Chimaera's Copper

by Piers Anthony

  They rode on together, the three of them, on Messenger Reilly's mission to Hermandy.

  *

  Lester, sweating under the new bronzed helmet with its ostark feather marking him as officer, reviewed the assembled troops. Up and down the columns he rode. From the back of the fine gelding he had been given he looked down into the disciplined faces. Now and then he inspected a sword or crossbow. Briefly he examined the mobile catapults. He felt, he had to admit to himself, and only to himself, like a total fool. Here he was pretending to be an officer when he had never before been one. Serving a king who was probably an impostor, he couldn't have said why. It was one bad, bad situation.

  He pulled the reins on his horse's bridle and steered around the huge wheels on the last catapult in line toward his father. Mor, though having been born to fight, looked as uncomfortable in a general's uniform as he felt.

  “General Father,” Les said in a low voice, “you see anything wrong with these?”

  “Top-notch,” Mor replied. “The finest mercenaries and equipment Throod had.”

  Yes, Lester thought, the finest bought fighters. Each trained to kill or die for the cause that pays and never once to question the rightness or the wrongness. Each trained to believe soldiering the highest calling. Good soldiers all, damn it, and not the sort to doubt.

  “You want to make the speech, Father? You've got the wind for it.”

  Mor gave him an almost invisible frown, then stepped his horse around the catapult. He was a big man, on a big war-horse.

  “Men,” Mor boomed, “we are about to march into Klingland and Kance, the twin kingdoms ruled by twin brothers. Half of you will go to Klingland. Half will go with my son, General Lester Crumb, into Kance. While we are marching, Sean Reilly, whom you know as St. Helens, hero of the war with Aratex, will be on a secret mission to secure Hermandy as an ally. Our armies will meet after victory in the twin capital of Lonris on the Thamesein River. Any questions?”

  As Les had expected, there were none. Military commanders normally did not speak that way to troops, and certainly did not ask for questions. The troops might be bemused by this approach. But Mor and Les were not militarily trained except in the fires of revolution. In the war for Rud and then again in the war with Aratex they had served interests they had entirely believed in. It was too bad the same could not be said in this case.

  “Then we march. And may the gods smile and bring us united to an easy victory.”

  Yes, but what victory? To Les, victory was holding Jon lovingly in his arms. That little tomboy could be extremely feminine when she chose! Sticking a sword in a stranger wasn't in the same league. Oh, if only Kelvin comes to our rescue again! Oh if only, for I fear we are making a mistake.

  Unbidden, a thought came to him. If their king was really an impostor from the frame Kelvin and his brother Kian had visited, then could Kelvin be safe? If the impostor had done something evil to their rightful king, what of the roundear who had bested him? Wouldn't that evil man want revenge?

  He was afraid to come too close to an answer. Anyway, it was time to march.

  *

  The Brownberries had been in need, all right! The man was struggling to bring in the harvest before the season turned, and the woman was ill with the ten-day fugue. The daughter was just fifteen, and willing and able to work, but could not do enough.

  The crux of the problem was this: one man could cut and haul the brownberry plants if he had to, with the help of his good horse. But immediately after cutting they had to be brought inside and the long fibers separated before they hardened. That was a two-person job. If the man took the time to work with his daughter on the separation, he would not have time to complete the arduous cutting and hauling, and much of the crop would be spoiled. But if he did not, the separation could not be done.

  Hal's unexpected arrival had been welcomed with something almost like tears. He was not skilled in brownberry farming, but that didn't matter; the girl was.

  So now he was seated opposite her in the curing shed, holding the root-end of each plant while she deftly separated each long fiber at the blossom-end, and stretched it out until it came neatly away from the main body of the stem. A good stem could have as many as a dozen of the tough fibers, each of which could in due course be woven into the developing fabric of a new brownberry shirt. Then the squeezed juice of the berries would dye that shirt the traditional brown. Those shirts were the best and cheapest staple of local apparel; almost every rustic wore one.

  This also meant that Hal had spent the day doing little except gaze at the young woman opposite him, Easter Brownberry. She had seemed like a plain girl, but now that he saw her in her area of expertise, her hands moving quickly and cleverly, he realized that it was only her shyness. Her hair fell down around her shoulders, the exact color of brownberry, the tresses moving like snakes as her head turned. Easter was well endowed for her age, and her face was attractive as she concentrated. Her breasts shifted slightly within her own brownberry shirt as her arms drew out the fibers. Every so often she glanced at him and smiled, letting him know that she appreciated his help, even though he was only holding. She became even more attractive when she did that.

  Then he took a turn, because Easter was tiring. She had to take him through it in pantomime first, standing behind him and reaching around to guide his arms in the necessary motions. The fibers did not just let go; they had to be tweaked just so.

  Hal felt her bosom pressed against his back. It was almost as if she were embracing him.

  He went a little crazy then. He turned within her arms, coming to face her. He kissed her.

  Easter was so surprised she almost fell. “Mr. Hackleberry!” she exclaimed.

  Damn! Why had he done that? He was not a man to take advantage of a girl young enough to be his daughter!

  “I'm sorry,” he said immediately. “I'll leave.”

  “But-- but the job isn't done!” she protested.

  True. “Then I will do it. I promise not to touch you again. I don't know what happened.”

  They resumed the work. But now when Easter glanced at him, she did not smile. Hal felt terrible.

  Finally, shyly, she asked, “Mr. Hackleberry, did you mean it?”

  “Of course I did! I had no business touching you, and I won't-- “

  “I mean,” she murmured, blushing as she averted her gaze, “when you kissed me?”

  “I said I had no business-- “

  “But did you?” she persisted, still blushing.

  “Yes,” he said. “You are a most attractive girl. But-- “

  “You really think so?”

  “Of course I do! But that's no excuse to-- “

  “I guess you want a quiet affair.”

  “I never intended to-- ” he began.

  “Mr. Hackleberry, I think you're great, the way you came to help us out. Nobody ever thought I was pretty, before. So if you want to go to the loft-- “

  “No!” he protested.

  “I've never done it,” she said. “But I'd sure like to do it with you, Mr. Hackleberry.”

  Hal stared at her, realizing that she was serious. He was helping her, he found her attractive, and she was flattered, so she was ready to jump into the hay with him. The worst of it was, he was so strongly tempted.

  *

  Heln was worried and she let Dr. Sterk know it. It wasn't that she had any great faith in the physician as anything other than a doctor, but talk she must.

  “Hmmm, young lady,” the royal physician said, his eyebrows rising like a crest and making his sharp features even more birdlike. “You say the king is not the king, and-- “

  “Yes! Yes! He must be that look-alike Kelvin told us about. If he is, he's got round ears like mine and Kelvin's. He can't have pointed ears like you and King Rufurt.”

  Dr. Lunox Sterk did a little hop from one foot to another, a characteristic that heightened his bird impression. “I think, young lady, that you're imagining. Many women think strange th
ings when they're with child.”

  “Damn it, Doctor,” Heln said, feeling herself getting angry. It was awful to be treated like an unreasonable person, especially when one felt that way already. “You can at least look, can't you? King Rufurt never wore a stockelcap in his life. This king always wears one pulled down around his ears. Isn't that strange?”

  “Young Lady, the king is the king. What he wants he does. It is not for you or me or any other subject to question.”

  “Horse droppings!” Heln said, adopting one of her natural father's crude expressions, slightly edited for decency. “We have to find out if it's the king with the round ears. You have to find out!”

  “Young lady, you are being most difficult.”

  “Darned right,” Heln said, now trying a pose of Kelvin's sister, again suitably edited. “And I intend to be more difficult. Either you get a look at his ears and tell me that they are pointed, or-- or-- I'll leave the palace!”

  “Leave the palace!” Dr. Sterk was alarmed. “Really, that would never be allowed. I have my orders. Your husband wouldn't want-- “

  “Wouldn't want me here if the king is the evil impostor!” she retorted smartly.

  The doctor held up bony hands. “Calm yourself! It's not good for you to get excited. For the sake of the child, be calm.”

  “I'll be calm if you'll check his ears. Will you?”

  He sighed. She had him over a barrel. If she miscarried or left the palace, he would get much of the blame. “Yes. Yes, I will try to. But the king isn't acting irrationally, for a king. Kings are different. He may be losing his hair, or it may be turning gray, so he's covering it up. Kings can be even more vain than women.”

  Heln realized that the good doctor thought he was exaggerating for effect. She managed to disregard the insult to women, and fixed him with her eyes. “Forget the hair. Check the ears.”

  “I-- will try. If it's the hair that is disturbing him, I can prescribe a magic ointment.”

  Victory, maybe! “Now, Doctor,” she said in her steeliest tone. She wasn't good at this, preferring normally to be soft and feminine, but she was desperate.

  He went to the chamber door as if dismissed by royalty. Without another word, he exited.

  Heln lay back on her pillow in the big four-poster bed and sighed. How totally unlike her! But it was necessary. Why have a sister-in-law like Jon if not to learn from her?

  Yes, she thought dreamily. Yes, now we'll all know the truth of this matter.

  But then a dark thought came, unbidden and bothersome. “Suppose it is Rowforth?” she whispered to the bust of Rufurt's grandfather. “Suppose it is that evil king Kelvin encountered? What of Kelvin? What of your grandson? What of all Kelvin's gains?”

  The bust made no reply. Try as she might, Heln could not make it wink.

  *

  “How's she doing, Doctor?” Jon stood outside the chamber and caught the royal physician exiting. She had been standing there throughout his examination, knowing how embarrassed Heln was about her swollen abdomen.

  “Delusional, I'm afraid. She has this fear that other-frame folk are coming here. She thinks our king is the one your brother helped defeat in the other frame.”

  “I think she's right,” Jon said. “As a matter of fact, I know it.”

  Dr. Sterk shivered the full length of his skinny body. Disappointment was on his face. He had wanted agreement. “She wants me to look at the king's ears.”

  “So do I.” Jon felt there was no sense in denying it. If she was to be thrown into a dungeon, too bad. In the meantime, she would hold the sling she had, with the rock that was just the right size for a false king. “There's risk?”

  “With royalty, Mrs. Crumb, there's always risk.”

  “Not with the real King Rufurt. Remember how he laughed? Remember how he enjoyed a joke? This king seems never to enjoy anything.”

  “I remember his manner. Perhaps some sorcery has brought about a change.”

  “You will find out?”

  “If he'll let me. Yes, yes, I will try.”

  “When, Doctor?” They had to pin him down. Otherwise he'd be stalling forever. Men were like that, and doctors especially.

  “I suppose I must request that he have an examination. If he refuses-- “

  “Tell him it's his regular examination. He won't know.”

  “I ... sup . . . pose.” He seemed to speak ineffective volumes in the pauses.

  “Now, Doctor.”

  “Oh, very well.” With as much dignity as a man with birdlike beak and ungainly gait could command, he left her for the royal quarters.

  Jon sighed. For worse or much worse. I hope for all our sakes I'm wrong. But if I'm right. . . gods help all of us!

  *

  Dr. Sterk entered the royal bedchamber and stopped. The king stood there wearing his stockelcap and nothing else.

  “Well, Doctor? I haven't all day!”

  Knowing the king's usual routines, Dr. Sterk doubted that. Nevertheless that was his signal to go to work. He tested the king's muscle tone (excellent), listened to his heart (beating strongly), and tested his breathing (powerful, like that of an athlete). He checked everything that he was supposed to. Except for the ears.

  “Well?”

  “Your ears, Your Majesty.”

  “What about my ears?”

  “You're wearing a stockelcap. I need to look in your ears for bugs, and-- “

  “You think I've got bugs in my ears!”

  “Check your hearing. It's just the regular checkup, Your Majesty.”

  “Oh, very well!” The king whipped off the covering.

  Dr. Sterk blinked. Those women had been so convincing! But here were two ears as pointed as he had ever seen. A little bit cleaner than he expected, and not quite so hairy, but--

  “What are you doing there?”

  “Nothing, Your Majesty.” He swallowed, trying to remember that he was the doctor. He really had to ask it. “Why, Your Majesty, wear the stockelcap?” Certainly it wasn't because of developing baldness or gray hair.

  “Why? Because I want to!”

  “Oh.” So he wouldn't find out!

  “I caught a little head cold in the ruins. Started giving me the sniffles. But they're gone now.”

  “Y-yes.” Now just what was a head cold, and what was sniffles? Some sort of curse? But the king was right about one thing: he was healthy now.

  Dr. Sterk was quite relieved when he finally left the royal presence.

  CHAPTER 5

  Chimaera

  It was strange being picked up and carried by two left scaly human female arms and two right scaly male arms. Kelvin watched the bulge in the male pectoral muscles where they joined the side of the creature. He hardly dared look at the female side where he imagined there was a bit of breast beneath the coppery sheen.

  “I hate to disillusion your fond conjectures, but my kind don't have breasts,” Mervania told him. There was a slight reproach in her tone, as though he had insulted her, or perhaps disappointed her. “Perhaps if my body was of the goatish nature envisioned by Earth's Greeks, I'd have an udder or two on my chest. But as you can see,” she clicked the huge claws that were helping to support his weight, “my main body is of the Crustacea.”

  Yes, he had noticed. Oh, did those pincers feel hard! He was almost disappointed that her body had turned out so unlike his guilty expectation.

  “Why thank you, Kelvin!”

  He tried to stifle his further thoughts. Now they were descending a ramp. At the bottom a door was ajar and his father and brother lay still bound hand and foot with the froogears’ vines.

  There was a third individual, unbound, rather plump, wearing a suit of transparent body-covering armor. Through the armor he could see a body-length undergarment that showed neither seams nor fasteners. The stranger had dark red, wirelike hair, a stern slash of a mouth, and ears that were not quite round as his own, but pear-shaped.

  “Why didn't you run out?” Kelvin demanded of the st
ranger. At that moment the chimaera dumped him on the floor. The scorpiocrab pincers reached past his face, sending a thrill of alarm through him, and neatly snipped the vines. His bonds fell away, and he scrambled to his feet as the monster released the others.

  “Because, stupid, it's a chimaera!” the stranger snapped.

  Kelvin noted the iron rings set in the stone wall. This place was evidently a dungeon beneath a castle. There were piles of straw for beds. The only other furniture was a trough that stood chest-high and held an assortment of chopped fruits in some sort of gruel. Kelvin could not believe the mouthwatering smell coming from that trough, and he realized that his stomach was really empty. In the far corner he could see an open drain. There was a small stream of water running through a narrow stone depression that entered one side of the cell and exited the opposite. The water looked as inviting as the food, and cool.

  “Go ahead, eat, all of you, make yourselves fat!” the stranger said. “If the monster eats you first, that's longer for me!”

  “Goodbye for now,” the Mervania head said dulcetly.

  “Hearty appetites,” the Mertin head added.

  “GWROOWOOTH!” spat-snarled the dragon head. Huge jaws opened. A forked tongue reached out and just missed licking Kelvin's flinching face.

  “Grumpus, no tasting!” Mervania chided.

  With astonishing ease the huge mixed-up beast turned, its long copper sting scraping first the wall and then the ceiling as the tail elevated and curled over the back. With a fast scuttling motion the chimaera exited. It turned around its massive copper crustacean body and its human arms grasped the door's edge. The heads looked in at them as the door swung shut. From outside came the sound of a heavy bar dropped firmly in place.

  The cell was not really dark. Light filtered down to them from narrow slits spaced at intervals near the ceiling. By that light, Kelvin could see his father and brother rubbing their arms and legs to restore circulation. The chimaera had not bothered to take the vines. Contemptuous of any plans they might form, it had left their bonds where they had fallen.