Pet Peeve (23 page)

The demons coalesced around him. “Good to work with you, Gross-clout,” one said. “We remember your classes.”

“You had better,” the professor said gruffly. “Follow me.” He vanished. So did they.

Now a pack of wolves ran in. Their leader approached Trent and transformed to manform. “Prince Jeremy Werewolf,” he said.

“Magician Trent. We met when you married Jenny Elf.”

“I remember. What can we do for you?”

“We have not as yet decided, but I'm sure you will be effective.”

“If I may make a suggestion. My wife had an idea.”

“Let's have it.”

“We understand you also recruited elves.”

“True.”

“They can be doughty warriors, but are known to lack strength away from their trees.”

“They will have to operate near their trees,” Trent agreed.

“Suppose we gave them rides?”

“I am not sure I understand.”

“Where Jenny comes from, elves are wolf riders. She knows how it is done. We could carry them, greatly increasing their range. They could use their weapons from our backs, protecting us.”

Trent nodded. “This may have merit. We'll consult with the elves when they arrive.”

The parody noticed something. It flew high in the air, peering beadily about. “Bogey at twelve o'clock!”

“What species?” Trent asked.

“Goblins. A gang of them.”

“That would be my contingent,” Gwenny said. “Goody, I must go supervise them.” She kissed him quickly, then vanished as Vore carried her away.

Magician Trent glanced at Goody. “So Chiefess Gwenny Goblin has finally found a partner?”

“She is considering,” Goody said uneasily. “I am Goody Goblin. I—we—seem to have been responsible for bringing the first robot here.”

“The dope was suckered,” the peeve explained.

“I am Magician Trent. My talent is transformation. I am glad to meet you, Goody.” He reached down, extending his right hand.

Astonished, Goody just stood there. “Shake his hand,” Hannah whispered. “That's how humans greet folk.”

“But I'm not a chief or anything!”

“Idiot!” the bird said.

Goody reached up to shake the Magician's hand. He was able to grasp only two fingers. Trent seemed not to notice. “You have, I believe, already met the representatives of the dragons, other goblins, naga, and ogres?”

“Yes, Magician.”

“We are expecting the dragons to converge at Lake Wails, not far to the south. The ogres are marching north from OgreChobee and should arrive soon near the Singing Tower. I would appreciate it if you would meet both contingents and help them orient. They need to be sure that no robots penetrate their quadrants.”

“But I have no authority!”

Trent smiled. A tiny fly buzzed by before his face. He made a slight gesture, and the fly became a large shiny bug. He caught the bug and set it on Goody's lapel, where it held on firmly. “You do now. The demons have told them to heed a coordinator, as identified by this scarab badge. They will be expecting you.”

The Magician had evidently come prepared. It was becoming clear why so many species respected him. “Yes, Magician.”

Trent glanced at Hannah. “And since you are assisting him, you should have a badge too.” He looked for another fly, but found none, so he reached down to gesture at a little yellow flower. It became another scarab. He picked it up and set it on her halter.

She was taken aback. “Thank you, Magician.”

“Humfrey spoke well of you. On your way.”

Metria and Dara gathered them in and transported them to Lake Wails. This was set in an old volcano cone, with steep sides and very deep water. There was room to walk around the rim, but not a lot to spare. “It's a fun milieu,” Metria said as they stood by the placid lake.

“A fun what?”

“Tract, environ, abode, spot, address, terrace, habitat, billet, space, quarter, city, hinterland, locale, street, arena, niche, scene, range, forum, pad, point—”

“Place?” He had been curious how long she could continue with the wrong words, but there seemed to be no limit.

“Whatever,” she agreed crossly. “Haven't you heard of it?”

“I didn't get around much for twenty years.”

“I did,” Hannah said. “This is where the fabulous Wailing Monster runs, leaving little footprints on the surface of the water. The prints of wails.”

Goody looked across the water. “I don't see any monster.”

“It's shy. We may not see it at all. But we know it's there.”

“Bogey at six o'clock.”

They looked. A flight of dragons was coming in. Soon they glided to a landing near Goody and Hannah, perching neatly on the rim. Metria and Dara were normally invisible when not active.

Their evident leader was a giant fire breather, big enough to take them both in with one chomp. He folded his wings and moved toward them as if they looked good to eat. Goody and Hannah hastily pointed to their scarab badges. The dragon looked, and nodded regretfully; these morsels were not for eating.

“I am Goody Goblin,” Goody said, feeling weak in the knees. Would the dragons really honor the truce between species? “This is Hannah Barbarian. We—”

The dragon shook his huge head. He couldn't understand them.

Then the rim rumpled. A snout poked out. This must be the place.

“Vortex!” Goody cried, vastly relieved. “We need translation.”

The dragon drew himself out of the ground. “Of course. I came as fast as I could. Just let me check in.” He oriented on the giant dragon leader. “This is Firestorm Dragon, leader of the flying dragon contingent. He is of the Rational persuasion, meaning he is smart rather than telepathic. He is indifferent to the fate of other species, but realizes that if the machines overrun Xanth, it will spoil the hunting. He recognizes your badge of authority, so will refrain from toasting you, with regret. I will translate your directives, and he will command the contingent.”

“Very good,” Goody said, his knees stiffening somewhat. “There are several things he needs to know. First, leave the local denizens alone, such as the Wailing Monster. Second, the harpies are ferrying in food: lunch boxes.”

“What?” Vortex translated, fire flickering across the word. “We require quivering live meat and plenty of it.”

“Uh—”

“I will check,” Dara said, flickering momentarily in and out of view. Then a lunch box appeared in her hands; she had checked rapidly. “Try this. It is tightly packed.”

Goody took the box. It had a broken-off stem on the bottom. It had evidently grown on a plant or tree and been harvested. “This is a sample lunch,” he said, unlatching the lid and lifting it.

A monster leaped out, a globular cluster ten times the size of the box. It had eyeballs and tentacles galore, and a fat center. It landed on the rim and scrambled away.

Firestorm jetted a lance of fire from one nostril. It speared the monster and fried it in place. Then he flicked the tip of his tail around to wrap around the morsel and drop it into his mouth. He chomped. He nodded.

“It will do,” Vortex said. “Surprisingly tasty.”

“We try to do things right,” Goody said, relieved. “More will be delivered soon by a flight of harpies.” He fixed Firestorm with what he hoped was a steely glare. “Do not toast the harpies. You need them to deliver the lunch boxes, and they don't taste very good anyway.”

“We know,” Vortex translated.

Hm. “Set up a defense line circling south of the lake. The terrain should help, but it's not the lake we're defending, but Iron Mountain to the north. Your line should reach around east and north to meet the line the ogres will set up, and to the west and north to where the—” He paused, uncertain who was assigned to that quadrant.

“The naga,” Dara murmured invisibly in his ear. She was more responsible than Metria, so was paying attention.

“The naga,” Goody continued. “Are you familiar with them?”

“Yes. Good folk,” Vortex translated. “Apart from their human contamination.”

“This is Xanth proper,” Goody said. “We have many crossbreed species, even one or two human/dragon ones. It's not like Dragon World.”

“Unfortunately,” Vortex translated.

“We expect the robots to arrive tomorrow, but they might surprise us. Remember, these are metal entities. They aren't edible and they don't think, at least not the way we do. You will have to crunch them carefully so as not to chip your teeth, and let the refuse pile up. If you allow a gap to open in your line, they may rush through it. Don't let them reach Iron Mountain! If they do, they'll make more and larger robots, and be much harder to stop.”

“Got it,” Vortex said.

“If you need help, ask for it,” Goody said. “This is a community effort, with everyone helping everyone against the common enemy. After we defeat the robots, we can all go back to normal activity. But not until we all return to our natural haunts. No predation on other species here.”

“Got it,” Vertex repeated. “We won't need help, of course, but if by some incredible chance we do, how do we ask?”

“I will be passing by frequently. Failing that, send a telepathic dragon to Magician Trent at the mountain.”

Firestorm nodded, then flew off to direct his minions, most of whom had landed at the base of the volcanic slope. “Nice job,” Hannah said. “You may be cut out to be a leader.”

“Never that! I just do what I have to, as competently as I can.”

“Exactly.”

The demons took them to the Singing Tower. It was set in pretty gardens and seemed to be warming up. “Do ra me so fa so good,” it sang with ascending notes.

Hannah smiled. “I don't think it takes us seriously. If there gets to be a real audience, it will surely sing arias.”

There were no ogres in sight. That was all right with Goody, as it would give them a chance to rest.

Hannah rubbed her belly in the barbarian way she had. “I'm hungry.”

“One moment, please,” Dara said. She flickered, and two lunch boxes appeared in her hands. One for each of them.

“What about me, you smoky stench?”

“Oops. Of course, peeve.” She flickered again, and produced a third box. She opened it for the bird.

It contained an assortment of crystallized honey bees and fried meal worms.

The parody opened its beak to say something nasty, but couldn't manage it. Instead it pecked up a bee and gulped it down with avian gusto. This was obviously its favorite meal.

Goody hesitated before opening his. “I'm not sure I want to fry and eat a globular cluster, or a meal worm.”

“I can handle it if I have to,” Hannah said. She gripped her sword, then opened her box.

Nothing happened. She flipped up the lid. There was a milkweed pod, a beefsteak tomato, and a collection of roasted grasshoppers. “Ideal fare!” She tossed a grasshopper into her mouth, then chewed on the beefsteak. “It's been so long since I've had a real barbarian meal.”

Goody hadn't realized that he was crimping her style. He opened his own box. There was a bottle of boot rear and two banana-turnip sandwiches. “My favorite!” he said, biting into one. It was delicious. He hadn't had this since Go-Go died.

Which abruptly sobered him.

“Chew on bad software?” Metria asked.

“On what?”

“Virus, blemish, fungus, maggot, insect—”

“Bug?”

“Whatever. You look as if you just swallowed a rotten tooth.”

Oh. “I remembered Go-Go Gobliness.”

“Who?” Dara asked.

“My long-time wife. She died.”

“That's miserable,” she agreed. “Marriage is better.”

She was a demoness, but probably serious, since she was one of Humfrey's wives. “But the lunch is very good. I hadn't realized they were so carefully personalized.”

“The harpies take good care of their garden.”

Soon after they finished their boxed lunches, the tower really did sing an aria. Something was coming.

“Bogey at four o'clock!”

Indeed, the ground was shaking with the heavy tramp of many horny bare feet. The ogres were arriving.

They went to meet them. Smithereen was leading a troop of about twenty ogres, each almost as brutish and ugly as himself. “Me see Good-ee,” he said, spying Goody. “Who she, pee-wee?”

“Hannah Barbarian,” Hannah said.

“What a bunch of hairy ugly stupes!”

There could hardly have been a better greeting for ogres. They liked the bird.

Goody explained about forming a line to connect with the dragons on the south and the goblins on the north, but he wasn't sure they were getting it. “Bash all robots,” he concluded. “No one else.”

Then a flight of harpies appeared, coming in from the west. Each was carrying a huge bag. “Me see har-pee,” Smithereen said, lifting a hamfist.

“No, no! Har-pee friend-lee,” Goody said. “Bring food.”

“Food! Shrewd!”

The harpies dropped the bags, which were becoming heavy after their long flight. They burst open and mounds of lunch boxes tumbled out. The ogres gazed at them in dismay, surely thinking they contained effete human food.

“Look,” Goody said. He picked up a box and opened it. It was filled with assorted bones.

The ogres smiled. Goody did his best not to wince. They swept up the boxes and began crunching bones. When the bones were done, they crunched the boxes too. It seemed that everything was edible, ogre style.

They were done here. The demons carried them back to the main base. “The troops are bivouacked in place,” Magician Trent said, pleased.

“Are what, royal jerk?” the parody asked.

Trent smiled. “Camped.” He never got a word wrong. “Go settle. We have a big day tomorrow. The robots are proceeding on schedule, as machines seem to do.”

Goody went to their lean-to. Gwenny was already there. She greeted Goody with a hug and kiss. “We don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, so let's make the night memorable.”

More so than the prior night? He doubted it was possible. So did the peeve. “Ha haw ho!”

Both of them were mistaken.

They had time for excellent lunch-box breakfasts. Then the robots arrived. They came initially from the northwest, where the elves and werewolves were defending. “Watch that quadrant, Goody,” Trent said grimly. “If they can't handle it, notify me immediately.”

The demons took Goody and Hannah to the northwest front. This was beyond Mountain Lake, and suddenly the line looked dangerously thin. The robots came like a massive carpet, rank on rank, marching in metallic step, every one alike. They remained goblin size, which meant they had not found any other source of iron, but it seemed the whole of the ironwood forest had gone into their legions. Much of the natural forest must have gone into their bellies, too, because their emitted smoke was forming a haze that partly shrouded them.

The werewolves carried elves, and it did seem to be working. They ran up to the robot vanguard and paused, and the elves fired tiny arrows. That seemed laughable, but the arrows went unerringly to crevices in the robots' joints, and caused them to jam, handicapping them. They stalled, and the following robots crashed into them, and the ones after them crashed too, making a considerable jam before they managed to halt their blind advance. The haze of smoke became worse, because it was no longer dissipated by their motion.

“Know something?” Hannah murmured appreciatively. “I think those robots never thought there would be any resistance. Assuming that they think at all. They just used up their iron, then organized their march to the new supply they discovered. They're confused by the obstruction.”

“That gives us an initial advantage,” Goody agreed. “But they won't stay confused long. They'll tackle the obstruction.”

“Yes. But I think the werewolves and elves have this quadrant under control for now. Let's check the next.”

They went south to the centaur quadrant. The harpies were still bringing in bags of boxes, and flying back for more. But now the robots were reaching this region, and the threatened flying machines were appearing. They trailed messy contrails of smoke as their flapping metal wings disturbed it.

Now the centaur archers went to work. Their arrows scored unerringly, striking through the hot bellies of the robots and letting more smoke out. Their heat power weakened, the metal birds flapped less vigorously, and spiraled down toward the ground. They couldn't get at the harpies.

But more were coming. Could the centaurs keep up with them? Suppose they attacked the harpies farther back, behind the robot vanguard? “I see mischief,” Hannah said.

“So do I,” Goody said. “I think we should report to Magician Trent.”

The demons took them to Trent, who had climbed high on Iron Mountain so as to oversee the complete surrounding region. It was impressive; the top was flat enough for a camp, though completely bare. Goody could see all the way south to Lake Wails, east to the Singing Tower, and west to Mountain Lake. He could see the werewolves to the northeast, the centaurs west and south of Mountain Lake, the naga south of them, the dragons surrounding Lake Wails, the ogres surrounding the Singing Tower, and the goblin hordes covering the entire north quadrant. Iron Mountain was well guarded.

But the robots were coming on in waves, blanketing the entire western front and converging on the north and south. Soon they would completely surround the defensive circle. There were just so many of them! And if they won through to Iron Mountain, there would be several times as many more.

“It is true,” Magician Trent said, as if reading his thoughts. “We have the massed might of Xanth here, yet we must manage carefully or the outcome will be in doubt.”

“Oh. Yes,” Goody agreed, embarrassed by his distraction. “We came to report a possible problem in the centaur sector. They are protecting the harpies now, but if the flying robots attack the harpies farther to the west, beyond the range of the centaur arrows—”

“Excellent point. This is why we have reserves.” Trent snapped his fingers.

Two young human women detached themselves from an admiring throng of men and ran to join Trent, their tresses flying out behind their heads. One was as bright and fair as sunrise, the other as dark and fair as sunset. Both were uncommonly comely. Goody watched them running. The iron ground tilted crazily.

“Boom-boom, boom-boom!” the parody remarked.

“Steady,” Hanna murmured as she steadied him. “Haven't you learned? Gaze at their faces, not their chests, especially when they're running.”

He wrenched his eyes up, and the ground steadied. “Thank you.” He had forgotten about that particular form of female magic.

By the time Goody was back to normal, the girls had arrived. “These are my great-granddaughters, Princesses Dawn and Eve, the children of Dolph and Electra,” Trent said. “Girls, these are Goody Goblin and Hannah Barbarian, coordinators.”

“We've met,” Eve said with a dusky smile as she gave her black hair a flounce.

“You bet, soot head!”

“No, we haven't,” Dawn said, giving her flame-red hair a similar flounce. Her eyes were bright green.

“We traveled with Eve,” Hannah said. “To locate the robots.”

Dawn turned on her twin sister. “You didn't tell me!”

“I'm a creature of dark secrets.”

Dawn turned back to Goody, and smiled. The day turned three shades brighter. “Hello, Goody Goblin.”

Eve poked her in a rib with an elbow. “Stop charming him. I got dibs on that.”

Goody remembered how Eve had said that her sister dazzled boys away from her. Now he understood how that could be. “Hello, Princess Dawn.”

Dawn stepped forward to shake hands, surprising him. She was almost twice his height, but her hand was delicate enough to clasp his. “And you're of chiefly lineage, as well as being uncommonly polite and in grief for your late wife Go-Go.” She squeezed his hand, holding her forward-leaning pose.

“Stop flirting with him!” Eve snapped.

“And watch out those nags don't slip their halter, firehead.”

This time Goody had had the wit to keep his eyes on Dawn's face, so wasn't freaked out by her loose décolletage. Even so, peripheral vision could tolerate only so much. “How did you know—if Eve never said—”

“My talent,” she said with another day-brightening smile as she released his hand and straightened up. “I can tell anything about anything living. So when I touched you, I knew. You're cute.” She dodged her sister's kick.

That was right: Dawn and Eve were sorceresses. He had seen the power of Eve's talent; now he appreciated her sister's complementary talent. It was also instructive to see their sibling rivalry, even when it came to impressing a goblin neither had any real interest in. They were princesses and sorceresses, but they were also teen girls, alternating flaunting and quarreling. They would be a terror when they forged into adulthood.

“What a load of zombie tripe!”

Eve masked a knowing smirk, leaving it to her sister to figure out.

“Who spoke?” Dawn asked. “I thought at first it was the male goblin, but now I know it wasn't.”

“I did, you twitchy teen tease.”

“The parody insults people,” Hannah explained. “We're looking for a home for it.”

“Really,” Dawn said. Then she oriented directly on the peeve and loosed her brightest smile yet.

“Awk!” it half squawked, as the air near it seemed to sparkle and tiny yellow birds flitted around it in twittering circles. The parody's green feathers intensified.

“Insult me,” Dawn breathed. But the bird had been blissfully stifled. It seemed she could do more than merely know about living things; she could affect them, when she tried.

“Girls,” Trent said with a faint great-grandfatherly hint of a smile, “there is a problem. Go with Hannah to the centaur quadrant, clarify the situation there, and assign your men to handle it. Do not get into the fray yourselves.”

“Awww,” they said together, bouncing a smile back and forth between their faces. Sunlight and shadow seemed to flicker around their heads. Then they turned together and lifted beckoning hands.

A column of human soldiers formed and marched toward them. “This way,” Hannah said, and headed down the iron slope toward Mountain Lake and the centaurs. The princesses followed her, and the human troops followed them.

The parody finally regained its volition. “And don't come back, nymphets!”

“But—” Goody began.

“You will direct the demon contingent,” Trent said. “Take them to the harpies and clarify the problem. You will rejoin Hannah once they are in action.” He snapped his fingers again.

A cloud of smoke appeared, the apex of a triangular formation of clouds. “We hear and obey,” a demon voice said. Then: “Oh no! Not her!”

Metria appeared. “I'm just here with Goody,” she said. “You have an anxiety with that?”

“A what?” the cloud asked.

“Predicament, annoyance, infirmity, aggravation, complication, trouble, bone of contention—”

“Problem?”

“Whatever,” she agreed crossly.

“Yes, we have a problem. You're nothing but mischief.”

“And you're nothing but a scatology!”

“A what?” the cloud demanded, swelling menacingly.

“She means an unkind term for a dung heap,” Trent said. “Metria is merely transporting Goody Goblin. She has no authority. You may ignore her.”

“That helps,” the cloud said. “Lead, goblin.”

“To the harpy supply line,” Goody said.

Metria dissolved into smoke, surrounded him and the bird, and heaved them up. This time she did goose him in the process.

“How can you goose a process?” the peeve demanded.

“Like this,” Metria's voice said. Suddenly the bird squawked and jumped.

Goody almost smiled. The bird had asked for it.

They floated down the iron slope, gathering speed. The clouds followed, maintaining their formation. They floated over the column of marching men and went on to Mountain Lake.

Fowlmouth Harpy spied them and flapped across to intercept them over the lake. “What's this?” she screeched. “A convention of smokers?”

“Ha ha ha, vulture face!”

“This is a squadron of demons, here to help you clear out the flying robots,” Goody explained from his hovering cloud. “How can they best assist you?”

“They can brush back the machines to give us a broader corridor,” Fowlmouth screeched. “And patrol the rest of our supply line where the centaurs can't.”

“We hear and obey,” the lead cloud said. The clouds flew across to the line of harpies and enveloped flying robots. The machines started dropping to the ground. They evidently did not appreciate being goosed in their crevices.

Meanwhile the human contingent arrived below, and soon moved out to break up the robots that fell, and any on the ground near them. They had stout clubs that bashed the machines, knocking them out of whack, and shields that prevented the robots from bashing them back very effectively. The size differential helped; it would have been more difficult with human-sized machines. Soon the supply corridor was widening.

“That does help,” Fowlmouth screeched. “We were starting to take losses.”

“We need those lunch boxes,” Goody said.

It was time to check on the next quadrant. Goody got back together with Hannah, and the demons took them to the naga section.

The robots were encroaching, but the naga were ready for them. They had erected barriers that made the machines form into single-file columns, and naga in their human form were bashing them as they passed key stations. Others were hauling away the broken parts and tossing them onto a growing pile. Still others were slithering around behind robots, then changing to human form, grabbing whatever was handy, and bashing them from behind. Some were slithering through holes in the ground, reappearing unexpectedly.

There were both male and female naga, and all of them were naked in human form, because they couldn't keep their clothing when changing forms. Goody and Hannah both were set back for a moment, for the human-form naga were well formed, male and female.

“Maybe we should go check another quadrant,” Hannah murmured. “They seem to be doing well here.”

“Yes. They may not appreciate being spied on when unclothed. There's no need to embarrass them.”

“Get a load of those flagrant naked bodies!” the parody said loudly. With Goody's voice, of course. “What a pile of fresh meat!”

Heads turned toward them. So much for delicacy.

“We're coordinating for Magician Trent,” Hannah called. “Is there anything you need?”

“Not at the moment,” a male naga called back. “Thank you. Check back again in an hour.”

“We will,” Hannah said.

“To see more bare buns and b—”

But the demons transported them to the next quadrant before the peeve could finish.

This was Lake Wails, and the dragons were there in force, all sizes and types. But so were the robots. Dragons were toasting them with fire, causing them to melt; smoking them, causing them to clog; steaming them, causing them to rust; sucking them in for careful crunching; and catching them with prehensile tongues, pulling them apart.

A snout appeared in the ground. “Hello, Coordinators,” Vortex said. “Is all going well elsewhere?”

“We have checked the werewolf, centaur, and naga sectors,” Goody said. “They are all handling it. But the battle is yet young. How are you dragons doing?”

“Well enough so far. But aerial reconnaissance reports that such a massive wave of robots is coming that we must inevitably retreat or be overwhelmed. We are too few in number; otherwise we could take on anything.”

“I'll tell Magician Trent now,” Goody said. “I will return soon with his response.”

The demons took them back to Iron Mountain. “What sector?” Trent asked.

“Dragon. They say—”

“That they are spread too thin,” Trent said. “I was concerned about that; they haven't had time to fill out their populations, following the plague and recolonization. So I arranged for support, but it is late.”

“Support?”

“The zombie contingent. They can't move rapidly, shambling, so are still on the way. They should arrive in another two hours. Tell the dragons that if they can hold out that long, the zombies will relieve them. If they can't, let me know and I'll see what my regular support troops can do. I don't want to commit too many of those until I have to, lest there be trouble elsewhere.”