Slowly her head lifted. “Squawk.”
“She understands and accepts,” Grundy Golem translated. “She will do her best.”
“So let it be,” the Judge said, banging his gavel on the desk. The sound was so sharp and loud that it made the entire castle reverberate. Then he turned to face the Jury and audience. “The supreme importance of this mission made it necessary to verify the constancy of the one selected to perform it. A pretext was established for this purpose. I have five rhetorical queries and a statement to issue.”
He paused a moment. It was surely for effect, because the Demon Professor never had any hesitancy about anything. “Here is the statement: No other desire or obligation in all Xanth will take precedence over this mission.”
His baleful near eye fixed on the Jury Box. “You, Che Centaur, will in due course be summoned to tutor this chick in all the things needful for it to know and understand. It is for this purpose you came into existence: winged so as to be able to fly with it, a centaur so as to command sufficient intellect for it. You will for a time share its destiny. Do you understand and accept this mission?”
Che Centaur’s mouth had fallen open, as had those of the other Jurors. They were beginning to realize that the Verdict they had just rendered had more significance than they had thought. “I—I do,” Che said. His word was, of course, inviolate, because he was a centaur. Yet he was dazed; he had just learned the purpose in his life.
The Judge focused on Grundy. “The chick and roc will on occasion need to communicate with other creatures. You, Grundy Golem, will provide your service as translator as required. Do you understand and accept?”
For a moment even the big-mouthed golem was flustered. “Yeah, sure,” he agreed, looking quite flattered.
Grossclout’s terrible gaze swung toward the audience, which collectively blanched. It fixed on the Good Magician. “And toward the successful completion of that mission, your resources will be made available to Che Centaur and Roxanne Roc at need, without impediment. Do you understand and accept, Magician Humfrey?”
“Of course,” Humfrey said, seeming unsurprised. Metria realized that there had been considerably more purpose in the Service he had required of her than she or anyone had guessed.
The Judge’s gaze swung toward the chamber where the Simurgh perched. “And yours. Do you accept, Simurgh?”
YES. There was no surprise there, either. It was, after all, her chick.
The gaze moved to another creature Metria hadn’t noticed before, perhaps because it became visible only now. It was a great horse, black as the midnight sky, with the small bright lights of the stars shining from it. It was the Night Stallion, the lord of the realm of dreams! “And yours. Do you accept, Trojan?”
I do. The Horse of a Different Color faded out.
Now that gaze swung back to the Defendant, whose beak lifted to face him. “To facilitate the further obligation you have acquired, Roxanne Roc, your power of flight is hereby restored and magnified beyond that of any of your kind. You are granted the freedom to travel anywhere in Xanth in the performance of your mission, without impediment. No creature or thing will hinder you in any manner, on pain of being banished to the realm of dreams and subject to the extreme ill will of the Night Stallion and his night mares.” There was a groaning murmur through the hall; there could be no worse fate than to be locked into perpetual bad dreams. “You will take any step you deem appropriate to secure the safety and welfare of your charge, and will preempt the services of any creature or thing of Xanth toward that end, as necessary. For the chick about to hatch—” Grossclout glanced at his left wrist. “—in three quarters of a moment is destined to be the successor of the Simurgh, when she retires. It must have the best upbringing and education available, and the most constant guardian and governess, in fair times or adversity. This court is satisfied that you are qualified for that duty.”
There was a murmur of awe through the audience and Jury. Metria realized that Roxanne Roc had just been promoted to Xanth’s most powerful position, because of the importance of her job. Her sentence was not a punishment, but a reward for her extremely loyal service. None of the members of the Jury had suspected!
“And because this mission may indeed require some additional centuries, the enchantment that has preserved your youth will continue for the duration. You will not age until your job is finished.” Judge Grossclout’s gaze lifted. “Now it is time.”
The gavel banged again, shaking the castle. There was a loud crack, as if something extremely hard had sundered. Roxanne squawked and jumped off the nest.
“Oh!” Grundy translated.
The egg was cracking open. It fell into two segments. As it did there was the whirring of wings, and a stork flew in, bearing a bundle. It landed on the nest Roxanne had just vacated, set down its bundle, and removed from it—a fluffy towel. It set this towel in the open egg and used it to dry off something inside. Then it released the towel.
Metria watched in bemusement. If the stork brought birds, what was the point of eggs? And how could the chick have been inside the egg, to overhear the bad word? Then she realized that this was probably a courtesy call, to attend to the hatching and make sure all was well. For of course, this was not just a routine hatching.
From the towel stepped The Chick. It scintillated with twice the colors of the rainbow, sparkling like a collection of brilliant faceted gems. It was, taken as a whole, the most beautiful and precious chick anyone had ever seen.
It blinked, and caught sight of Roxanne. “Cheep!” it exclaimed.
“Nanny!” Grundy translated.
The chick stepped toward Roxanne, who quickly returned to the stone nest and spread a wing protectively over it. It was obvious that the two would get along.
The partition returned, closing off the scene. “Now there is other minor business,” Grossclout said. “Is the wedding party ready?”
Magician Trent stood. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Proceed.”
The Sorceress Iris stood, turning to focus on the chamber. It became a festively decorated room, with the audience appropriately garbed. There was even a stork in attendance, for the one who had come to dry off the chick had remained for the other ceremony. This was unusual, but of course, everything about this occasion was extraordinary.
Trent walked to the side, and brought back the Demon Vore. “Stand here,” he said. Then he walked to the other side, and brought back Magician Grey Murphy. “Stand here.”
“But I’m not—” Grey protested.
“Yes you are.”
There was a crash somewhere outside. Everyone jumped, and Ida’s moon looked alarmed. “What was that?” Grey asked.
“The sun and the moon just collided,” Che Centaur said, and Gwenny Goblin tittered. “Fortunately no harm was done.”
Metria remembered how they had joked that this was what Grey and Ivy were waiting for, before they married. Now their last excuse for delay was gone.
Then the music started. Metria looked toward its source, and was surprised to see Maestro No One sitting in a pit marked ORCHESTRA, conjuring a series of musical instruments to play the theme. Apparently he had been able to leave the gourd for this occasion, perhaps because the Night Stallion himself was attending.
Now a great organ manifested, and played with enormous authority. It was the wedding march.
Two young women appeared at the back, in twin wedding dresses. Princess Nada Naga and Princess Ivy Human. They had been friends since both were fourteen. Now they were getting married together. Metria recognized the wedding dress first used by Electra, now restitched to fit Nada, making her magically beautiful, though of all the women in Xanth, she needed it least. Ivy wore a pale green dress her mother must have made, which did much the same for her. The two began their long walk down the aisle toward the two handsome males waiting at the front. Nada was accompanied by King Nabob Naga, and Ivy by King Dor Human: Naturally their two fathers were participating, after waiting so
long for this occasion.
Metria’s eyes blurred. Now that she was married herself, and had half a soul, she cried at weddings, and this was a double wedding, so she cried twice as hard. Her tears washed out most of the details, but it did seem to be a nice, if blurry, event. Before she knew it, it was done, and the happy couples were slicing the monstrous cake someone had made. Individual groups were forming, as folk with common interests chatted. Magician Trent was talking with Che, Cynthia, and Chena Centaur, probably about the prospect of transforming some regular folk to winged centaur form. They would need to search for suitable volunteers, and surely some normal centaurs would be interested. Rapunzel was talking with the Bones family; no telling what mutual concern such folk had. Metria found herself sitting alone amidst a pile of wet hankies.
She was dimly aware of a dialogue between Dug and Kim as they settled nearby to eat their wedding cake. “I dread going back to Mundania, after this,” he said. “I wish I could stay and play the game again. Grossclout let slip that the next winner’s prize is the talent of creating things. That would go nicely with your talent of erasure.”
Kim ruffled his hair. “Maybe next time, Dug. The trial was more important, and the wedding was divine. At least we get to keep our summons tokens as souvenirs, though I guess no one would believe us if we ever told the truth about them. And I shouldn’t tell you this, after the way you stole my soul—”
“Well, you got back at me!” he retorted. “You pricked me into burst nothingness.”
“You deserved it. Anyway, the Simurgh told me that instead of being docked for skipping classes, we’ll both get A’s. It seems that Com Pewter has a connection to the college database for grades. It’s sort of our reward for Jury duty.”
“That’s great! I can’t think of much of anything I want more than an easy A.”
“What, not anything?”
He looked at her. “Well—”
“Nuh-uh! That stork is entirely too close for comfort.” Bubbles perked up, glancing at the stork, which was standing by a wall as if asleep. It was a curious business, having a stork remain, Metria thought; maybe it was on call in case there was an emergency with the chick.
Dug sighed. “You know, you’d look good with a moon like Ida’s. Then maybe I’d know by its phases whether you—”
Kim stomped on his toe, but not hard. “You may kiss me, if you promise not to suck out my soul again.”
“Done.”
Metria realized that she hadn’t seen her husband in several hours. She had more than kisses in store for him. Then she remembered something else. She stood, shedding hankies, and started to cross the hall.
“Metria.”
She jumped. It was Grossclout. “Yes, Your Honor?”
“Forget that. My duty is done. Where are you going?”
“To the Simurgh, to return the extra summons token.”
“Is your skull still entirely filled with mush? The Simurgh doesn’t want it back.”
“But then what—?”
“What do you think, Demoness? You have completed your assignment, and by enabling the trial to proceed and a proper Verdict to be achieved, you have spared Xanth much mischief. The Simurgh intended you to have your reward when that was done. Now you must serve that last summons and go home to your husband.”
“But who is there to serve it on? It’s blank.”
“Is it?” His tone said mush. “Whose attention or attendance have you most wished to compel? You know that creature will not wait here forever.”
She brought out the last token and looked at it. Now it said THE STORK. The other side said DELIVERIES.
‘Well, now,’ Mentia remarked, while Woe Betide stared in childish awe.
“Oh!” Metria exclaimed, a brilliant bulb flashing. Then, with determination and excitement, she marched in the direction of the long-legged bird.
The Demon Grossclout almost smiled. Fortunately he was able to stifle the miscreant expression.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Xanth is a funny place, and it has some funny origins. It has grown gradually more adult over the nineteen years of its existence, as befits its age, while never losing its punniness or naughtiness. But on occasion there is a bit of seriousness in its hidden background. Last time it was the death of Lester del Rey, my former editor at Del Rey Books, whose efforts did so much to put Xanth on the fantasy map. This time it was several events in the lives of readers, including a death. I am sensitive to death, being depressive, as so many humorists are.
I attended a convention in Panhandle Florida—yes, near the entrance to Xanth—just as I started writing this novel. The convention was called HurriCon—most fan conventions in this genre find clever ways to fit the word “Con” in—and it was a normal example of its kind, which is to say, it would be weird to any outsider. In the bustle of this and that, a woman approached me, with her little girl. She explained how they had been planning to attend as a family, but two weeks before the Con, her husband was killed by a drunk driver. That was all, but it was enough. Readers of this series will know that I have certain sympathies and certain peeves, and drunken driving scores on one of each. In too much of America a bottle and a car represent a license to maim or kill with virtual impunity. Jenny Elf came to Xanth when twelve-year-old Jenny was struck, put into a months-long coma, and left almost completely paralyzed by a drunk driver. That story is told in the Author’s Note for Isle of View, and in the book Letters to Jenny. She is now seventeen as I write this novel, and doing well enough, considering her continuing paralysis, and I still write to her every week. I completed the non-Xanth fantasy novel of Robert Kornwise, Through the Ice, after he was killed at age sixteen by another reckless driver who had been drinking. But there are other cases that don’t involve alcohol. Janet Hines was taken by a long-term, wasting illness that first paralyzed and blinded her. Richard C. White died in a suspicious accident. They were fans of Xanth, and they came to Xanth when they left Mundania. And so Richard (Billy Jack) Siler came to join them, in Chapter 4.
But it isn’t all negative. When I got home from the convention there was a pile of thirty-five fan letters to answer, and one was from Mariah Spencer, age twelve. On Jamboree 24, 1994, Mariah was about to be run down by a drunk driver. But her sister, Andrea Spencer, age fourteen, saw him coming and pushed Mariah mostly out of the way. But Andrea got hit herself, and suffered a hematoma, a blood clot on the brain. She had brain surgery, and they had to shave her head. She did okay, but maybe you know how important hair is to a girl; it wasn’t a fun time. So this time someone who isn’t a fan of Xanth gets mentioned—because she saved a fan of Xanth. The incident appears in Chapter 9, where Metria couldn’t remain as a witness, so didn’t learn the details, and Mariah didn’t see Metria passing by.
And sometimes it gets downright nice. I heard from Samantha Pendery right after that Con too. She had had a rough year, with a nasty divorce in which she lost her dog and her son via “parental kidnapping.” But the child proved to be more than his father could handle, so early one OctOgre morning, son and several months’ worth of dirty clothes were dumped on her doorstep. Life is like this, in drear Mundania, and of course, men don’t know that clothes have to be cleaned every so often. So it was off to the Laundromat. Since this promised to be an all-day adventure, she suggested that her son bring a book. He chose Isle of View. That’s the one that starts with Chex Centaur’s darling son Che being lost, appropriately. No, I can’t say for sure that it was Samantha’s collection of Xanth novels that brought her son back, though it’s tempting. The magic dust between the pages can have unpredictable effect, as we shall see. Then, in the throes of handling all that laundry, he forgot the book, and it was left behind. He rode his bicycle to retrieve it, but it was gone. Disaster! But remember about that magic dust. Samantha had had the sense to write her name and phone number inside the cover of the book, just in case, because of course, a Xanth novel is too valuable to risk losing. So about a week later a man called: He had found her b
ook, and would have called earlier, but he had opened it and gotten instantly addicted by that magic dust, and was a very slow reader. He just had to finish it before returning it. He asked whether there were any other books like it. Well… Since this was obviously a man of taste, Samantha agreed to meet him at the Laundromat. Laundry led to coffee, coffee led to dinner, dinner led to sharing Thanksgiving, and to sharing Hanukkah. There was more, but I trust the general nature of the progression is clear. She wrote to tell me that they would be getting married. All because of the magic dust, and maybe because someone said the title Isle of View aloud. One does have to be careful, around Xanth.
Apart from special cases like those described here, I don’t use real people in Xanth. But sometimes associations develop, as with the Good Magician and Lester del Rey, or the Gorgon and Judy-Lynn del Rey; I don’t choose them; they choose themselves. One long-term association was between the Princess Ivy and my daughter Penny. Ivy, over the years and novels, reflected the stages of Penny’s growing up. But such associations have their liabilities, because things may happen in one realm that aren’t reflected in the other. Ivy got betrothed and was ready to marry—but Penny didn’t marry. Thus poor Ivy was caught in a social limbo. So finally I had to divorce Ivy from Penny, so that Ivy could get on with her life. The instant I did that, Ivy married Grey, and of course, her friend Nada Naga got married too. Then Penny got married. Um, no, I’m not sure where that leaves her twin Princess Ida, who argued so eloquently for Roxanne Roc’s acquittal but couldn’t quite believe that the big bird was technically innocent. Ida came onto the scene when Penny discovered a friend exactly her age, and acquired a moon when the asteroid Ida was discovered to have a tiny moon—in the middle of the writing of this novel. Maybe there is some magic in Mundania.
Roc and a Hard Place Page 33
