Currant Events (28 page)

 “The Demon Earth is
watching,” Drew said to Clio.

 She glanced around and spied a cloud
forming. It did not look natural, and it certainly wasn't Fracto. “Tell
him I'm helping Arnolde make his plea, but he must agree to my condition.”

 The cloud hovered, not necessarily
agreeing.

 Arnolde knocked on the door. David
Baldwin answered. He was a handsome young man of twenty. “I'm sorry,
Arnolde, but as I said before-” Then he saw Clio. “Hello.”

 “Hello, David. I am Clio, the Muse
of History. This is Drew Dragon, who is telepathic. He will connect our minds
so that you will know that you can trust what I say.”

 David looked surprised and dubious.
Then he nodded as Drew connected. “I know it, Clio.”

 “When Jaylin went to Xanth, she
interacted with demons, and there are some residual effects. The Demoness
Fornax retains a certain association; you may have noticed.”

 “Yes, it sure changed Jaylin! But
I like her this way.”

 “Demoness Fornax has no interest
in Jaylin's long-term welfare, or yours. She merely seeks an avenue to increase
her status at the expense of other demons. You dare not deal with her
alone.”

 “Well, I'm not.”

 “When you are with Jaylin, you may
also be with the Demoness. Working through Jaylin, she has resources to put you
into heaven-”

 “I have had some of that, with
Jaylin.”

 “Or hell. At her whim.”

 David paused reflectively. “I
hadn't thought of it that way. You're right; she could. What Jaylin has told me
of the Demons scares me.”

 “You need a Demon with similar
powers on your side, to neutralize the Demoness.”

 He nodded. “I do. As long as he
doesn't foul me up.”

 “Demon Earth promises merely to
observe, and to act only to neutralize the ploys of the demoness.” She
glanced at the sky. “Doesn't he?”

 The cloud dissipated. “Yes,”
Drew said.

 David nodded. “Okay, I
agree.”

 “Thank you,” Clio said.
“We'll return to Xanth now.”

 “I feel stronger,” Arnolde
said. “The Demon is lending me more energy.”

 “Demons do keep their deals,”
Clio said.

 Arnolde invoked the return hyperlink he
carried, and suddenly they were back in Xanth. There were introductions, with
Chele Centaur looking startled and shy, for Arnolde was a legend among
centaurs. Then Arnolde removed the chain, and they resumed their journey. Clio
had navigated another danger, and perhaps done some good in the process.

 They moved well, thanks to their
galloping steeds, and by midday reached Com Pewter's cave. There was an
invisible giant there, about to herd them into the cave, but the little dragons
flew up to get within telepathic range of his unseen head and informed him that
they were there on important business. “Okay,” he boomed, and tromped
away.

 They dismounted and entered the cave
while Chele and Danielle, in human form, conversed amicably outside. The
unicorn girl did not touch the centaur, but otherwise had no special problem
with her. It seemed it was male nonvirgins that were her main problem.

 A troll came to greet them.
“Pewter is not available at the moment,” he said. “Please go
away.”

 “Why hello, Tristan,” Clio
said. “I am Clio, the Muse of History, here on business. Whatever is the
matter?”

 “Clio!” the troll said,
recognizing her. “Maybe you can help. There's a terrible problem.
Look.”

 They looked. There was snow and ice on
the machine's screen, which said CRASH FAULT in frigid print against a cold
blue background.

 “Why Pewter's frozen!” Clio
said, astonished. “What happened?”

 “I don't know. The ice just
suddenly appeared and he stopped communicating. I've been trying to help him
recover, but he's completely nonresponsive.”

 “I have heard of this sort of
thing,” Sherlock said. “I think he got a virus or a bug. Tell us
exactly what occurred, step by step.”

 “Well, he was on the Outernet, and
he found a Data Base. The pictures showed folk in military uniforms running
around, Facts and Figures. The Facts were in trousers, the Figures in
dresses.”

 “Male and female,” Sherlock
said.

 “He picked up something there.
Then his screen started going crazy, letters started falling out of his printed
words and piling up at the bottom of the screen, and I knew he was in trouble.
I tried to go for his icons, because that's where he keeps his virus antidote,
but whenever I reached for one, it danced away and I couldn't catch it. Then he
froze up really cold, as you see.”

 Sherlock nodded. “He's got a bug
all right. A clever one, that knew to elude his defenses. We have to get it
out.”

 “Yes, but how?”

 Sherlock looked around. “How do
you clean up the cave?”

 “You mean when Passion and Terian
come? I sweep it out and wash off the surfaces.”

 “I was thinking more like a vacuum
cleaner.”

 “Oh, yes, I use that too.”

 “Fetch it.”

 Tristan went into the back of the cave.
“I hope whatever you have in mind is viable,” Clio said.

 “It should be. Drusie, have you
located the bug?”

 “Yes. It is hiding deep in the
works.”

 “Keep tracking it.”

 Tristan returned with the vacuum
cleaner. “I am not clear what good this will do in this instance.”

 “We'll need to lift Pewter up so
Clio can vacuum beneath.”

 This was more curious by the minute.
But she played along. Sherlock and the troll carefully heaved the machine up,
and she turned on the vacuum and sucked the dust out from Pewter's bottom.
There was a fair amount.

 “Drusie?” Sherlock inquired.

 “He's hanging on so as not to get
sucked up,” she said. “He's very smart, for a bug.”

 “Now reverse the vacuum,”
Sherlock told Clio. He and Tristan were still holding Pewter up in the air.

 “But that will-” Then she
grasped his strategy. She changed the switch, and suddenly instead of sucking
it was blowing warm air out.

 There was a flutter and something was
blown out the other side. Drusie launched herself from Sherlock's pocket and
snapped it out of the air. One crunch of her jaws, and it was gone. She had
gotten the bug, which had been caught by surprise by the sudden reversal of
air.

 They set Pewter down. Then Clio played
the jet of warm air across his screen until the snow and ice melted. Pewter was
no longer frozen.

 The print clarified.THAT WAS AWFUL.

 “We got the bug out,” Tristan
said. “The Muse of History and her friend Sherlock are here to see you.
They saved you from freezing.”

 The print organized itself, swept up
the loose letters remaining at the bottom of the screen, and Pewter reverted to
normal.WHAT IS YOUR BUSINESS HERE, MUSE?

 It was perhaps too much to expect
gratitude from the machine. “I need to establish contact with Counter
Xanth. I understand you have the conversion code to send to your daughter Com
Panion.”

 WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?

 “A compatible placement for your
son Com Pound,” she answered evenly.

 That set the machine back.WHERE?

 “With Mount Pinatuba, facilitating
his communication with Mount Pinafore in Counter Xanth. It is surely a
significant post.”

 Grudgingly, Pewter acknowledged that.FETCH
POUND.

 Tristan took the vacuum away and
returned with another small machine. “Hello, Pound,” Clio said.

 An image of a hammer appeared on the
little screen. It pounded at the baseline, denting it. hello.

 GIVE POUND THE CODE. A disk was
extruded from a slot beneath Pewter's screen.

 Tristan took the disk and put it in a
slot under Pound's screen. There was a brief whirring sound. Then he removed
the disk. Pound had the conversion code.

 “Thank you, Pewter,” Clio
said. She picked the little machine up; he was conveniently pocket-size, like
his sister.

 MUSE GOES IMMEDIATELY ON HER WAY.

 Thus they left the cave and mounted
their steeds. “I might have reversed the order, with a touch of
wood,” Sherlock said.

 “There was no point; we needed to
be on our way anyway.”

 They galloped south, toward the
invisible bridge, but time had passed and night was closing before they reached
it. “We must camp,” Clio said. “If we are keeping you too long,
Chele and Danielle, you will be free to depart.”

 “There is no problem,” Chele
said. “We'll camp too, and get you there tomorrow.”

 Clio had privately hoped the two would
go elsewhere for the night, and return in the morning, so that she could be
alone with Sherlock. But perhaps it was just as well this way. “Thank
you.”

 They found a campsite, and camped. Soon
they had a nice fire and a number of pies. Actually it was pleasant to be in
company; Chele and Danielle in girl form had questions and comments, and were
polite. Clio and Sherlock shared a tent; no one questioned that. The little
dragons participated, and so did Pound, who was as curious as his sister about
new vocabulary. But it was not the occasion to make up for lost chances.

 Still, it was pleasant lying in the
darkness, holding Sherlock's hand, as they had done the night before. There was
a good deal more to a relationship than kissing or stork summoning-or, indeed,
permanence.

 In the morning Clio emerged to discover
Danielle in girl form working in the adjacent lot with an odd garden tool.
“What is that?” she asked.

 “I found this grove of small
pantrees,” Danielle explained. “Their panties are very fresh, but
they are likely to run if you don't harvest them carefully. So I'm using one of
these panty hoes. Even so it's tricky.”

 “Panty bushes,” Clio said.
“I should harvest one myself.” She took another one of the hoes,
which were leaning against a fence. She hoed out a panty, which was modestly
covered by foliage.

 But just as she got it clear, a nasty
boy jumped out of the brush. “Boo!” he yelled, startling her so that
she dropped the panty.

 Immediately the panty set down its feet
and ran away. The boy chased after it.

 “Oh, it ran,” Danielle said.
“That panty raider did that on purpose.”

 “Never mind; I'll hoe out
another,” Clio said.

 But her hoe had fallen apart. It seemed
that panty hoes were no good after a run. She had to get another.

 Soon, armed with fresh new panties that
hadn't run, they returned to the camp. Sherlock and Chele had pies heating.
“Look what we got!” Danielle said, as they both lifted their skirts
to flash their panties.

 Chele smiled as Sherlock freaked out.
“There's nothing like new panties to make a man pant.”

 Clio went up to Sherlock and kissed
him. He recovered, blinking. “Did you do something naughty?”

 “We harvested new panties. We
couldn't waste them, could we?”

 “I suppose not. But some time I
may touch them with reverse wood and make you freak out instead.”

 “That should be fun.”

 After breakfast they resumed traveling.
They crossed the invisible bridge, Danielle changing to girl form for the
occasion, and a wind came up and whipped her skirt about. A bird flying below
them glanced up, then went into a diving fall. Fortunately it recovered before
losing too much altitude. Clio continued to be amazed by the power of a really
fresh panty, but was sure the unicorn girl's youth and fullness had something
to do with it. Clio's own panty wouldn't perform like that, she was sure.

 At last they reached Mount Pinatuba. It
sent a warning column of smoke up as they approached. How it did that when its
cone was full of water Clio wasn't sure, but she decided to keep a safe
distance clear.

 “Pinatuba,” she called.
“I have something for you.”

 The smoke thinned. The volcano was
listening.

 “Contact with your inverted
parallel on Counter Xanth,” she continued. “Pinafore, the lady
volcano. She would like to establish a correspondence. Provide Com Pound here
with a safe cave, and he will relay your messages to her, and give you her
responses. Are you interested?”

 Of course he was. Soon Pound was
ensconced in a nice volcanic cave and relaying messages.

 As they were turning to go, something
flew out of the cave and landed at Clio's feet. The blue arrow pointed right at
it, so she picked it up. It was a bit of light volcanic rock, labeled tuff
stuff.

 It seemed that this was what she had
come for: a fragment of tuff. She put it in another pocket.

 Well, my mission here seems to be
done,“ Clio said. ”I thank you, centaur and unicorn, for your
assistance.“ ”It was fun,“ Danielle said. ”And I made a new
friend." She changed to unicorn form.

 “We'll be running along now,”
Chele said. She was speaking literally; the centaur and the unicorn galloped
off into the sunset.

 “Where to now?” Sherlock
inquired.

 Clio looked at the compass.
“North, and the arrow of time isn't in a hurry.”

 “One might think that the northern
errands could be handled together, and the southern ones, so as to eliminate
the need to travel.”

 “Only a sensible person would
think that.”

 He smiled, and they started walking
north. But soon the way became confused; the trail might be enchanted, but it
wasn't clear. Brush had overgrown part of it, and there were several paths
trying to find their way through it.

 “We are in danger of wandering off
the safe path, if we guess,” Sherlock said.

 Clio looked at the compass, but it
simply pointed north, not deigning to notice the confusion immediately ahead.

 “Big stupid man coming,” Drew
reported.

 “From behind,” Drusie added.

 They turned to look back. An ogre came
toward them, shaking the ground with his heavy tromping. Sherlock readied a
chip.

 “This is an enchanted path,”
Clio reminded him. “It should be a friendly ogre.”

 “I am nervous about ogres, since
learning of the drubbing I received from one, that you wound back. But I'll
bear with it.”

 “Thank you. I will wind it back
again if necessary.”

 “We can't tell if it's
friendly,” Drew said. “Its mind is too dull.”

 “Ogres are justly proud of their
stupidity,” Sherlock said, repeating the stupidly well-known adage.

 The ogre spied them and tromped to a
halt. It was twice their height and solid in proportion. It peered somewhat
blearily down at them, huge hamfists at its sides.

 “Hello, Ogre,” Clio said.
“We are Clio and Sherlock.”

 “Which which?” he demanded,
confused.

 “I am Clio; he is Sherlock.”

 “Opaque Ogre me, no rhyme
be.”

 Clio appreciated the problem. She knew
of no words that rhymed with either “opaque” or “ogre.”
“We accept that. Considering that ogre dull rhymes are more perceived than
real, shall we dispense with them and converse normally?”

 The ogre peered around as if fearful of
being overheard. “Do you think it is safe?”

 “We promise not to tell.”

 “Very well then. Did you have
reason for waiting for me, instead of hiding until I passed?”

 “Stupid reason,” she said
with a smile. “We can't find the proper path.”

 “That I can clarify. My talent is
to clarify or confuse things, depending on how they start.”

 “We have talents too, but they
don't seem to apply here. Are you saying that you can see the correct
path?”

 “No. I'm saying that if I
encounter cloudy water, I can make it clear water. If I see a clear way, it
becomes confused. I passed this way this morning; I must have changed it
inadvertently. I should be able to change it back now.”

 “That would be appreciated.”

 He faced forward and marched. The way
cleared as bushes hastily got out of his way and paths wriggled to avoid
getting tromped when out of position. Suddenly there was no trouble finding the
correct route.

 They followed Opaque north. Then he
halted. “I believe we are through the confusion,” he said. “The
way ahead must be clear-so I will have a problem with it. Perhaps you should go
ahead.”

 “And leave you to stumble through
alone, after your courtesy clearing it for us?” Clio asked. “There
must be an alternative.”

 “Reverse wood is risky,” Sherlock
murmured. “It might reverse his strength.”

 “Do you have far to go?” Clio
asked the ogre.

 “Not far. My sister Clarificant is
home; she usually accompanies me to cancel my effect.”

 That explained how he normally got
around. “Suppose you close your eyes and follow us? We could lead you
there.”

 “That would be very kind of
you.”

 So Opaque closed his eyes and followed
them, able to hear their footsteps between his tromps. Soon they came to the
ogre's den, where an ogress waited. “Oh, you're safe!” she exclaimed,
sounding relieved.

 “These nice humans assisted
me,” Opaque explained.

 “We cooperated,” Clio said.

 “Come in,” the ogress said.
“I have a pot of meaty skulls boiling with fresh bones.”

 “Thank you, no,” Clio said
quickly. “We must be on our way.”

 They moved on. “Ogres are just
like people,” Sherlock remarked. “When you get to know them.”

 “They are people. Just not
quite like us.”

 They came to a convenient shelter, and
settled for the night. But before darkness quite closed, a gaggle of girls
arrived. “Hi, old folk,” one called. “We are Parsley, Sage,
Rosemary, and Thyme. We'll be your cheerful company tonight.”

 “Welcome,” Clio said somewhat
grimly. It seemed they were fated not to be alone.

 There was just one shelter, so they
spent the night half buried in giggling girls. Sherlock did not seem nearly as
annoyed as Clio would have liked. In the morning the girls had a tittering bare
wash-up; Sherlock tried not to look, but they kept running around attracting
his attention. Clio had to unfreak him more than once. The girls seemed
innocent, but Clio wasn't sure that they had to be quite so open, boisterous,
or active about their ablutions. There seemed to be a certain flirtation to it.

 But when it came to making a pot of
porridge for breakfast, the girls were helpful. It was surprising how tasty
their assorted spices made what would otherwise have been rather dull. They
would surely all make good housewives, in due course.

 “So how was it, buried in spice
girls?” she asked Sherlock once they were traveling again.

 “They were fun, but I knew they
would never have stayed the night in the same shelter if you hadn't been
there.”

 “Me! You were the focus of their
attentions.”

 “Precisely. They regarded me as
safe only because you were there. It's a game, to see how much you can show
with impunity.”

 Clio considered, and realized that he
was probably correct. The girls could play because nothing could happen while
an older woman was there. It was not a game Clio herself could play, without
her curves. That bothered her more than she cared to admit.

 “Monster ahead,” Drew
reported.

 “Of what description?”
Sherlock asked, a chip appearing in his hand.

 “Similar to Tristan Troll.”

 “The trollway!” Clio
exclaimed. “We are coming to it.”

 Sure enough, in a moment they came to a
troll standing guard by a wide paved avenue. A sign said STOP. PAY TROLL.

 “Why should we pay a troll
anything?” Sherlock asked. “We're just passing through.”

 “You're not familiar with the
trollway? You have a nice experience coming. It will take us rapidly as far
north as the arrow leads.”

 So Sherlock dickered with the troll,
and gave him a bag with a chip of reverse wood. Then they went to a bench
beside the wide road and waited.

 “The trollway traverses the full
length of Xanth,” she explained. “It is a much faster mode of
travel.”

 “I am satisfied with slow travel,
while with you.”

 She was touched. “Oh,
Sherlock!” She leaned over and kissed him. She loved being with him, but
she still couldn't say those key words “I love you.” While it might
be an exaggeration to say that broke her heart, it nevertheless dented it
somewhat.

 A vehicle appeared, rolling along the
trollway from the south. It had metal wheels. A melody sounded as it came to a
halt beside their bench. It was a tuneful trolley.

 A door opened in its side. They
entered, climbing steps to reach the passenger compartment. When they were in,
the troll driver cranked a handle, the door closed, and the trolley got moving
again.

 There were four other people riding,
two men and two women. Clio and Sherlock took seats near the front.

 Clio began to feel odd. It was as if
something were touching her body, yet nothing was. She thought she felt a hand
on her ankle, then one on her shoulder. When it squeezed her right thigh she
jumped up “Oh!”

 “Stop it, Feelup!” one of the
women snapped. And the invisible touches stopped.

 “What's going on?” Clio
asked, facing back.

 The woman got up and came to her.
“My brother's talent is to feel things remotely. He's not supposed to do
it to people. Especially women. But he still tries to sneak it in.” She
glared at the man who had sat beside her. He stared down, not meeting her gaze.

 “Groping is known in Mundania,
too,” Sherlock murmured tolerantly. Then he jumped. “Hey! I got
goosed!” It seemed he felt less tolerant.

 “Feelup!” the woman said
severely. “I apologize for my brother's misbehavior. He just wears his
feelings beyond his sleeves.”

 “That's all right,” Clio
said, though it wasn't. She didn't like getting remotely groped by strange men.

 “My talent is related, only it
touches inside rather than outside a person's body. I am Digit Alice, and I do
healing massages.”

 “Interesting,” Clio said,
though she was hoping the woman would go away. She sat down again.

 “I can heal a broken heart,”
Alice said proudly. “Let me show you.” She came to stand behind Clio.

 Clio was about to protest, but Alice
put her hands against her back and began to massage it. The touch was
surprisingly therapeutic; the good feeling went right through her muscles and
bones and touched her heart. The dent in it eased, then disappeared; her heart
felt whole again. “Oh, thank you,” she said.

 “It was the least I could
do.” Alice returned to her seat.

 The trolley squealed to a halt.
“Demon Construction,” the driver said with resignation. “We'll
have to wait.”

 “I wonder,” Sherlock said.
“Mind if I take a look around?”

 The troll shrugged. “We aren't
going anywhere.”

 Clio followed Sherlock out, wondering
what he was up to. She saw signs of the demon's work all across the trollway,
but no one was actually working. In fact no one was there.

 “I've seen this sort of thing in
Mundania,” Sherlock said. “They rush out to block off the access to
the most important highway they can get at, then do nothing for six months. It
is calculated to inconvenience the greatest number of people with the least
effort. This demon must have studied the technique. But maybe we can clear the
way.”

 He walked to a line of orange cones
that crossed the road. He took hold of one-and the others all jumped on him. He
was buried in cones. Then they all reversed and flung themselves away from him.
He got up, brushing himself off. “I walked into that one. I took them for
pylons. Instead they're pile-ons. So I reversed them.”

 Beyond the cones was a sleeping bull
lying in a pile of ashes. “Bulldozer,” Sherlock said. “Scraping
the ash-fault level. When he's working.”

 Then a dragon appeared. They backed
nervously away, but this dragon was rolling end over end as it fired out steam.
It rolled over the ashes, leaving them flat. “And a steamroller,”
Sherlock said.

 It was clear beyond that. They returned
to the trolley, and reported to the driver. “We can get through now.”

 The troll nodded, and started the
vehicle moving again. Suddenly a person as wide as four men dashed up.
“Hey, you can't do that!” But he was too late; they were already
through the section and beyond.

 “That was the four-man,” the troll
said, seeming privately satisfied. “He hates to let a trolley through
before its time.”

 The trolley rolled on. They gazed out
the windows, but the scenery soon became dull.

 “I'm bored,” the other man at
the rear announced. “Let's pass the time by telling each other something
about ourselves.”

 Clio was bored too, now that she wasn't
getting groped. She discovered that the seats would turn in place, so she could
face back to talk with the others. “I'm amenable. I am Clio, and my talent
is the wind-back. I can wind back recent events, but I seldom do it because
others don't realize it has happened.”

 “That's terrific,” Alice
said. “Does that mean that if the troll falls asleep and crashes us into a
tree, you could unhappen it?”

 “Yes. But I would prefer that he
not do that.”

 Everyone laughed. A crack appeared in a
window. The troll looked back, glowering. “You broke the ice. Stop that or
I'll put you off the trolley.”