Stork Naked (15 page)

“You look sort of peaked,” her voice said. “Got rocks in your head?”

The mountain shook as if about to erupt, though it was not a volcano. The eye stared malignantly at them. But another bulb flashed over Pyra's head, triggered by the peeve's word. “Mountain Peeks!” she cried.

The mountain faded. This time the children needed no urging; they grouped around her and ran across the spot the mountain had been, getting out of the comic strip. This time they made it.

Che, Surprise, and Stymy were just returning. “Oh, were you visiting the park?” Stymy asked. “That looks like fun.” He stepped toward it.

“No!” Pyra and the children cried. As usual, too late.

A whirlwind formed around him. Feathers started pulling themselves out of his wings and body. He tried to retreat, but a cone of wind held him in place. “Help!” he cried. “I'm being stripped!”

“Stork Naked,” the peeve said. “Serves you right, lamebrain. Don't you know a strip mall when you see it?”

“We've got to help him,” Pyra said. She dived into the windy park. The children followed, which wasn't what she had intended; she had misspoken.

The whirling winds caught them all, tearing at their clothing. All three children screamed, not really with horror. This was legitimate naughtiness, because they weren't doing it deliberately.

Clutching at her loosening dress, Pyra managed a fleeting thought: why hadn't the effect stopped when the peeve identified it as a strip mall? She concluded that it was because it wasn't an original pun; such malls existed in Xanth, lurking for unwary shoppers. They would have to find another pun to stop it.

She looked desperately around. There had to be a pun handy; that was the nature of comic strips, whether real or emulation. All she saw was a table with several glass bottles, untouched by the wind. They were labeled FRENCH, ITALIAN, BLEU, THOUSAND ISLAND, RUSSIAN and others. If there was a pun there she was too frazzled to get it. But maybe she could fake it.

She picked up the first bottle and dumped it on herself. Immediately she became clothed with an ornate Parisian costume. Good enough. She took the second bottle and sprinkled it on Ted. He developed a Roman toga. She took the third and flung it at the beleaguered stork. He became clothed in moldy cheese. She put the fourth on Monica. She got covered with a dress so patchy it seemed to be in a thousand little islands. The next one she poured on little Woe Betide, who was looking truly woeful as her dress ripped apart. She became a little costumed Cossack girl.

Then she got it. “Dressing!” she cried. “Salad dressing. These are dressings—dressing us.”

The wind died. They were left standing in their assorted costumes. They hustled back out of the park before anything else could manifest. As they did, their clothing reverted to normal, and the stork recovered his feathers.

“That was quick thinking,” Che said. “Good for you, Pyra.”

She basked for half a moment in his praise. Then she snapped back to business. “I should never have let the children get into that park.”

“It would have been impossible to keep them out,” Surprise said. “They're irrepressible.”

And this decent girl was the one she had to help corrupt. She was coming to hate her mission.

She rode back on Che. “Who was she married to this time?” For Surprise still had no baby; it was another false lead.

“Lacuna's younger son Jot. He's twenty-three now.”

“Jot? I don't place him.”

“We were children when Lacuna suffered her change of life. She got married retroactively, and suddenly she had a husband, a son Ryver, and twin children Jot and Tittle. Few are aware that her history had changed.”

“History can change—in the past?”

“It is a difficult concept, I know. It seems that history can be changed, at least with respect to certain individuals. Theoretically I am destined to change the history of Xanth; I have never known precisely what that means. It may be that my tutoring of the Simurgh's chick Sim accounts for it. I am not sure.”

“You will change the history of Xanth,” she repeated, impressed. “I wonder whether traveling in realities could have anything to do with it? They all seem to have different recent histories, if Surprise's varying marriages are any indication.”

“That is possible,” he agreed. “We simply don't know. Certainly the Simurgh is involved. I believe she is trapped in the same reality as Surprise's baby.”

“So once you locate the baby, you'll know in what reality she is,” Pyra said.

“That is our hope.” Repeating it seemed to comfort them both.

“We had six realities to check. We have visited five of them. The next one must be the one.”

“By elimination,” he agreed. “If that is not the one, we shall have some serious reconsideration to do.”

“It is the one,” she said. “The Mask can't be wrong.”

“But there has been a good deal that the Mask has not informed us in advance.”

“It could have, had we taken the time to explore each reality more thoroughly. It seemed more efficient just to go and see for ourselves. Who would even have thought that Surprise would have several different husbands?”

“Including me,” he agreed. “We assumed that she would have the same husband throughout, so that it would be difficult to ascertain which baby was correct. Unquestioned assumptions are treacherous; I should have realized.”

“Unquestioned assumptions must be the autopilot of the mind. Tuning out. We need them to function efficiently.”

He turned his head to look back at her as he flew. It was a graceful maneuver, the twist starting in his back and progressing through his neck. “You seem smart for a human.”

She realized that this was a considerable compliment from a centaur. That thrilled her. She was getting his attention. She took a breath, hoping it would attract his unconscious attention to her upper torso. “Thank you. I have had time to ponder, living alone as I do.” And of course she was tired of living alone. But what was the use, playing up to him, when she had decided to let him go? She was just confusing herself.

“Perhaps, when this quest is done, we can be friends.”

“I would like that.” A monstrous understatement.

By the time they reached the Stork Works, the day was waning. They agreed to rest in the Stork Works chamber for the night, and tackle the final reality in the morning. They all knew that had to be the one.

Che and Surprise chose not to be together, so she supervised the children while he slept in the garden. Pyra wrestled with her better judgment and lost. “Do you mind company?” she asked him.

“Yours is welcome,” he said generously.

He lay down, his lovely wings folded. She lay by his front legs, her head using a soft wing as a pillow. Divine!

She slept, and dreamed she was taking his handsome head in her hands and kissing him as he slept. She knew it was only a dream, but wondered whether he could have any similar dream. No, he would dream of kissing Surprise or Cynthia. Sigh; even in her dreams she could not really have him.

They got organized early, as Surprise was eager to finally find her baby. She knew this was the right reality; there were no others that qualified. She would have her baby at last.

Or would she? She had already had some significant surprises, no pun on her name, and feared that more were coming. Her baby had been lost for two days now, and might be that much harder to recover. After all, how would she react if she got her baby delivered, then had someone show up on her doorstep demanding that she give it back? That was a quite relevant question, because it would be herself on the other side, reacting exactly as she would. This was bound to be difficult in both the practical and emotional sense.

She retained her winged horse form, though she suspected she would abandon it the moment she got her baby. The children elected to ride with Che Centaur again, and she allowed them to come in part because she wanted some sort of support, thin and uncertain as it might be. So Pyra rode her, and the peeve joined her too.

“Peeve,” she said carefully. “I am in a strained femalish mood today, and if you start tormenting me with insults I won't be responsible for my reaction.”

“Let me tell you something,” the bird said in her own voice. “Your folks gave me a good home when no one else would. If I lose that, I'll be out on my tail and stuck homeless for a long time. I am not about to risk that, for solid economic reason. I am peevish, not stupid.”

Pyra chuckled. “If I didn't know better, I'd suspect you of getting softhearted, peeve.”

“You can keep your burned-out opinions to yourself, hotbox,” the bird snapped.

Surprise would have smiled, had her horse-mouth enabled it. The peeve had not changed its nature. Its insults were as aptly targeted as ever. That was ironically reassuring.

“If Surprise Seven is as much like you as she surely is,” Pyra said, “it will not be easy to take the baby.”

“That's one reason I'm tense,” Surprise agreed. “I don't know how I'll deal with it.”

“You'd be better off if you could cuss,” the peeve said.

“That's not her nature,” Pyra said. “She's far too nice.”

“Fortunately you're not so nice, burn-bottom,” the peeve said in her own voice. “Maybe you could steal the baby and give it to her, sparing her the heartache.”

“Well—”

“No!” Surprise cried. “None of that! I will have my baby honestly, or not at all.”

“Of course,” Pyra agreed, sounding regretful.

“Got it, horse-face,” the peeve said, subdued.

All too soon they arrived at the Golem residence, which looked much the same. They landed a suitable distance from it, as before.

Pyra jumped off. “I'll watch the children. No comic strip this time.”

The peeve stayed. “Let me come, and I'll keep my beak appropriately shut.”

“Of course.” Surprise suspected that Pyra was right: the irritable bird had a little bit of heart, though it would never admit it. The bird hopped to her shoulder.

They trooped to the house: Surprise, Che, and Stymy. Surprise took several steps, then resigned herself and reverted to her natural form. She couldn't hold her baby in equine form.

This time the door did not open before they arrived. She had to knock. Evidently visitors weren't expected. That was mildly curious.

Now the door opened. Surprise Seven stood there. Behind her came the sound of a baby crying. Why wasn't she holding it? “Yes?” The voice was sharp.

“I am Surprise Golem, from another reality. I believe you have my baby.”

Seven's lip curled. That was an expression Surprise had never tried to manage. “Prove it.”

“I have brought along the stork who delivered it. He knows the smell. Let him sniff it.”

“Like bleep I will. Go away.” The door slammed in her face.

Che exchanged a significant glance with her. “Something here is odd. She does not mirror your nature.”

“Maybe she doesn't want to lose her—the baby.”

“There's something else,” the peeve said. “I can't quite place it, but it's not good.”

There was definitely something, Surprise thought. The other Surprises had all been nice girls, very feeling and understanding. This one wasn't. How could that be?

“Let me try,” Che said. He stepped forward and knocked on the door.

After a pause that was slightly too long, it opened. Umlaut stood there. The sound of the baby crying in the background returned. “Get out of here, centaur. We don't need your kind in these parts.” He tried to close the door, but Che's hoof was in the way.

“We need to check the baby,” Che said firmly.

“You need to get your tail the bleep back where it came from.” Umlaut kicked at the hoof, trying to dislodge it.

“Let me try,” the peeve murmured in Surprise's ear. When she did not object, the bird turned its head aside.

“Dear, come here,” Surprise's voice called from a slightly muffled distance.

“What the bleep do you want?” Umlaut snapped, turning and taking a step away from the door.

“What do you mean, what do I want? When I call, you snap to attention, laggard, if you know what's good for you.”

“Oh, yeah? We'll see about that.” Umlaut forged back toward the voice.

“Get on in there,” the peeve said. “The door's open.”

Che paused only half a moment. “That was you!” he said. “Imitating Seven's voice, you naughty bird.”

“Told you I'd try,” the peeve said with Che's voice.

Surprise's mouth fell open. That was why it had sounded muffled: to conceal the true origin of the voice. What a dirty trick. She couldn't praise it, of course; she wasn't like that. But she turned and kissed the bird's beak.

“Ugh!” the peeve said, turning a deeper green. That counted for a blush.

Meanwhile Che was urging her forward, into the house, followed by Stymy. They came to the main room, where Surprise Seven and Umlaut Seven were having a heated argument about who had called whom, and who was deaf. It was evident that they didn't like each other much.

The baby was in a dirty crib, a naked little girl, crying desperately. Her baby! Surprise's bosom swelled with grief and love. In barely an instant she was there, picking up the baby, cuddling her. The crying stopped.

The stork put his beak close to the baby, sniffing. He nodded affirmatively. This was the one.

“Hey!” Umlaut cried. “Unhand that brat!”

“Brat!” Surprise repeated, shocked. “My baby!”

Surprise Seven turned to face her. “The bleep it is. It's mine.”

“You don't even want her!” Surprise said, appalled. “You let her cry.”

“Oh, I want her,” Seven said. “I just don't love her.”

Surprise tried to speak, but was too amazed and horrified to formulate any words.

Che stepped into the breach. “This is her baby. We have verified it. We intend to take her home to our reality.”

“She was delivered here,” Umlaut said. “That gives us possession. She's ours.”

“She was misdelivered here,” Che said evenly. “We have come to correct the mistake.”

“You centaurs are supposed to be logical and ethical,” Umlaut said. “You know you can't just steal a baby like that.”

Surprise saw Che nod, reluctantly. “We must negotiate a fair compromise.”

“No compromise,” Surprise Seven said. “That brat is mine. I got delivery.”

Surprise hadn't known what to expect, but this was far outside any parameters she might have considered. Mean-talking, indifferent parents? She and Umlaut had never been like that. What was the matter with this couple?

The baby girl opened her eyes. She saw the peeve on Surprise's shoulder. She smiled. “Coo!”

The peeve almost fell off. “She likes me!” it said.

Surprise had to smile, faintly. “She's only three days old. She doesn't know any better.”

“Compromise is necessary,” Che said. “You know this baby is stolen property.”

“So?” Surprise Seven demanded.

But Umlaut, gazing at Surprise, abruptly became reasonable. “Let me talk to her.”

The two Sevens exchanged some sort of glance. It fairly dripped with mutual detestation and malign understanding. “Do it, charmer,” Surprise Seven said. “Take her in the bedroom.”

“Put down the br—the baby and come with me,” Umlaut said.

Surprise did not want to do either, but realized that she had to try valiantly to be reasonable. There were conflicting rights, however awful the situation.

“I'll watch her,” the peeve murmured, jumping to the top bar of the crib.

That would have to do. Surprise set the baby into the crib. She started to cry, but the peeve spread its wings, attracting her attention, and she lay back, watching it. She did like the bird, or at least was intrigued by it. That was remarkable for so young a child, but clearly possible. The peeve was also clearly delighted to have that adoration. It was probably the first time anyone had actually liked it at first glance. The peeve was normally a challengingly acquired taste.

Surprise followed Umlaut into the bedroom. It was the same one she and Umlaut One used, while they prepared to get their own house. That made her uncomfortable.

Umlaut shut the door. “You're a hot-looking babe.”

He looked exactly like her husband, but his words were worlds—realities—away from anything Umlaut One would ever say. He was definitely not the man she loved.

“And I'm hot for you,” Umlaut continued. “So I'll make you a deal.”

She did not trust this at all. “All I want is my baby.”

“I will put in a word for you with Surprise—my Surprise. I'm sure she'll agree to give you the baby. After you let me have my way with you.”

“You're not my husband!”

“That's what makes it so delicious. There is no joy like stolen joy.”

She was disgruntled and confused. Something was nagging her, but she couldn't quite place it. “If that's what you want, you can have it with your own wife, can't you? In fact you must have signaled the stork with her, to become eligible for this delivery.”

“I did, but it was a chore. She's not nice like you.”

“She is me, in this reality! How can she not be like me?”

He smiled. “You saw her. Is she like you?”

He had her there. “No. But I don't understand why.”

“It hardly matters. Realities differ, that's all.”

Then her nagging thought exploded into the foreground of her attention. “How do you know so much about realities? You weren't even surprised when I announced that I was from a different one.”

“Oh, we were expecting you,” he said easily. “We knew you'd be after the baby.”

“My baby!”

“That you want to recover.” He advanced on her. “Will you take off your clothes, or do you prefer me to do it for you?”

She shied away. “Don't touch me! I came here only to talk.”

He shook his head. “Odd. I was under the impression you wanted to recover your baby.”

“I do!”

“You don't even need to pretend to like it. Just let me do it, you luscious creature.”

The weird thing was that he looked so much like the Umlaut she loved, and with whom she had made love many times. It would be easy to, as he put it, just let him do it. If that was what it took to get her baby back.

Frozen in indecision, she stood still as he slowly came at her. He unbuttoned her blouse, and she didn't move. He tugged it off, and she did not resist. Did it count if she made no motion of participation? She simply didn't know.

He wrapped his arms about her and kissed her. His lips felt very much like her husband's. But not exactly.

Suddenly she was struggling free of his embrace. “You have no soul!” she exclaimed.

“Well, I had a soul emulation,” he said. “But that wore out.” He tried to recapture her body.

“But you had half of mine—hers. When the Demons didn't want mine.”

He paused to look at her face. “They gave your soul back, in your reality?”

“Oh, my! They didn't in yours! You and she—no souls?”

“No souls,” he agreed. “Why would they give yours back, having made the deal?”

“Because the half-souls gave them consciences. That was inconvenient. They didn't like it. So they put them into the—the two of us. And left them there, though they didn't have to. So we have a normal existence, together.”

“Interesting,” he said, uninterested. “It will be intriguing to make it with a souled version of you. Where were we?”

But Surprise was having second and possibly even third thoughts about sitting still for his illicit attentions. He had no soul, and neither did Surprise Seven. That meant no consciences, and no capacity to love. That explained why they obviously didn't like each other much, and cared nothing for the baby. It didn't explain why they even wanted the baby. There was more she needed to know before she could make a decision on anything, especially about yielding to his purely physical urge.

In fact, how could she trust him to do what he promised, after? Soulless folk wouldn't hesitate to lie, to get what they wanted. He might tell Surprise Seven to keep the baby. So her reluctant effort might be wasted anyway. Still, there might be ways to manage the soulless folk, as they cared about only the immediate advantages of a situation, rather than the longer term consequences.

“We were considering exactly how to be sure your Surprise will give me the baby. I think it would be more convenient if she turned her over first.”

“How can she do that when you're with me?”

“Che could take her, and I could rejoin him. After.”

He studied her cannily, which wasn't an expression she had seen in her real husband. “You souled folk keep your given words, don't you.”

“We do. But I haven't given mine. We're still negotiating.” She wished there were some other way to get her baby, but she feared there wasn't.

“Surprise gives the centaur Prize, and you give me your nice little body.” He eyed the exposed upper portion of that body, making her feel halfway unclean.

“Prize?”

“The brat's name. Didn't you know?”

“I never got possession of the—of my baby! I never learned her name.”

“It was going to be Sir Prize for a boy, because he'd be a leader. Just Prize for a girl, because she's a possession, of course.”

Surprise choked back a clog of gall at the reasoning. She had to control her girlish emotions if she was to prevail. “Clever,” she agreed.