitation covered a deep insecurity; it was only a bubble. Friar Ignatius had punctured that bubble by his refusal and had become an affront to her self-esteem. The only way to rebuild her self-image as the ultimate femme fatale, was to seduce him-and since he wouldn't seduce, she was thinking less and less of herself every day.

He had a great technique for saying "no," though. Any woman but a nymph would have felt immensely flattered and been willing to give up. But she was a nymph, and the real thing, too. I shook my head sadly. "I hate to be discouraging, but I'm afraid you're doomed to disappointment."

"I will never give in till he does!" she declared.

"Your tenacity is laudable," I said, "but your judgment is lacking."

I hoped. "Either way, I'm afraid I really can't afford to give you the chance to prove your point, or his; I need his help."

"I shall the'er let my true love depart!" she cried.

"But you will," I said softly, "because I'm a wizard-remember?" Her eyes narrowed; she surged to her feet, throwing her head back and arms up, as if to embrace the sky. The sight was breathtaking, but I was braced for a move like that, so it didn't quite drive the verses from my head.

"Dim lords and captains have I seen Who witnessed my spells, one and allAnd say, 'La Belle Dame Sans Merci I have in thrall!' " Thyme froze, then slowly lowered her arms and her gaze, to regard me with disgust and loathing. "Speak, then." Her voice was choked with tears. "I must obey."

"I bid you give this monk your leave to go."

"Why, so I must," she said with infinite reluctance, and turned to Friar Ignatius. "I am constrained; therefore you are not. You are free to go!

Relief and joy flooded his face. She saw, and her own filled with hurt. Friar Ignatius leapt up with a cry of pity. "Poor wanton! Ah, I could wish I had not taken holy vows, that I might indulge my base desires with you! I am a man sworn to God and chastity; yet still my heart will ache for sight of thee!"

The hurt lessened in her face.

He caught her hand, eyes lit with fervor. "Never will I forget these sweet days, nor the hours of delight in your company! Nay, every minute near to you has been pleasure so sweet as to be almost pain, and I thank you mightily for this taste of bliss! Never will I forget you; ever will I treasure the memories of these months!" The hurt was almost gone now, but there was an aching longing welling up in her; she could not take her eyes from his face. He forced his own gaze away. "Wizard! Can you not lessen her hurt? Can you not give her sweet nepenthe?"

"Forgetfulness?" Yes, out of sheer pity, I could certainly do that

much. Besides, I couldn't have her menacing shipping and sailors, trying to restore her wounded vanity. I turned to Frisson. "How about it, Fr-oh."

Frisson's face was so heavy with lugubriousness that he looked like a bloodhound. His eyes were huge and bloodshot, transfixed on Thyme.

"No, I think I'd better try to manage something myself." I turned back to the ill-sorted couple, remembered my evenings in the coffeehouses, and dredged up an old folk song: "In my garden grew plenty of thyme,

it would flourish by night and by day.

O'er the wall came a lad, And he took all I had, And he stole all my thyme away, Yes, he stole our sweet Thyme away." it worked faster than I had expected; even while I was still singing, the "lad" showed up, his head poking above the wall of greenery not too far from the bower. Then his whole body appeared, climbing up a tree; he swung out along a branch and dropped to the ground. He was just a little shorter than Thyme, if you didn't count the hornsshort goat horns, and goat's legs with cloven hooves on the end. Of course, with that shaggy hair from the waist down, he didn't need any clothes-which was just as well, since he wasn't wearing any. He was wearing a syrinx, though-a set of panpipes, hung around his neck by a cord.

Thyme glanced at him, then glanced again.

I wondered if I really needed the second verse, but I sang it anyway.

In June, the red rose is in bloom, But that was no flower for me, For I plucked at the bud, And it pricked me to blood, And I gazed on the willow tree."

"The willow, symbol of lovers' sadness?" Thyme sighed. "All, well

could it be mine!

"What! Do I see the trace of melancholy on thy features?" The faun hopped up to her. "it must be erased-for a face so fair must not be careworn!

She glanced his way, her gloom lessened by the flattery; but she said "Why, what are you to speak so? Consider with care, foolish boy, for you are but a kid!"

"Mayhap, but I am a goat withal." A mischievous grin touched his lips. "Be mindful, sweet wanton-I will grow on you."

"Not if I can prevent it." She made a shooing gesture, irritated.

"Begone, irksome child!"

"Alack-a-day!" The faun looked up at me. "Can you not aid, Wizard?

"Could be," I said.

"Oh, it's very good drinking of ale, But it's far better drinking of wine.

I would she were clasped In her lover's arms fast, For 'tis he who has stolen her, ThymeYes, 'tis he who has stolen our Thyme."

"What nonsense do you rhyme?" Thyme demanded, nettled, but the faun lifted the panpipes to his lips and began to blow. It was a melody amazingly sweet, but also sad, weighted with a longing beyond his apparent years, and it conjured up words to match it, not quite clearly enough to voice, hovering just on the verge of consciousness, telling a tale of unrequited desire and aching yearning. Thyme looked up, staring in surprise.

The faun began to weave from side to side, then to move his hooves in a slow dance.

Thyme followed him with her gaze, mesmerized. The lines of sadness disappeared from her face, and she began to sway in time to the music.

I reached out and grabbed one of the tree trunks that made up the bower. That music was getting to me, working its way inside and initiating its own ache in me, from heart to loins.

Thyme's swaying grew broader; she began to move her feet, following the pattern of the faun's dance. The music thrilled with hope, and the faun's movements grew more suggestive. Thyme followed, hips swaying more broadly, body curving and retreating, her eyelids growing heavy, a knowing smile curving her lips.

Behind me, somebody moaned; I recognized Frisson's voice. Now the two were as close as dancers in a ballroom, weaving and swaying, advancing and retreating. All signs of care were gone from Thyme's face, and a musky scent was beginning to tinge the air. The dancers moved in unison, as if a single mind animated both bodies. out of the corner of my eye, I saw Frisson staring with eyes so wide that the whites showed all around, his face one instant from madness.

Thyme reached up to the brooch that held her dress fastened.

"Time to go." I grabbed Frisson and tugged, but he was rooted to the spot. I cried, "Gilbert! Help me!"

The squire shook himself, coming out of his trance. He flushed deep red, nodded, and took Frisson's other arm.

"Lift," I told him, and together we hoisted the poet's frozen form and moved toward the door. An agonized sound started in his throat, slid up to his mouth, and out his lips: "Noooooo!"

"Keep going," I said through clenched teeth.

"Nymph, keep me!" Frisson begged. "Use me, debase me-but keep me!"

She didn't even glance his way; her gaze was transfixed on the faun, her face glowing, her fingers fumbling with the brooch.

"Sweet nymph, farewell!" the monk murmured, and ducked out the door.

Frisson gave a horrible groan as we pulled him through the portal and away, struggling in our hands. Gilbert held fast, his back resolutely turned to the scene behind him. That meant I was facing it; I saw the dress slip, saw a flash of pearly pink skin, before the glare of the noonday sun washed out all sight of the interior. We turned frontward and stumbled away, dragging Frisson with us.

Behind us, the music grew slower, even more heavily sensual, setting up a rocking rhythm.

Frisson went slack in our arms, sobbing, and Friar Ignatius let out a long and shuddering breath. "I thank you, Wizard. Of all the assaults my virtue has suffered on this isle, this was the greatest." His mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. "Though I must confess, 'tis cause for chagrin, to find I am so easily forgotten."

"Just think of it as proof that she was only using you," I suggested, /,or wanted to."

"Yes. Well put." He nodded. "In that fashion, I am glad to know I was right to resist-glad in worldly terms as well as spiritual, for I was but a toy to her."

"Don't worry," I said. "She isn't interested in any of us any more."

"Praise Heaven!" Gilbert shuddered. "And I thank you, Wizar ! I was almost ensnared!"

Privately, I thought it would have done him a world of good, but I didn't say so.

Frisson didn't manage to start working his legs again until we came in sight of the ocean. Even then, it was all he could do to stagger across the beach to the boat and collapse into it, sobbing. The rest of us heaved and pushed, driving it over the sand and back into the ocean, though I don't think we could have done it without that huge boost from Gruesome.

"In." I looked up at him, pointing to the inside of the boat.

"I'll finish pushing off this time."

The shark mouth grinned; he was glad to be leaving. He clambered in and sat huddled in the bows, moaning in anticipation of seasickness.

"Get in," I told Gilbert and Friar Ignatius. They clambered over the sides. Gilbert sat down facing aft, took up an oar, and fitted it between the pegs that passed for an oarlock-and to my amazement, Friar Ignatius did the same. They pulled together, I shoved, and the boat's bottom grated free of the last of the shingle. I vaulted up and over the stern, and the two men of different cloths threw their backs into it, rowing hard.