Currant Events

by Piers Anthony

  "What we could really use is something to carry us," Clio said. "But I fear none of your little carvings will suffice."

  "But I know what will," Darron said. "Here." He got up and went to a huge plant by the edge of the path. It had a long stalk bearing a single giant pink flower. "This is a car-nation. Watch."

  He touched the flower. It lit up in several places and dropped to the ground, purring like a great animal. This way up, the petals manifested as the backs of seats, and some curled-up leaves were wheels. "Ride this," Darron said proudly.

  They did. There was room for all of them. Sherlock found a steering wheel and related controls. "This is a car, all right," he said. "Funny in design, but similar to some I used in Mundania. Let's see if I remember how to make it go."

  Evidently he did, because the vehicle suddenly lurched forward with a squeal of tires. They waved to Darron as they zoomed on down the trail.

  "This is certainly more comfortable," Clio said. "If you see a pie tree, pause there so we can get something to eat." She glanced around. "In fact there is one now."

  The car went right on past it.

  "Sherlock—"

  "I tried to stop. The controls don't respond. It seems I only thought I was driving; it's really driving itself."

  Clio was uneasy about this, but did not want to alarm the child. "I'm sure there's some purpose in it."

  The road ended abruptly at an arm of the lake. There was a huge boat there, right at the edge. The car-nation chugged right onto it and stopped. Then the boat cast off and moved onto the lake.

  "Where is this?" Ciriana asked.

  "This is the Fanta Sea," Mr. E replied.

  "The Fanta Sea!" Clio repeated. "But this isn't where it is supposed to be."

  "It is wherever it chooses to be," E said. "Even in Mundania."

  "Mundania!"

  He shrugged. "So I'm told."

  Certainly it seemed to be here, regardless where it had been when she had written about it before. Like the traveling fields, it went where it wished.

  They got out of the car and walked around the boat. "This seems to be a ferry," Sherlock said. "We were the last car to board it."

  "And it seems we are going where it is taking us," she said grimly. But the blue arrow pointed exactly the way the ferryboat was going.

  The occupants of one of the other cars approached. "We are the Maidens China, Japan, and Mexico," one said.

  "Oh! I wrote about—I mean, I happened to know—the Maiden Taiwan. I wonder—"

  "She is our sister," China said.

  "But she—she's rather older than she looks. I'm not sure how—"

  "So are we," Japan said. "But we remain young as long as we remain on the Fanta Sea."

  "It's enchanted," Mexico said.

  "So you are actually 170 years old," Clio said, doing some quick figuring.

  "Yes," China said. "And if we ever leave the Fanta Sea and step into reality, we'll look it."

  "So we are on a perpetual cruise," Japan said. "Here on the Acquaintance Ship."

  "I thought it was a ferryboat," Sherlock said.

  They laughed. "It's a fairy boat," Mexico said. "See, it has a mast and sail."

  They looked, and discovered that this was indeed a sailing ship. Clio could have sworn that it had lacked a mast before, but she had been distracted by their manner of boarding it.

  "What a sweet child you have," China said. "Would you like some pie, sweetie?"

  Ciriana, suddenly shy again, hesitated.

  "And eye scream," Japan added.

  "And chocolate sauce," Mexico said.

  That did it. Ciriana went to their cabin.

  "And to think, we could have had pie and eye scream too, if we had just been young enough," Sherlock said.

  But Clio was distracted. "Didn't we come here in a car? Where is it now?"

  "Why, right here." Then he paused in midglance. "It's another cabin!"

  "This really is a magic ship. It changes according to the need. Car to cab." She went to the cabin, which was a cute cottage with a thatched roof and pink flowers growing under its windows. She looked inside, and found a compact kitchen with several pies and fruits on its counter, and a double bed. It was ideal.

  "But what of Ciriana?" she asked herself. Then she saw a smaller bed to the side; she must have overlooked it before. "And Mr. E?" At which point she saw another cabin to the side, to which E was going.

  Fairy ships were rather special, it seemed. No wonder the Maiden sisters liked cruising.

  They fetched pies and fruits and joined E on the deck facing out on the sea. Now Clio saw that the Maidens and Ciriana had similar deck chairs next to theirs. The little girl was having a fine time. There was another child with them, a girl a year or so younger than Ciriana. Her name, it seemed, was Cricket, and her talent was to produce music by rubbing her hands together. It was lovely music.

  "Private dialog with Sherlock," Clio said to Drew. Immediately the little dragons connected them so they could talk without being overheard by others.

  "There is something on your appealing mind?" Sherlock inquired. There was something about his phrasing that did indeed appeal to her. He liked her mind and nature, rather than her body. He really did, the dragons had assured her.

  "Yes. The three Maidens seem like nice folk. Do you think Ciriana would like to stay with them, and with Cricket, and cruise perpetually on the Fanta Sea?"

  "She might," he agreed. "But would she ever grow up?"

  Clio hadn't thought of that. "I suspect she would remain a child of five forever."

  "She would," Drew said. "Cricket has been four for twenty years."

  "Twenty years!"

  "Is that her best outcome?" Sherlock asked.

  Clio considered. To be always a child, with nice people, on a boat with everything provided. "It may be."

  "What is the price?"

  That brought her up short. Few things in Xanth were really free, however they might seem at first. The ship or the sea must extract some return. "I think we had better find out."

  "We can tell you," Drew said. "We've been into the Maidens' minds."

  "It's the soul," Drusie said.

  "The soul!"

  "One percent per year, until in a century it's all gone," Drew said. "Then the person has either to leave or go to work."

  "But what life would there be outside for a person without a soul? She'd soon be very unpopular."

  "That's why no one has left," Drusie said. "So they work. They get to keep their youth and cabins."

  "The Maidens!" Clio said. "They must have been here well over a century, but they look to be in their twenties. How are they working?"

  "To persuade visitors to stay," Drew said. "They get a portion of their souls back for every person they persuade."

  "If someone is really good at it," Drusie said, "he can get his whole soul back and keep it. So they are truly motivated."

  Clio exchanged a horrified glance with Sherlock. "I don't think we want to leave Ciriana here."

  Sherlock nodded. "Mister E, in contrast, may stay if he wishes. He is of age. Perhaps this is what he has been looking for."

  Clio saw E in a deck chair the other side of Sherlock. An attractive young woman had joined him. She was quite friendly, and he was quite interested. Probably no young woman had been this friendly to him before. "Nevertheless, we had better make sure he understands the situation."

  They stood and approached E and the girl. "Hello," Clio said. "I am Clio, and this is Sherlock. We have the talents of winding back events, and of working with reverse wood. We may have something serious to discuss with you."

  "I am Randi," the young woman said, crossing her bare legs in a way that made both E and Sherlock notice, and Clio frown. "I was expected to be a boy, but was delivered as a girl, so my folks never knew quite what to make of me. I had to wear boy's clothes. But here on the Acquaintance Ship I can dress exactly as I prefer, and be accepted without question. I revel in it. It's a won
derful community we have here."

  "It sounds great," Mr. E agreed. "I'm really interested in staying."

  "But have you mentioned the price?" Clio asked.

  "I was still covering the advantages of cruising with us," Randi said, leaning forward earnestly so that the men's eyes clicked from her legs to her loose décolletage. "A person never gets old—"

  "The price," Clio repeated firmly.

  Randi inhaled, causing four eyeballs to swell. "I was getting to that. There is always plenty of good food, but a person never gains weight, and—"

  Clio affixed a stern stare.

  "The price," Randi agreed with resignation. "It's really very small, only one tiny percent of the soul."

  "The soul!" E exclaimed.

  "Just a little bit of it, to keep the ship's magic strong. In return you receive so much—"

  "A little bit every how often?" Clio asked.

  "Just once a year. It would take a century to use it all up."

  "And how long do people live, here on the boat?" Sherlock asked.

  "Well, since they don't age—"

  "How old are you?" Clio asked.

  "Sixteen." Then, reluctantly: "And a hundred. But since I never aged, it's really sixteen."

  "So your soul is all gone," Clio said.

  "No it isn't. I got some back."

  "How?"

  "It really doesn't matter." Randi faced E. "I must admit that it can be a bit dull here on occasion, with no work to do. I really could use some fresh male company." Her blouse somehow fell open; perhaps a button had been lost. The men's eyes were locked on its contents.

  But Clio's questioning had gotten through to E. "You're a hundred and sixteen?"

  "Well, if you want to count external years. But really I am as you see me." She shifted position slightly so that more content accidentally showed. Clio made a mental note: if she ever had curves again, this was a good technique. "And I would be ever so happy to entertain you in my cabin, if you care to look things over more carefully."

  "You could be my great-grandmother!" E said.

  "Oh, no, I never married! We don't do that here on the boat. We just—" She shrugged.

  "Just what?" E asked.

  "Just trade around. To alleviate the dullness. But we don't have enough men, really. You would be very popular."

  Actually it was a considerable offer for a man who lacked popularity with women. "We'll leave you to your consideration," Clio told E. "You might wish to remain here a few years, then move on to other things."

  "Yes, you don't have to stay forever!" Randi said. "You can leave any time you want. And you wouldn't be bored at all, at first."

  "Not until you ran out of new women," Sherlock said. "And even old women can have new tricks."

  "We do," Randi said, then quickly covered her slip. "Or so I hear."

  Clio and Sherlock returned to their own deck chairs. "I presume you had reason to suggest that?" he asked her.

  "We don't know where he will be best off. This just might be it, with Randi and the Maidens and whoever else is eager for new blood. Now that he knows the price, and how to escape it. I don't want to be judgmental."

  "They may have ways of preventing folk from leaving."

  "Then why the effort to persuade them to stay? I think it has to be voluntary."

  They looked at Ciriana and the three Maidens. They were getting along famously. Then China focused on Sherlock, and her blouse seemed to fill out somewhat. "You look like a man who hasn't been loved enough," she said.

  Clio bit her tongue. This was Sherlock's business, and she had no right to interfere. He could have a dialog (or whatever) with the old Maiden if he wished. She forced her gaze and attention out to sea.

  But she couldn't help wondering what the men of this boat were like. Would any be so bored they would find a curveless woman interesting?

  A handsome man appeared beside her. "How do you do, fair creature," he said. "I am Tran."

  Surprised, she forgot to introduce herself. "Tran?"

  He smiled engagingly. "I am not Tran's sister, or Tran's parent, or Tran's Lou Cent, I am merely Tran myself. Completely dull."

  She winced at the puns. "I can see that."

  "You, in contrast, are interesting. Would you like to see my etchings?"

  "Itchings?"

  He laughed again. "You have such a quaint sense of humor! I mean, would you like to visit my cabin and pretend we are looking at designs on metal so no one will suspect what we're really doing?"

  She had to laugh with him. He was out to persuade her to stay, obviously, but the attention was nevertheless flattering. Why would he bother, if he didn't have some interest? Then she remembered: her soul. That was probably worth a lot more here than her straitlaced body was.

  "What's that?" Ciriana asked, pointing out to sea.

  They looked. "Oh, that's Wynde Tchill," the Maiden Japan said.

  "She's the most recent child of Fracto and Happy Bottom," Mexico said. "She likes to play on the Fanta Sea."

  "Oh, goody," Ciriana said, clapping her little hands. "Another child."

  "She's coming unusually close," Tran said. "Usually she's shy of this boat."

  "Maybe she spied Ciriana and Cricket," Sherlock said. "But I'm not sure quite how they can play together."

  "Oh, Wynde can stir up leaves on the deck," China said. "The girls can run through them. That sort of thing."

  But Clio felt a chill of alarm. She hadn't encountered her Danger of the Day, and a storm at sea could be bad.

  Sherlock picked up on her thought, perhaps with the aid of the little dragons. "Maybe we should discourage such play, this time."

  "Oh, Wynde's harmless," Japan said. "She's really not much of a cloud yet."

  But now the cloud was looming, and the winds were picking up. A cold gust crossed their bow. Wynde Tchill was making it seem colder than it really was.

  "She's grown," Mexico remarked. She caught Cricket's hand and led her away.

  "And seems less playful," Tran said. "Maybe we too should repair to our cabins before she wets on us." He glanced sidelong at Clio.

  "Sherlock, Ciriana, come inside," Clio said briskly. "Storms at sea aren't fun."

  "But I want to play!" the child said. She stood at the rail, raptly gazing into the swirling mists.

  "Another time." Clio took her hand.

  Then the storm struck. Sleet stung their faces and bounced on the deck. Clio hurried toward the cabin, but slipped on slush and fell, letting go of the child's hand. She quickly wound it back, then stepped more carefully and made it safely to their cabin, where Sherlock was holding the door open. He caught her around the waist and swung her inside, then closed the door when they both were secure. He was a real comfort to have around.

  But the storm was just beginning. It slammed at the ship, causing it to wallow in developing troughs. There were surely sailors navigating it, folk whose souls had run out, but this was evidently difficult for them to handle. The floor tilted, causing them to stumble.

  "The bed," Sherlock said. "It's anchored."

  Now she saw that the bed was bolted to the floor. That was reassuring. The three of them got on it and hung on as the tilt reversed.

  "I'm getting sick," Ciriana said.

  "No you aren't," Sherlock said, touching her shoulder.

  The child looked surprised. "No I'm not," she agreed.

  "How did you do that?" Clio asked him.

  "Psychology. Illness is mostly in the mind, in Xanth."

  She wondered, but was distracted by another heave of the deck. This was worse than the last; the storm was really taking hold.

  The next pitch and yaw were worse yet. This was getting out of hand. She was afraid the ship would roll over. Of course that was an exaggeration, but it was brutal experiencing the ponderous rocking of it.

  "My curse!" Clio cried. "It's my Danger of the Day!"

  "In that case, it won't just blow over," Sherlock said.

  "That's right�
�it won't." An awful decision was coming across her. "I don't want to make everyone suffer on my behalf. I had better go out and face it myself."

  He looked at her. "Face it—how?"

  "I don't know! I can't wind back the whole storm. Maybe just go out on the deck and let it take me."

  "No way!"

  "But once it gets me, everyone else will be safe. The curse doesn't care about them, just me."

  "But I care about you. I won't let you do it."

  "You're sweet," she said. She kissed him, then lurched off the bed and stumbled to the door. She jerked it open before he could catch her.

  The wind whooped in, caught her, and swept her out. She clung to the door, trying to speak, but the rushing air snatched her breath away.

  Sherlock came after her. The wind caught him too, prying him out of the cabin. He slid helplessly across the deck toward the edge. Someone screamed. Clio thought it was Ciriana, then realized it was herself.

  Sherlock reached up and caught the guard rail, his legs dangling over the edge of the ship. He had saved himself.

  But the ship rolled worse, to one side, back to the other, and then to the first side again. This time a wave caught it and pushed it farther. In fact, the ship really was rolling over!

  Clio screamed as she lost her hold on the door and slid across the deck. She passed under the rail and dropped into the heaving sea. The water caught her and hauled her under.

  She wound it back. She couldn't help it; she had to make the effort, though she knew it was futile.

  She rose back out of the water. The ship righted itself. She slid up under the rail and back up to the door. Then she stopped, clinging. She normally wound back just herself and those in her vicinity. This time she had wound back the entire ship. Her magic was exhausted. She would not be able to do that again.

  The ship resumed its motion. It was going to roll over again—and she couldn't stop it. This time everyone would drown, not just herself. Because she had lacked the courage to let the curse take her.

  Then something strange happened. The storm remained, but the sound of it was oddly muted. The ship slowly righted itself. The wind died out.

  Sherlock let go of the rail, got up, and walked back to the cabin. "It should be all right now."