Currant Events (13 page)

 “Incognito?”

 “Whatever,” she agreed crossly.
“How did you recognize me?”

 “How could I fail to know such an
adorable creature?”

 The demoness looked less cross.
“Our paths must have crossed before.”

 “On occasion,” Sherlock
agreed.

 “Who's your friend?”

 “Clio, the Muse of History.”

 Metria looked, and puffed into
fragments in her surprise. “So it is! Something interesting must be
happening.”

 “It may be,” Clio agreed
wryly.

 “I make it a point to get into
every new history volume, with as big a part as I can swing.”

 “I had suspected that.”
Indeed, it explained a lot. Clio hadn't been aware of that effort, but Metria
had appeared in many recent volumes, once as the lead character.

 “You aren't going to write me out
of this volume, are you?”

 “I seem to be in this volume
myself. It's not my business to write folk in or out, merely to record what
happens.”

 “Things are happening all over,
all the time. You select which ones are worthy of writing about. That gives you
horrible power.”

 Clio was taken aback. “I don't see
it that way, though some people do joke that I might write them out of a
volume.”

 “It's no jolly.”

 Clio tried to resist, but couldn't.
“It's no what?”

 “Wisecrack, caper, absurdity,
fooling, banter-”

 “Joke, you idiot! I just used the
word.”

 “Whatever,” the demoness
agreed, frowning. “You do have that power. So what do I have to do to be
sure you don't abolish me from the scene?”

 Clio considered. “Maybe you can
help. We're trying to clarify Sherlock's magic talent.”

 “He conjures reverse wood.”

 “You knew that?” Sherlock
asked. “Why didn't you pop in and tell me before I got bashed by an
ogre?”

 “You got bashed? That's one
incident I missed.” “Clio unwound it. But I'm bound to run into more
trouble if I don't get a handle on it. It's gotten me banished from the Black
Wave.”

 “But to answer your question:
reverse wood is dangerous, so I stayed clear until you got more interesting.
You never can tell what it will do.”

 “So I've been discovering.”

 “It might make me always get the
right word the first time, or it might make me helpful instead of mischievous.
I couldn't risk it.” “I suppose that makes sense.” “So why
are you so interested, Muse?”

 “The Good Magician told me I
needed to obtain a certain red berry, a currant, in order to fathom the mystery
of an unreadable volume of history. He gave me a compass to find my way. The
compass led me to Sherlock.”

 “Just in time to save me from the
ogre,” Sherwood said. “But I have no idea how to help with a red
berry.”

 “I know where there are red
berries,” Metria said. “I suspect it's not any red berry, it is one
particular berry,” Clio said. “I also suspect it will not readily be
found, and that Sherlock has some relevance to my search.”

 “And maybe if I help, I'll be relevant
too.”

 Clio saw that the demoness really did
want to be wanted. “Perhaps.” “Then let's get on it.”
Metria oriented on the man. “Would a demonic kiss inspire your
imagination?” “I don't think-”

 “Or maybe a glimpse of something
sinfully nice?” The demoness's dress shrank, exposing curves above and
below. She of course knew exactly what interested men.

 “I doubt this is relevant,”
Clio said. Metria was entirely too eager to flaunt her ample charms.

 “I'm not clear how your flesh can
help,” Sherlock said. A chip of wood appeared in his hand.

 “Oh, all right, I'll cover it
up.”

 Metria's dress disappeared entirely,
exposing her overloaded bra and panties. Sherlock's eyeballs locked into place
and his jaw dropped. He had freaked out.

 “Metria!” Clio snapped.
“That's not appreciated.”

 “Oops. I meant to cover. It went
the wrong way. I'll try again.” Then her underwear vanished.
“Oops!”

 Sherlock's eyeballs started sweating.
His eyes couldn't close, so they were in danger of melting.

 Clio caught on. “He's holding a
chip of reverse wood. It's reversing what you're trying to do.”

 “Oh! Then I'll go bare nude naked
unclothed.” The full dress was back, decorously high and long.

 Clio snapped her fingers. Sherlock
resumed animation, blinking. “Yes, that's good,” he agreed.

 “He doesn't know about his
freakout,” Drew reported.

 “A blue dragonfly!” Metria
said, spying him. “How cute!”

 “I'm not a dragonfly, I'm a
telepathic dragon,” Drew told her indignantly. “Do you want me to
toast your toe?”

 “Apology,” the demoness said
insincerely. “I haven't met many telepathic dragons.”

 “We're colonizing Xanth, to
replace the soulless dragons it lost.”

 “Ah, now I see. But you do seem
rather small to terrorize other creatures.”

 “Drusie and I are just part of the
migration. There are big dragons too.”

 “Fascinating. And you have
souls?”

 “We're from Princess Ida's moons.
We were all soul; now we have bodies too.”

 Clio noted something odd. “Wasn't
that a flat chip you conjured, Sherlock?”

 “Why yes. I wasn't even aware of
doing it.”

 “Then why is it now a
sphere?”

 Startled, he glanced down. “I
don't know.”

 “You worked it with your
hands,” Metria said. “It must be softwood.”

 “No, it's hardwood,” he said.
“Feel it.” He held out the chip.

 The demoness reached for it-and puffed
into smoke. “Ouch! It reversed me,” her voice came out of the roiling
cloud.

 “I'm sorry.” Sherlock
withdrew the chip.

 “You are dangerous,”
she said, the roils forming into spinning legs, arms, torso, and finally head.
“How can I seduce you if I can't touch you?” Her clothing formed with
the assembled body.

 “Only fully clothed and in your
right mind,” he suggested with a smile.

 “Both are against my
element.”

 “Against your what?”

 “Composition, animus, persuasion,
character, bias-”

 “Nature?”

 “Whatever. You'll just have to get
rid of that reverse wood.”

 He glanced at the little wood sphere.
“Clio thinks it may protect me from danger. She may be correct.”

 Clio suppressed her smile. He meant the
danger of being seduced by a demoness.

 Metria caught on. “Seduction isn't
a danger, it's a delight.”

 “Whatever,” Sherlock agreed,
frowning.

 “We will take your word that the
ball of wood is hard,” Clio said. “But it does seem to have changed
its shape. Did you abolish the chip and conjure a sphere?”

 “I don't think so. I just worked
it with my fingers, like this.” He stroked his fingers over the ball, and
it deformed into a flattened form.

 They all stared. Now there was no
doubt: he had worked hard wood as if it were soft clay.

 “A second talent?” Clio
asked. “This isn't usual.” It was an understatement; no person in
Xanth had two talents.

 We are confused,“ Drew Dragon
said, projecting his seeming voice to all of them. ”What is this about
talents?"

 “In Xanth,” Clio said,
“Every creature is said to be magic, or to have a magic talent. Thus human
beings are not magic, but they have magic talents. Each has just one talent,
and each person's talent is different, with certain notable exceptions. The
curse fiends, or curse friends as they call themselves, all have the same
talent of cursing, though there may be variations of curses there. The winged
centaurs all have the talent of flying, as their wings could not sustain them
naturally, but there are variations in the magic mechanisms of their flight.
But we know of no exceptions to the single-talent rule.” She glanced at
Sherlock. “Which is why I am inclined to doubt that this is the present
case.”

 “But he conjured reverse
wood,” Metria said. “Now he's molding it with his hands. So he's a
conjurer and a hand sculptor. That's two.”

 “There has to be another
explanation,” Clio said firmly. “We simply have to find it.”

 “You realize, of course,”
Metria said, “That this is far too interesting to allow me to
depart.”

 “Of course,” Clio said
wearily. It was just about impossible to get rid of the demoness when one
wanted to. But she did have redeeming qualities, carefully hidden.

 “Could the wood be soft when he
first conjures it?” Metria asked.

 “It isn't,” Sherlock said. He
set down the squashed sphere and conjured a new chip of wood. “Can you
handle it, Muse?”

 “Call me Clio. Yes, I believe I can,
as long as I'm not trying to perform magic.” She took the chip. It was
indeed hardwood, inflexible, and it had the tingle of magic. It was reverse
wood, all right. She handed it back. “Now mold it.”

 He took it back and ran his fingers
over it. The wood bent and twisted. In a moment he had fashioned a little donut
shape. He handed that back to her. It was quite hard.

 “What's the verdict?” Metria
asked.

 “This figure is perfectly
firm,” Clio said. “You may touch it if you wish.”

 The demoness laughed, her flesh
bouncing in ways a normal woman could barely aspire to. “Even if I didn't
trust you, Clio, I would take your word, since I don't dare touch it. Why
doesn't it reverse you?”

 “Perhaps it does,” Clio said.
“Let me try my magic, cautiously.”

 She held the wood torus and tried to
wind back just a few seconds. Instead the scene around her speeded up. Metria
flitted to the side, Sherlock snatched the wood from her, and she stopped her
magic.

 “So nothing happened,” Metria
said, seeming disappointed.

 Clio was guarded. “Perhaps. Tell
me exactly what did happen.”

 “You told Sherlock to take it
back, he did, and that's all.”

 “What happened before then?”

 “I asked why it didn't reverse
you, you said you'd try it. I moved to the side to get a better view. All
routine.”

 Clio nodded. “I was trying to wind
back time. Instead I wound it forward. I was reversed.”

 “It did not seem so to us,”
Sherlock said.

 “Well, it wouldn't. Others don't
know about the windbacks either, except the dragons, who can read it in my
mind.”

 Metria glanced at Drew. “So?”

 “It is true,” Drew said.
“We saw things happening routinely, but in her mind it was a blur, speeded
up.”

 “She fast-forwarded into the
future,” Drusie said. “The rest of us didn't realize.”

 “And the effect stopped when she
no longer carried the reverse wood ring,” Metria said. “So it works
on her too, when she does magic. The rest of us are magic, so it nullifies
us anytime.”

 “Was that a danger?” Drew
asked.

 Clio smiled. “No, merely a
harmless reversal. But I shall have to be most careful, lest I encounter a
situation where a reversal would be dangerous.”

 “All of which means I had better
go my own way, so as not to represent mischief to you,” Sherlock said.
“Regretful as I am to do it, because you have helped me gain far more
understanding than I had before.”

 “I don't think so,” Clio
said. “My compass still points to you. Whatever I need from you has not
yet been accomplished.”

 “I would give it to you
immediately, if I knew what it was.”

 “Maybe your clothing,” Metria
suggested.

 “She wants to get him
undressed,” Drew said. “Then she'll undress and tempt him.”

 “At the very least, she hopes to
embarrass him awfully,” Drusie said. “She loves mischief.”

 “Tattle tails,” the demoness
said, looking at their tails. Both dragons laughed, appreciating the pun.

 Sherlock tried to blush, but was too
old and dark to manage it. “If anything I wear is what she needs, I'll
give it to her.”

 Clio wanted to demur, but couldn't be
sure that wasn't it. “Try one item at a time. Put it away from you, and if
the compass follows it, then we'll know.”

 Obligingly, Sherlock removed his shirt,
set it on the stone, and walked away from it. The blue arrow followed him. He
took it back and tried his shoes. They weren't it either. He went behind a tree
and tossed out his trousers. They weren't it. Then his underpants. Not them.

 Then he was stuck behind the trunk,
because he would have to go naked below the waist to recover them. “Ah, if
you ladies would depart for a moment-”

 “Not a chance,” Metria said,
her dress dissolving. “I'll fetch them for you.” She scooped up his
pants and underpants.

 “Just toss them behind the
tree,” Sherlock said.

 “No, I'll carry them around to
you.” She walked toward the tree, deliberately jiggling in places that no
normal woman could manage.

 “Metria!” Clio said,
appalled, knowing that her objection wouldn't stop the demoness. She had the
man where she wanted him, defenseless.

 Sherlock tossed something from his
hiding place. It landed at Metria's feet. She tossed the clothing behind the
tree, reformed her full dress, and retreated.

 Some distance away, she halted.
“Now why did I do that? It was the opposite of what I intended.”

 Both dragons laughed again.

 Then Metria caught on. “Reverse
wood! That chip at my feet didn't null me, just reversed my action. Instead of
humiliating you, I helped you.”

 “Which I sincerely
appreciate,” Sherlock agreed, stepping out from behind the tree, fully
clothed.

 Clio smiled. The man had outsmarted the
demoness. He was learning how to use his talent.

 But that reminded her of the blue
arrow. “So it's not your clothing. So it must be you yourself. And we
still have not solved the riddle of your two talents.”

 “That reverse wood has gotten to
me,” Metria said. “I'm going to be genuinely helpful. Could they be
two aspects of the same talent? Such as handling reverse wood?”

 “That has promise,” Clio
agreed. “But is it just reverse wood? If he is able to shape other wood,
that would make it a separate talent.”

 Metria disappeared with a visible pop,
and reappeared half a moment later with a loud image. “Here's a chip of
regular wood.” She flipped it to Sherlock.

 “Thank you.” He worked it
with his fingers, but it did not change. “This appears to be immune to my
effort.”

 “Try other materials,” Clio
suggested. “Just in case. We'll have a better idea once we define your
talent.”

 Sherlock tried stone and bone and a
piece of metal that Metria fetched. None of them changed their shape.

 “So he handles reverse wood,”
Metria said. “By conjuring it or shaping it. Not really two talents, just
one larger talent.”

 “That seems to be the case,”
Sherlock agreed. Another piece of wood appeared in his hand, and he began
molding it into the shape of a human figurine.

 “Do you have artistic or
sculptural talent?” Clio asked, interested.

 “Some,” he agreed. “Not
magic; I merely like to carve wood or shape other substances, like clay, into
things I can trade for food or whatever. I'm not great at it, but usually
others can recognize my forms.”

 “You're sculpting me!” Metria
exclaimed. “Look at that shape!”

 It was true: the wood was assuming a
voluptuous form. “Sorry,” Sherlock said, and squeezed it so that it
became mannish instead. “I didn't mean to embarrass you.”

 The demoness paused. “Does he mean
that?” she asked the little dragons.

 “Yes,” Drew said.

 “After the way I tried to
embarrass him?”

 “Yes. He's a decent guy.”

 “Darn! My half soul is getting to
me. I can't make trouble for him now.”

 “Souls can be awkward for
demons,” Clio agreed. She remembered when Metria had gotten hers, by
marrying a mortal, whom she now kept out of the way in perpetual bliss.
Demonesses could do that to mortal men if they chose.

 “How do they do that?” Drusie
asked.

 “Actually D. Mentia is doing it at
the moment,” Metria said. “She's a little crazy.”

 “You let another demoness be with
your husband?”

 “She's my alter ego. It's all
right; she's pretending to be me.”

 Both dragons looked confused, so Clio
stepped in with a more coherent explanation. “Demoness Metria was trodden
on by a sphinx, centuries ago. She survived, but it fragmented her into three
alternate selves, the third of which is a child. The adults can operate
independently, so Mentia is distracting her husband while Metria is free to
stir up mischief elsewhere.”

 “Can't her husband tell the
difference?” Drew asked.

 “Surely he can, because Mentia
gets her words right. But it seems he has the sense not to complain. Some men
prefer their wives a little crazy.”

 “Xanth is strange in ways we did
not expect,” Drusie said. “Should I try to be crazy, Drew?”

 Drew considered. “You're already
perfect.”

 “I could be perfectly crazy.”

 “That seems good.” They both
laughed, exchanging a mental kiss.

 “Love is good,” Sherlock said
a little wistfully.

 “You never found love?” Clio
asked. She wrote the histories, but wasn't much aware of what folk did when
they were offstage. There were simply too many people and creatures in Xanth,
all doing different things simultaneously.

 “I never did,” he agreed.
“And surely won't, since my youth has passed me by.”

 There wasn't anything positive Clio
could think of to say to that, as it was probably true.

 Meanwhile, his nimble fingers continued
to work, shaping the small wood figure. He was really quite good; even the tiny
face was fully formed, seeming about to speak.

 “So you're making a little
man,” the demoness said. “Make sure he has a-” She glanced
around. “Are there any children here? How old are you little
dragons?”

 “We're adult,” Drew said.
“Why?”

 “It's the dreaded Adult Conspiracy
to Keep Interesting Things from Children. They have to be eighteen before they
can use bad words or know how to summon the stork.”

 “That's ridiculous!” Drusie
said.

 “Of course it is. What's your
point?”

 “Why shouldn't children know such
things?”

 Metria dissolved into smoke, and
reformed as Woe Betide, her little child aspect. “Gee, I don't know.”

 “It's to prevent children from
summoning babies until they know how to care for them,” Clio explained.

 “Never mind,” Sherlock said.
“My golem has one. See.” He held up the golem.

 “Eeee!” Woe Betide screamed,
freaking out. She fractured into flying shards of glass, which glinted prettily
in the sunlight, then dissolved into smoke. The smoke swirled and condensed
back into Metria. “How could you, you pervert!”

 “Sorry. I forgot you had changed.
Will Woe Betide survive?”

 “It will take her some time to
unfreak. Finish your bleeping figurine.”

 Sherlock smiled. “If poor little
Woe heard that word, she'd freak out again.”

 “No she wouldn't; she wouldn't
recognize it. She's a nice girl.”

 “Don't little human girls ever see
little human boys without clothing?” Drew asked.

 “They sometimes do, but they freak
out,” Metria said grimly. “You saw.”

 “And they never tell,” Clio
said, remembering her childhood.

 “It's done,” Sherlock
announced, holding up the figure. It was a perfect little wooden man.

 “Get him some clothes,”
Metria said.

 “Why? He's intended to be a work
of minor art as he is.”

 “Because children are coming.”

 “How do you know that?”