The Deavys

by Alan Dean Foster

  The mounts were goliaths of their kind, but there was nothing equine about their features. They were true giants. Naked of body and blunt of face, they came pounding heavily down the bridle path on all fours, chomping on metal bits forged to fit mouths not equine, but human. Their hands and feet were oversize and callused from running, and they galloped with a ferocious dullness in their eyes that shouted their lack of intelligence.

  This was in direct and incontestable contrast to those astride the saddles that straddled the broad human backs. Hoofs jammed into stirrups, eyes blazing, long snouts exhaling streaks of condensation in the chill air, the five riders held their respective seats despite the heavy, damascened, silver-hued armor they wore. They carried swords and lances, and their manes and tails snapped in the wind.

  “Madoon!” Pithfwid yelled back as he led his humans onward. “Among their kind, the horses ride the people instead of the other way around!”

  This bizarre recognition inspired a number of questions in Simwan, but when a spear plunged into the earth off to his left and entirely too close, he decided to save them for later. Right now he needed all the air his lungs could gather just for running.

  Then Rose stumbled.

  She didn’t make a sound, though she went down hard. Her sisters and brother were at her side in an instant, helping her up. Gravel and dirt fell from her recently cleansed clothes as she struggled to resume running. But despite her best efforts, the most she could manage was a fast limp. Simwan didn’t think anything was broken, but a sprain would be almost as incapacitating. It didn’t appear serious, but it did not have to be. It did not have to stop them, all it had to do was slow them down.

  The intersection where they had stepped off the paved walkway and onto the bridle path loomed just ahead. If not for Rose’s injury, they would already be there. Helping his sister along, Simwan felt as if he could feel the fetid, sour breath of one of the Madoon’s mounts warming the back of his neck. He expected to be cut by a sword or pierced by a lance at any minute. He couldn’t afford the time to look back. Grimacing in pain, Rose limped along as best she could between him and N/Ice. He heard Pithfwid yowl: a mixture of alarm and defiance.

  The screams of the mounted Madoon split the mist-filled air. To Simwan, they sounded like shouts of anger and frustration, not triumph. Despite struggling with the burden that was his sister, he risked a look back.

  Amber had halted directly in front of the onrushing giants and their mutant equine riders. She could have cast a spell, if she’d had enough time. She might have laid down a challenge to their pursuers, if she’d known what language to use. She could even have tried to delay them by fighting (all the Deavy children had received schooling in the martial as well as the magical arts), if only she’d had access to a weapon. But she had neither enough time, nor the right words, nor anything more lethal than a nail file in her possession. Yet despite every deficiency, and Simwan’s initial fear that she would be trampled underfoot by the onrushing giants, she had somehow managed to stop them in their tracks.

  That was why the Madoon were screaming at their suddenly contrary, balking mounts. These had abruptly come to a standstill. Instead of continuing the pursuit to finish off their intended prey, they were picking and grabbing at the ground. Sharp whips and harsh words had no effect on the saddled giants. Ignoring their Madoon masters, two of them had started fighting with each other. Encompassing Madoon and mounts alike, general confusion now held sway.

  Supporting Rose between them, an exhausted Simwan and N/Ice reached the intersection and turned off back onto the paved walkway that marked the southern border of the Reservoir. Pithfwid was already there. By the time one of the Madoon finally managed to regain control of its mount and resume the chase, Amber had succeeded in rejoining her siblings.

  “Keep running!” Simwan yelled as he started to lift Rose from where she had taken a seat on a park bench, not even bothering to dry it first this time.

  Pithfwid forestalled him. “It’s all right, Simwan. Just as the bridle path is intended for the use of riders and mounts, so pedestrian walkways are forbidden to them.” Tail bottled, ears flared forward, the Deavy cat defiantly held his ground.

  Instinctively, Simwan positioned himself between his injured sister and the charging Madoon. Red eyes opened wide, nostrils flaring, it glared down at him as the giant it was riding turned sharply leftward—and reared up on its legs, pawing at the air with both heavy, unshod hands. As it dropped back down, the Madoon thrust its sword threateningly in Simwan’s direction—but that was the extent of its approach. Pithfwid was right: The Madoon and their mounts were restricted to the use of the bridle path, and could not leave it. With a furious whinny of rage, the horse-faced rider yanked on the reins it held in its other hoof and whirled around, galloping back to rejoin its equally frustrated companions.

  Breathing hard, Simwan wiped sweat and rain from his face as he watched the quintet of bloodthirsty Madoon retreat northward, back the way they had come, until the monstrous and unnatural shapes of both human mounts and their equine riders had once more been swallowed up by fog and drizzle. Turning, he found Amber.

  “How did you get them to stop? What did you use?” He shook his head in undisguised admiration. “I never saw anyone in the family, not even Grandpa Morregon Deavy, work an enchantment so fast.”

  “That’s because it wasn’t an enchantment.” Amber looked slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t have time to speak one even if I could’ve come up with something appropriate. I just happened to have something in my purse that I thought might work, so I threw it at them.”

  Pithfwid frowned. “‘Threw it at them’? What in the name of all the Ten Lives did you have in your purse that was capable of halting a posse of Madoon in its tracks?”

  Amber essayed a shy smile. “Candy. Lemon drops, and cherry drops, and lime and grape. I had just enough time to whisper a few words, a quick and simple enhancing spell. I thought if the candy colors were flashy enough, they might distract the Madoon for a moment or two. But what happened was that the giants saw them, and they went right for the candy. Just like horses after sugar cubes.” She turned thoughtful. “Have to remember that the next time I’m troubled by pesky giants. Who knows? Maybe it would work on trolls, too.”

  N/Ice came toward her sister. Anticipating that one Deavy sibling was about to deliver a compliment to another who had just saved all their lives, it was evident that Simwan had momentarily put aside what he knew of his little sisters. N/Ice’s face as she spoke was flushed, and not from the cold.

  “You had lemon drops and you didn’t share them with us?”

  Amber was immediately both defensive and defiant. “Hey, I was gonna! I was just waiting for the right time, that’s all.”

  “Oh yeah, sure you were,” N/Ice shot back, looking like she wanted to take a poke at her sister. “Like, maybe never.”

  “Knock it off, you two!” Simwan turned back to his one sister who was not participating in the spat. Seeing where their brother’s attention was directed, Amber and N/Ice set aside their argument as speedily as it had flared and moved to help attend to the third member of the coubet. Rose had rolled up the left leg of her jeans. Drawing near, N/Ice and Amber bent to examine and gently feel all around the edge of the very visible bruise on the bare, pale flesh.

  “It’s not broken,” N/Ice observed, confirming Simwan’s hasty original diagnosis.

  “Wrong time for a sprain,” Amber decided.

  Rose was fighting back tears as she leaned forward to inspect the injury. “Well, all I know is that it hurts like crazy.”

  “We can do something about that.” Digging into her purse, N/Ice brought forth several small containers. Selecting one, she put the rest back and opened the cap on the tube she had chosen. Squeezing it from its base, she forced about two inches of what appeared to be glowing gingery dust out onto her sister’s injured leg. While she recapp
ed the tube and tucked it back into her purse, Amber began tenderly rubbing the dust into the bruise. She had to work fast because a breeze threatened to catch the dust and swirl it into the air where it would disperse. Simwan eyed N/Ice questioningly.

  “Oxide of orangeium,” she informed him. “I remember Mom using it on me when I fell off my bike and banged up my right ankle.”

  Amber looked up at her sister. “You wouldn’t have banged it up so bad if you hadn’t been riding ten feet off the ground.”

  N/Ice made a face. “Hey, that’s where the bike wanted to go. You know how ornery bikes can get if you just restrict them to riding on the street. Once in a while you have to give them their headlight.”

  Rose sat back and closed her eyes. “It feels better already.”

  N/Ice nodded knowingly. “That’s one reason I chose this. I remember that it works real fast. Mom said it’s good for contusions, deep cuts, bloody noses, scrapes, bee stings, and that it’s really good on Oreos. Makes them taste just like Dreamsicles.”

  “Can you stand?” Simwan was watching his sister closely. If she couldn’t travel at a reasonable pace, they would have to give up the quest—at least for the day—and go back to Uncle Herkimer’s. They could try again when Rose’s leg was better, but by then the Crub might have found out how close they had come to tracking him down. It could take appropriate steps to see that the Deavy brood had a much harder time of it next time they tried to cross the park. That is, Simwan thought, if they were even allowed a second chance.

  And there were other factors to take into account. Uncle Herkimer might not be so willing to let them out on their own if he felt they were going to be gone long into the night. Or the New York weather might take a turn for the worse.

  No, their best chance, their best opportunity to succeed in their quest, was to keep going, to press on. If they could. He dreaded having to choose between his sister’s health and that of their mother.

  Fortunately, N/Ice had chosen her medication well. With the oxide of orangeium working magically on the bruise, Rose was soon not only able to stand but insisted she could run again if circumstances demanded it. Her leg was sure to be sore for a while, but she was adamant that she could manage.

  “I can even run away from those awful Madoon again if I have to,” she insisted stubbornly.

  “You won’t have to do that.” Simwan was staring in the direction of the bridle path. “Because we’re not going to risk running into them again.” Turning to his right, he let his gaze rove out across the steadily darkening expanse of the Reservoir. “We’ll find another way north.”

  Amber protested immediately. “I told you, brother—I’m not going swimming. Not in this weather.” Her sisters were adamant in agreement.

  “There are ways of crossing open water that do not require individual immersion.” Having hopped up onto the concrete wall that held back the Reservoir, black- and azure-striped tail switching emphatically back and forth, Pithfwid stood staring in the same direction as Simwan, the cat’s bright blue ears erect and alert.

  N/Ice joined him, resting both palms on the concrete and leaning forward as she stared out across the basin. “It’s smaller than an ocean but bigger than a pond. A boat is what we need.”

  “We could try the path on the east side of the park,” Rose suggested.

  Pithfwid shook his head. “There’s bridle path to be crossed there as well. Too dangerous now that the Madoon know we are here. If they want to track us down, they’ll be looking for us to try something like that.” The cat turned bright indigo eyes on Simwan. “I won’t say that we’re well and truly trapped, but our options have definitely narrowed. I think at this point we can do one of two things: We can go forward, or we can go back.”

  Silence ensued, broken only by the lonely, far distant honk of a truck horn or the mournful wail of a city siren. At that moment, they might as well have been as far away from the bustle of Midtown Manhattan as a plateau in Qingzai. Simwan looked at his sisters. The coubet eyed him back.

  “We can’t,” Amber finally declared. “If we don’t bring the Truth home with us, Mom—Mom might not …” She couldn’t finish. She didn’t have to.

  “We’ve come too far and we’re too close to give up now,” N/Ice added resolutely.

  Rising from the bench, Rose gingerly put weight on her injured leg and smiled determinedly. “Remember what Gramma and Grandpa always told us. Deavys don’t run. Besides, if we keep on, maybe I’ll get the chance to kick some Madoon tail.”

  From his perch on the edge of the concrete barrier, Pithfwid looked expectantly up at Simwan. “Well, boy? What say you?”

  The girls were staring at him, waiting. “Like I have a choice,” he finally muttered. “Like living with these three, I’ve ever had a choice.” He turned his attention to Rose. “You’re sure now, about being able to walk okay, and run if you have to?”

  She nodded and, to emphasize her confidence, jumped. Not too high, but convincingly enough. “And I can kick with the other leg.”

  “Okay, then. What about Uncle Herkimer?” He cast a meaningful glance skyward. “It’s starting to get dark. Should we give him a call?”

  The coubet considered. “Better not to,” Amber decided. “He might ask us to come back to the apartment. Then we’d have to tell him we can’t, or lie about what we’re doing. If he doesn’t hear from us, we won’t put ourselves in that position. It’ll be all right. Uncle Herkimer knows we can take care of ourselves, even in a strange city. He knows that we’re Deavys.”

  “Even knowing that we’re Deavys, he still might start to worry a little if it starts to get really late,” Rose put in, “but by that time we should have recovered the Truth and be on our way back to the apartment.”

  “We’d better be,” N/Ice added grimly. “It’s cold and it’s wet and it’s dark.” She eyed the cloud-filled, mist-swept sky. “And it’s only going to get colder and wetter and darker.”

  “All the more reason we need to get to the Truth as fast as we can,” Amber observed quite sensibly. She started pacing the edge of the Reservoir, searching the water, the paved walkway, and the grass-covered ground they had recently traversed. “There has to be a way to cross.”

  It took them less than five minutes to find a boat. It was a nice boat. A straightforward one, with a single sail and boom, virtually no rigging, and a rudder to steer with. Perfect for their purposes, with only one drawback.

  It was only a foot long.

  Simwan scanned their immediate surroundings. Though the fog and mist had lifted slightly, his range of vision was correspondingly limited by the increasing darkness. There was no one to be seen: not on the pathway, not in the direction of the distant, dark hulk that was the art museum, not on the Great Lawn behind them. The child who had presumably forgotten the toy craft and left it behind after a visit to the park was probably on his or her way home, if not already there. They might be lamenting the loss, or like so many Ord children, indifferent to it, knowing that if they moaned and wailed about it loudly and often enough, their despairing parents would simply buy them another.

  It was, most certainly, the only boat in sight. Rapidly running short of both daylight and time, the Deavys mulled it over long and hard.

  “We could shrink ourselves to fit,” Rose suggested, none too usefully.

  “What, and have some oversize goldfish slurp us up for supper?” Amber argued.

  “There isn’t enough space on it to hold even one of us.” N/Ice was gazing intently at the little wooden craft as it bobbed up and down against the interior of the Reservoir wall.

  “‘One of us’? There isn’t enough room on it to hold one of my shoes,” a disappointed Simwan pointed out. He glanced at Pithfwid.

  “I see what you’re thinking,” the cat responded. “You can just forget it. While I might be able to sail that toy across the Reservoir, and while I could conce
ivably go after the Truth myself, that would mean leaving you four behind. I promised your parents I’d keep an eye on you. So you can skip the line of thought you’re presently tripping down. Through success or failure, we’re staying together.” Raising one paw, he gave it a dainty lick. “I don’t trust you kittens not to get into trouble if I’m not around to look after you.”

  By now all three girls were eyeing the model sailboat attentively. “Well,” Rose finally declared, “if we’re not going to make ourselves smaller, I suppose we have to try and make the boat bigger. Big enough to hold all of us.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a perfect job.” N/Ice was encouraging. “We’re only going to sail it through part of Central Park, to the edge of North Meadow. It’s not like we’re sailing to Byzantium.”

  “Ephesus,” Amber put in. “I’d rather be going to Ephesus.”

  “North Meadow.” Simwan knew how easily his sisters could be distracted. “We’re going to North Meadow. Ephesus can wait. What do you think? Can you guys do it?”

  Amber was gazing fixedly at the toy vessel. “We don’t need to conjure something new. We just need to make this one bigger.”

  “And maybe a little nicer,” N/Ice added. “It’s awfully plain.”

  Simwan saw the warning signs, heard the hints, but by the time he thought it might be appropriate to say something about them, the coubet had already bent to work.

  As the sister possessed of the steadiest grip, Rose leaned over the concrete wall and held the toy as motionless as she could, gripping it by the stern while pointing its miniature bow out into the water and simultaneously uttering unfamiliar provisos. Amber stood on her left, working her fingers along with her words as she vigorously thrust both in the boat’s direction. On Rose’s right, N/Ice was bending forward and waving her hands back and forth over the sides of the little craft, murmuring softly under her breath. Simwan stood back, out of the way, watching and wary lest something go wrong.