Well-Tempered Clavicle (3 page)

Soon they met another traveler. Like the other, he seemed slightly taken aback by their appearance, but not really concerned. “Hello. I am Champion. It is my talent to lend strength of body, substance, or character. But you folk don’t look as if you need any of that.”

“We don’t,” Picka agreed, and introduced the members of their party. “I hope I have a talent, and that I can find out what it is.”

“I regret I can’t help you there,” Champion said.

“Do you know something?” Picka said as they moved on. “Normal human beings seem like nice folk.”

“We just never got to know many,” Joy’nt said. “They were too busy screaming.”

“Even though we have left the bad-dream business behind,” he agreed. “In fact we never indulged in it. I wish I could somehow have a normal relationship with regular people. But that seems unlikely.”

“We are what we are,” she agreed somewhat sadly.

When they approached Castle Roogna, three animals intercepted them: a dog, a bird, and a cat.

But Picka had seen such tricks before. “Hello, Princesses,” he said. “We are looking for Princess Dawn.”

The animals formed into three blossoming fifteen-year-old girls, almost identical triplets. They all wore little gold crowns. “We knew that,” Melody said. She wore a green dress, and had greenish-blond hair and blue eyes.

“We told her you were coming,” Harmony said. She had a brown dress, hair, and eyes.

“She’s already packed and ready to travel,” Rhythm concluded. She had a red dress, red hair, and green eyes.

“But all we wanted was to ask her where—”

Princess Dawn arrived. She was twenty and as lovely as sunrise. She hugged Joy’nt, then Picka, not at all put off by their form. They were, after all, friends from childhood. “It can’t be told,” she said. “My sister values her privacy. I’ll show you the way.” She glanced around, then dropped to her knees to pet Woofer, stroke Midrange, and lift a finger for Tweeter to perch on. They had evidently met before.

Then Dawn walked purposefully into the orchard. They followed. So simply, they were on their way again.

2

T
ALENT

“We are private here,” Dawn said, pausing in the center of the orchard. She took a deep breath, which was too bad, because it accented the unsightly mounds of flesh covering her surely sightly bones. “Now I need to explain some things before I take you to Hades.”

“Hades!” Picka protested. “We need to see Princess Eve.”

Dawn smiled. That, too, was unfortunate, because it distorted the skin around the front of her skull. But she couldn’t help it; she was alive. At least it showed her nice teeth. “She’s the Mistress of Hades, ever since she married Dwarf Demon Pluto. They have a castle in Xanth, but she spends a lot of time ministering to the lost souls of Hades. She won’t be back in Xanth for several days. So we’ll see her in Hades.” She looked sharply at Picka. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No. My eighth of a soul is not damned. But our living friends may.”

Joy’nt held the marker, and Midrange touched it. “No. It’s probably more interesting than Xanth.” Actually, Picka knew, Dawn could have gleaned the cat’s answer directly, because she knew everything about anything alive.

“It is indeed,” Dawn agreed. “Fascinating to visit, but we wouldn’t want to stay there. So pay attention to the ground rules. My pass will deliver us to the River Styx, where there will be a ferry. We will take the ferry, then follow the path to Eve’s castle.” She frowned. “Do not stray from that path. Anyone stepping off it will have literal hell to pay to get back on it. Once we reach the castle, it will be all right; Eve doesn’t let any temptations in there.”

The five of them nodded. They understood.

“Now gather together. We must all be touching when the pass is invoked, going in and coming out. I don’t want to leave anyone behind.”

They gathered together. Picka and Joy’nt held hand bones, while he put a hand on Woofer’s back and she did the same for Midrange. Tweeter perched on Joy’nt’s head.

Dawn brought out a square of colored paper and held it before her. She put her free hand on Picka’s shoulder bone. “Pass, do your thing,” she said. It seemed that no fancy archaic language was required to invoke it.

The scenery around them changed. The assorted fruit trees were gone. They were standing in a desolate dead forest beside a polluted river. Gray smog surrounded them.

There was a ramshackle boat moored at a rickety pier. A male figure sat in it. He looked at Dawn. “You again?” he asked in a tone of disgust.

“You know any other mortal princess with a pass?” Dawn responded archly. “Charon, ferry us across the river.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a pass,” she repeated. “We’ve been through this before.”

“Your pass brings you here,” Charon said. “It doesn’t pay your ferry fee.”

“
What
ferry fee?” she demanded.

“The one I’m invoking for mortal princesses, walking skeletons, and pet animals.”

“Ridiculous! You have no authority.”

Charon shrugged. “Then find a ferryman with authority.”

Dawn’s fleshly mouth thinned to an almost skeletal line. She was almost attractive that way. “Do you want me to tell my sister, who will tell Pluto, who will whip your arrogant ass?”

“My donkey is elsewhere,” Charon responded, unperturbed, “and unafraid of the whip. This is Hades, remember. Meanwhile you can’t tell your sister if you don’t get to her.”

Dawn considered. “What do you want?”

“Your hand in marriage.”

The princess swelled as if about to burst, especially in the chest area, but managed to contain herself. “I’ll give you half a smile.”

“One good stork summoning.”

“One kiss.”

“And a feel.”

Dawn turned about. “Gather together,” she told the others. “We’re returning to Xanth.”

“Very well, one kiss,” Charon agreed hastily.

“Done, you immortal lecher.” She approached the boat. Charon stood. They embraced, he on the boat, she on the shore. He kissed her ardently.

“It’s an act,” Joy’nt said wisely. “They enjoy bargaining for smooches. Living folk are like that.”

Picka rattled his bones in a shrug. He had never claimed to understand the ways of mortal folk.

Finally the two completed the kiss. Then Dawn turned to the others. “Get on the boat. We have been granted safe passage.” She stepped on herself, as Charon made his way to the rear of the boat. He lifted one hand, and a long pole fell from the sky. It seemed to be clothed in thick flesh, oddly.

“If I may inquire,” Picka said, “what kind of pole is that?”

“It’s a meaty oar,” Charon said. “Its muscle helps me propel the craft. The sky is full of them, if you know where to look.”

“Abysmal pun on meteor,” Dawn muttered. “Something should be done about the puns that infest every section of Xanth; they are now leaking into other realms.”

“Something should,” Charon agreed. “It’s disgusting.”

“That water,” Picka said. “Doesn’t it make you forget things?”

“That’s the River Lethe,” Charon said. “This is the River Styx.”

“It is safe to touch this water,” Dawn said, “but the River Lethe is an excellent example of why we must not stray.”

Joy’nt got on the boat. Then Woofer scrambled aboard somewhat awkwardly. Midrange simply jumped, landing neatly in the center. Tweeter had the easiest time: he flew across to land on Joy’nt’s shoulder bone. Finally Picka stepped on, and untied the mooring rope.

Charon pushed vigorously on his pole, assisted by its muscle, and the boat moved out across the dark water. The surface was quiet except for occasional ripples. Picka, curious, poked a finger into a ripple, and teeth snapped violently at it.

“Don’t do that!” Dawn cautioned belatedly. “The monsters are there to prevent doomed souls from swimming back across and escaping.”

“I have no fear of monsters,” Picka reminded her, “being one myself. They can’t hurt me.”

“But you shouldn’t tease them. They are just doing their job.”

She had a point. He lifted his finger from the water, undamaged. “I apologize, monsters.”

There was an irritated splash. The monsters were not mollified.

“Make yourself useful,” Charon said gruffly. “Use the curse sieve.”

“The cursive?” Picka asked, perplexed.

“The curse sieve,” the ferryman repeated. “The River Styx has become polluted with expired curses, making the river monsters uncomfortable. We try to seine out a few each time we cross.”

That made sense. Picka took the sieve and swept it through the water. It fetched in a mottled film of gunk. Picka dumped it in the cursor, which was a kind of sliding, blinking bucket in the boat. It grunted an expletive, but had no choice but to accept the foul stuff. There was an odor of musty rot. Some of the expended curses might have been puns, which would account for the stink. It was really too bad that folk did not take care to dispose of the curses properly, instead of befouling the environment.

Charon continued poling, sometimes rowing with the oar, and before long they came to the opposite shore. They disembarked in fair order.

“Remember,” Dawn said. “Stay on the path.”

Why was she making such a point of it? They had heard her the first time.

“I will see you on the return trip,” Charon said.

“More’s the pity,” Dawn agreed.

He poled away, and they started down the path. Woofer led the way, eager to see and sniff new things. Midrange followed more sedately, and Tweeter was content to ride Joy’nt’s shoulder bone. Dawn walked beside Joy’nt, and Picka was last. He looked at the motions of the two females ahead of him, which had similar sways. It was too bad that Dawn’s pelvis was swaddled in flexing living flesh, instead of being more like Joy’nt’s clean bones. She seemed oblivious to the way that spoiled her appearance.

“Isn’t Charon a Demon?” Joy’nt asked Dawn.

“Yes, he is a Dwarf Demon, less powerful than a full Demon, but still infinitely beyond any person or creature of the mortal realm.”

“He seems to like you.”

“He does. Demons have a certain thing about mortal princesses.”

“He even spoke of marrying you.”

“His master Demon Pluto married my sister Eve. He’d like to marry me and gain equivalent standing, at least in that respect.”

“But you don’t want to marry him? I should think he’d be a catch worthy of a princess.”

“Here is the thing,” Dawn said seriously. “If I married Charon, I’d be associating with an inferior Demon, at least compared to Eve with Pluto. Eve and I have always been equal. Call it princessly foolishness, but I can’t abide the thought of settling for less than she got.”

“How could you match her?”

“Oh, a mortal prince would do, or some similarly spectacular man. If one exists.”

“That’s a problem,” Joy’nt agreed. “I’d like to find a nice male skeleton, but I don’t want to go live in the dream realm and become unreal.”

Dawn nodded. “That’s roughly parallel to my disinclination to enter the realm of Hades. It’s too limiting.” She sighed. “Sometimes I envy Jumper.”

“Who?”

“Jumper Spider. He was swept into Xanth proper by a narrative hook, was put into manform, and wound up marrying the Demoness Eris, who is devoting herself to making him sublimely happy for the next few millennia. It’s a complicated story. She’s parallel to, and I think slightly ahead of Pluto, and not associated with Hades. If there were some other male Demon…” She shrugged. “Not much chance. They like mortal princesses, all right, but not on terms I’d settle for. So I’ll have to look elsewhere.”

It was a revelation to Picka that a princess and Sorceress could have the same sort of romantic problem as a walking skeleton: insufficient prospects. He had supposed that royal figures led charmed lives.

Meanwhile the path was winding through the desolate forest, skirting bleak rocks and ugly puddles. Picka could readily appreciate why Dawn would not want to live here. But that evoked the question: why did Princess Eve evidently like it? Or was she trapped here?

A figure appeared beside the path. It was a female skeleton! Picka was so surprised he stopped walking, staring at her lovely bones.

“Come to me, handsome male,” the creature said. “I am Skimpy Skeleton. I’ll bet you can really kick tail!”

This was a reference to the way walking skeletons reproduced: the male kicked the female in the posterior, who flew apart and her bones scattered across the near landscape. This was known as knocking her up. Then he selected a number of her smaller bones and fit them together into a baby skeleton. It was the way Marrow Bones and Grace’l had made him and Joy’nt. Such interaction was a truly exciting prospect.

“I am Picka Bone,” he said, unable to think of anything else at the moment.

“Well, Picka, come kick me.” Skimpy faced away and bent over, presenting her shapely pelvis.

He was sorely tempted, but cautious. “But we don’t even know each other.”

“We will in a moment,” she said. “Come to me, lover.”

Picka stepped forward, enthralled.

“No!” Dawn cried, tackling him. They fell together at the edge of the path in a tangle of bone and flesh.

“But—” he protested.

“She’s not real,” Dawn said. “She’s just a figment crafted to tempt you off the path. Once you cross the line, she’ll vanish and you’ll be stuck in Hades.”

“Oh, can it, you liar,” Skimpy said. “Don’t believe her, Picka. I will give you such a good time!”

Picka was still tempted, but knew that Dawn had no reason to deceive him. They had been friends for years. He untangled his limbs from hers and both of them stood on the path. “Forget it, spook,” he said.

“Oh!” Skimpy exclaimed, furious. “I boned up on you for this? That really heats me.” She burst into flame and vanished.

“Now I understand, I think,” he said to Dawn. “You did warn us, but she was so … so…”

“I know. You should see the handsome male princes who try to get me to cross the line.”

“I know better now,” Picka said. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“We’re friends,” she reminded him. “I mean to see you safely through. Besides, it’s a nice pretext to visit my sister.”