Two To The Fifth (25 page)

There was a general murmur of agreement.

“You're a good group,” Cyrus said, touched. “I like being with you too. But circumstances could complicate.”

They adjourned for what they hoped would be a good night's rest. In the morning they would put on all three plays, one after the other, for the same critical audience.

Cyrus slept alone, except for Melete. “Will I ever lose you?” he asked.

“Not as long as you want me.”

That was reassuring, “And what about Rhythm?”

“Cyrus, you know that affair can have no good conclusion.”

He sighed. He did know, but refused to admit it.

Morning seemed to come instantly. Abruptly they were in it. The actors, perhaps enhanced by nervousness, did beautifully. They were the best three performances they had done, with very little Prompting required. But applause was restrained; they were not much impressing this knowledgeable audience. Cyrus was glad he had warned the troupe. Privately he was disappointed, however.

As the curtain closed on the last play, an official came forward. “This will do,” he said to Curtis.

Curtis fell back into a chair, little stars and planets whirling around his head. He had passed!

The official turned to Cyrus. “The material is adequate, but has potential. We would like to adapt it for our own purposes, making our own productions with our own actors. Is this satisfactory?”

They wanted to steal his plays? Cyrus opened his mouth.

“Accept,” Curtis whispered. “It is a sign of honor. We seldom adapt from outside sources.”

Cyrus stifled his initial reaction, trusting Curtis's judgment. “This is satisfactory,” he said. “As long as we can continue with our own tour.”

“Of course.” The official walked away.

“Curtis is right,” Rhythm murmured. “They go outside their own base maybe once in a generation. We have scored.”

Now Cyrus checked his mental data bank, and found that it was true. The troupe had done very well.

But was it well enough for the real challenge?

Next morning as they were preparing to depart, Curtis approached Cyrus, “This concludes my association with your troupe,” he said. “It has been a pleasure.”

“You're leaving us?” Cyrus said. “Somehow I hadn't realized.”

“This was my qualifying examination,” Curtis reminded him. “I passed, and now can achieve my life's ambition of producing my own plays.”

“But we need you! You have been invaluable, with your organizational expertise. It would be difficult to continue without you.”

“I am sure you can manage. You will train in another producer. Time and experience will bring expertise.”

Cyrus sorted through his memory bank. “But you spent twenty years mastering your craft. We can't afford that much time.”

“Why not? A thing worth doing is worth doing well.”

Cyrus did a quick calculation. Could he afford to tell the truth about the mission? This man had proved to be competent, patient, and reliable. He could surely be trusted. “Because this is more than an amateur troupe. There is a vital mission.”

The curse friend lifted an elegant eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I must ask you to keep a confidence.”

“Granted.”

“Do you know of Ragna Roc?”

Curtis shook his head. “Oh, my. If you plan to associate with that ill bird, we must part company immediately.”

“My mission is to destroy him.”

“You have my complete attention.”

“I need to put on plays that will interest the bird enough to summon my troupe for a presentation. In that way we can get close enough to do what we have to.”

“That bird is Magician caliber, and strengthening. You will have to have similar power, to have any chance at all.”

“We do.”

“Who?”

“Princess Rhythm.”

“She's a child.”

“I heard that,” Rhythm said, appearing.

“Rhyme! You are she?”

“I am the one he needs to smuggle in. Then my sisters will join me to tackle the Roc.”

“That is why you have been associating with Cyrus?”

“Yes.”

“Rumor had it that—never mind.”

“When I associate, as you put it, I am like this.” She invoked the Decade spell and stood in her full adult splendor.

“Oh, my,” Curtis repeated. “I envy you, Cyrus.”

“This is why we need you,” Cyrus said, “We must be the best that we can be, to attract the attention of the Roc without arousing his suspicion.”

“I appreciate that,” the man said, wavering, “Yet—”

“You said you envied Cyrus,” Rhythm said. “But you have evinced no interest in the actresses. Dusti, Acro—they would have been glad to tease you unmercifully, had you ever glanced their way.”

“They are not my interest.”

“So you do have an interest.” Cyrus said, pouncing.

“Yes. But she never gave any indication.”

“Crabapple!” Rhythm said, reading his mind. “I'll fetch her.”

“Don't!” Curtis said. But she was already gone.

“She is a very nice and beautiful person,” Cyrus said. “But any semblance of condescension or pity would alienate her. She is completely realistic about her condition.”

“She is,” Curtis agreed. “I appreciate realism.”

Rhythm reappeared with Crabapple, who looked amazed. “I had no idea!”

“I have been incognito,” Rhythm said. “But this is important. Please listen.” She turned to Curtis, “Make your case.”

The curse friend looked extremely uncomfortable, but made the best of it. “I do not wish to embarrass or offend you, Crabapple. I find myself attracted to you. These folk wish to persuade me to remain with the troupe instead of departing it at this point. If you should have any potential interest—” He shrugged.

“Why should you have any such interest in me?” Crabapple asked evenly.

“Apart from your beauty and character?”

She almost smiled. “Apart from those.”

“I think you would not laugh when I removed my boots.”

“I don't think I understand.”

Curtis sat down and pulled off a boot. Beneath it was a club foot. It was a solid club, capable of doing some damage if swung at anyone. But as a foot it was ludicrous. Obviously he needed the boots to preserve his balance and mobility, not to mention his pride.

“Oh, Curtis, I didn't know!” Crabapple said.

“It has been my secret.” He removed the other boot to expose a matching club.

It was almost possible to see the wheels turning in her head, “You understand about—limbs, Curtis.”

“Oh, yes!”

“I never liked being patronized. But your affinity is legitimate.”

He looked at her, “Is there then a prospect for your interest?”

“There is a prospect,” she agreed. “Not a guarantee.”

“That will suffice,” Curtis turned to Cyrus. “I will remain with the troupe for the duration.”

“I would appreciate a pretext to associate with you,” Crabapple said. “Without generating unkind rumors.”

“We're going to need to train in a new producer,” Cyrus said.

“That intrigues me,” she said. “If—”

“I should be glad to share my expertise,” Curtis said.

Cyrus exchanged a glance with Rhythm. It seemed they had a deal.

Once they were clear of the Curse Friend's residence, Cyrus called the troupe together for a briefing. “We have completed our tour successfully,” he said. “Now I have in mind a more challenging tour. Any of you who do not wish to participate will be free to leave.”

“We know the plays,” the Witch said. “What's so challenging?”

“I want to tour territory controlled by Ragna Roc.”

“But he might delete us!”

“For what reason? We're entertainers.”

Several of the troupe members had been at the Good Magicians Castle. They understood that Cyrus had some sort of special mission. They were nervous, but did not protest.

“It is a potential audience,” Curtis said, “The curse friends are barred from touring there.”

“The Roc's people may be hungry for entertainment,” the Witch said.

“Who knows,” Curtis said. “The big bird might even take notice, and summon us for a demand performance.” Now that he knew the nature of their mission, he was helping.

The other troupe members let it be, though obviously not particularly keen on the notion. No one decided to leave.

The troupe traveled. Crabapple developed an interest in producing, and Curtis graciously started showing her how. The Witch observed that, and nodded; she smelled an interesting new relationship developing.

The closest Roc-controlled village was Adver City. They reached it in two days. They camped at the edge of Roc territory, and Cyrus prepared to go in alone to make arrangements, if the residents were amenable. The other members of the troupe watched, not comfortable about it.

“You're going alone?” Rhythm asked. “Suppose you get deleted?”

“That's why I prefer to go alone,” he said. “If I don't return, the visit is canceled.”

“Why don't you go with him, Rhyme?” Curtis asked. “Then you can return to let us know if he gets in trouble.”

“Well, I will.”

Again, the other troupe members let it be. They knew there was a relationship, even if they didn't know its full nature.

They walked to the village. “I've got a bad feeling about this,” Rhythm said. “I'm slightly precognitive, when I try to be.”

“Trouble?”

“Not exactly, I just know I won't like it.”

That made Cyrus nervous. “I can call this off.”

“No, it's necessary. I feel that too.”

That did not make him feel easier.

The village looked normal. There were normal-seeming people going about normal business. But there was a certain hush about it. For one thing, the villagers did not seem friendly. It was as if they were antagonistic to strangers.

They came to the center house, normally the residence of the village elder “Hello!” Cyrus called, “May we talk?”

The door opened. A woman emerged. Both Cyrus and Rhythm took stock, impressed. She was tall and graceful, with huge emerald green eyes, blond hair braided to her knees, and a small brown crown. She wore a closely fitted dress that flowed out at the bottom, in two layers: earthy brown under, lighter grass green outer. She had light green wings, veined with brown.

“Hello, visitors,” she said. “I am Andromeda, Queen of the Dragonflies, and appointed elder for Adver City, Who may you be?”

“Cyrus Cyborg, Playwright. This is Rhyme, a member of my troupe. We have been touring the area, and wondered whether your village—uh, city—would have any interest in viewing our plays.”

“We are interested. We have little current commerce with outside villages, and life gets dull.” She frowned, “The folk here are accustomed to adversity, having worked very hard all their lives, and do not trust strangers, as you may have noticed. That is why I, an outsider, have been appointed by Ragna Roc to handle their public relations. But they should enjoy your plays, particularly if they contain interpersonal stresses.”

“They do,” Cyrus said.

“I will tell them to attend.”

“Then, with your permission, we will come and present three plays, on succeeding evenings.”

“Are you married?”

The question caught him completely off guard. “No!”

“Then you will stay with me for the duration of your stay here. We will arrange other accommodations for the members of your troupe. Will that be satisfactory?”

Cyrus was flustered. “I prefer to remain with my troupe.”

She gave him a disconcertingly direct look. “I understood you to say that you wish to present your plays here.”

“Yes, but I see no need to—”

Then he caught on. “I am not married, but I do have a relationship. I would not feel free to spend nights with another woman.”

“Oh? And with whom do you have this relationship?”

“I do not feel free to say.”

Andromeda smiled. “So you are not a stranger to adversity yourself, it seems.”

“That is true,” he agreed uneasily.

“But you are free to accept my hospitality. I'm sure your significant other will understand.”

Cyrus looked helplessly at Rhythm, who was completely impassive: a bad sign. “I am not at all sure she will.”

“Lovely. Well, perhaps I will meet her tomorrow. Tonight you are mine.”

Cyrus made a difficult decision. “I think we shall have to bypass Adver City. It is too contentious a site.”

“The troupe wouldn't like that,” Rhythm said. “I'll go explain.” She hurried off.

“Thank you. Rhyme,” he said after her retreating form. She had decided to go along with the dragonfly lady's demand? He really mistrusted this.

“Bonita!” Andromeda called.

A surly-looking village girl appeared. “Yes, Elder?”

“Tell the welcoming committee to make space for a visiting troupe. There will be—” She paused, glancing at Cyrus.

“Twenty.” he said.

“Twenty in that party.”

“Yes, Elder.” The girl departed, clearly not pleased with this assignment.

“Now please come inside,” Andromeda said briskly.

Cyrus entered, helplessly. The inside of the house was painted to resemble a forest glade, with tree trunks for walls and flowers around the edges. In fact there were flowers and assorted mushrooms throughout. They looked completely real.

He bent to touch one, to verify its illusory nature—and discovered it was real. They were all real.

“It is my talent,” Andromeda said. “They grow where I walk.”

Indeed, there was a trail of small flowers and mushrooms following her. “I am impressed.” He sat on a tree stump chair, so as not to step on any of the clustered blossoms.

“Would you like anything to eat or drink? I have Hop Scotch that has a bounce, Upsc Ale, a higher quality beverage, or one imported from the land of the imps. Imp Ale, that goes right through you.” She looked in her pantree. “There's also gin, but all that's left is Vir, and I can no longer drink that.” She glanced sidelong at him. “But perhaps you can?”

“No!” he exclaimed. “I don't want any of those.”

“Please, I am trying to be a good hostess in a difficult situation. You should try to be a good guest.” She looked again, “Ah, I do have some tonics. Mono is very consistent, never changing. In contrast, there's Tec, that really causes a rumble. There's also the friendly effect of Pla Tonic.”

“That one will do,” he said desperately.

Amused, she poured him a glass, and took one herself. She brought him his, then sat opposite him, crossing her legs. They were splendid legs, all the way up to the very brink of, but not quite showing under her skirt, panties.

“You must consider me to be very forward,” she said.

He could not deny it, but didn't want to affront her, “Perhaps.”

“Let me show you something.”

“There's no need,” he said quickly as she lifted a leg.

But all she did was get up and walk to a wall. It was covered by a curtain. She drew the curtain aside, revealing a wall-sized glass window to her backyard. The yard was filled with trees, flowers, and dancing dragonflies.

“Beloved,” she murmured.

A singularly bright dragonfly flew close to the window—and through it. It formed into a handsome man wearing the garb of a king.

“This is Perseus, my husband,” she said.

“Your husband!”

“So you see. I too have a significant other. But there are constraints.”

The man stepped toward Cyrus, extending a hand. He wanted to be friendly? Cyrus stood and took the hand.

Their hands passed through each other.

“He is illusion,” Andromeda said. “As are all my people. I alone remain of all the dragonflies.” She turned to Perseus. “Thank you, dear” She lifted her face to kiss him, and it almost looked real, but their lips overlapped a bit. Then the King of the Dragonflies returned to his natural form, and flew back through the window.

Cyrus went to tap his finger against the glass, verifying that it was solid. And thus that Perseus was not.

He turned back to Andromeda—and caught her wiping tears from her face. “I apologize,” she said, “It's just—not easy. I love him so.” She drew the curtain back across.

“Now I am really confused,” Cyrus said.

“Understandably. Believe me when I say that I would have no interest in you if Perseus were solid. Just as you have no interest in me. But if you do not wish to share my fate, this is a painful game you must play.”