Fay was never louder than when she was happy. She turned Clive’s name into a shout of pure joy and began swimming toward him as he had landed further out than where she and Jennifer had been cavorting. As the sticky gunk washed off his face, Clive opened his eyes to the most welcome sight he could imagine: the real Fay. Or was she?
No one could go through what he had just suffered without the transformation of a perfectly natural wariness into full-blown paranoia. But the delightful vision swimming in his direction sure looked like Fay. And as they made contact, she sure felt like Fay as she put an arm around him and started into her lifesaver act. He felt capable of making it to shore unassisted but did not feel inclined to tell her so. Yes, by the time they came out onto dry land he was sure this was his real sister.
He even allowed himself to notice the obvious. “Fay,” he spluttered, “you don’t have any clothes on.”
“A regular Sherlock Holmes,” said Kitnip from her perch atop what had been one of the spider-fish’s legs. Clive was glad to see the cat but less so to notice more evidence that the Land of the Seasons was suffering from severe monster infestation.
Fay stuck to the point by refusing to let her brother get away with being more of a prude than she was herself. “Clive Gurney,” she said, hands on hips, “we haven’t seen each other since we fell off that stupid mountain and this is all you can say!”
Jennifer emerged from the water next. Clive’s eyes were as fishy as the carcass on the beach in that they almost popped out of his head. Jennifer was quite a beauty and in the same state as his sister. “Would you like to swim with us?” she asked.
Before he could put either soggy foot any deeper in his mouth, he was rescued by another large splash in the center of the lake. The dragon had prevented another of Malak’s kidnappings but there had been nothing said about whether Clive would be followed.
They watched a small boat rowing toward them with a loan figure hunched over the oars. The dinghy, putting Fay in mind of the one Grandfather had owned, came to rest on the shore. Standing up, the rower revealed himself as another odd character. He was a tall man with a bald head — a football shape rising from the folds of his green cloak, with two little eyes burning in the center. His mouth was a long, jagged scar that was so wide it almost seemed to bisect his face.
“Look, he has safe passage,” said Mr. Wynot, cowering in the shallows.
The boatman displayed a white arm band as he came ashore and started walking. There was something wrong about the man’s movements, as if he were a machine, a giant wind-up doll. Each time a leg came up, it jerked so violently that it looked to be in danger of coming off. Not until the leg was almost parallel to the ground did it deign to come back down and the other leg perform the same operation.
Clive was all set to run from the marching, robot feet. He’d had enough of the Slaks for one day, although he wasn’t sure this was another brand of the same demonic product. But as he could tell from the monstrous remains on the beach, he was hardly alone in facing danger. The others were holding their ground; he would hold his.
The man stopped right in front of Clive and spoke with words like spiders crawling into the ear: “You and your friends are invited to Lord Malak’s picnic to celebrate the Seasons.” The head turned mechanically, and the sneering mouth added: “Attire will be required.”
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Copyright © 1996 by Brad Linaweaver. All rights reserved.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE MASTER’S PLAN
There was an instant conference with Jennifer, Mr. Wynot, the Tabrik leader and even nervous Mr. Brine. They had dressed for the occasion. Clive and Kitnip kept a watchful eye on Malak’s ambassador. Fay was pleased over the way everyone turned to Jennifer for guidance. Whatever these various office holders meant in the grand scheme of things, they deferred to the true representatives of the Seasons. Fay wondered what the other three must be like, and if they encouraged the same degree of confidence as was natural with Jennifer.
“We must go,” she said sweetly. “Mrs. Norse has a rule about never being rude, however unreasonable that may be.” Fay shook her head to clear away the cobwebs and the possibility she’d just heard Jennifer be sarcastic. “Besides, when Lord Malak takes a chance like this he puts himself at risk if he doesn’t behave himself,” Jennifer finished to a murmuring of agreement.
Mr. Wynot took a moment from vigorously drying what remained of his hair so as to ask a practical question: “How will we get to Summer?”
“We could walk,” said Jennifer.
“The picnic will be at Soon o’clock,” said the messenger. “Transportation will be provided upon request.”
Jennifer made a command decision: “We appreciate the offer from Lord Malak, but we decline any method of travel that requires his aid. You understand how it is.”
The football head remained impassive, but Kitnip felt the fur rise on her neck as if at any moment the robotic man might do something unpleasant. The leader of the Tabriks held up a hand and made an offer: “I’ll get us there.”
“The invitation does not extend to any of your retinue,” said the messenger in an especially snooty manner.
The Tabrik bowed. “Considering how your lord feels about my people, it is wondrous that even I should be welcome.”
Malak’s man turned on his heel and marched back to the boat. When he had rowed to the center of the lake, he and his craft simply disappeared.
“Let’s go,” said Mr. Wynot in a merry tone of voice. “At least we’ll get a fine meal.” He smacked his lips with great gusto.
“You’re going to eat his food?” asked Clive warily.
“Yes, my brother’s right,” added Fay. “Is this wise?”
“The rules, the rules,” piped Mr. Wynot. “The enemy is many things but he’s never broken the laws of hospitality.”
“We’d probably be safe traveling in one of his craft,” admitted Jennifer, “but you never know for sure, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.”
The Tabrik leader gestured for them to follow him and added the reminder, “This way we can take along some of the eggs, in case we need them.” He placed strong hands to his forehead and concentrated.
Clive joined Fay as they went off toward the glass hive. They were happy to be together again although she couldn’t resist teasing him about his appearance. His shoes were still soggy so he took them off, removed his dripping socks, and put the shoes back on. After wringing the socks out as best he could, he dangled them from his belt as if they were the pelts of dead animals. He was not a happy camper.
Fay wanted to know if he’d seen Wolf. He brought her up to date. They both breathlessly described their adventures — but it soon transpired that Clive had a bit more to relate. Judging herself a newly baptized expert on the subject of water monsters, Fay wanted to compare the spider-fish of the lake to the amorphous entity that Clive had faced at the seaside; plus anything more he could recall about the ocean. Kitnip wanted more details about the dragon.
As they neared the city of the Tabriks, Fay pointed at the vehicle that must be meant for their party. Clive thought he was back in Mrs. Norse’s kitchen, observing the blue spheres … except these were much larger and forming a ring around an elaborately rigged glass boat. The seemingly fragile craft came closest in appearance to a gondola, except this was much larger than any of the graceful craft used in the canals of Venice. A ramp was already in place for them. There were advantages to being in the compnay of the Tabrik leader — advantages as clear as he was.
The spheres pulsed and quivered as they walked up the ramp. Although the seats appeared to be made of hard and unyielding glass (or some sort of transparent plastic) they were, in f
act, quite soft. No sooner was everyone seated than the ship rose into the air.
Fay noticed how Clive was gazing straight up with a worried expression. “What’s the matter?” she inquired.
“Blue sky overhead,” he mused aloud, “but that yellow fog I was drifting in must be up there somewhere. It’s the same as what you saw in your dream. And there’s that crazy pollen coming out of it with recorded voices.”
“You’ll drive yourself crazy trying to figure out how anything works around here,” she replied. But her words started him pondering the possibilities. Was the yellow fog really above his head, somewhere up high, or was it someplace else entirely? Perhaps it only came into existence when needed. This magic business was more trouble than learning science had ever been. Matters were difficult enough when you had the hope that rules might remain consistent; with magic, the rules might stay the same or they might not. The trouble was knowing whom to ask!
Clive joined his sister in enjoying the scenery unfolding beneath the prow and was reminded of visiting a national park back home with its fine selection of healthy forests, unpolluted lakes, gently flowing river, neatly kept grounds and other signs of well maintained vitality. And yet there was something subtly wrong with the picture unfolding beneath them: this was one remarkably underpopulated world.
Fay’s heart jumped for joy when she caught sight of a lone horse, a white mare galloping in an open field. There were no other horses to be seen.
Clive gently nudged his sister and pointed to a less pleasing spectacle. Several of the dimunitive pumpkin men were scrambling for cover underneath a spreading Elm. It was disturbing to think these little homunculi could enter Spring. He’d hoped they might be restricted to Autumn, but just because they originated there it didn’t necessarily follow that they would be restricted in movement.
There seemed to be more of Malak’s dire creations than the kind of life Fay and Clive wanted to see. Another frustration was that they couldn’t get a better sense of geography from this new vantage point than had been the case atop the stone mountain. Beyond a certain point, the picture ended in mist.
Up ahead they had a good view of the peculiar volcano, shrouded in mist, silently belching out the bubbles of light that spread from Summer to illuminate all the Seasons. Clive wanted to climb the thing and see what the view was like. Having spent time beyond the mist, he at least knew there was a there there.
Unbidden, memories flooded back from school where plans were being laid to celebrate the 500th anniversary of Columbus’s voyage. Clive wondered if this world might be flat! Certainly it was very much like a big island or small continent, but if he hadn’t seen the ocean for himself he would have suspected that the Land of the Seasons was surrounded by … nothing.
A sudden lightness in his stomach and the balls of his feet brought Clive back to “reality,” such as it was. Glancing at his sister, he was impressed yet again by her steadfastness. He believed her to be better suited to this adventure of theirs.
A dramatic increase in temperature left no doubt as to the location. It was Summer, all right. With a soft thud, they touched down and were greeted by a welcoming committee.
Clive thought he was seeing double, or triple. Three other Jennifers rushed over to embrace their sister who was first to disembark. The Jennifers were not perfectly identical but startlingly similar. The one in the lead had to be the Jennifer of Summer. She wore a tight fitting black bikini. The finsihing touch was the formality of a black top hat. The other two Jennifers were dressed according to their Seasons as well. The pretty dress and light jacket that went with Autumn seemed a bit out of place in this heat … but Clive was most surprised that the one from Winter didn’t seem to be burning up in her white parka and hood. Truth to tell, none seem affected by weather.
After the introductions (a great fuss was made over Fay), the Jennifers led them through a brief stretch of forest. Fay wandered ahead of Clive. He didn’t mind in the least. As she pushed some hanging moss out of the way, she was presented with a vision that struck her with such force that it might as well have been a physical blow. He was there, playing host to a large number of people. And he saw her.
Grandfather was dressed in the same black suit in which he’d been buried. Even from this distance there was a musty odor rising from him or from the suit — she wasn’t sure which. Perhaps the most incongruous element was that she’d never seen him so relaxed and friendly. Slowly he walked over, with such painful deliberation that it was as if he were moving underwater. She was fixed to the spot, caught in his watery gaze that seemed to crawl up and down every inch of her body.
“My darling girl!” he said as he finally reached her. She pulled back as he tried to embrace her. “Perfectly all right,” he cooed. “No need to rush. And look, there’s Clive! Hope you have a good appetite, young fella!”
Jennifer of Spring came to the rescue: “Don’t overdo it, Lord Malak.”
A dark scowl formed on Grandfather’s mouth but it was gone as quickly as it had flickered there. For some unaccountable reason, he was exercising self control. “And where is Our Lady of the Seasons?” he asked of this nearest Jennifer.
“Not enjoying your picnic,” was the ungracious answer.
“Oh, I understand,” he lied, catching sight of Kitnip. “Our Lady would rather stay home with those … animals.”
“Meeeoooow,” said Kitnip.
He was wise enough to change the subject: “My, my, you Season girls are all so pretty. How am I to tell you apart if you go swimming? I mean, without your identifying raiment there’s no way….”
“Since when would it make any difference to you?” asked Jennifer of Summer in a voice so cold as to belie the heat.
“Well, you girls certainly know how to put an old man in his place. That must include you, mustn’t it, Fay?” She bit her lip to keep from making a comment. She was glad at least that Wolf was safe with Mrs. Norse. Malak’s sarcasm brought out the best in her.
“Don’t pick on her,” said Jennifer of Autumn.
Grandfather laughed with the sound of a nest of hornets dying somewhere in the caverns of his sunken chest. “But it’s a picnic, dears,” he said, his horribly good mood in no way altered. “Very well, I’ll behave … at first. You’re all scheming a mile a minute, but let’s put all that aside until we’ve had our hotdogs.”
There were several long wooden tables at which disturbingly familiar people were talking and eating. Jennifer recognized the voices before Clive did. She ran over for a closer look. Another family reunion was not what the doctor had ordered, but here it was, in all its grotesque and byzantine splendor. There was a swarm of uncles, aunts, cousins, second cousins, nephews, nieces … more extended family extending down the length of the tables than she had ever seen all in one place.
She felt a lump in her throat as she recognized the long missing set of her favorite grandparents. And there was her other grandmother, the poor woman who had been ill for so long and had stuck with Grandfather even longer, far longer than sanity would require. Small and trembling, the woman was sitting next to Aunt Miner.
Fay couldn’t stand Aunt Miner.
Grandfather came up from behind and took her by the elbow. There was no getting away from him this time. The wild notion that none of this was real — and that they all might be Slaks — was shattered by every scrap of conversation she overheard as he guided her to the head of the table. This was the sort of inanity that could never be faked, such as Aunt Miner declaiming, “But dear, you’re not remembering it at all the way it really hapened. Donald brought us here in quite a different order. You must have overheard me talking to Cousin Orson and been confused when we….”
Grandfather’s grip tightening on her arm, he whispered in her ear, “Isn’t it charming, granddaughter, the little things that occupy their minds? Ah, suffer the adults to come unto me.”
She pulled away from him and this elicited more Malakian laughter. She never thought there would have come the da
y when she missed Grandfather’s solemn refusal to laugh at anything, but the cruelty of Malak’s “humor” had done its work. “There, there,” he said, patting her on the bottom, “just have a seat on the bench there, and I’ll attend to the rest.” He’d placed a lawn chair at the head of the table and would hold court with Fay at his right hand.
Clive was luckier. He was directed to sit at the next table, every bit as full of distant relatives and Dad’s college friends. There were fewer of Mom’s friends. She wondered if Mom and Dad might be here, but they were nowhere to be seen.
A sudden flurry of noise drew Fay’s attention to a nearby lake, smaller than the one in which she’d been swimming. Maybe this was a monster free zone. She hoped so, for the sake of the children playing in the water.
A volleyball game was starting up at the lake’s edge. At first glance the participants seemed to be human, but closer scutiny revealed them to be Malak’s creatures, only better constructed than the ones who had given Clive such a hard time. But the children seemed real enough.
Grandfather returned with her hotdog and a glass of red punch. “I was going to get you a beer,” he said, “but I don’t want to get into trouble!”
He draped himself over a lawn chair in a manner so regal that his posture changed what he was sitting on into a throne. The first action he performed was to clap his hands and wait for secret orders to be carried out. The ground rumbled and Fay involuntarily grabbed at the wooden table, receiving a splinter in her thumb for her trouble. Food and drink were spilled every which way.
“You dare not break the laws of hospitality,” chimed all four Jennifers as one. They were clustered together at the end of one table.
“This is merely entertainment!” Grandfather assured them, while pointing to the cause of the disturbance down by the lake. A giant statue was rising from the water. The first part of it to appear, like the periscope of a submarine breaking the surface, was the blade of a sword.
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