Well-Tempered Clavicle

by Piers Anthony

  “That was fun,” Dawn said when the finished. “We have another song in our repertoire.” She glanced mischievously at the dragon. “Which of us was best, Stanley?”

  The dragon turned his head and wafted out a waft of steam. It found Picka, bathing him in temporary warmth.

  “That was supposed to be rhetorical, steam snoot,” Dawn said with mock severity. “Everybody contributes to the joint effort, so no one is best or worst.”

  Stanly wafted her with steam, just hot enough to make her step back as it illuminated her. “You are arguing with me, steam-for-brains?” Dawn demanded. “I’ll have you know I’m a princess.”

  “But he’s right,” Granola said. “Picka is the best. Without his perfect notes and cadence, the rest of us would be sloppy. He makes all the rest of us better.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Picka protested.

  “You don’t need to,” Granola said. “You are the heart of this ensemble.”

  “But I hardly know music! I merely repeat what I hear or read. I’ve only been at it a few days.”

  “The more credit to you. You will surely be a very fine musician when you achieve your full potential.”

  “That’s right,” Dawn said thoughtfully. “We should help you get there, Picka. I am a Sorceress, and it took me time to develop my full powers, and I may not have done so yet. It may be similar with you and music. We owe it to you to help you get there.”

  Picka shrugged. “There’s really no need. I just want to help you find Pundora’s Box.”

  “You are modest and well-tempered,” she said, “and very musical. So while you’re helping me find the Box, I’ll try to help you find your full talent. We all will.”

  Picka shrugged. “Thank you. I do like music, though I never knew how I liked it before Eve identified my talent.”

  Dawn found him in the dark and kissed his skull. He wished she wouldn’t do that. He didn’t like direct contact with meat, yet did like her touch, so it mixed up his emotions.

  Now Stanley Steamer departed, satisfied. Dawn and the pets returned to the handbag. That left Picka alone with Joy’nt again.

  “Am I really good with music?” he asked her, uncertain.

  “Yes. When you play, I can sing and shake the maracas better, because you are perfect in key and timing and I can follow that. It’s the same for the others. I don’t know how good you can be, but you are very good now.”

  “Thank you,” he repeated, hoping she was correct.

  * * *

  In the morning the living folk aroused and did their ablutions. Then Picka and Joy’nt joined the others in the handbag, and Granola got to her feet and began her search.

  Picka and the others peered through the invisible fabric of the handbag as it swayed grandly more than twenty feet above the ground. Picka knew that some invisible giants were so big that their feet flattened whole trees, but Granola was only the height of a typical tree and did not do any such damage. She walked between and around trees, and her tread was light so as not to thud. Thuds would call attention to her, and none of them wanted that.

  Granola found a slope she knew and ascended rapidly out of the chasm, passing several clouds on the way. Picka realized that clouds were lazy; some of them floated below normal ground level when they could get away with it.

  They sailed up out of the gulf and over normal land, finding a trail and following it north. The giantess had a good stride and made excellent progress on the level.

  “Where is she going?” Joy’nt asked.

  “Somewhere in the Region of Fire,” Dawn said, fathoming that from her proximity to Granola. “But of course the castle won’t be there.”

  “Then why go there?”

  “Because she has to look in more than one place in order to have a next-to-last place.”

  “Couldn’t she simply look in a likely place, then look at another about ten feet away?”

  “That’s tempting,” Dawn said, “but she has tried. The curse can’t be so simply cheated. Every place she looks has to be a likely one. She thinks the castle could hide in the Fire Region before moving on. It might not be there now, but might have been there in the past.”

  Joy’nt nodded. That just might make sense.

  In due course they saw the firewall delineating the boundary of the Region of Fire.

  Granola halted. “I don’t think we can safely pass through that,” she said.

  “We skeletons might,” Picka said.

  “I’m not sure,” Dawn said. “What heat does it take to cremate bones?”

  Picka climbed out of the bag and approached the firewall. He poked a finger at it. The tip of his finger began to char. “That heat,” he said, retreating.

  “Yet I understand there are living natives of the Fire Region,” Granola said. “How do they manage?”

  “They must be acclimatized,” Joy’nt said.

  “And they would be on the other side of the firewall anyway,” Dawn said.

  “Woof!”

  “Oh, you can find a fire resident on this side!” Dawn exclaimed, pleased, patting his shoulder. “Maybe that will help.”

  Woofer set off, sniffing the hot air, and they followed. The dog led them away from the firewall and into more normal terrain, with hooded witch grass, hungry tangle trees, wise sage plants, fresh egg plants, and other routine vegetation.

  They came to a house keeper, keeping three young men and two women. They were having a party. The others held back while Dawn went ahead with the dog.

  Woofer went up to the woman, who had red hair and looked hot. “Why, here’s a dog!” she exclaimed, wisps of smoke on her breath. “What are you up to?”

  Dawn joined them. “This is Woofer, who can sniff out living folk. We are looking for someone who can cross the firewall.”

  “That’s me,” the woman agreed. “I am Furn. I can walk on fire. I live in the Region of Fire. I just happen to be out here in the cold visiting my four siblings.” She nodded toward the others.

  “I am Dawn,” Dawn said. “I need to check something on the other side of the firewall, but I can’t cross it without getting burned. If you could cross it and check for me, I’d be grateful.”

  “I can do that tomorrow when I go home,” Furn said. “Today I am visiting.” She gestured to the four.

  This time the others introduced themselves. “I am Airic,” the other woman said. “I can walk on air.”

  “I am Peat,” a man said. “I can walk in earth.”

  “I am Wyck. I can absorb any liquid, becoming its color.”

  “I am Quantum. I can be in two or more places at the same time.”

  “Well, now,” Dawn said, “most or all of you could get past the firewall, I think. By walking on the fire, or high over it, or through the earth beneath it, or maybe by absorbing so much liquid that it would quench the fire that tried to burn you. Or simply by being on each side of the firewall without crossing it.”

  “Of course,” Airic said. “That’s how we visit our sister. What’s your point?”

  “I would really like to check a certain spot inside the Region of Fire, to see if anything is there.”

  The five siblings exchanged about four and a half glances. “We can check it tomorrow when we see Furn home.”

  “I would really prefer to do it today.”

  “Then you will have to make it worth our while,” Peat said.

  “Maybe I can trade you something for it.”

  “We really don’t need anything,” Wyck said. “We are already doing what we like, which is visiting with our siblings.”

  A bulb flashed over Dawn’s head. “What about entertainment?”

  “What kind of entertainment?” Quantum inquired, eyeing her in what Picka suspected was a disturbing interest.

  “A song.”

  They all laughed. “What would we want with a song?” Furn asked.

  “This is a special one, done by a remarkable ensemble.” Dawn paused, then made her offer: “Suppose we do
the song for you, and if you find it worthwhile, then you’ll check that site beyond the firewall for us.”

  “And if we don’t like the song?” Airic asked.

  “Then we wait until tomorrow.”

  “That seems fair,” Pete said.

  Dawn signaled the others. They moved up to join her.

  In three to five moments she had introduced them. The siblings seemed amused to see the skeletons and animals, but where quite impressed with what they did not see: the giantess. But there was no doubt of Granola’s presence, because she made her footfalls heavier, shaking the ground.

  “Let’s do ‘Ghost of Tom,’ in the four parts,” she suggested.

  They set up and started in, doing it as the round it was. The three pets contributed their howls and tweets. First Granola’s concertina, up over their heads. Then Dawn’s ocarina joining in. Then Picka’s clavicles on his ribs. That made the siblings take notice. Finally Joy’nt with the maracas, also singing.

  Picka could see the siblings reacting as the piece proceeded. It was weird and beautiful, because of the extreme diversity of the players and the surprising competence of their music. Music had real power, he realized, not merely over a creature like the Gap Dragon, but over regular people too. The siblings were profoundly moved.

  Joy’nt completed her part, and the round ended. There was half a moment of silence.

  “You win,” Wyck said. “We’ll check your site now.”

  They set out for the firewall. Airic walked high in the air, chatting with Granola, whom she had come to respect. Pete waded knee-deep through the earth. The others were satisfied to walk on the ground with Dawn and the skeletons.

  “Exactly what are we looking for?” Quantum asked Dawn.

  “A traveling castle. We don’t actually expect it to be there, but we have to look.”

  “As you say,” he agreed dubiously.

  They came to the firewall. Furn walked right through it, stepping on flames. Airic walked so high she could cross above it. Pete walked down into the earth and disappeared, passing below it. Wyck drank a huge amount of water, turning translucent, then marched through with a fierce sizzling and burst of steam. And Quantum simply stood in place, quivering. But now he looked less dense. He had fissioned, and his other self was on the far side of the firewall.

  Soon they returned. “No castle there,” Furn reported, and the others agreed. “Just a flat field of fire.”

  “However,” Airic added, “there is a kind of broad pattern vaguely resembling the foundation of a castle. So it might have been there, once, eons ago.”

  “Thank you,” Dawn agreed, unsurprised. “Now we’ll look in the next place.”

  “Before you depart,” Peat said, “could you do another song for us? You really are a fine ensemble.”

  “Gladly,” Dawn said. “What song would you like?”

  “‘Flaming Passion,’” Furn said quickly.

  Picka consulted with her, getting the melody. Then he played it for the others. Then the group of them did it in improvised four-part harmony. They were good, and getting better; even the flames of the firewall danced in time with the music.

  This time the siblings applauded. “We don’t understand your mission,” Quantum said, “but we do thrill to your music. Thank you.”

  “Welcome,” Dawn said. Then she and the others piled into Granola’s handbag and disappeared from the view of the siblings. The giantess walked away, leaving the siblings amazed. Music had won the day, even if they hadn’t found the castle.

  “We have checked the first site, as well as we could,” Picka said. “We knew it wouldn’t be there, because it won’t be at the first site. But how many sites should we check?”

  “This does get a bit devious,” Dawn said. “Could we check the next site, then quit, and return to find it in the Region of Fire? I have a problem with that, and not just because we can’t get to that site ourselves.”

  “Maybe we should check as many sites as we conveniently can, today, then stop,” Joy’nt suggested. “Then go back. I have a feeling it won’t work if we try to arrange it too obviously.”

  Dawn nodded. “You are surely correct. Let’s take a nap while we travel, those of us who can do so.”

  The three pets agreed. Dawn and the pets settled down to sleep, while Picka and Joy’nt watched the passing scenery outside the handbag.

  It had been an interesting, if inconclusive start. However, the discovery of their common appreciation of music made the past night and day seem worthwhile.

  8

  KNUCKLEHEAD

  Granola slowed. Picka could see why: they were now sloshing through the Region of Water.

  The giantess lowered the handbag so that it floated on the water. “I think this is the place,” she said, “but it gets too deep for me ahead.” Indeed, she was already standing waist deep, by the feel of it.

  “How do you know where to look?” Picka asked.

  “It’s just a feeling. Mostly it’s wrong, of course, but it’s all I have to go on. I have to trust that I will pass by the castle at some point, even if I don’t know it at the time.”

  That did seem to make sense. The castle could not be at the next-to-last place she looked—unless she passed it on the way to the last place—so her feeling had to be accurate to that degree.

  “I don’t see anything but water,” Joy’nt said.

  “Neither do I,” Granola agreed, “but this is where my feeling leads me.”

  “Tweet.”

  “Well, you can check, Tweeter,” Joy’nt said, not needing a translation. “I agree that the local birds should be familiar with this area. Maybe they will have useful information. See what you can learn.”

  Tweeter flew up, and soon disappeared into the sky.

  “Maybe it’s below,” Picka said. “I could go down to look.”

  “You’d get lost,” Joy’nt told him. “And if you plunged to the bottom of the lake, how would you ever return to the handbag? You wouldn’t even be able to see it.”

  “I have some thread,” Granola said. “It would seem more like a cable to you. You could lower yourself on that, and follow it back when you’re done looking.”

  Dawn woke. “Are we there?” she asked. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “You looked too comfortable sleeping,” Picka said. “You and the pets. Except for Tweeter.”

  “Well, we don’t want to sleep through the key sites. It’s my mission, after all.”

  Joy’nt found the thread. The giantess was right: it was more like a cable. They tied it to the concertina so it couldn’t pull free, and Picka tied the other end around his backbone. He was ready to explore the depths.

  Tweeter returned. “Tweet!”

  Dawn pursed her lips. “That is serious news,” she agreed. “You say the local birds report that there’s a haunted shipwreck below this spot, so no fishermen come here for fear of it.”

  Evidently a lot could be conveyed in a single tweet.

  “What have we to fear of haunts?” Joy’nt asked. “What can they be—the ghosts of drowned sailors? They’re more likely to be spooked by us than we by them.”

  “I agree,” Picka said. “I’m going down.”

  “The wreck is at the base of the slope that starts beyond Granola’s feet,” Dawn said. “Too deep for her, but there’s plenty of cord.”

  “Got it,” Picka said. He was slightly nervous, but he refused to let the others know it.

  “Be careful,” Joy’nt murmured. She knew it, because she was his sister and knew him well.

  He climbed over the edge of the floating handbag and dropped into the water. His bones were solid, with few air spaces, so he plunged straight down, the cable stretching out above. The upper reaches of the water were light, but the lower reaches were increasingly dark. Fortunately he could see well enough in darkness, as his vision was magical rather than physical.

  Meanwhile his hollow head was pondering. A haunted wreck? Could that actually be Caprice
Castle? That didn’t seem likely, but why else would the giantess be drawn here? If she stopped looking after the next site, this would have to be the place. So he intended to inspect the wreck very carefully.

  Something glowed nearby. He peered at it. It was an illuminated blob of translucent flesh, smelling faintly of gasoline. A petroleum jellyfish. A bit farther down was a large blob in the shape of a bean: a jellyfish bean. Interesting; he had wondered where such creatures came from.

  Farther down, there were no more fish. Picka made a lipless smile. Even the fish were wary of the wreck!

  Then his foot bones touched something. Was it the wreck? No, it was merely sloping seafloor. He walked down it, knowing he needed to get to the bottom. His sight was adjusting, and he could see the dim landscape.

  And there ahead was the looming shape of a ship. It looked as if it had settled on the seafloor to rest for a while, before resuming its journey. Its prow still angled boldly forward, and its deck was canted at a stylish angle. Nothing fearsome there.

  Then he saw the figure pacing the deck. Round white bones with the flesh all gone. A walking skeleton. So that was the spook!

  “Ahoy!” Picka called. He knew the sound carried well through the water.

  The figure paused, then turned. “Hoy!” he replied.

  Picka came to the ship and scrambled up onto the deck. “I am Picka Bone.”

  “I am Skully Knucklehead.”

  They shook bone hands. “I am looking for Caprice Castle.”

  “Never heard of it. This is Shadow Shipwreck.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “That’s a long story.”

  “Tell me anyway, and I’ll tell you mine.”

  “I was working the night shift of the coast of Xanth, acting in bad dreams for errant sailors. They spend a lot of time sailing and the night mares can have trouble catching them for their dreams, so I had to be handy in case a dream needed shoring up. I’ve been to all the ports: C for bringing in fish and marine life; D where ships can only leave; M where things get shipped in; X where they are shipped out; Car, where vehicles are stored; Pass, where workers pass the time of day; Purr for cats; Trans for shipping fat; and so on. One ship was caught in a storm, and the mare lost her footing and lost part of a dream, so I had to get out there on an emergency basis and remake it on-site, as it were. But then the ship sank, and I was caught in it and ripped right out of the gourd realm. The sailors died, of course. The mare escaped, but I was stuck here. I couldn’t swim to the surface, and the lake bed seems endless. So rather than get lost worse, I waited here, figuring they would miss me and come for me, and take me back to the gourd realm. You must be my rescuer.”