“Grey and Ida,” Che said thoughtfully, just as her worser self Mentia had before. “Working opposite each other. Suppose she gets an Idea?”
“She wouldn’t do that,” Gwenny said firmly. Then, less firmly: “Would she?”
“How long have Grey and Ivy been betrothed?” Metria asked.
“Nine years,” Che said promptly. Centaurs always had their facts and figures straight. “They were affianced the year after I was foaled.”
“Good thing they weren’t your parents,” Metria remarked innocently, and Gwenny stifled an unchiefly giggle. “Do you think they are ever going to get on with it?”
“No, I think they are waiting for the sun and the moon to collide first,” Che said, trying to look serious.
Gwenny made a conspiratorial wink. “Maybe we can encourage them. I understand that Ivy’s parents took some time in that respect too—”
“Eight years,” Che said.
“—until their friends held a wedding party for them in the cemetery, catching Magician Dor by surprise.”
“Are you two thinking what I’m thinking?” Metria asked.
Both Che and Gwenny immediately put on straight faces. “Of course not,” Che said. “Centaurs don’t conspire.”
“But if Professor Grossclout will be there,” Gwenny said, “and he’s competent to marry a couple—”
“He married me to Veleno,” Metria agreed. “Because he wanted to be sure I got what was coming to me.”
“Who knows what might happen, coincidentally,” Che finished. The expression on his face might have been misinterpreted as smugness, were he not a centaur.
“So anyway,” Metria concluded, “Cynthia Centaur will be there too, and your folks are going to take Jordan the Barbarian and Threnody to Castle Roogna tomorrow. I thought you might be interested in joining them.”
“Threnody can’t go to Castle Roogna,” Che said.
“That’s what makes it interesting. ’Bye.” She popped off. She loved doing that: leaving them with something truly tantalizing. They would have to come to Castle Roogna to see it happen.
She arrived where she had left Jordan and Threnody. They were camped out in the open, barbarian style, beside a perfectly even symme-tree, gazing up at the stars. Metria looked up and saw that some crazy constellations were forming over the Region of Madness. That made sense.
“Cheiron and Chex Centaur have agreed to carry you to Castle Roogna tomorrow,” she announced. “They’ll be here at dawn. When you see them fly overhead, shout, so they can find you.”
“Okay,” Jordan said. His tongue seemed to have healed the rest of the way. It was an interesting relation those two had, with her violence and his healing.
‘I wonder if she ever cuts off anything else?’ Mentia mused. ‘When she’s indisposed for love.’
Metria popped home and made sure her husband was still suitably delirious. Then she settled down to ponder the remaining tokens. She still had a number of folk to find, and though she had plenty of time, she knew that it could quickly dissipate if even one case turned out to be difficult. So her best course seemed to be to tackle the next most awkward folk on her list: the two Mundanes, Dug and Kim. Assuming she could even reach them. Was there a way? They had entered Xanth before through screens, and—
And there was her way. She would have to approach Com Pewter, the evil machine, next. And hope he cooperated. He was supposed to be a good machine now, but she didn’t quite trust that. Fortunately the hour didn’t matter; the machine didn’t sleep at night.
So she popped off to Pewter’s cave, bypassing the invisible giant who helped drive people into the cave. The glass screen was there as usual, propped up amidst pewter and crockery. It certainly didn’t look like much.
“Hello, Evil Machine,” she said. “I’ve got something for you.”
The screen brightened. Print appeared on it. A GREETING, WORD-IMPACTED DEMONESS.
“Word-whatted?”
BOUND, CONSTRAINED, CONSTIPATED, CONFUSED, CHAGRINED, MORTIFIED—
“Whatever,” she agreed crossly.
DO YOU HAVE WHAT I NEED?
“That depends on what you need.”
I NEED DIE-ODES FOR MY CIRCUITS.
“You need dead poets for your circus?”
The screen flickered warningly. NO, IGNORAMUS. I ALSO COULD USE A D-TERMINAL.
“What kind of termite?”
The screen flickered again. IT D-TERMINES WHAT I CAN DO. I AM TRYING TO GET UPGRADED.
“Well, don’t upchuck on me, machine!”
The screen faded for a moment, while the numbers 1 through 10 zipped rapidly across it several times. Then it got control of itself. YOU ARE THE ONLY CREATURE WHO COMES CLOSE TO ANNOYING ME, DESPITE MY LACK OF EMOTION. WHAT DO YOU HAVE FOR ME?
“That’s more like it, Evil Machine. Here’s your summons.” She held out the token marked “Com Pewter.”
DEMONESS CHANGES MIND ABOUT SERVING SUMMONS, the screen printed.
Oops, she’d forgotten how the contraption controlled reality in its vicinity. She withdrew the token, having changed her mind.
But she was no ordinary demoness. Mentia took over the body. She hadn’t changed her mind. “Listen, you bucket of bolts,” she said. “You can’t ignore this summons. It’s from—”
DEMONESS CEASES DIALOGUE.
And of course, she did. But she had one more chance.
Woe Betide appeared. “O please, O illustrious machine,” the tyke pleaded. “The Simurgh will be annoyed if you aren’t there. She wants an entity of true competence. Someone completely rational to serve on the Jury, in contrast to the mush—”
The screen flickered. THE SIMURGH?
“Yes, O marvelous contraption. It’s such an honor to be selected by her for this trial! Only the very most special folk are on the list, and—”
TRIAL?
“Roxanne Roc is on trial, and—”
WHAT FOR?
“Nobody but the Simurgh knows, O sapient device. But it must be very super duper extra important, because Demon Professor Grossclout is the Judge, and Magician Trent is the Bailiff, and—”
GIVE ME THAT SUMMONS.
The artful moppet seemed to hesitate. “Are you sure, O puissant cipher? I would never want to impose on a thing of your vasty importance.”
Com Pewter lost patience, CUNNING TYKE DELIVERS SUMMONS, the screen printed.
Obediently Woe Betide set the token beside the screen. “And do you think you just might, maybe, possibly, consider about helping me fetch in two other summonsees, O astute apparatus? I think only you can do it, O perspicacious mechanism.”
The evil machine was evidently not deceived about the child’s nature and flattery, but decided to be tolerant. After all, the Adult Conspiracy had its softer aspects, such as treating plaintive waifs with consideration. WHAT TWO OTHERS?
“They are the Mundanes Dug and Kim, who played the game of Companions three years ago.”
OH, YES, the screen remembered. HE IS A JERK, BUT SHE IS TOLERABLE. WHAT HAVE THEY TO DO WITH THIS TRIAL?
“They are summoned for Jury duty too, O phenomenal entity,” the gamine explained. “I must fetch them in, but I can’t go outside Xanth.”
The screen reflected for a moment; Woe Betide saw her image there. THIS IS NOT NECESSARILY FEASIBLE. THE MUNDANES DID ARRIVE IN XANTH THROUGH ELECTRONIC SCREENS, BUT THEY WERE PLAYING THE DEMONS’ GAME. THEY STILL PLAY THAT GAME, BUT NOT OFTEN. IT MAY BE SEVERAL MONTHS BEFORE—
“We have only a fortnight!” the cherub wailed, a large tear forming.
The machine almost seemed to have an emotion. I REGRET I AM UNABLE TO ENSURE THEIR PARTICIPATION. I CAN CONTROL REALITY HERE IN MY DEMESNE, AND BRING THEM IN THROUGH MY SCREEN IF THEY ENTER THAT GAME, BUT I CANNOT MAKE THEM PLAY THAT GAME.
“Isn’t there some other way, O grandiose artifact?” Woe Betide pleaded, so cute and distressed that her aspect might have melted silicon.
STOP THAT! the screen printed, blurring around the ed
ges. THERE MAY BE AN ALTERNATE WAY.
“O thank you, O magnificent creation! What is it?”
THERE IS AN OLD CENTAUR OF MAGICIAN CALIBER WHOSE TALENT IS TO GENERATE AN AISLE OF MAGIC OUTSIDE XANTH, OR AN AISLE OF NONMAGIC WITHIN XANTH. IF YOU ENLIST HIS AID, YOU WILL BE ABLE TO GO INTO MUNDANIA TO FETCH YOUR TWO SUMMONSEES.
“An aisle of magic in Mundania?” the tot asked, duly amazed. “O fantastic intellect, how is this possible?”
HE IS A VERY SPECIAL CENTAUR. THE DISCOVERY OF HIS TALENT CAUSED HIM TO BE EXILED FROM CENTAUR ISLE, BECAUSE THE CENTAURS THERE DO NOT APPROVE OF MAGIC, OTHER THAN AS A SEPARATE TOOL TO BE USED AT NEED. IN FACT THEY FIND IT OBSCENE IN HIGHER LIFE FORMS. THUS THEY TOLERATE MAGIC TALENTS IN HUMANS, WHICH ARE NOT ALL THAT HIGH ON THE SCALE, BUT NOT IN THEMSELVES. THIS IS ANALOGOUS TO THE ATTITUDE OF HUMAN BEINGS TOWARD STORK SUMMONING. THUS THIS PARTICULAR CENTAUR LIVES ISOLATED FROM HIS CULTURE AND DOES NOT SEEK NOTORIETY.
A close observer might have detected just a hint of boredom in the childish mien, as if she already knew much of this. Fortunately the machine was not observing closely at the moment, being more interested in showing off his knowledge to the amazed tad. “O exceptional appurtenance, who is this centaur, and where is he now?”
HE IS ARNOLDE, AND HE RESIDES SOMEWHERE IN CENTRAL XANTH. BUT HE IS INTOLERABLY OLD, AND PROBABLY NOT UP TO A JOURNEY TO MUNDANIA.
“But then he is of no use to me,” the little girl said irritably. Then, catching herself, she added, “O illustrious monitor.”
PERHAPS YOU WILL BE ABLE TO PREVAIL ON THE GOOD MAGICIAN TO REJUVENATE HIM FOR THE OCCASION, AND ON SOMEONE’S CAT TO LOCATE HIM.
That was what she needed. “Thanks, flatface,” she said, and popped out of the cave, leaving only a dirty noise behind. She reverted to Metria as she appeared by her home castle.
However, it was too late in the night to go after Jenny Elf, who was the one with the cat who could find anything except home.
The night? It was now coming onto wee morning. Com Pewter must have jumped time ahead, or put her on HOLD while he considered how to proceed. She had been playing the machine along, but it seemed that the machine had been doing the same thing back to her. Well, that was what made such encounters fun.
So she popped across to the brink of madness, where Jordan and Threnody were just getting up. Sure enough, three winged centaurs were arriving from the northwest, and another from the northeast.
They all landed together in the glade beside Jordan and Threnody. The one from the northeast was Che, and he was carrying Gwenny Goblin. He was not yet mature, at age ten, but Gwenny was not very heavy, so he was able to lighten and support her. The others were Cheiron, Chex, and Cynthia.
In a moment the mature centaurs flicked Jordan and Threnody with their tails, making them light. Then the two mounted, Jordan on Cheiron, Threnody on Chex. All four centaurs spread their wings and leaped into the air, stroking strongly. They gained elevation, then turned west, toward Castle Roogna. It was a pretty sight—one Metria might not have appreciated, aesthetically, before she got half-souled.
In a time and several moments they reached the castle, and came to land. They stood and watched as Jordan and Threnody walked slowly toward the castle. Princess Ida came to the front gate, garbed in a fittingly princessly robe, and waited similarly. It looked as if her moon had been washed for the occasion. Soufflé the moat monster lifted his head from the brine and oriented on the scene. They all knew the significance of this occurrence. All eyes were on Threnody.
The woman was elegantly dressed, very pretty in a dark gown, her black hair spreading downward and outward like a cape. Her demonly ancestry made it possible for her to assume what aspect she chose, so of course, she was beautiful. But she was also nervous, because for more than four hundred years she had been unable to come near this edifice, lest it collapse. She was plainly in doubt about the abatement of the curse—and so were the others. But there was no way to verify it except to go to the castle.
She came to the end of the lowered drawbridge. She paused, then nerved herself and put one small foot on the bridge.
There was a shudder and a rumble.
Soufflé jumped, craning his head around as if afraid a huge stone was about to fall on it. Metria’s half soul sank down to her knees.
“Aw, shucks, it’s only an invisible giant,” Jordan said. “I can smell him.”
Sure enough, the faint stench of giant soon wafted across. The shuddering continued as the giant walked on past, in the near distance, then faded.
Threnody tried again. This time there was no reaction as she put first one foot, then the other on the planking. She walked slowly across the bridge, gazing nervously at the castle ahead.
When she reached the inner side of the moat, Ida stepped up to embrace her. “I just knew it was all right,” she said.
“I’m not in the castle proper yet,” Threnody said tightly.
“Then come on in,” Ida said, taking her hand. The two walked on through the great front door, in perfect silence. Jordan followed, glancing up a bit apprehensively. He had once tried to carry Threnody into the castle, and almost brought it down.
When it was clear that the castle was not about to fall, everyone else took a breath. Then they all hurried to catch up.
“This is the throne room,” Ida said, “where—”
“Where my father, King Gromden, used to sit on the throne, and hold me in his lap,” Threnody said, remembering. “He told me that one day I would sit there.” Her face clouded. “But of course, he didn’t know what would happen.”
They moved on. “Here is the courtyard,” Ida said, “where the Roses of Roogna grow.” She paused, but Threnody didn’t comment. Metria knew why: Rose of Roogna had brought the magic roses centuries after the castle had been deserted, long after King Gromden’s time. So Threnody had never seen them. “The roses represent a test of true love, so great care must be used when invoking them.”
They went on, visiting all the historic chambers of the ancient castle, until they came to the one where the great magic Tapestry hung on the wall. “Oh, yes, I spent many happy hours watching this!” Threnody exclaimed. “It shows all the history of Xanth. Sometimes I even dreamed I was there, part of the great adventures of the past.”
“Me, too,” Ida murmured, and her moon bobbed. She glanced at Threnody, and the two exchanged a smile.
The tour concluded with the room assigned to Threnody. There had been no rumble of protest from any of the stones or timbers. The curse had indeed been abated.
Then Threnody began to weep. Jordan fetched her a handkerchief, somewhat out of sorts; like any barbarian, he had no idea what to do with a crying woman. But they were not tears of pain or grief, but of relief: Threnody had finally returned to the home of her childhood. Her fondest wish had been realized.
Then she turned to Metria, her face shining wet, and held out her hand. Metria put the summons token into it.
But Threnody was accepting more than the token. “Mother,” she said, in a way she had never done before. This time the cutting bitterness was gone. She caught Metria’s hand and drew her in for a hug. “Mother, I forgive you any wrong I thought you did me or my father. Will you forgive me for my attitude?”
Suddenly the weight of Metria’s soul pressed her down—and then released her. For centuries she hadn’t cared what her daughter thought, and indeed had seldom if ever even thought of her. But her soul changed all that, and now she wanted more than anything else to have that relationship. Now her own eyes were streaming. “Yes! Yes, my daughter, yes,” she said, not caring how foolish it might sound.
Then they were crying together, while the others stood in a circle and watched, and no one was embarrassed. Two curses had actually been lifted: the one on the castle, and the one on their relationship.
“I think we have seen enough,” Cheiron said. “Cynthia will remain here until it is time for the trial, but we must return home.”
“We will remain here also
,” Che said. “The trip has already proved worthwhile.” He glanced at Cynthia, who, though she was only ten, managed to blush.
Metria had to agree.
6
CONTEST
But Metria could not stay to appreciate the joy at the castle; she had plenty of other business to see to. She needed to summons-serve the two Mundanes, Kim and Dug, and to do that she needed to find Arnolde Centaur and get him rejuvenated, and to do that she needed to find Jenny Elf and her cat who could find anything. So how could she find Jenny Elf?
Well, Jenny had served as a Companion in the game that had brought the two Mundanes to Xanth. Metria herself had participated in that game; she remembered the rehearsals and preparations, supervised by Professor Grossclout. After the game, the various parties had gone their various ways. But Grossclout surely knew where every one of them was. So she would ask him. She resolved this time not to let him get to her. She would be her normal indifferent self, no matter what.
No sooner thought than done. She popped across to the demon caves. There was the Professor, breaking in a new class. “But if you survive,” he thundered at the rows of mushy demon faces before him, “you just may wind up thinking like real demons!” He glowered, evidently doubting that such a thing was possible. The students were obviously cowed, horsed, sheeped, and pigged, daring neither peep nor poop in response. Only Grosssclout was able to manage that; it was his talent to intimidate those who could not be intimidated.
Metria nerved herself and broke the tense silence. “Hey, Prof—where’s Jenny Elf?”
The glower cracked around the edges. Wisps of smoke rose from the Professor’s glowing eyeballs. “What are you doing here again?” he demanded, shaking with indignity. In fact, the whole classroom shook with it.
Hey—it was working! She was actually resisting his intimidation. But she knew she had to hang on to her attitude, because if she ever lost it, she would never recover it. “Oh, did I interrupt something? Sorry about that.” Her conscience required her to apologize when she transgressed, and it was hard to be in Grossclout’s presence without developing a feeling of transgressing.
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