Well-Tempered Clavicle (2 page)

Too late. Woofer was already nosing the switch. It changed position with a brisk click.

The tank animated. A muted light came on somewhere inside. There was the sound of a motor running.

“I think we’d better get out of here,” Joy’nt said, alarmed.

They scrambled out. The tank revved up its gears and followed.

“Maybe we should turn it off again,” Picka said. “If we can.”

“I’ll do it,” Joy’nt said. She ran toward the emerging tank.

Its turret turned. Its cannon oriented on her.

“Watch out!” Picka cried.

Joy’nt threw herself to the ground just as the cannon fired. An oddly shaped ball of light zapped toward her, touching the back of her skull as she dropped.

Tweeter flew toward the tank, going for the switch. The cannon oriented on him and fired again. The bulb-shaped ball caught the tip of a wing, and Tweeter spun out of control.

By the time they got reorganized, the tank was crashing out of the graveyard and into the surrounding forest. It was too late to stop it.

They compared notes. Neither Joy’nt nor Tweeter seemed to have been hurt, just disconcerted by the strikes. “Those light balls the tank fired,” Picka said. “They looked like bulbs.” Then he realized what it meant. “For ideas! It’s a
think
tank. It makes people think of ideas.”

This time Midrange and Woofer exchanged glances. Midrange went to Joy’nt. She brought out the marker and set it down for him.

He touched it with a paw. “What’s your idea, Tweeter?”

Tweeter flew down and put one foot on it. “Picka Bone must have a talent.”

Midrange touched it again. “And yours, Joy’nt?”

“That we should visit Princess Eve, who knows all about anything that isn’t alive, to ask her what Picka’s talent is.”

“They are friends of ours,” Picka agreed. “We knew them as children; they were three years younger than us. But two years ago Princess Eve married the Dwarf Demon Pluto, and became the Mistress of Hades. She may not be in Xanth now.”

“But her twin sister, Dawn, would know,” Joy’nt said. “We can go to Castle Roogna and ask her where Eve is now.”

Picka was intrigued. “Let’s do it. It may not be much of an adventure, but I’d really like to know about my talent, if I have one.”

“We’ll go too,” Midrange printed.

“Of course,” Joy’nt agreed. She was an agreeable person. So was Picka, actually; he was very even-tempered, and could get along with anyone who wasn’t spooked by his appearance.

“Is there anything to eat? We’re hungry.”

“We skeletons don’t need to eat; we’re magical spooks,” Picka said. “There’s not much around the graveyard. Just a few palm trees holding coco-nuts containing hot nut-flavored cocoa, and some mints. Pepper, astonish, fig—”

“We’ll forage for ourselves,” Midrange printed.

*   *   *

Next morning when the zombies returned they set out as a party of five. Picka knew that all of them were glad to be doing something, even if it wasn’t much. It gave them the illusion of purpose.

The graveyard was off the beaten path—in fact, there wasn’t even an
un
beaten path. This did not bother the skeletons or animals, but they were wary, because there were many dangers in backwoods Xanth.

Not that the walking skeletons had much to fear. Dragons tended to leave them alone because they weren’t very edible; even the marrow in their bones was dry and tasteless. Most living creatures spooked at the very sight of them.

The three living animals were protected by an amicability spell put on them by Nimby, the donkey-headed dragon form of the Demon Xanth, so that other creatures meant them no harm. They could still get in trouble on their own, as Woofer had, but that was his own fault.

Still, Xanth could come up with surprises, so they were careful. They made their way toward the nearest enchanted path, not hurrying, because hurrying could attract more attention than they cared for. This was a bit circuitous, because none of them knew exactly where the nearest enchanted path was.

Woofer, always sniffing things ahead, woofed. He was good at woofing. That meant he had found something halfway interesting. They went in that direction.

They came across a standing woman facing away from them. “Hello,” Picka called. It was better that a stranger hear his voice first, so she wouldn’t be as startled by his form.

The woman did not answer or move.

Joy’nt tried. “Hello. Can you tell us where the nearest enchanted path is?”

Still no answer. Then they caught up and saw the woman’s front side. She was a metal statue!

“Woof,” Woofer repeated in an I-told-you-so tone.

They inspected the statue at close range. It was solid iron, a marvelous image of a bare young human woman. Picka was not into bare human women, but did understand that this one was extremely well formed. He reached out to brush a fallen leaf from her conic left breast.

“Eeeee!” she squealed.

Picka fell back, startled. “You’re alive?” he asked.

“I’m animated, like you,” she said. “I’ll thank you not to paw me.”

“I can’t paw you,” he protested. “I have no paws.”

She turned her head with a certain squeakiness. “You make no bones about it,” she agreed.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Joy’nt asked.

“I am the Iron Maiden, a statue animated by an ancient Magician King.”

“He animated a statue?” Picka asked, amazed. “Why?”

“I never was quite clear on that. He simply said I was statuesque. But he was good to me; he had me sleep every night in his bed while he cuddled me. I told him the stork would never deliver to a statue, but he kept trying. I suppose he didn’t want to be unkind to me, so he pretended it didn’t matter. He was a very generous man.”

It occurred to Picka that the old king might not actually have wanted the stork to pay attention, but he decided not to argue the case. “What happened then?”

“Finally he died, and his wife kicked me out and banished me from the castle. I don’t know why she was so mean. I have been wandering in the wilderness ever since. It gets dull, so sometimes I pause and sleep.”

“We wish you well,” he said. “Do you know where the nearest enchanted path is?”

“What’s an enchanted path?”

It occurred to Picka that the Iron Maiden was a bit out of touch, but again he decided to let it be. She might have napped for a long time; there was rust on her joints. “Never mind. Thank you for your time.”

“You are welcome,” she said. “If you happen to encounter any other man who would like someone to share his bed, I have experience.”

“We’ll do that,” Joy’nt said briskly. For some reason she seemed impatient.

“Woof!”

“Woofer found a path!” Picka said.

They hurried to catch up to the dog. Sure enough, there was a crazy-looking path. It looped around trees, twisted across fallen logs, and seemed to be aimless. But it was a path, and surely went somewhere, so they decided to follow it.

Yet when Picka tried to put his foot on it, it writhed away from him. He tried again, and it retreated again. Joy’nt tried, and it avoided her also. This was a really odd path!

Then they saw a man walking along the path without difficulty. “How do you do that?” Picka called to him. “We can’t touch the path.”

The man looked at him. “I think I’m getting crazier by the minute,” he remarked. “You look exactly like a walking skeleton.”

“I
am
a walking skeleton.”

“Now even my hallucinations are talking back. Well, I’ll treat you just as if you are real. This is the Psycho Path. Only crazy folk can use it. You may not be real, but neither are you crazy, so you’re out of luck.”

Now it was making crazy sense. A crazy path for crazy people. No wonder they couldn’t use it. “Thank you,” Picka called as the man wandered away.

It was getting dark. “We’ll never find our way in the night,” Joy’nt complained. “We’d better make camp, and find something for our friends to eat.”

That was right: the animals needed food and rest, even if skeletons didn’t. They located a glade with a blanket tree, and fashioned several blankets into a warm nest. Then they scouted for a pie plant. But when they returned with slices of pizza and quiche, the blankets were gone. The animals hadn’t done it; they were out scouting for water.

There were some drag marks indicating the direction the blankets had gone. Someone had taken them. They went in that direction, and soon discovered a man sleeping on the pile of blankets.

“You took our blankets!” Picka said indignantly.

The man opened an eye. “What?”

“Those are our blankets!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I found these here.”

“You dragged them here. See the drag marks?”

“Maybe someone dragged them here before I came. People are always accusing me of stealing. I don’t know why.”

Again, there was something odd. “Let’s introduce ourselves. I am Picka Bone, and this is my sister Joy’nt.”

“I am Rob.”

Joy’nt angled her head in the way she had when she got an idea. “What is your magic talent, Rob?”

“I have no idea.”

“Could it relate to your name? Rob?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rob repeated. “All I know is neither men nor women seem to like me much. I don’t care about the men, but I’d really like to meet a friendly woman.”

They let him be. Apparently Rob robbed people without knowing it.

Then Picka got an idea. “The Iron Maiden has nothing to lose,” he murmured. “She’s bare.”

“And lonely,” Joy’nt agreed. She faced Rob. “Follow that crazy path,” she said. “I’m sure you can use it. It will lead you to a lovely maiden in need of company.”

“That sounds great,” Rob agreed. He got off the pile of blankets and went to the nearest twist of the path. He stepped on it. Sure enough, it worked for him. Soon he was walking purposefully toward the spot where they had left the Maiden.

“I think we just did a couple of lonely people a good deed,” Picka said.

“And we got our blankets back,” she agreed.

They hauled their blankets back to the original spot. Then Joy’nt dislocated her bones and formed them into a roughly block-shaped framework. Picka heaved the largest blanket over the top, forming a tent. Joy’nt caught hold of the edges with her fingers and pulled them taut. Picka folded the other blankets and placed them on the ground inside the tent. It was ready.

The three animals returned, their foraging finished. They paused at the sight of the tent.

“The tent is for you,” Picka said. “So you can sleep comfortably for the night. Joy’nt made the framework and I put the blankets on. We thought you’d prefer a bit of shelter, after being out in the forest so long. It’s safe; we skeletons don’t sleep, so I’ll be keeping watch for any mischief.”

Surprised, the three checked it. Then Woofer and Midrange settled down beside each other on the blankets, and Tweeter perched comfortably on Joy’nt’s skull. “Tweet!” he tweeted appreciatively.

Darkness closed in. Picka could see well enough without light, as most nightmare spooks could. He and his sister were not in the bad-dream business, despite their ancestry, but their nature remained.

In fact being a walking skeleton was a rather lonely business. There were no others of their kind in Xanth proper, as far as they knew, apart from their parents, which meant that he and Joy’nt were doomed to remain single and have no families. They hated that, but had no choice. They were technically monsters, not wanted around living folk. They made do, but at quiet times like this Picka had occasion to be bothered by it, and he knew Joy’nt felt much the same.

He heard a rumble. It was from the sky. He knew what that meant: Cumulo Fracto Nimbus, Xanth’s meanest cloud, had somehow spied the tent and intended to ruin it with a good soaking.

Picka scrambled into motion. He had seen a tarpaulin tree near the blanket tree. He ran to it, harvested a waterproof tarp, and ran back to fling it over the tent. “Better get under cover,” he warned Tweeter. The bird quickly fluttered down into the tent.

Fracto arrived and was furious at being balked. He loosed a drenchpour that instantly wet the tent and formed a puddle around it. Picka hastily fetched a stick and dug a trench around and away from the tent so that the water could not swamp it. They had pitched the tent on a small rise, so that helped. Fracto sent fierce gusts of wind, but Joy’nt kept firm hold on the edges of the tarp.

Fracto raged, but couldn’t take out the tent. Finally he stormed off, defeated.

In the morning the three pets emerged, dry and rested. Picka pulled off tarp and blanket, and Joy’nt disjointed and reformed in her normal shape.

Tweeter flew to her shoulder and tweeted. She brought out the marker, and Tweeter touched it. “We are getting to like you.”

“We like you too,” she said.

They gave the animals time to forage and take care of whatever natural functions were necessary for living forms. Then they set off again. This time they came across an enchanted path. That made the rest of their journey easy.

They encountered a man walking the opposite way. He was juggling three balls of light. They paused to watch.

After a moment he noticed. The light balls vanished. “Are my eyes deceiving me, or are you walking skeletons?” he inquired. “We don’t see many like you on the enchanted path, but I know you don’t mean any harm.”

“We are skeletons,” Picka agreed. “I am Picka Bone, and this is my sister Joy’nt. Plus Woofer, Midrange, and Tweeter. We are going to Castle Roogna.”

“It’s not far,” the man agreed. “I am Aaron. My talent is to make balls of light.” He smiled. “They are easy to juggle, because they weigh very little.”

“We noticed,” Joy’nt said.

“Good luck in your visit,” Aaron said. A light ball appeared in his hand. He tossed it up, and another appeared. He tossed that, and a third appeared. He resumed walking, juggling the three.

“Which is the thing about the enchanted paths,” Joy’nt said. “No harmful creature can get on one, so travelers know they are safe, and don’t freak out at the sight of us.”

“That does make it easier,” Picka agreed.