Currant Events (31 page)

 “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 wonderful 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 decolletage. “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.”

 “Noway!”

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

 “But 7 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.”

 Clio looked wildly around. The roiling
clouds seemed to stop at an invisible barrier just clear of the ship. There was
a globe of calmness that surrounded them; beyond it the storm vented its full
fury without effect. “What did you do?”

 “I conjured reverse wood to coat
the hull. It reverses the storm where it touches, so it can't affect the
ship.”

 “But that should affect only the
water. What of the air?”