Xanth 29 - Pet Peeve

by Piers Anthony

  There were two pops, and Metria and another demoness appeared. The second was dusky in a sexy sort of way. "Here's Dara," Metria said. "Sometimes called Dana because Humfrey can't keep her name straight. And I didn't even have to show her my polka-dot panties."

  "Those were my panties," Dara said severely. "You stole them two centuries ago. If I'd had them when Humfrey rescued his wives from Hell, I wouldn't have had to settle for one month in six."

  "And this is Hannah Barbarian," Metria continued. "You will transport her where I take Goody."

  "Hello, Hannah. If you guard Goody, who guards you?"

  "I don't need a guard!"

  "But you do need a man, don't you."

  "Are you teasing me?"

  "Maybe."

  Hannah nodded. "We'll get along."

  Vore returned. "Dad's on board."

  "Because he knows where the action is," Nada said.

  "He'll fetch King Trent, and meet us tomorrow at Iron Mountain."

  "But we told the other species to be there two days from now," Goody said.

  "That's why we need to be there the day before," Hannah said. "So we can direct them to their quadrants. We'll need to survey the region beforehand."

  "You're pretty good at this," Vore said.

  "Well, I'm a barbarian. We like to fight."

  "Maybe we should go there now and make camp," Goody said. "So we won't have to do it tomorrow."

  "It works for me," Vore said. "We'll drop you off now."

  Metria took Goody, Vore took Gwenny, and Dara took Hannah.

  There was a wrench, and they stood before a mountain made of iron. It was impressive, towering above them, with iron steps cut into its side leading upward, and an iron guardrail. An almost invisible river gushed from a coiled spring and cascaded down the side.

  "What a pile!" the parody exclaimed.

  "South is Lake Wails," Dara Demoness said. "East is the Kiss Mee River, newly restored to friendly curves. Nearby is the Singing Tower. Immediately west is Mountain Lake. It's an interesting location."

  "You're familiar with it?" Gwenny asked.

  "I pop by every so often. Once I found an ogre and a number of damsels stuck atop Iron Mountain without proper water or a bed, and was able to help them. I try to do a good deed every day, if I can."

  That explained something about Dara. She was definitely nice for a demoness.

  Hannah got busy preparing a lean-to, with the parody staying to criticize her efforts. Goody and Gwenny set off in search of pillow and pie plants. They found a few, but that suggested a problem. "What's the army going to eat?" Goody asked.

  "I think we'll have to import supplies."

  "From where?"

  "I think we have a problem."

  They harvested what they could, and started back. "Oh, I meant to inquire, now that we're alone," Gwenny said, setting down her bundle. She stepped close to Goody. "Did Metria to this to you?" She squeezed him in a private place.

  He started to protest, then realized that she was teasing him. The absence of the peeve was a rare chance for private interaction. So he squeezed her in a naughty place. "Did Vore do this to you?"

  She considered. "Maybe." She kissed him. "Did the demoness do this to you?"

  "I'm not sure. Try it again."

  She tried it again. "No, I don't think so. Did Vore do this to you?" He stroked her in an intriguing place.

  She pondered, not withdrawing at all. "Probably not. Did Metria—"

  Goody leaped into the air. "Hoo!"

  "I didn't do that to you either," Metria said, coming into sight after doing it invisibly. "What are you two up to?"

  "Nothing you wouldn't understand," Gwenny said with resignation.

  They picked up their bundles and returned to the developing camp. "We found some pies and pillows," Goody said. "But the full army will need a hundred times what's here."

  "Food!" Hannah said. "Why didn't I think of that?"

  "Because you're an uncivilized dunce."

  "Thank you so much, peeve. That explains everything." She looked around. "What will they eat? We don't want them to start in on each other before the robots even get here."

  D. Vore appeared. "I'll check with Dad." He vanished.

  "I'll check with Humfrey," Dara said, fading out.

  "I'll check on the children," Metria said. "Nada may be getting tired of minding them both on her own."

  They were alone. They ate the pies and washed in Mountain Lake. This was in the shape of a mountain, of course, with the water angling up to the peak. It seemed to be a big wave that got caught on land, so stayed put. The land beneath it was fairly level, but the rising surface soon made it too deep to wade in.

  "This is weird, swimming uphill," Hannah said, doing so. Then she heaved herself out of the water, spread herself flat, and slid down the slope to the shore.

  They settled down for the night, lying side by side on their bed of leaves, with Hannah on the hard ground as usual. "Does it seem cool to you?" Gwenny asked.

  "No, it's warm."

  "Dumbbell!"

  "Are you sure?" She squiggled up next to him.

  Oh. "Maybe it is cool," he agreed.

  "That's good."

  She rolled into him. Then he discovered that she wasn't wearing anything. "But I thought—you haven't—"

  "I haven't decided whether to marry you," she said. "I'm still gathering evidence. Do you have any?"

  "I think you do."

  "With Go-Go, we waited until we were married to—"

  "I am nothing like Go-Go. Hadn't you noticed?"

  He hadn't thought about it. She was right: she and Go-Go were both female goblins. Both were comely. There the resemblance ended. Go-Go had been content to be a homebody; Gwenny was a lady chief. Go-Go was inclined to go along with whatever was usual; Gwenny was an assertive leader. Go-Go had liked to dance in her special way; Gwenny couldn't dance. Go-Go had been cursed; Gwenny seemed blessed. They were different in practically every way he could think of.

  Except one. He loved them both.

  "Oh, Gwenny," he said. "Whatever you want—I want too."

  "I haven't decided," she reminded him.

  "Of course."

  "This is merely an interaction."

  "Yes."

  It turned out to be some interaction. Fortunately the parody had gone to sleep, or had the wit to keep its beak shut. The same, perhaps, went for Hannah Barbarian.

  The first to arrive next day were the centaurs: a hundred archers, male and female, led by Chevalier himself, flanked by Cheery.

  "The dumbbell and the knockers," the parody said loudly.

  The filly frowned. "You can't fool me again, parody. I know it's you, and will not tolerate it."

  "Yeah, boobsy twins? You and who else?"

  Her bow appeared in her hands, an arrow nocked. She loosed it without seeming to aim. It flew between Goody's shoulder and the bird's feet, the fletching scraping the peeve's tail. "Squawk!" it protested. "You almost hit me!"

  "Next time I'll aim more carefully. Now fetch me back my arrow."

  "What?!"

  The second arrow oriented. "Dart, shaft, quarrel, bolt, barb—"

  The peeve was on its way. Soon it returned with the spent arrow held in its beak. Evidently the arrow had been lightened to make this possible. Cheery's bow had disappeared. She lifted one hand. The bird dropped the arrow into it.

  Chevalier's mouth barely thought about twitching. He had remained studiously indifferent, but the point had been made. The filly's first arrow had gone exactly where she intended, making its point. The centaurs would not be subject to more harassment by the bird.

  "You are the first," Goody said. "I suppose you can pick the area you wish to defend. We'll need to circle the mountain so the robots can't reach it from any direction."

  "We'll require a territory with good foraging for food and supplies," Chevalier said.

  "This area is lean," Goody said. "We'll have to bring in supplies.
"

  "Past the robots?"

  "I hope Magician Trent will have an answer for that. He has agreed to supervise the operation."

  "Excellent. We know of him from way back. But we thought he had retired as the human monarch."

  "He did. That's why he is available."

  There was a muffled pop, and a puff of smoke formed and dissipated. "Did I hear my name?" Trent inquired.

  "Spoken with respect," Chevalier said. "I am Chevalier Centaur, head stallion of Centaur Isle."

  "We know of you, too," Trent said. "We're glad to have your contingent." The two shook hands. "Now what is your question?"

  "We and the other contingents will need supplies, especially food. We can ring the mountain, but the robots may in turn ring us. We will not be as effective if hungry."

  "I believe we can handle that," Trent said. "I discussed it with the Professor."

  There was another puff of smoke, and a grim older demon appeared. He had to have been there, invisible, because Trent could not have traveled in such manner by himself. "I heard my name," Demon Professor Grossclout said. "Food will be provided."

  Chevalier nodded. "Thank you, Professor."

  "Bogey at two o'clock!"

  A flight of ungainly birds was arriving. These manifested as harpies as they came closer. "Very good," Trent said.

  The lead harpy spied them and flapped in. "Fowlmouth Harpy here," she screeched. "Where can we land?"

  "Good to see you, Fowlmouth," Trent said. "Settle adjacent to the centaurs. We have special use for you."

  The harpy leader eyed the centaurs. "We don't do it with their breed. Too big."

  The Magician did not smile at her crude humor. "As I remember, the harpies have control of the lunch box plantation."

  "That's right," she screeched. "We could feed an army."

  "That's exactly what is required. We have an army to feed. Can you ferry in enough boxes?"

  Fowlmouth looked doubtful. "We have enough, but can't carry more than two at a time. How many troops do you have?"

  "Thousands, we hope."

  "Thousands! It would take us a month!"

  "Suppose they are made light, so you could carry twenty at a time, in bags?"

  "That would help. But how would that be done?"

  "We have two flying centaurs you can guide to the plantation."

  "We don't associate with that kind," Chevalier said grimly.

  "Nor do you need to," Trent said smoothly. "They will not be on the field of battle."

  "Making things light," Fowlmouth screeched. "It will do. But we hear there will be flying machines. We can't fight and carry at the same time."

  "The centaurs will shoot those machines out of the air as they approach you," Trent said, "providing a safe corridor."

  "That we can do," Chevalier agreed.

  Goody saw that it was working out. Magician Trent was already taking charge and addressing the problems. Harpies were leading the two flying centaurs away.

  Now there was a series of pops as demons materialized. "Here to me, demons," the Professor called. "Mush! Mush!"

  The demons coalesced around him. "Good to work with you, Gross-clout," one said. "We remember your classes."

  "You had better," the professor said gruffly. "Follow me." He vanished. So did they.

  Now a pack of wolves ran in. Their leader approached Trent and transformed to manform. "Prince Jeremy Werewolf," he said.

  "Magician Trent. We met when you married Jenny Elf."

  "I remember. What can we do for you?"

  "We have not as yet decided, but I'm sure you will be effective."

  "If I may make a suggestion. My wife had an idea."

  "Let's have it."

  "We understand you also recruited elves."

  "True."

  "They can be doughty warriors, but are known to lack strength away from their trees."

  "They will have to operate near their trees," Trent agreed.

  "Suppose we gave them rides?"

  "I am not sure I understand."

  "Where Jenny comes from, elves are wolf riders. She knows how it is done. We could carry them, greatly increasing their range. They could use their weapons from our backs, protecting us."

  Trent nodded. "This may have merit. We'll consult with the elves when they arrive."

  The parody noticed something. It flew high in the air, peering beadily about. "Bogey at twelve o'clock!"

  "What species?" Trent asked.

  "Goblins. A gang of them."

  "That would be my contingent," Gwenny said. "Goody, I must go supervise them." She kissed him quickly, then vanished as Vore carried her away.

  Magician Trent glanced at Goody. "So Chiefess Gwenny Goblin has finally found a partner?"

  "She is considering," Goody said uneasily. "I am Goody Goblin. I—we—seem to have been responsible for bringing the first robot here."

  "The dope was suckered," the peeve explained.

  "I am Magician Trent. My talent is transformation. I am glad to meet you, Goody." He reached down, extending his right hand.

  Astonished, Goody just stood there. "Shake his hand," Hannah whispered. "That's how humans greet folk."

  "But I'm not a chief or anything!"

  "Idiot!" the bird said.

  Goody reached up to shake the Magician's hand. He was able to grasp only two fingers. Trent seemed not to notice. "You have, I believe, already met the representatives of the dragons, other goblins, naga, and ogres?"

  "Yes, Magician."

  "We are expecting the dragons to converge at Lake Wails, not far to the south. The ogres are marching north from OgreChobee and should arrive soon near the Singing Tower. I would appreciate it if you would meet both contingents and help them orient. They need to be sure that no robots penetrate their quadrants."

  "But I have no authority!"

  Trent smiled. A tiny fly buzzed by before his face. He made a slight gesture, and the fly became a large shiny bug. He caught the bug and set it on Goody's lapel, where it held on firmly. "You do now. The demons have told them to heed a coordinator, as identified by this scarab badge. They will be expecting you."

  The Magician had evidently come prepared. It was becoming clear why so many species respected him. "Yes, Magician."

  Trent glanced at Hannah. "And since you are assisting him, you should have a badge too." He looked for another fly, but found none, so he reached down to gesture at a little yellow flower. It became another scarab. He picked it up and set it on her halter.

  She was taken aback. "Thank you, Magician."

  "Humfrey spoke well of you. On your way."

  Metria and Dara gathered them in and transported them to Lake Wails. This was set in an old volcano cone, with steep sides and very deep water. There was room to walk around the rim, but not a lot to spare. "It's a fun milieu," Metria said as they stood by the placid lake.

  "A fun what?"

  "Tract, environ, abode, spot, address, terrace, habitat, billet, space, quarter, city, hinterland, locale, street, arena, niche, scene, range, forum, pad, point—"

  "Place?" He had been curious how long she could continue with the wrong words, but there seemed to be no limit.

  "Whatever," she agreed crossly. "Haven't you heard of it?"

  "I didn't get around much for twenty years."

  "I did," Hannah said. "This is where the fabulous Wailing Monster runs, leaving little footprints on the surface of the water. The prints of wails."

  Goody looked across the water. "I don't see any monster."

  "It's shy. We may not see it at all. But we know it's there."

  "Bogey at six o'clock."

  They looked. A flight of dragons was coming in. Soon they glided to a landing near Goody and Hannah, perching neatly on the rim. Metria and Dara were normally invisible when not active.

  Their evident leader was a giant fire breather, big enough to take them both in with one chomp. He folded his wings and moved toward them as if they looked good to ea
t. Goody and Hannah hastily pointed to their scarab badges. The dragon looked, and nodded regretfully; these morsels were not for eating.

  "I am Goody Goblin," Goody said, feeling weak in the knees. Would the dragons really honor the truce between species? "This is Hannah Barbarian. We—"

  The dragon shook his huge head. He couldn't understand them.

  Then the rim rumpled. A snout poked out. This must be the place.

  "Vortex!" Goody cried, vastly relieved. "We need translation."

  The dragon drew himself out of the ground. "Of course. I came as fast as I could. Just let me check in." He oriented on the giant dragon leader. "This is Firestorm Dragon, leader of the flying dragon contingent. He is of the Rational persuasion, meaning he is smart rather than telepathic. He is indifferent to the fate of other species, but realizes that if the machines overrun Xanth, it will spoil the hunting. He recognizes your badge of authority, so will refrain from toasting you, with regret. I will translate your directives, and he will command the contingent."

  "Very good," Goody said, his knees stiffening somewhat. "There are several things he needs to know. First, leave the local denizens alone, such as the Wailing Monster. Second, the harpies are ferrying in food: lunch boxes."

  "What?" Vortex translated, fire flickering across the word. "We require quivering live meat and plenty of it."

  "Uh—"

  "I will check," Dara said, flickering momentarily in and out of view. Then a lunch box appeared in her hands; she had checked rapidly. "Try this. It is tightly packed."

  Goody took the box. It had a broken-off stem on the bottom. It had evidently grown on a plant or tree and been harvested. "This is a sample lunch," he said, unlatching the lid and lifting it.

  A monster leaped out, a globular cluster ten times the size of the box. It had eyeballs and tentacles galore, and a fat center. It landed on the rim and scrambled away.

  Firestorm jetted a lance of fire from one nostril. It speared the monster and fried it in place. Then he flicked the tip of his tail around to wrap around the morsel and drop it into his mouth. He chomped. He nodded.

  "It will do," Vortex said. "Surprisingly tasty."

  "We try to do things right," Goody said, relieved. "More will be delivered soon by a flight of harpies." He fixed Firestorm with what he hoped was a steely glare. "Do not toast the harpies. You need them to deliver the lunch boxes, and they don't taste very good anyway."