Roc and a Hard Place Read online

  She walked up to the main entrance and knocked on the door, because it wouldn’t be polite to enter unannounced, and besides, there was a spell that prevented unauthorized demon entry. In a moment there was a loud questioning squawk from the interior. “I’m the Demoness Metria,” she answered. “Here on business.”

  The door creaked open, and she walked in. The interior hall was elegant in the usual manner, with finely set cloud stones for the floor, and carpets hung on the cloud walls. Though the Nameless Castle was made of vapor, it was surprisingly strong, and could withstand all the things a castle was expected to withstand. Enchanted cloud-stuff was light, not weak.

  She came to the vast central chamber. There was an enormous nest of marbled granite, and on the nest sat Roxanne Roc, a bird so big she could swallow a normal human person without chewing. Just about the Simurgh’s size, in fact, but not as authoritative or beautiful in plumage. Roxanne was mostly shades of brown. She had been assigned by the Simurgh several centuries ago to hatch a special stone egg, and was still at it.

  Metria floated in. “Roxanne, I have a summons for you,” she said. “But I’d like to know—”

  The big bird opened her beak. “Squawk!”

  Oops. She couldn’t understand roc-speak. She could give the big bird the token, but that wouldn’t satisfy her; she wanted to know what this trial was all about. How could she talk with the roc?

  The question brought the answer: Grundy Golem. His name was on a token, as Translator. So she should summon him, and use him to translate for the roc.

  “Be right back,” she said, and popped off to the Golem residence.

  Grundy Golem, Rapunzel, and their seven-year-old daughter Surprise lived in a tree house, actually a cottage industree. They were a small family, because Grundy could be picked up in one ordinary human hand, and Rapunzel could assume any size she wished, so preferred to match him. Surprise did too, for now. So Metria matched their scale, so as to fit in their residence.

  “Why, D. Metria!” Rapunzel exclaimed, spying her, exactly as if glad to see her. The truth was that just about nobody was glad to see a demoness, but Rapunzel was beautiful in body and spirit, an ideal complement to the mouthy golem. Her distinguishing trait, apart from her niceness, was her infinitely long hair, which assumed various colors as it coursed down across her body toward the floor. “To what to we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  Rapunzel had succeeded in doing what was almost impossible: She made Metria feel guilty. So she hedged. “Um, could I talk to Grundy?”

  “Of course.” Rapunzel lifted her long hair out of the way and called, “Dear! There’s someone here to see you.”

  Grundy walked into the room. He was a fully living creature, but still bore the aspect of his origin as a rag and wood construction. He spied Metria. “That’s not someone!” he snapped. “That’s Metria, the most mischievous nuisance in Xanth, who can’t even get a word right.”

  This was more like it. Metria affected a serious mien. “Grundy Golem, I have an enjoin for you.”

  “A what, you ludicrous excuse for a spirit?”

  “Bid, request, invitation, proposal, solicitation, petition, demand—”

  “Summons?”

  “Whatever,” she said, smiling as she handed him his token. “Take that, you little crawl.”

  This time he chose to ignore the miscue. “What am I being summoned to?”

  “The trial of Roxanne Roc.”

  “That big bird? The worst thing she ever did was annoy the Simurgh by innocently flying too close to Parnassus. Why is she on trial?”

  “That is what I would like to know. Come with me and we’ll ask her.”

  Grundy nodded, not really annoyed by the situation. “Bound to be an interesting story here,” he said. “It should be fun translating for whatever weird creatures get hauled in. But what about my wife? I don’t like leaving her out of it.”

  “I have a disk for her too,” Metria said, producing it. “She’s up for jury duty.” She handed it over.

  “But what about Surprise?” Rapunzel inquired as she studied her token.

  “She’s not on my list. Maybe this concerns something adult, and she’s underage.”

  “But I could become overage,” the little girl said brightly. “If I had to.”

  “No, dear,” Rapunzel said immediately. “You must save your magic for when it’s really needed, and not waste it for something that would probably bore you. You can stay with Tangleman while we’re gone.”

  “Goody!” the child agreed. Tangleman had originally been a tangle tree, transformed into a jolly green giant man in the course of a censored chapter; his vegetable mind was somewhat simple, so he got along well with children.

  “Actually, the trial is a fortnight hence,” Metria said. “So the Jurors don’t have to report to the Nameless Castle until then. But I’d like to have Grundy come to help me talk with Roxanne now.”

  “You got it, Demoness,” Grundy agreed enthusiastically. “Say, didn’t you get married or something? Why are you involved in this?”

  “I got married, got half-souled, and fell in love, in that order,” Metria agreed. “Now I’m trying to get the stork’s attention. But Humfrey sent me to the Simurgh, and she’s requiring me to do this. I pop back home every so often to make my husband deliriously happy.”

  “I know how that is,” Grundy said, glancing briefly at Rapunzel, whose hair formed momentarily into a heart shape framing her body as she winked back at him. “Well, let’s get a wiggle on. Take me to Bird Brain.”

  Metria picked him up and popped back to the Nameless Castle in the sky. She could do this now, because the castle door remained open, making a small hole in the protective spell. They arrived at the same spot she had vacated in the central chamber, before the nest.

  “Roxanne Roc, I have come to serve you with a Summons,” Metria said formally.

  As she spoke, Grundy squawked. Actually he didn’t need to, because Roxanne understood human talk. It was others who couldn’t understand her. The roc’s near eye widened. She squawked back.

  “She says she can’t go anywhere,” Grundy translated. “She has an egg to incubate, and mustn’t let it get cold. It is due to hatch any year now. Simurgh’s orders.”

  “This summons is from the Simurgh,” Metria said, and Grundy squawked. She flipped it at the huge bird.

  Roxanne caught it in her beak, displaying surprising dexterity. She set it down on the rim of the nest before her, and focused one eye on it. Then she used one monstrous claw to flip it over, and perused the other side. She squawked.

  “What’s this about being the Defendant?” Grundy translated. “She says she hasn’t done anything wrong. In fact, she has hardly been out of this room in almost six hundred years, and has guarded the egg faithfully throughout. Is this a cruel hoax, Demon Smoke?”

  “All that with one squawk?” Metria asked, bemused. “Those were her exact words?”

  “Well, I sanitized what she called you. It was actually—”

  “Never mind.” Metria was familiar with the golem’s propensity for stirring up trouble. Roxanne had probably spoken politely. “You mean she doesn’t know why she’s to be assayed?”

  “She’s to be whatted?”

  “Attempted, endeavored, ventured, exerted, wielded, judged—”

  “Tried, fog-brain?”

  “Whatevered. It must be something horribly serious, to get the Simurgh herself involved. Doesn’t she have any hint?”

  There was an exchange of squawks. “No hint,” Grundy reported. “She has been here, just doing her job, as she said. There must be some mistake.”

  “The Simurgh didn’t act as if there were any mistake,” Metria said, remembering what the most knowledgeable bird in all Xanth had THOUGHT to her. “And the words on the token are clear. Roxanne will be put on trial, here, in a fortnight.”

  Grundy translated. The roc shrugged, remaining perplexed. She would be here, because she would not desert the egg,
regardless.

  So Metria walked out, closed the door, and popped back to Grundy’s home. “I’ll fetch you next time I need you,” she told him. “Just make sure you and Rapunzel are there for the trial.”

  “We will be,” Grundy agreed. “Rapunzel will make herself tall enough to reach that cloud, and put me on it, and then I’ll haul her up after me as she changes back to small size. I wouldn’t miss this trial for all Xanth.”

  “Neither would I,” Metria confessed. “There’s something awfully anomalous going on here.”

  “Awfully what?”

  “Peculiar, odd, irregular, unusual, curious, bizarre, queer—”

  “Strange?”

  “Weird,” she agreed crossly.

  “For sure. If it were anyone but the Simurgh behind it, I’d suspect it of being a joke.”

  “The Simurgh doesn’t joke.”

  “She doesn’t joke,” he agreed.

  Still pleasantly mystified, Metria popped next to the only other entity on her list who might know about the trial: Demon Professor Grossclout. It would be an unholy pleasure, serving him with a summons.

  He was teaching a class at the Demon University of Magic. She appeared in the back of the chamber, suddenly suffering a fit of apprehension. Grossclout had always intimidated her, though she had always denied it. His aspect was horrendous, even in demon terms, and small horns glowed red when he made a strong point. His face was so ugly that he could have walked without notice among ogres. But the worst of it was his overwhelming knowledge: If there was anything he didn’t know, it was hardly worth knowing.

  “And therefore,” he was saying, “we can conclude that the fourth principle of responsive magic has not been violated, and there is no paradox.” He paused, his eye glinting. Every student in the class trembled, fearing that the Professor was about to make an Example. “What are you doing here, Metria?”

  Suddenly she was Woe Betide. She hadn’t changed intentionally; there was just something about the professor that turned her spine to mush. This had never happened to her before. “Nothing at all, Your Greatness,” she whined, a big frightened tear rolling down her cute little cheek.

  “Most students come here with heads full of mush,” he remarked. “You have a spine of mush. You couldn’t have crashed this class without help. Come here, gamine. Out with it: What are you up to?”

  Woe Betide took one dread step after another toward him, unable to help herself. “I—I—have something,” she peeped.

  “Give it here,” he said with such ultimate authority that the rafters vibrated.

  She handed the token to him. “It—it’s a summons, sir.”

  “What?” Now the ground shook, and plaster and silt sifted down from the ceiling. The students cowered.

  “To appear at the Nameless Castle a fortnight hence, to preside over the—”

  “I can see that!” the Professor roared, and now the walls began to crumble. The students flinched as much as they dared. “Why is this trial occurring?”

  “I—I thought you would know.”

  He glowered. “I shall certainly find out. Begone, mush-spine!”

  And Woe Betide Metria was begone, involuntarily. She hadn’t learned anything.

  ‘I wouldn’t have taken that from him,’ Mentia remarked. ‘You didn’t either, before you got your soul.’

  Metria couldn’t deny it. There were times when a soul was a real liability. ‘I should have let you serve him that summons,’ she said.

  ‘Let me serve the next one. Who is it?’

  Metria checked her bag. ‘Magician Trent and Sorceress Iris.’

  ‘Um. You take Trent; I’ll take Iris. I just had an adventure with her.’

  She had arrived at her home castle. She went inside to check on Veleno, but he was still floating in a sea of delirium, a smile glued on his face. He would hold for another day or so. So they popped over to the Brain Coral’s Pool, where Trent and Iris were supposed to be. But she didn’t see them there.

  She squatted and poked a finger into the water.

  What do you want of me, Demoness? It was the pool itself.

  “Where’s Magician Trent?” she inquired.

  He is not here. He took the Sorceress Iris on a second honeymoon, fifty-three years after the first. They like each other better this time, both being much younger than before.

  “A honeymoon!” Metria exclaimed. “You mean I have to go all the way to the moon?”

  That is what I mean.

  She sighed. “Well, thanks anyway, Pool.” She popped off to the moon.

  She landed in a pile of moldy cheese. “Ugh!” she swore, sailing up and shaking off her feet. She had forgotten that the two sides of the moon differed; the one that faced Xanth had long since degenerated into cheesiness, because of what it saw. Only the far side remained unspoiled.

  Once she got her feet cleaned off, she flew around to the fair side. Now she saw the surface of milk and honey, where newly married couples lolled in a reasonable approximation of the kind of delirious happiness she routinely provided for Veleno. Of course, it wouldn’t last for those others, because they couldn’t remain on the honey moon forever.

  She gazed across the idyllic landscape, and spied a lovely fountain of firewater, with the smoke rising to form a backdrop of pastel-hued clouds. That was obviously illusion, as the moon didn’t have clouds. She made for it, and sure enough, there was the Sorceress in her youthened state, a girl in her mid-twenties, idly indulging her fancy while Magician Trent snoozed.

  She approached Trent. “Remember me, King Emeritus?” she inquired.

  He woke and glanced at her. “Oh, hello, Metria. We once almost meant something to each other, in a vision of Mundania.”

  “True,” she agreed. “That experience caused me to try marriage myself, as you remember. Now I’m on a mission for—well, here’s your summons.” She handed him his token.

  He turned it over. “I am to be the bailiff at a trial? That’s a novel notion.”

  “And this is the novel,” She agreed, yielding the body to her worser self.

  “And yours,” Mentia said, approaching Iris. “We shared the madness, where I was sane.”

  “I remember,” Iris agreed languidly. “I was youthened for that, and I appreciate it.” She accepted her token. “Special Effects?”

  “I don’t know what that means any more than you do,” Mentia said. “Maybe you’re needed for illusion pictures of things that they can’t conveniently bring to the Nameless Castle.”

  “The Nameless Castle!” Trent exclaimed, amazed. “The trial is there? Isn’t that where that roc is?”

  “Roxanne Roc,” Mentia agreed. “She’s the one on trial. You wouldn’t happen to have a notion what for, would you?”

  “I can’t think of any reason. That is one dedicated bird. This isn’t some elaborate spoof?”

  “That’s unlikely,” Iris said. “Look at these summons disks. They are made of black beryl—one of the rarest stones in Xanth. No one would fool with them.”

  He nodded. “I should think not. Well, our stay here was about over anyway. When do we have to report for the trial?”

  “In a fortnight,” Mentia said. She looked around. “Oops, I feel some craziness coming on.” She dived into Iris’ illusion fountain and splashed in the rising water, sending droplets splattering against the backdrop.

  Then the water changed to fire, and the fire changed to water, so that she was splashing in a column of fire. “Hoo!” she cried as it singed her derriere. “That’s hot!”

  “Well, you shouldn’t mess with illusion,” Trent remarked mildly.

  ‘That’s a hint we should get out of here,’ Metria advised her worser self. ‘They may want to conclude their stay here in style.’

  ‘You would think of that, you married creature.’ But Mentia obligingly popped back to their home base in Xanth. ‘Who else do we need to serve?’

  ‘Half a slew,’ Metria said, checking. ‘But only two more actual Trial
Personnel. Grey Murphy and Princess Ida.’

  ‘Not Grey and Ivy? That could be real mischief, especially if Ida gets a notion.’

  ‘True. But of course, the Simurgh wouldn’t do anything like that.’

  ‘No more than she would put an innocent loyal bird on trial,’ Mentia remarked.

  ‘Well, if Ida did get a notion, we could sprinkle her with Lethe elixir to make her forget about Grey,’ Metria said.

  ‘Great idea! That could completely restore her talent, too, since the Ideas she makes become real must come from someone who doesn’t know her talent.’

  ‘That’s a crazy notion,’ Metria said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So where is Grey Murphy at the moment?’

  ‘Use the token, blockhead! How do you expect to locate the rest of the names?’

  ‘Oh.’ Metria took out the token marked GREY MURPHY and held it up. Sure enough, it seemed to tug in one direction. It wanted to do its duty, and if the summonsee wouldn’t come to it, it would go to the summonsee.

  She floated, letting the stone disk show the way. She made herself smoky light, so that it was able to tug her along. Soon she was traveling at a respectable speed, through trees, boulders, houses, dragons, and whatnot. The general direction seemed to be northwest.

  In due course she came to the coast, but the tug didn’t stop. “He can’t be out in the sea!” she muttered. But that was the direction of the tug.

  A see monster lifted its huge eye and peered at her. She ignored it. See monsters didn’t bite, they just looked. Of course, it was important not to let them see too much, because they got really smug when they suc-see-ded. When the big eye threatened to look down the front of her blouse, she changed it to a tortoise-necked sweater. When the monster tried to look up under her skirt, she changed it to slacks, eliminating any possible view of anything interesting. She could have changed form to a bird, or faded out entirely, but she preferred to tease the thing. Disgusted at not being able to see the color of her panties, the monster sank back under the sea surface.