Currant Events (15 page)

 “I can try.” Another chip of
wood appeared in his hand. “What would you like?”

 “Not another golem, yet! How about
a plant?”

 Sherlock molded the chip into a small
plant with roots, stem, and several leaves. He set it in the ground.

 The plant straightened out, its leaves
orienting on the sunlight. It was alive.

 Or was it? “Dragons, can you read
the minds of plants? I am curious whether that plant is alive or merely
animate.”

 “Animate,” Drew said.
“It has no living mind.”

 “Neither does the golem,”
Drusie added.

 That answered her question. Sherlock
was not creating life, merely animated things. She was relieved; life was in
its way sacred. Still, it was a considerable talent, though limited to reverse
wood. Perhaps reverse wood had special properties most folk couldn't know of,
because they were distracted by its problematical effect on their magic.

 “It seems you can animate the
constructions you make,” Clio said. “But they are indeed golems, not
living things.”

 “I am not inclined to animate any
more very soon.”

 She smiled. “I appreciate
that.”

 “Time for us to go home,”
Metria said. Her interest diminished when things got dull by her definition.
“On my mark, children. Three, two, one-”

 “Mark!” the children
exclaimed together as the three of them vanished.

 “Which leaves us,” Clio said.
“It is late, and we must sleep. There are two shelters; we can each use
one.”

 “I agree.”

 “What about me?” Getaway
asked.

 “Do you need to sleep?”

 “No.”

 “Then you can explore the premises
during the night, and notify one of us or the dragons if you see anything that
could cause us trouble. The campsite is enchanted, so should be safe, but it's
best to be careful.”

 “How do I tell the dragons? Do
they understand person talk?”

 “Why, they're telepathic,”
Clio said. “Just think to them.”

 “He can't,” Drew said.
“He has no living mind.”

 “But he sassed Drusie when she
said Clio is nice,” Sherlock said.

 “I saw her snoot poke out of your
pocket,” Getaway said. “She has a mind?”

 “Go roast your bottom,
woodhead,” Drusie said.

 The golem did not react. He couldn't
hear her, since she was mind speaking, not physically speaking.

 “Tell me,” Sherlock said.

 “Got it, master.”

 “There's no need to call me that.”
But the golem was already gone.

 “At least he's polite now,”
Clio said.

 “Good evening,” Sherlock
said, and stepped into his shelter.

 “And a good night to you.”
She stepped into hers.

 And froze. It was overrun by
nickelpedes.

 “Now that's a danger,” Drew
said.

 “All too true,” she agreed.

 “Get out of your shelter!”
Sherlock called.

 She was already on her way out.
“You saw nickelpedes too?” But she knew he did, because the dragons
had relayed the images. “How could this happen? This campsite is supposed
to be enchanted against monsters.”

 “There must be a leak.”
Sherlock raised his voice. “Getaway! See if you can find out where the
nickelpedes are getting in.”

 “I already found it,” the
golem said, reappearing. “There's a piece of reverse wood on the
perimeter. It nulled the spell. I thought you put it there.”

 “I did not. Move it clear.”

 Getaway paused. “Now I don't want
to be impolite by calling anyone an imbecile, but you do realize that would
trap the monsters inside the camp?”

 Sherlock laughed. “I'm glad you
didn't call anyone that. You're right; leave it there for now and I'll try to
herd them out.”

 “I can do that.”

 “Then do it.”

 Getaway ran into the nearest shelter.
“Come play with me, monsters!” he cried. “I want to hug
you.”

 There was an instant scuttling as the
insects scrambled out of the golem's way. They knew what reverse wood was, and
wanted no part of it. They must have skirted the piece across the boundary very
carefully.

 Clio stepped back as several came
toward her. But Getaway was on it, running to intercept them. It was weird to
see such fearsome little monsters being afraid. He herded them toward the same
gap they had used to enter.

 It took a while, but in due course all
the nickelpedes were gone and the stick was off the perimeter. They were secure
from suffering nickel-sized gouges from their flesh.

 “So have I helped?” Getaway
asked.

 “You certainly have,” Clio
agreed. “You have made an excellent start.” She had doubted that the
golem would be much help, but now was reconsidering.

 “That's good.” Getaway was
off again, making his rounds.

 “But did the danger count?”
Drew asked. “You never wound back.”

 “I don't have to wind back if I
don't need to. In this case Getaway handled it. Had he not been here, I might
have had to do it myself. Certainly the danger was real. Nickelpedes are really
nasty creatures.”

 “Now I think I understand. When a
danger comes that you can't handle, it will be our turn-mine and Drusie's-to
save you.”

 “Perhaps so.”

 It was safe now. Even so, it took Clio
a while to get to sleep. She didn't like being so long out in the world,
because every hour added to her age, and she did not know just how young she
was slated to die. On the other hand, it was nice having such an adventure. She
had almost forgotten how un-dull mortal existence was.

 And Sherlock was turning out to be a
good companion. It was probably his facility with reverse wood that had caused
the compass to point him out, but it was nice having company for a while. She
would be sorry when they parted company.

 Clio woke refreshed. She had had a good
night despite the events of the prior day. There was something about living in
reality she liked, despite the inevitable aging it forced on her.

 “Welcome to a new day,” Drew
thought.

 She had a sudden notion. “Did you
have something to do with my sleeping well?”

 “Yes. I projected a pleasant,
calming ambience. Was I wrong?”

 She stroked his little head. “No,
dear. But didn't that prevent you from sleeping?”

 “No, it's easy. We use it to
enhance our own sleep.”

 “Bit by bit, I become more
satisfied with your company.”

 He sent an image of himself turning
bright pink with pleasure. She had to laugh, because it made him look like
Drusie.

 But there was a problem. Her dress was
rumpled, because she had slept in it, having nothing else. That was a detail
she had not anticipated; she had been long away from real life. She would have
to wash it. But how? She was not alone, and there was only the neighboring
pond.

 Well, she would handle it. She nerved
herself and stepped out of the shelter.

 Sherlock was up and busy. He had a fire
going and had breakfast pies and milkweed pods lined up. Getaway Golem sat on a
stone, watching.

 “You are a fine housekeeper,”
she told Sherlock, smiling.

 “I'm used to doing for myself, and
Getaway helped,” he said. “It's nice to have human company, however
briefly.”

 She glanced at her compass. It still
pointed to him. “I do not wish to inconvenience you, but it seems I still
am not through with you. Do you mind keeping company longer?”

 “Not at all. I had assumed I was a
burden to you.”

 “No burden, Sherlock!” She
hesitated. “However, there is a bit of awkwardness. I need to wash, and
wash my clothing.”

 He understood immediately. “The
near end of the pond is within the enchanted region, and is pleasantly warm. I
will absent myself for a suitable time.”

 “No need of that,” she said.
But there was need; she did not care to expose herself to any man. It wasn't
modest, for one thing, and there was a worse problem.

 “Suppose I sit by the fire, facing
away from the pond,” he suggested. “The dragons will guarantee that I
don't peek, much as I might be tempted to.”

 That was a neat solution. He had
assured her privacy while complimenting her feminine appeal, without being
crude. There were things to like about this man. “That will do.”

 She walked to the pond as Sherlock sat
facing away from it. “Why don't you want him to see you wash?” Drew
asked in a private communication as she removed her shoes and socks.

 “Because it is not proper for
unrelated men and women to see each other's bare bodies. It's a social
error.”

 “He's not watching.”

 “Thank you.” She nerved
herself again, and pulled off her dress. She dropped it into the warm water and
stood for a moment in her underwear. That needed washing too, so she removed it
and added it to the dress. Even her hat was soiled, so that too was added.

 “Does Getaway count?” Drew
asked from the bank.

 “He's looking?”

 “He's staring. But I can't see
into his mind; it's all reverse wood.”

 She made a decision. “Let him
watch. He's a golem, not a true human person. Golems and dragons don't
count.” But she waded deeper into the water, so that her body was
concealed from the shoulders down.

 Now she remembered the nymph bark she
wore. It was so comfortable that she tended to forget she had it on, but it got
soiled too. She held her breath, ducked below the surface, and pulled its shell
off over her head. She let it float beside her as she rubbed herself off.

 “You seem to be a healthy person
of your species,” Drew said. He flew in to land on the bark. “Is this
an item of clothing?”

 “In a manner,” she agreed.
“I am endowed with no curves, so I wear this nymph bark to provide them.
It's a foolish affectation.”

 “Curves are good,” Drew
agreed, circling around to admire his sinuous body.

 “I'm glad you understand.”

 “Without those curves, you look
almost like a human child, very young. Much younger than Sherlock.”

 “Appearances are deceptive.
Chronologically I am much older. In fact, I am about quadruple his age. But
physically I remain teenage, because of the effect of the leaf of immortality
within theMountParnassusenvirons. Though my body is mature, the lack of curves
makes me look younger yet.”

 “He thinks you are
beautiful.”

 She clutched the wet dress to her bare
front. “You said he wasn't peeking!”

 “He isn't. When he first saw you
yesterday, he was amazed by how young and pretty you looked, even in your
clothing. Then he chided himself, because he thought the Muses are not supposed
to be seen that way.”

 “He was being a gentleman.”
But she felt foolishly flattered, despite knowing it was really the nymph bark
he had observed. She had thought Sherlock had never noticed her apparent
physical age.

 “He's sure you notice his age,
though. He knows he's in the least appealing segment of his life, neither young
enough to be handsome nor old enough to be wise. He regrets that.”

 Clio felt guilty as she scrubbed her
clothing. She had demanded that Sherlock not peek at her, yet she was in effect
peeking at him. But she couldn't help herself. “He ought to know that men
don't have to be handsome or young. Intelligence and decency suffice.”

 “It seems not in the Black Wave.
Especially not after the weird things started happening around him.”

 “His developing magic,” she
agreed. “But we are solving that. It's really a very strong talent, with
its several facets. Once that is clarified, he should be able to return to his
home and find a suitable woman.”

 She was done washing, but now there was
another problem. Her clothing needed to be hung out to dry, and she couldn't
wear it then. The nymph bark she could wear wet; moisture kept it limber. But
that was hardly fitting apparel by itself. What was she to do?

 “Would illusion help?” Drew
asked.

 “In what manner?”

 “I could clothe you in illusion.
That is, the appearance of illusion; it would be effective only for the minds
within my range.”

 “The appearance of illusion,”
she repeated. “At some time we must discern the distinction between
apparent illusion and real illusion.”

 “Real illusion is independent of
the observer,” he explained patiently. “Any creature or thing that
can see or hear or feel will see, hear, or feel it, and all visitors will see
the same thing. Apparent illusion is a perception of only those minds in which
it is planted; others won't be aware of it. I will have to maintain it, but
that's easy to do, just as I maintain the semblance of spoken words for
you.”

 “That's right-the golem can't hear
you speak.” Then another thought occurred. “So will the golem see the
illusory clothing?”

 “No. He'll see you bare.”

 “I am not comfortable with
that.”

 “If you wear the nymph bark, he
will see that. It may be magic, but it's not illusory.”

 “And he will think it is my real
bare shape?”

 “Is that bad?”

 She pondered briefly further. “I
suppose not. It is human eyes I prefer not to be seen by, either in my nymphly
state or truly bare.”

 “That is easy.”

 “Then that is the way it shall
be,” she said, ducking down to slide back into the nymph bark. She felt
guilty for pretending to have curves she lacked, but the taunts of her
childhood remained, and she preferred to continue faking it. It wasn't as if
she were trying to tempt men into folly, in the manner of a demoness; she just
wanted to make a good passing impression.

 “Sometimes we tiny dragons use our
fake illusion to make ourselves seem larger,” Drew said. “Just to
avoid trouble.”

 “Close enough,” she agreed,
appreciating his understanding. “I think every creature has a certain
amount of foolish vanity. Now, if you please, clothe me in the semblance of the
illusion of clothing.”

 “Done.” And as she gathered
her washed clothing and waded out of the pond, she looked down and saw that she
seemed to be wearing a wooden barrel around her midsection.

 “Uh,” she murmured.

 “I'm not very good at
clothing,” Drew said. “We don't use it ourselves.”

 “Perhaps something more like cloth
wrapped around my body.”

 “Like this?” The barrel
became the windings of a mummy.

 She considered. The dragon was really
doing his best, and it was in any event a temporary expedient. “This will
do.”

 She spread her clean dress and
underwear out across several may-pull branches. “Yes you may,” she
said, and the branches caught the clothing and pulled it flat so that it would
dry without creasing.

 “I seed her panties!” the
adjacent tree rustled. “I seed her bra!”

 Clio ignored it. Seed-her trees were
more aromatic than grammatical.

 She walked across to rejoin Sherlock,
who had waited to eat until she was ready. “Thank you for your
patience.”

 “What a shape!” Getaway said,
staring at her.

 “If you want a lady golem with a
similar shape,” Sherlock murmured, “best not to comment openly on the
Muse's appearance.”

 “But she's bare!”

 Sherlock looked at Clio, then at the
golem. “You do not see her windings?”

 “My apparel is illusory,”
Clio explained. “While my clothing dries. That is, it is the semblance of
illusion; only full minds can see it.”

 Sherlock smiled. “Were I of a
cruder nature, I might remark that I envy the golem.”

 “It's a good thing you aren't
crude.” Indeed he was not; she liked the way he handled potentially
awkward matters.

 “Nevertheless, you make a rather
fetching mummy.”

 “Thank you.” She couldn't
help it; she liked being complimented, even for what wasn't really hers.

 They had their breakfast, and discussed
prospects. The compass still pointed to Sherlock. “I must seek the red
berry.”

 “The currant,” he agreed.

 “I would appreciate it if you
would accompany me, at least until my business with you has been
accomplished.”

 “I shall be glad to. I like your
company.”

 “And I yours.” She saw a
motion as she spoke, and glanced again at her wrist. “The blue arrow has
changed direction.”

 “Then our business together must
be finished. You are free to resume your quest.”

 “I don't think so. The arrow
changed only when we agreed to travel together. That suggests that this is
our business with each other.”

 “Traveling,” he agreed.
“Perhaps there is some way I can assist you in your quest.”

 “That must be the case. I regret
imposing on your time.”

 Sherlock laughed. “My time is
nothing. You have done me the considerable favor of identifying my magic
talent, which had seemed to be more like a curse. I am more than glad to repay
the favor in any way I can.”

 “You are more than gracious.”

 “Some time we must settle who is
truly gracious.”

 She smiled. “Sometime.”

 “Sickening,” Getaway said.
Then, as Sherlock looked sharply at him: “I mean, sometime.” He moved
to place Clio between him and Sherlock.

 The arrow pointed to the east, off the
enchanted path. That was unfortunate, but it was not her policy to rail at inconvenience.

 “We can help,” Drusie said.
“We can identify hostile or dangerous minds before they get close enough
to hurt you.”

 “That pipsqueak dragon is
talking,” Getaway said, peering around Clio at Sherlock. “I can tell
by the way she looks at you.”

 “She was offering to help us
travel.”

 “I'll help too, you know. We have
a deal.” He was plainly jealous.

 “We will appreciate that
too,” Clio said. “You were extremely helpful last night, cleaning out
those nickelpedes. Your qualities will surely be useful again.”

 Getaway looked at Sherlock again.
“Is she making fun of me?”

 “No. She is too nice a person to
do that. She's complimenting you.”

 “That's weird.”

 “When you behave in a civilized
manner, others treat you like a civ-ilized person,” Sherlock said.
“In time you'll get used to it, foreign as it may be to your nature.”

 The golem frowned. “Are you
making fun of me?”

 “To a degree. I'm not as nice a
person as the Muse is.”

 “Okay. I understand you
better.” The golem kept his distance from the man.