Five Portraits

by Piers Anthony

  There was an ear-wincing scream. “Fresh meat!”

  “Oh, bleep!” Astrid swore. “Harpies! They’ll attack soon.”

  “And no seaweed,” Firenze said.

  Santo glanced at Astrid. “Your talent or mine?”

  “I hate to start killing anything, even harpies,” Astrid said. “But they can be the most unreasonable fowl.”

  “Foul fowl,” Santo said, and the girls tittered.

  Now one of the dirty birds showed, clinging to a stalactite with her talons. She had the head and chest of a woman, and the wings and claws of a vulture, and she was supremely dirty and ugly.

  “I can help,” Myst said.

  “Dear, mist won’t stop these nasty creatures,” Astrid said.

  “Yes it will.”

  More harpies showed, surrounding the little human party. There was no way to run.

  Astrid had learned not to dismiss the children’s offerings too quickly. “Can you tell us how?”

  “I can do different kinds of mist. Different colors. Different things.”

  The harpies started to spread their wings, ready to launch downward.

  “Such as?” Astrid asked patiently as the flutter of a gathering mob threatened.

  “Sleep gas.”

  “Oho!” Firenze said.

  “But that would put us to sleep too,” Astrid said.

  “Not if I blow it away from us,” Win said.

  “Charge!” a harpy screeched. This launched an ugly flight.

  “Do it!” Astrid cried, putting her arms around the other children. That left Win and Myst in front.

  Myst transformed into a purple cloud of mist. Win blew her up and forward. The harpies converged on that cloud.

  And collided with each other, dropping to the cave floor, dazed or asleep. Those who had not yet plunged saw that and retreated, cursing with bleeps that fairly scorched the stalactites.

  “Enough,” Astrid called. “You have vanquished them.”

  The mist coalesced into the little girl, and the breeze eased. “Neat,” Myst said.

  Astrid hugged her. “Neat,” she agreed.

  “I’m hungry,” Myst said. “I lost some of my stuff.”

  “In the mist the harpies breathed,” Astrid agreed. “We can all use a good meal, and a good rest.”

  “But it’s a long path back to the surface,” Santo said.

  Astrid considered it. “The harpies must forage above ground. They should know a faster route. We can ask one of them.”

  “They won’t tell us anything,” Firenze said. “Or if they do, they’ll lie. You can’t trust a harpy.”

  Astrid smiled. “I didn’t say we’d ask politely. I’m tired and frustrated, and my basic nature is beginning to surface.”

  The children looked at her, not getting it.

  Astrid picked up a harpy who was stirring, waking up. She held the creature with one hand clamped around her two bird legs. The harpy was solid, but only about a quarter the weight of a human person, and she stank. “Wake up, fowl-face,” she said. “We have to talk.”

  The harpy blinked awake and looked at her. “Go bleep yourself, girl-face.”

  “First let’s introduce ourselves. I am Astrid BC. Who are you?”

  The harpy laughed raucously. “Astrid BullCrap? Forget it.”

  “I would rather not have to be forceful with you,” Astrid said evenly. “But the children and I are tired and want to return to the surface now. Is there a shortcut there?”

  “Think I’d tell you, child nanny? You don’t have the bleeping guts to make me do anything.”

  “What is your name?” Astrid asked.

  “You can call me Bleep!” the harpy said, and the air around her crackled with the force of the expletive.

  “I will call you Hagar Harpy,” Astrid said. “For the purpose of our dialogue, you will answer to that name.”

  “What dialogue?” the harpy cackled. “I’m not telling you anything, except what a naive creep you are.”

  “Perhaps I need to be more explicit, Hagar. My full name is Astrid Basilisk-Cockatrice.”

  The harpy screeched in laughter. “You’re a bask, sweetface? And I’m the queen of the fairies!”

  Astrid used her free hand to remove her dark glasses. She kept one eye closed and the other with only a slit open. She glanced fleetingly at the harpy.

  Who stiffened as if stunned. “Oh, for bleep’s sake You are a bask!”

  “I am,” Astrid agreed as she replaced her glasses. “The children and I are hungry, and if you are kind enough to show us a quick way to the surface, I will let you go unharmed. Otherwise, we’ll make a fire and roast you for our meal. I’m sure you won’t taste very good, but as I said, we are hungry.”

  The children were starting to smile, appreciating Astrid’s technique.

  “It’s that way,” Hagar said, pointing with a wing. “Now let me go.”

  “I will let you go when we stand safely on the surface,” Astrid said. “Provided that does not take too long.”

  The harpy let loose a torrent of bleeps that made smoke curl up. But she knew she was caught, and had to cooperate. She guided them up a winding tunnel to a chamber with a closed door similar to the one they had used to enter the Dungeons. It said EXIT. But it had no handle or knob.

  “So how do we open it?” Astrid asked.

  “From the other side,” Hagar screeched. “You can’t open it from inside.”

  “Are you sure?” Astrid asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure. We have to call to someone outside to open it for us. So now you can eat me if you’re going to. I think you’re bluffing.”

  Santo looked at the door. “I can hole it.”

  “Let’s wait on that,” Astrid said. She glanced at Myst. “Your turn,” she said.

  Myst dissolved into mist and floated under the door. Soon she disappeared. Then, in under two moments, the door swung inward. There stood Myst, smiling.

  “I’ll be bleeped!” Hagar screeched.

  They walked through the doorway and up out of the slanting trench beyond. “Thank you for your assistance, Hagar,” Astrid said, and released the harpy.

  The dirty bird didn’t hesitate. “Up yours, moron!” She zoomed back down through the doorway and slammed the door shut. There was of course no expression of appreciation for her release.

  “Harpies can be reasonable,” Astrid said. “You just need to know how to talk to them.”

  “Yeah,” Firenze agreed. “But would you really have—?”

  “If there were no other way,” Astrid said. “If we could make a fire without fuel to burn.” She glanced at the torch she still held. “Maybe the torch would have been enough.”

  “But eating a harpy?” Squid asked, revolted.

  “We do what we have to, to survive,” Astrid said. “I suppose I come from a rougher life than you children do. I mean to take care of you as well as I can. That means protecting you, guiding you, loving you, and feeding you.”

  “You’ve been doing that,” Santo said. “We would never have gotten this far without you.”

  “We love you too,” Win said.

  “You’d make a great mother,” Squid said, and the other children agreed. Astrid, suddenly choking up, did not comment.

  “But remind us never to make you mad,” Firenze said. The other children nodded soberly.

  “Now let’s go find a pie plant,” Astrid said briskly, changing the subject. “And a blanket plant. We’re not out of the Storage chamber yet. We’ll eat and sleep and see where the path leads tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” Firenze agreed, speaking for all of them.

  Chapter 8:

  Wolf Country

  They found a pie plant, and a blanket plant, and a clear streamlet to drink from. This was nice country, with tree-covered mountains and verdant slopes.

  “Now we can make tents from the blankets,” Astrid said. “But I prefer not
to sleep out in the open; there could be predators.”

  “She means hungry monsters,” Firenze translated for the other children.

  “Also, there may be rain,” Astrid said, glancing at the sky where thick clouds were looming. “So let’s find some secluded nook,”

  And there, not far from the pie plant, was exactly that: a grotto set in the side of a mountain slope. That represented shelter from the rain and some safety from marauding night creatures.

  There was a pile of fragrant hay that would be perfect for a bed to lie on. Suddenly that was all Astrid wanted to do. She spread blankets over the children as they lay down and slept almost immediately, then settled down herself. She hadn’t realized how tired she was from the dungeon experience.

  She woke some time later, to darkness. Then she realized that it wasn’t the night; she was in a closed hood over her head, and some faint light squeezed through the cloth. Also, her arms were tied behind her. She struggled, but only her legs were free, and without the use of her arms they could not do much.

  “Ah, the sleeper wakes,” an insidious voice said.

  Uh-oh. This was surely mischief. “What?” she asked.

  “No need for confusion. I am Fowler Fiend, the hungry and lascivious proprietor of this grotto. I dosed the local stream with sleep potion when I saw your party coming. Diluted, it was slow to act, but that gave you time to come here and make yourselves available, saving me the effort of dragging you here. Your party makes a fine collection of delectable morsels, and you, my dear, will make a very nice entertainment piece until eventually I tire of you.”

  So this was another solitary male of the same type as Truculent Troll, bent on assorted savageries. One thing about her human form was that it happened to be very pretty in human terms, and that always made human or other humanoid males get a certain notion. She wasn’t sure whether that was an asset or a liability for her. It might be better if she could turn it off as convenient. But she couldn’t.

  Now she understood how they had fallen into his trap: they had been tired and careless after escaping from the dungeons, and never thought to do a check for local danger. So they had eaten and drunk, then slept as the potion caught up with them. And been caught in the fiend’s fiendish trap.

  “Thank you for that explanation,” she said politely. “But I believe it would be better if you gave up your dark designs and simply released us. I am not exactly what I may seem to be.”

  “You seem to be a luscious maiden shepherding five tasty children,” Fowler said. “It hardly matters, considering the use I will make of you.”

  “You really don’t want to do that.” What she didn’t say was that if he got too close to her, and remained too long, her poisonous perfume would first make him drunk, then kill him. She had taken out a cave troll that way before.

  “Oh, pshaw, tart, of course I do. In fact I’ll do it now.” Rough hands caught her ankles, forcibly spreading her legs. She tried to kick free, but he simply jammed in close and ripped off her clothing. “Ah, lovely! The pleasure will be all mine.”

  What to do? She could change to her natural form, but her head would still be hooded, rendering her primary weapon moot, and her arms would still be tied. All it would do would be to reveal her nature, and get her quickly killed; the fiend would not risk her Glare. No, it was better to keep this form, accepting the fiend’s assault if need be, so as to render him unconscious in due course. Then she would be able to see about working her hands free. At least the children would be safe until she untied them.

  “What’s happening?” That was Firenze’s voice, as he woke. The sleep potion seemed to have affected the larger people least, or maybe they had not drunk as much as the others had.

  Oh, no! What a violation of the Adult Conspiracy it would be for him to be aware of the rape! She had to protect him from that.

  “We drank sleeping potion, and have been captured by a fiend,” she called. “I am trying to talk him into letting us go.”

  “That won’t happen,” Fowler said. “First I will have my fiendish will of you. Then I will see about roasting the brat for my breakfast.”

  “Your will?” Firenze asked. “What is that?”

  “Nothing!” Astrid said.

  “Plenty,” Fowler said as he settled in close to her body. “I am going to ream her as she has never been reamed. Okay, chick. Time for you to writhe and scream. Sound effects enhance the action.”

  “Writhe and scream?” Firenze asked. “Is he hurting you, Aunt Astrid?”

  “No! Not exactly.” What could she tell him? She needed to keep the fiend close enough to be overcome by her ambiance, while not lying to the child.

  “What, not hurting yet?” Fowler asked. “I will remedy that. Take that, bleep.” His open hand came down to strike the side of her hooded head with a resounding smack. The blow was not as bad as it sounded; she was tough.

  “You hit her!” Firenze exclaimed.

  “And a real pleasure it was,” Fowler agreed.

  “You’re making me mad.”

  The fiend laughed. “An angry child. Fancy that.”

  If only the fiend would breathe enough of her perfume to be affected! But his head was high as he talked. So far. It irritated her that she would have to facilitate his foul design in order to knock him out.

  “Really mad,” Firenze said.

  As if emotional fireworks would accomplish anything.

  Fowler continued to bait the boy, while he held Astrid down, enjoying the nastiness. “Go ahead, blow your stupid little top, you arrogant twerp! Meanwhile I’ll abuse this slut all I want to.”

  “Don’t call her a slut!”

  “What will you do, boy, cry?” The fiend laughed again. “Maybe I can make the slut cry.” He struck Astrid again. This time it was in the stomach, and she gasped in pain.

  “That does it,” Firenze said. “I’m letting loose.”

  “You do that, scamp. Bawl your fool head off. I don’t care if—” He broke off.

  Astrid heard crackling as Firenze’s temper flared, literally. The fireworks were flying from his head, probably zapping through the hood.

  “Now that’s interesting,” Fowler said. “Radiations of fire are burning off your hood. Your whole head is glowing. That’s a tantrum you can call a tantrum.”

  “Yeah?” Firenze asked. “How do you like this?”

  There was a swooshing sound. “Yowch!” the fiend screamed. “You burned me with a rocket!”

  That was interesting indeed! Firenze’s fireworks had evidently become literal.

  “There’s more where that came from,” Firenze said.

  There was another swoosh. “Yowch!” the fiend repeated, burned again. He jumped off Astrid. “I’ll pulverize you, imp!”

  “I’d like to see you try it, earth bag.”

  Astrid had to smile. The child couldn’t say dirt bag, but was trying.

  She heard the pounding of the fiend’s feet as he charged at the boy with mayhem in mind. She winced, knowing that Firenze remained tied. He couldn’t defend himself.

  There was a louder woosh. “Owww!” Fowler cried. “I’m burning up!”

  Desperate to see what was happening, Astrid scraped her head across the grotto floor. The hood snagged on something and tore off. She stared, amazed.

  Firenze’s whole head was a mass of fire. His hood had burned off. Before him Fowler was rolling on the ground, trying to put out the fires in his clothing. Just as the fiend managed to smother the flames, Firenze aimed the top of his head in his direction. A jet of fire like a rocket trail shot out and scored, setting the fiend on fire again. “Owwww!” he screamed. He scrambled back to his feet and ran away, flaming.

  Myst appeared. “I’m free. Don’t burn me.” She ran to Firenze and quickly untied his bonds. Then she came to Astrid and did the same. “How come your dress is up?” she asked innocently.

  “The fiend was beating her up,” Firenze answered, sa
ving Astrid an awkward explanation. “That made me really mad.”

  “You’re a terror when you’re mad,” Myst said appreciatively. “You roasted him.”

  “Thanks,” he said, his head cooling to a dull glow. “I never got that angry before. But when the fiend started beating on Aunt Astrid I just couldn’t hold it back.”

  “Well sure,” Myst agreed. “He deserved it. Why was he hurting her?”

  “He wanted to make me cry,” Astrid said quickly. Then, to Firenze: “Those fireworks are more than just temper. You were able to jet fire at the fiend.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” he said, surprised. “I didn’t know I could do it. I just did it.”

  “We’ll have to see if you can do it without getting mad,” she said as she went to untie and unhood the other children. “This may be a weapon.”

  “Yeah,” he said with more enthusiasm. “I thought it was just my bad temper.”

  “It might be that you kept your talent under control, to avoid embarrassment, but when you started getting mad, that control slipped. It could be separate from your temper.”

  “I guess,” he agreed uncertainly.

  “Try invoking the fireworks without getting mad.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Try. This could be important.”

  He focused. His head started to brighten. “I’m not mad.”

  “Keep going.”

  His head heated up. The other children came to look. “I’m not mad,” Firenze repeated. “Just heating my head.”

  “Shoot a bolt of fire.”

  He concentrated. A firework rocket shot from his head and exploded above them, singeing the ceiling of the grotto.

  “Wow!” Santo said.

  “I’m doing it!” Firenze said, amazed. “I’m not mad, and I’m shooting off fireworks!”

  “Hang on to that ability,” Astrid said. “It just saved me from some, um, awkwardness.”

  “I guess,” Firenze agreed.

  “Practice it, so that you can do it anytime. We may encounter other monsters. You need to be able to protect yourself.”

  “What, are you leaving us?” Firenze asked, alarmed.