Pet Peeve (12 page)

“You'll never find out if you dawdle here forever, dullard.”

“Thank you for that encouragement, Peeve,” Goody said wryly. He looked at Hannah. “But it's right. We'd better get moving. I don't think we can avoid a threat by staying here. We just know that something odd or dangerous is about to happen.”

They set out, trying to retrace the way they had come here. But now there was no big armed barbarian glaring around, and the atmosphere of the forest was uglier. Goody remembered how he had been told that most threats would never make an appearance, with Hannah near. That had changed.

She touched his arm and pointed. The left shadow was very dark and troubled. That made him extremely nervous.

They were about to circle around a large tree. Goody paused, cautioning Hannah, then stepped forward as delicately and quietly as he could. He peered ahead.

There was a giant fireplace. Flames were flickering within it, dancing fro and to. Had he walked at speed, he would have collided with it before realizing, and gotten burned.

They stood and watched. The flames came and went, flitting through the air to reach the fireplace, and sailing away from it. Each seemed to have its own identity, maintained wherever it went. Some looked male, others female, and sometimes one of each would flicker together and brighten.

This must be where the fires of the Region of Fire went for their vacation. A place to relax well away from the burned-out home region. Indeed, they would not appreciate two goblins blundering into their sanctuary.

Now the meaning of the left shadow was clear: it was a flickering flame. And the right shadow—was dead.

They backed away, carefully. Thanks to the warning of the shadows, they had not blundered into the fireplace, and gotten themselves burned to death by outraged flames.

“How's your old flame doing with that hot tongue?” the parody demanded loudly.

The flames froze in place for a moment. Then several of them flitted directly toward Goody and Hannah.

Hannah caught his elbow and drew him toward the trunk of the tree. There was a rotted out hollow there. They squeezed into it.

“Hey!” the bird cried as the wood brushed it off Goody's shoulder. It flapped its wings, hovering in air. “You clumsy gob!”

The leading flame paused, then flickered toward the parody. It thought the peeve was insulting it.

The bird got away just before the flame could burn its tail. “Watch yourself, you clumsy candle!” Now it was insulting the flame.

The flame reoriented and went after the peeve again. “Oh, yeah?” the bird demanded. “Just who do you think you're singeing, you misbegotten pyre? Watch out I don't quench you with spit, hotfoot!”

Goody could do nothing, but hoped the bird was agile enough to avoid the angry flame. The peeve had brought it on itself, after all, and almost gotten them burned too. Then it had inadvertently led the flame away from them.

Now he became aware of their situation. He was jammed in the hollow, his arms around Go-Go. Hannah, really, but she looked and felt exactly like his beloved wife.

“Oh, darn,” he whispered. “How I wish you were real!”

She gazed at him, her eyes every bit as big and soft as those of his beloved.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I know you're not Go-Go. You're Hannah, and we have no such relationship. But holding you like this—”

It was too much. The tears of his suddenly intensified grief overflowed his eyes. He knew he was acting like the unmanly wimp he was, disgusting her, but he couldn't help it.

Some time later the parody returned. “You pusillanimous jokers still necking in the tree?” it demanded. “The fires are stoked down for a break; didn't you know?”

They wedged themselves out of the crevice and unkinked their joints. “At least we figured out how to use the shadows,” Goody said.

Hannah shook her head, pointing to the ground. The shadows were gone.

Oh. Well, the phenomenon had been good while it lasted.

They found a way to skirt the fireplace and moved on. No monsters attacked, so Goody didn't invoke another spell.

They came to a lake. “We got rather soiled in that tree crevice,” Goody said. “This seems like a good place to wash, if there are no sharks.”

Then he realized there was another problem. He and Hannah had gotten used to each other, as it were, but now she resembled the woman he loved. “Then again maybe not.”

But she was already stripping, dropping her clothing at the edge of the pond so she could wash it. She might have the body of a gobliness, but her natural manner was that of the barbarian. What could he do? If he made an issue, it would just make it worse. So he stripped also.

They rinsed out their clothes and spread them on bushes to dry. Then they went deeper, for a full swim.

Suddenly Hannah screamed. Actually she made no sound, but he saw her mouth wide open as she drifted backward toward deeper water. Something was dragging her!

Goody splashed as rapidly as he could toward her. He caught her hand and tried to pull her back toward the bank, but instead she pulled him toward the center of the pond. That was no good. So he hauled her in to him and put both arms around her, shielding her with his body. He felt the dreadful force of whatever was dragging her.

Then it reversed, and they were coursing the other direction. They splashed into shallow water, gasping. Near the center of the pond a huge shape lifted out of the water, resembling nothing so much as a giant human toe. Then it splashed down and out of sight.

“The undertoe almost got you, jerk!” the parody said.

Undertoe: a big toe that dragged swimmers under. Surely related to the foothills. But why had it suddenly reversed?

Then he understood: his talent. The bounce. He had been bounced back out, and Hannah with him, because he had been clasping her. His talent had saved them.

“Hannah! My talent—” He stopped. They were lying together, naked, in shallow water.

He quickly released her. “Hannah, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—” But what could he say? That he hated holding her like that? It would be an obvious lie.

They got up and waded back to the bank. The sun had made short work of their clothing, and it was close enough to dry to be serviceable. He noticed that her clothing had changed with her form; instead of metallic armor, it was a dainty blouse, skirt, and pan—underclothing. He faced away while she dressed.

They resumed their walk. It wasn't long before there was a stirring in the foliage, and a medium small dragon swooped down. It had sniffed them out. It paused barely half an instant before concluding that they were suitably defenseless prey, and came toward them, fire jetting from its nostrils.

“Bogey at eleven o'clock!” the parody warned, fluttering clear. Then, to the dragon: “Nyaa nyaa, hothead! You can't toast mee!”

Goody drew Hannah to the side. “Get under cover,” he told her. “I'll try to stop it.”

As he spoke, he bent to pick up a stone. He hurled it at the dragon. He missed, and the dragon flew directly at him, its fire intensifying.

Then the fire curled back and bathed the dragon's own snoot. It inhaled and sneezed, blowing out smoke rings. Goody's talent had worked again, bouncing the fire!

However, the dragon was still hurtling toward him. It had not been damaged by its own fire, merely annoyed. It opened its mouth to bite Goody as it closed.

And bounced back, landing on its tail, looking confused. Then, realizing that that it was up against something it didn't understand, it spun about and flew away.

Hannah and the parody joined him, and they went on. Goody was pleased that his talent was coming through; this greatly increased his confidence.

But they were not yet out of the Region of Madness. The vegetation continued weird, and he didn't trust it. He wanted to be clear of it by the end of day.

The way opened out. He recognized this section; they were near the edge. He forged ahead.

Hannah caught him about the shoulders and pulled him back. They fell to the ground together, and the bird flew up, cursing a purple streak. “What?” he asked, halfway annoyed. “Why did you—?”

She pointed. Now he saw a faint shimmer, as of a twist of air rising in the heat. A bug flew through it—and zagged crazily, crash landing, as if dizzy.

“A forget whorl!” the parody said, as they got up.

Now Goody saw a trail of dazed creatures marking the route of the whorl. If he had walked through that, he would have forgotten some or all of his nature and identity. Hannah had spied it first, and acted to save him from it.

Relief and gratitude overwhelmed him. He took hold of her, drew her close, and kissed her on the mouth. Then, realizing what he had done, he let her go. “I'm sorry. I—”

But the Go-Go form was fuzzing out and swelling. It became twice as tall, and wide and deep in proportion. Metal glinted from here and there. In fact—

“I'm back,” Hannah said.

Amazed, Goody could only protest. “But you—I—”

“That was the key to restoration,” she said. “I see it now. A kiss is the traditional way to banish a spell on a maiden. If only we had realized sooner.”

“So you're not angry that I—”

She reached down, put her two hands on his shoulders, lifted him up to her face height, and kissed him back. Then she set him down. “Three times you saved me when I was helpless. Twice we were jammed together, once naked. You were such a bleeping gentleman you apologized! I'm no fainting girl, but I do appreciate your bravery and courtesy on my behalf. If you want to kiss me, friend, do it. It doesn't change our relationship.”

“You strumpet!”

“But you looked so much like Go-Go, I was starting to fall in love with you.”

“As if a goblin ever could.”

“And refrained, knowing it wasn't real,” Hannah said. “There are men who wouldn't make that distinction. You are a worthy person, Goody. I hope that some day you find a worthy goblin girl to make the rest of your life as happy as Go-Go made the earlier portion of it. She was obviously a very fine person too. I'm almost sorry I'm not a goblin.” She considered half a moment. “Almost sorry I wasn't a goblin a little longer.”

“I don't understand.”

She nodded. “With luck, you'll never understand.”

But as he pondered, he did understand. Hannah really did appreciate the way he had treated her when her situation had changed, and might willingly have rewarded him in the way a woman could when she chose. Knowing that for the moment she resembled the one he most desired. It was a way to thank a person that went beyond the pleasure of the moment. To give him a taste of his beloved past. Yet she wasn't sure it was right. Neither was he.

“Now let's get on out of here before dark. I don't think this is the place to find a home for the nasty bird.”

“I heard that, you scheming floozy!”

She reached down and ruffled its feathers almost affectionately. “And I'll almost be sorry to be rid of you, you incorrigible squawk-box.”

They camped in a pleasant “normal” glade, foraging for pies and drinks. There were no bedding bushes, but Goody found an O-shaped plant that grew pills. Sure enough, the pill-Os made even hard rocks feel soft enough to sleep on. But as night closed, and the parody settled down on the upper pole of the lean-to, Goody was restless, though tired. “Do you mind if I—”

“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!”