Pet Peeve

by Piers Anthony

  "I told you a kiss was okay."

  He felt his skin heating in the dark. "Not that. I mean, if I ask a question."

  She laughed. "Now that I have seen how manly you are under that politeness, I rather like your manners. Ask."

  "It's about that. In the hollow of the tree, I—"

  "You bawled, you sniveling excuse!" So the peeve wasn't quite asleep yet.

  "That does seem to describe it," Goody said. "Weren't you disgusted?"

  "Would Go-Go have been?"

  "No. But she knew me."

  "Now I know you too. As I said, it turns out that under all those layers of niceness, meekness, vulnerability, and limited vocabulary, you are a person with qualities to be respected. I hope that some year some real barbarian he-man will love me the way you loved her."

  That seemed to be answer enough. "Thank you."

  "You never thought about danger to yourself when you tackled those threats, did you?"

  "There wasn't time. Anyway, my new talent protected me."

  "But you didn't think about that either, before you acted."

  "No," he admitted.

  "That's what courage is. I didn't like being a helpless female, not one bit, but you were there for me. That helped a lot. Now I know that a man can be polite, and still a man. I'll bet most goblin males are cowards, too, under their bluster. It's a good lesson."

  He was somewhat at a loss. "Thank you," he repeated, feeling inane. "The reverse wood powder must have reversed that aspect too."

  She reached out in the darkness and found his hand. She squeezed it, gently. "Thank you for teaching me that."

  Goody's restlessness faded, and he slept well.

  In the morning they packed up and made ready to move on. "Just one thing, before we go," Hannah said.

  "Of course."

  "Where are we going?"

  That brought him up short. "I don't know. I hadn't thought it through, beyond trying the Region of Madness. And getting out of it."

  "Where else might there be anyone dumb enough to want this bird?"

  "Nowhere else, you hand-holding slut!"

  "I very much fear the bird is correct. It feels like an impossible mission."

  "How about Castle Zombie?"

  Goody considered. Zombies were stupid, because their brains were rotten. "Do zombies keep live pets?"

  "Maybe if they get the chance."

  It seemed promising. "Castle Zombie," he agreed.

  They cut across to an enchanted path, and oriented on Castle Zombie. It would take them more than a day, but that didn't matter.

  Travelers on the enchanted paths were invariably harmless, but could be interesting. Goody was glad to settle for that.

  They paused for a snack on pot pies. A young human man was there. "Hello, barbarian, hello goblin," he said. "I am Phil, with an embarrassing talent."

  "Not half as embarrassing as your stupid face!"

  "The bird talks!" Goody and Hannah said together.

  "Ignore it," Hannah concluded.

  "Thank you for clarifying that."

  "Goody Goblin and Hannah Barbarian," Goody said. "Talents of bouncing back threats and precise weapons control. We are trying to find a good home for the bird."

  Phil burst out laughing. "I wish you every success."

  "What is this embarrassing talent of yours?" Hannah asked.

  "I project the most embarrassing moments of others. So my talent isn't much in demand, as you can appreciate."

  "We can pass that by," Goody said, thinking of his recent crying scene. He would prefer that that never be advertised.

  "Agreed," Hannah said.

  "Cowards!"

  They exchanged a glance. "Can you do birds?" Hannah asked.

  "I think so. I'm willing to try. But really, it isn't necessary."

  "Not necessary, but maybe very satisfying," Hannah said.

  "It won't work. Nothing embarrasses me, you faker."

  Then a scene appeared around the bird. It showed a cute little boy surrounded by slightly older girls. They were admiring the boy's just-discovered talent of turning body parts different colors. One girl had a bright green thumb, another a black eye, a third a red eye, and the forth a brown nose. They were clapping their hands with delight, knowing that the effects were temporary.

  The peeve arrived, landing on a nearby branch. "OoOoo!" the girls cried in chorus. "A green bird!"

  "OwWww!" the peeve said, cruelly parodying their tone. "A flock of white chicks!"

  "It talks!" the girl with the brown nose said. She was always the first to cater to anyone notable.

  "Can't say the same for you, crapnose."

  "It insulted you!" the black-eyed girl said, clapping her hands with glee.

  "And you, rot-eye."

  Now they all clapped their hands, thrilled. "Isn't nature wonderful," the girl with the green thumb said.

  "Too bad you don't have any."

  They all laughed at this great humor.

  The parody turned its attention on the boy. "You call that a talent, smudge color? What good is it?"

  "I don't know," the boy said. "It's just fun."

  "It's just fun," the bird mimicked, the sarcasm practically dripping from the words.

  But the boy was too young to get it. "Fun," he repeated happily.

  Then the bird's beak turned pink.

  The girls applauded. "Pretty beak, pretty beak!" they said. One held up a little mirror so the bird could see the effect.

  "Pretty, my festering foot!"

  Then the peeve's wings turned red.

  "A red-winged greenbird!" the girls exclaimed, delighted anew.

  "Ludicrous!" the bird said, outraged.

  Its feet turned blue. Finally its eyes turned pink, matching its bill.

  The girls cheered, thrilled. They agreed this was the best bird ever, and wanted to keep it forever.

  Horribly embarrassed, the parody flew away. Its colors reverted to natural dull green the moment it left the vicinity of the boy, but that wasn't the point. The point was that no matter how hard it had tried to insult the group of children, it had done the opposite, pleasing them. What awful shame!

  The scene faded. They were back in the present.

  "Well, now," Hannah said. "That must have been when you were ranging the countryside, before Professor Grossclout sent you to Hell. Your one abject failure. Now we know."

  The parody hung its head.

  "We are all entitled to occasional failure," Goody said. "That's how we learn. I think I have failed more than I have succeeded."

  "Well, you're an effeminate goblin," the bird said, hardly mollified.

  "And not much of a failure," Hannah said. "Why don't we all just forget about the past, and focus on the present? We've got a meal to make and a night's resting to do."

  The others were glad to agree.

  Next day they marched on toward Castle Zombie. The parody recovered its spirit, and insulted everyone they encountered. These included a group of knights who were looking for adventure, and not having much luck. There was Sir Fer, who preferred to ride sea horses; Sir Prise, who liked to pop up unexpectedly; Sir Pent, who was a naga; Sir Comspect, who tended to evade casual notice; Sir Tain, who inspired confidence; and Sir Cumnavigate, who could get around anything. By the time the bird was done with them, they were more like daze than knights.

  In late afternoon they spied the castle. It was decrepit, with stones dissolving and a moat filled with sludge. Zombies were all around, shuffling aimlessly here and there.

  "What a bunch of freaks!" The parody's observation was unkind, but accurate.

  They paused to consider. "I don't think I would care to live here," Hannah said.

  "I must admit to wondering what the purpose of a zombie is," Goody said.

  "Oh, I know that. They defend Xanth from attack. There's a whole graveyard full of them at Castle Roogna. I think they also handle other jobs the regular folk don't like, such as processing organic wastes. And
I think they run the dead letter office."

  "Letters can die?"

  "Well, I can't read them, so I don't know, but I think they do die when they can't be delivered. I hear a big snail delivers them. There was some kind of flap about that a few years ago, when some old letters got delivered after all. So maybe it's the un-dead letter office."

  "Maybe a priority male delivered them."

  She glanced sidelong at him as if suspecting a pun. "Maybe. I heard one was delivered to the Demon Jupiter, and it made him so mad he hurled his red spot at Xanth."

  "Oh? Did it hit us?"

  "I don't think so. It must have missed."

  Goody gazed at the decrepit castle with distaste. "I understand that living human folk run it."

  "That's what I heard. So we had better locate them, and ask whether they would like to adopt the dirty bird."

  They reluctantly approached the castle. "What a stench!" the bird complained. No one debated that.

  At the rickety drawbridge a zombie soldier challenged them. "Halsh! Who goesh zere?"

  "Whosh the hellsh wants to knowsh?" the parody demanded insolently.

  "Goody Goblin, Hannah Barbarian, and a pet peeve," Goody said quickly. "We would like to talk with the proprietor."

  "Thish way, pleaze."

  They followed the zombie across the rotten planks of the bridge and into the castle. Ichor drooled along the dingy stone walls, and rotting bits of zombie flesh were in the corners. Goody suppressed his reaction, but the parody didn't.

  "This place is a rotten grease trap!" Again there was no argument.

  The zombie lifted a partially fleshed hand and knocked a bit squishily on a wood door. "Mishtrish!" it called.

  The door opened. A dark young woman stood there. "Yes, Benjamine?"

  "Vizitshers."

  The woman looked past the zombie and saw them. "Oh, living visitors! Come in. I'm Breanna of the Black Wave."

  They entered her apartment, which was abruptly free of slime, rot, odor, or other zombie indications. That was a relief. "I am Goody Goblin, and this is Hannah Barbarian."

  "It's so nice to see living folk for a change. The zombies are wonderful in their way, but all day every day gets wearisome. What brings you here?"

  "We're on a mission for the Good Magician," Goody said. "We have to find a good home for the parody here."

  Breanna looked at the peeve. "That doesn't seem difficult. Hi, birdy."

  "Go soak your face, you smarmy black piece of snot!" Goody's voice said.

  "Who borrows our voices to insult others," Goody said. "I apologize for its behavior. That's what makes it difficult to place."

  "Now I have some faint suspicion why," Breanna agreed. "Meanwhile, there's something about you that confuses me."

  "I am a polite male goblin."

  "That's it! I never heard of that before. I would have expected an attitude more like the bird's. Are you a transformed human or something?"

  "No, I drank powdered reverse wood as a child. It made me everything I was not. A subsequent drink did not reverse it. I am a pariah among my kind."

  "And the goblin girls won't touch you," she said, appreciating it.

  "In essence, yes."

  She nodded. "So you can't travel with a bird like this, without a bodyguard."

  "That's right," Hannah said. "But he's a good man."

  "And she's a wanton wench," the peeve said.

  "Not so," Goody said. "She's a good woman."

  Breanna's glance hesitated halfway between them as an odd thought evidently intruded.

  "No, we aren't," Hannah said. "We're not each other's types. We have just learned honest respect for each other."

  "Yeah, like when you were both jammed together naked in that pool."

  "Well, if it comes to misinterpreting images from the past—" Hannah said with studied lack of emphasis.

  The bird's beak snapped shut.

  "We were escaping a water threat," Goody explained. "The undertoe."

  "Of course," Breanna said, too quickly. "I'll ask my husband, Justin Tree, about placing the bird." She turned her head and called. "Dear!"

  Soon a man appeared from a back room, carrying a two-year-old child. That would be Justin, who seemed unremarkable. But the child was beautiful, with amber skin and wavy brown hair. When the man set her down, she toddled over to admire the peeve. "Our daughter Amber Dawn," Breanna said proudly.

  "Get away from me, you whiskey-skinned brat!"

  Justin frowned. "Who spoke?"

  "I did, knothead. Are your ears stuffed with sap?"

  "It's the bird, dear," Breanna said quickly. "They're looking for a home for it. Do you know of anyone who might appreciate it?"

  "Baked under glass, maybe," he said.

  Breanna shook her head. "So I'm afraid not. The zombies wouldn't be bothered by its words, but they don't know how to care for living things."

  Little Amber Dawn had not given up on the bird. She held out a translucent stone. "Bug," she said. "In amber."

  The parody was interested. It peered at the bug frozen in the translucent heart of the stone. "Looks good enough to eat, tar baby."

  "Her talent is making resin that preserves insects," Breanna said. "She has quite a collection of them already."

  "What a waste of bugs, blackhead!"

  The child turned about and walked to her mother. So much for that acquaintance.

  There was a mushy knock on the door. Justin went to open it. He talked briefly with the zombie, then faced back to his wife. "Something odd outside," he said. "I'll go check."

  "We'll all go," Breanna said. "Amber hasn't been out today." She picked up her daughter. "I'm sorry we can't help you, but maybe there's someone somewhere who would like that kind of bird."

  "And maybe there's a rotten zombie pie in the sky, nightshade."

  They trooped outside. And stopped, amazed.

  "What in Xanth is that?" Justin asked.

  The zombies were standing awkwardly around a small black figure. In a moment Hannah got a look. "That's a robot!"

  "A what?"

  "A machine man. We saw them on Robot World. They can do things, but aren't alive."

  "A type of demon?" Justin asked.

  "Not exactly. They're made of metal and wires. We brought a program for one, to make a dragon's nest."

  "Simpleton!"

  "We must be overlooking something," Hannah said.

  Suddenly Goody remembered what had bothered him two chapters ago. "That robot-making device—it remained active as we left. It must have made another robot."

  Justin looked sharply at him. "Something is making these things? How do you know it stopped at one or two?"

  "They work automatically," Goody said. "They just keep going. It must still be making robots."

  Hannah nodded. "I think maybe we had better get back there and turn it off, before we have these things getting underfoot."

  "What's this one doing here?" Breanna asked.

  They looked more carefully at the robot. It was using a trowel-like extension on its arm to dig a hole in the ground. When it had dug as deep as it could go, it quit, walked a few paces farther, and dug again. There was a small hole in its backside that emitted smoke.

  "Metal moron!"

  The robot ignored the bird, imperturbably continuing its business.

  "It's doing a survey," Justin said. "Looking for something."

  "For iron!" Goody said with sudden realization. "They need it to make their bodies."

  "That implies intelligence," Justin said. "Or at least some clear directive. They are reproducing their kind."

  "Without limit," Hannah said. "Other than their supply of iron. We may already be too late to stop it."

  "Why, beast brain?"

  "Because if they're actually smart, the first thing they would do is hide their factory," she said. "So we can't come and shut it down."

  "That makes uncomfortable sense," Breanna said.

  "Bully for you, blot br
oad!"

  A small black cloud formed over Breanna's head. "You know, I could get annoyed at you, bird brain, if I tried."

  "Make the effort, zombie lover."

  "Just ignore it," Goody said. "It has a high AQ. That is, Annoyance Quotient."

  "Not till I put it in its place," Breanna said grimly. She moved her head near the parody. "Say something else, bantam beak." The cloud intensified.

  "Go soak your coal-colored caboose! What are you going to do, blacklist me, Stygian schlep?"

  A miniature bolt of lightning speared out of the cloud, just missing the bird's foot.

  The peeve considered, then kept its beak shut.

  "I'll send the zombies out to count robots," Justin said. "That may give us a notion how many are in the vicinity."

  "There can't be many," Goody said. "It hasn't been that long since we left the dragons."

  "It's been three days," Hannah said. "That first one took only about an hour."

  "And their factory may be more efficient now," Justin said.

  "And there may be more than one factory," Breanna said. "There could be hundreds of them already."

  Worse and worse. But there was a more immediate curiosity. "Why does this one smoke?" Goody asked.

  They paused to consider that. "What powers them?" Justin asked. "Magic powers zombies, but this doesn't seem to be using magic. I suspect it is burning wood inside, and using its heat for power, the way they do in Mundania."

  "I never thought of that," Hannah said. "Magic things are powered by magic, but humans, goblins, and other living things are powered by the food we eat. The robots' food must be wood."

  "I hate that," Justin said. "I was a tree for several decades."

  "And it splintered your wits, fagot face."

  "Unfortunately, there are trees everywhere in Xanth," Hannah said. "So we can't cut off their food."

  Justin assembled the zombies and gave them simple instructions. They dispersed, shambling in random directions. One of them brought a wooden box and pushed the little robot into it for safekeeping. The machine was only ankle tall, so was easy to pick up and carry.

  "Meanwhile, come in and have dinner," Breanna said. "It will take them a while to do their business."

  They went back inside the castle. A zombie brought a bottle from the castle wine cellar, but Breanna sent it back.

  "We don't mean to be choosy," Goody protested.