Two to the Fifth

by Piers Anthony

  “It is a potential audience,” Curtis said. “The curse friends are barred from touring there.”

  “The Roc’s people may be hungry for entertainment,” the Witch said.

  “Who knows,” Curtis said. “The big bird might even take notice, and summon us for a demand performance.” Now that he knew the nature of their mission, he was helping.

  The other troupe members let it be, though obviously not particularly keen on the notion. No one decided to leave.

  The troupe traveled. Crabapple developed an interest in producing, and Curtis graciously started showing her how. The Witch observed that, and nodded; she smelled an interesting new relationship developing.

  The closest Roc- controlled village was Adver City. They reached it in two days. They camped at the edge of Roc territory, and Cyrus prepared to go in alone to make arrangements, if the residents were amenable. The other members of the troupe watched, not comfortable about it.

  “You’re going alone?” Rhythm asked. “Suppose you get deleted?”

  “That’s why I prefer to go alone,” he said. “If I don’t return, the visit is canceled.”

  “Why don’t you go with him, Rhyme?” Curtis asked. “Then you can return to let us know if he gets in trouble.”

  “Well, I will”

  Again, the other troupe members let it be. They knew there was a relationship, even if they didn’t know its full nature.

  They walked to the village. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Rhythm said. “I’m slightly precognitive, when I try to be.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Not exactly. I just know I won’t like it”

  That made Cyrus nervous. “I can call this off.”

  “No, it’s necessary. I feel that too”

  That did not make him feel easier.

  The village looked normal. There were normal- seeming people going about normal business. But there was a certain hush about it. For one thing, the villagers did not seem friendly. It was as if they were antagonistic to strangers.

  They came to the center house, normally the residence of the village elder. “Hello!” Cyrus called. “May we talk?”

  The door opened. A woman emerged. Both Cyrus and Rhythm took stock, impressed. She was tall and graceful, with huge emerald green eyes, blond hair braided to her knees, and a small brown crown. She wore a closely fitted dress that flowed out at the bottom, in two layers: earthy brown under, lighter grass green outer. She had light green wings, veined with brown.

  “Hello, visitors,” she said. “I am Andromeda, Queen of the Dragonfies, and appointed elder for Adver City. Who may you be?”

  “Cyrus Cyborg, Playwright. This is Rhyme, a member of my troupe. We have been touring the area, and wondered whether your village—uh, city—would have any interest in viewing our plays.”

  “We are interested. We have little current commerce with outside villages, and life gets dull.” She frowned. “The folk here are accustomed to adversity, having worked very hard all their lives, and do not trust strangers, as you may have noticed. That is why I, an outsider, have been appointed by Ragna Roc to handle their public relations. But they should enjoy your plays, particularly if they contain interpersonal stresses.”

  “They do,” Cyrus said.

  “I will tell them to attend.”

  “Then, with your permission, we will come and present three plays, on succeeding evenings”

  “Are you married?”

  The question caught him completly off guard. “No!”

  “Then you will stay with me for the duration of your stay here. We will arrange other accommodations for the members of your troupe. Will that be satisfactory?”

  Cyrus was flustered. “I prefer to remain with my troupe”

  She gave him a disconcertingly direct look. “I understood you to say that you wish to present your plays here.”

  “Yes, but I see no need to—”

  Then he caught on. “I am not married, but I do have a relationship. I would not feel free to spend nights with another woman.”

  “Oh? And with whom do you have this relationship?”

  “I do not feel free to say”

  Andromeda smiled. “So you are not a stranger to adversity yourself, it seems.”

  “That is true,” he agreed uneasily.

  “But you are free to accept my hospitality. I’m sure your significant other will understand”

  Cyrus looked helplessly at Rhythm, who was completely impassive: a bad sign. “I am not at all sure she will.”

  “Lovely. Well, perhaps I will meet her tomorrow. To night you are mine”

  Cyrus made a difficult decision. “I think we shall have to bypass Adver City. It is too contentious a site.”

  “The troupe wouldn’t like that,” Rhythm said. “I’ll go explain.” She hurried off.

  “Thank you, Rhyme,” he said after her retreating form. She had decided to go along with the dragonfly lady’s demand? He really mistrusted this.

  “Bonita!” Andromeda called.

  A surly- looking village girl appeared. “Yes, Elder?”

  “Tell the welcoming committee to make space for a visiting troupe. There will be—” She paused, glancing at Cyrus.

  “Twenty,” he said.

  “Twenty in that party.”

  “Yes, Elder.” The girl departed, clearly not pleased with this assignment.

  “Now please come inside,” Andromeda said briskly.

  Cyrus entered, helplessly. The inside of the house was painted to resemble a forest glade, with tree trunks for walls and flowers around the edges. In fact there were flowers and assorted mushrooms throughout. They looked completely real.

  He bent to touch one, to verify its illusory nature—and discovered it was real. They were all real.

  “It is my talent,” Andromeda said. “They grow where I walk”

  Indeed, there was a trail of small flowers and mushrooms following her. “I am impressed.” He sat on a tree stump chair, so as not to step on any of the clustered blossoms.

  “Would you like anything to eat or drink? I have Hop Scotch that has a bounce, Upsc Ale, a higher quality beverage, or one imported from the land of the imps, Imp Ale, that goes right through you.” She looked in her pantree. “There’s also gin, but all that’s left is Vir, and I can no longer drink that.” She glanced sidelong at him. “But perhaps you can?”

  “No!” he exclaimed. “I don’t want any of those.”

  “Please, I am trying to be a good hostess in a difficult situation. You should try to be a good guest.” She looked again. “Ah, I do have some tonics. Mono is very consistent, never changing. In contrast, there’s Tec, that really causes a rumble. There’s also the friendly effect of Pla Tonic.”

  “That one will do,” he said desperately.

  Amused, she poured him a glass, and took one herself. She brought him his, then sat opposite him, crossing her legs. They were splendid legs, all the way up to the very brink of, but not quite showing under her skirt, pan ties.

  “You must consider me to be very forward,” she said.

  He could not deny it, but didn’t want to affront her. “Perhaps”

  “Let me show you something.”

  “There’s no need,” he said quickly as she lifted a leg.

  But all she did was get up and walk to a wall. It was covered by a curtain. She drew the curtain aside, revealing a wall- sized glass window to her backyard. The yard was filled with trees, flowers, and dancing dragonflies.

  “Beloved,” she murmured.

  A singularly bright dragonfly flew close to the window—and through it. It formed into a handsome man wearing the garb of a king.

  “This is Perseus, my husband,” she said.

  “Your husband!”

  “So you see, I too have a significant other. But there are constraints”

  The man stepped toward Cyrus, extending a hand. He wanted to be friendly? Cyrus stood and took the hand.

  Their hand
s passed through each other.

  “He is illusion,” Andromeda said. “As are all my people. I alone remain of all the dragonflies.” She turned to Perseus. “Thank you, dear.” She lifted her face to kiss him, and it almost looked real, but their lips overlapped a bit. Then the King of the Dragonflies returned to his natural form, and flew back through the window.

  Cyrus went to tap his finger against the glass, verifying that it was solid. And thus that Perseus was not.

  He turned back to Andromeda—and caught her wiping tears from her face. “I apologize,” she said. “It’s just—not easy. I love him so.” She drew the curtain back across.

  “Now I am really confused,” Cyrus said.

  “Understandably. Believe me when I say that I would have no interest in you if Perseus were solid. Just as you have no interest in me. But if you do not wish to share my fate, this is a painful game you must play.”

  “Ragna Roc!” he said. “He deleted your people.”

  “He did. We rejected his request that we winged monstersjoin him in taking over the Land of Xanth. He did not take it well, as you can see. And if they are ever to be restored, it will be only by dint of my effort. I must recruit for him something equivalent in value. Then, perhaps, he will deign to give me back my beloved, and perhaps also my people. Now you understand the essence of my situation.”

  “I do,” Cyrus agreed, touched. “But I am just a Playwright with a Troupe. We put on plays. We’re not anything special apart from that.” He was getting used to that lie, though it still made him uneasy.

  “But you see, you are special,” she insisted. “First, we are desperate for entertainment, especially since the curse fiends blacklisted us. Second, I suspect the Roc gets bored at times, and might well appreciate some plays. If I can bring them to him—” She shrugged. “It just possibly might be enough.”

  “How is it that you are here in a human village, uh, city? Instead of with the dragonflies?”

  “Not by my choice. The roc assigned me here, because among other things I have experience governing. I don’t like it, and the villagers don’t like it, but we all understand that if we don’t play along, all of us will be deleted. So we do what we have to do.” She mopped up another tear. “And I must say, the Roc is not a harsh master. All he requires is our fealty, and that we do anything he asks. It is power he is after, not misery for his subjects.”

  “I don’t see how you can persuade me or my troupe to welcome being deleted, as you put it.”

  “You won’t be deleted if you swear fealty. You may not be deleted if you don’t; it depends on whether the Roc wants your service. At the moment his attention is elsewhere, and we are idle. But I can’t stand to wait any longer than I have to, to get my King and people back”

  Now Cyrus really appreciated her position. But it didn’t make him want to cooperate. “I think I just want to get out of here and hide from the Roc”

  “You can’t hide,” she assured him. “I serve him reluctantly, but I do serve him. I will send word to him who you are, what you do, and where you go. Please don’t make me do that”

  He was sure she was serious, as he would be if Rhythm got deleted and he had to do something to save her. Could he escape the Dragonfly Queen by canceling her memory of him? Probably not, because she now had a half slew of related memories, while his talent was strictly one spot memory. So what could he do?

  He realized that he might not have to do anything, because Rhythm had taken advantage of the opportunity to get away and report to the troupe, and she was not about to leave him in the arms of a glamorous queen. All he had to do was wait, and hope for the best.

  Andromeda feted him nicely enough, then took him out to see where the troupe was camped. They had made a nice spot in a vacant lot near the center of the village, and the tents were pitched there.

  Bonita hurried up. “Elder, they wouldn’t accept hospitality in our houses. They said they insisted on staying together, and that their tents were good enough.”

  “That is true,” Cyrus said quickly. He could well understand why the troupe members didn’t want to get separated from each other in strange homes. “We are accustomed to doing for ourselves, and averse to being governed by others.” The inhabitants of this city should really understand that. “All we need is space.”

  “As you wish,” Andromeda said.

  Curtis spied them and came forward, accompanied by Crabapple in an arm- concealing toga. “This is Curtis Curse Friend, our Producer,” Cyrus said.

  “Pleased to meet you, Elder,” Curtis said with studied insincerity.

  “And his companion, Crabapple”

  “Charmed, I’m sure,” Crabapple said, nicely emulating Curtis’s tone.

  Then the Witch, Dusti, Acro, and Xina came out. “I’m so glad you’re safe, dear,” the Witch said, kissing him on the cheek.

  “I can hardly wait to get you back in my bed,” Dusti said, kissing his other cheek.

  “It’s hard for me to sleep without you by my side,” Acro said, kissing his forehead.

  “There just isn’t any other man like you,” Xina said, kissing his mouth.

  Cyrus was nonplussed, perhaps even nonminused. Why were they coming on to him so obviously? Then he saw Rhythm standing in the background. She had somehow put them up to it, so that Andromeda would not know his real interest. They were cooperating with enthusiasm. It wasn’t anything personal at this stage; they just liked teasing men.

  Then Rhythm’s thought came to him. I told them to make a pretense of interest in you. They asked “pretense”?

  Just so. Because if Andromeda discovered his actual beloved, she might report her to the Roc to become a hostage.

  Exactly.

  Andromeda was unfazed. “Will you be able to present your first play tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” Cyrus said. “This is our business.”

  “Then it seems that things are in order. We can now return to my abode”

  And Cyrus had to accompany her. Her situation might be desperate, but she had effective control over him for the time being.

  As evening came, back at the house, Andromeda made her next move. “I think that none of those women are yours. They are all actresses.”

  “They are,” he agreed cautiously.

  “Yet you do love somebody, as do I. Understanding thatour liaison is temporary, why not appreciate it? I have been uncomfortably lonely since losing Perseus”

  He did not like this. “What are you suggesting?”

  “That we night together. I will pretend you are Perseus, though you are not the shadow of a man he is, and you may pretend I am your anonymous girlfriend, who I think is not the shadow of me. We may thus have some plea sure of each other”

  He started to protest the derogation of his beloved, but caught himself. Andromeda was trying to make him inadvertently identify her. “That is surely the case,” he agreed.

  She glanced at him, a quarter smile hovering near her mouth. “You are not stupid, at least. I like that.” She led him to the bed.

  “I really am not ready to—” he began.

  She lay voluptuously nude against him, her wings folded flat against her back and evidently crush- proof. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” he said uncertainly.

  She kissed him. There seemed to be an explosion of mixed hearts and flying storks. “Really?”

  “Really,” he agreed, but it was an obvious lie. This woman was as bad a tease as any actress.

  “Let’s be practical,” she said. “We each want something of the other. I want to persuade you to swear fealty to the Roc. You want something of me, or you would not have come here, knowing the danger posed by the Roc. I will accommodate you in any way I can, that does not betray my mission. What do you really want?”

  And he did want something: to ascertain the limits of the power of Ragna Roc. But he couldn’t ask that, lest he give away his mission. So he temporized: “I fear the Roc, and wish I knew how to stop him. I don’t want
all of Xanth to fall under his sway”

  She shook her head. “Nobody does, Cyrus. But it isn’t as ifwe have a choice. The best we can do is cooperate and gain preferential treatment for ourselves.”

  “Then I guess there’s nothing I can ask of you.”

  “That’s too bad. Well, let’s get down to business.” She kissed him again, potently.

  Cyrus tried to struggle, emotionally, but short of scrambling out of the bed and out of her house, he knew there was no way to escape her. She was too experienced and too determined.

  “I’m not going to swear fealty,” he gasped.

  “Not even if I do this?” She did something that not even the grown Rhythm had done, and it turned him on unbearably.

  “No,” he said faintly.

  “Or this?” She did something else. It was so naughty he could hardly imagine it. Any more of this, and he was lost.

  “I—” he said, unable to field a reasonable protest.

  Then something changed. It was dark, so he could not see her face, but there was a difference in her manner. “What is going on here, Cyrus?” she asked.

  He recognized the voice. “Rhythm!”

  “Bleep! Quick, make her forget that name!”

  He did, striking into Andromeda’s memory with his talent. She would not forget the episode, but she would at least lose the name. “How did you—?”

  “It’s a talent,” she said. “Taking over a body. For a while.”

  “You know I was trying to resist her,” he said. “But she’s got such a body, and she was using it so well”

  Her hands felt his hot body. “So I gather. Well, let’s get on with it.”

  “But you—aren’t eligible.”

  “But this body is.” She kissed him, and it was Rhythm’s kiss.

  He could resist no more. An internal dam broke, and he clasped her to him and kissed her passionately. “Oh, anonymous, I love you!”

  “And I love you,” she said, kissing him back.

  After they had severely battered the ellipsis, she eased off. “I must leave you. But it was nice.”

  “It was awesome!”

  She was gone. He felt the change.

  “What just happened?” Andromeda asked.