Roc And A Hard Place (32 page)

“Proceed to the summations,” Judge Grossclout said, Now Grey Murphy took the floor and addressed the Jury.

“You have just one thing to decide,” he said grimly.  “Did Roxanne Roc violate the Adult Conspiracy?  Her personality does not matter; the Prosecution concedes that she is a fine bird.  Her intent does not matter; the Prosecution concedes that her violation was inadvertent.  Only one thing matters:

Did she do it?  The evidence shows that she did.  You have no choice but to find her guilty as charged.” He sat down again.

Ida approached the Jury.  “It is not that simple,” she said.

“Intention does matter.  Perhaps it can't entirely excuse the infraction, but it can mitigate it.  You must weight the balance of what Roxanne Roc did.  Suppose she had not been there.

What would have been the fate of the egg?  Would it have been better off without her?  This is the context in which you must judge her.”

She paused, marshaling her arguments, and her moon got focused.  “Imagine that you were passing innocently by a region you didn't know was forbidden, and suddenly found yourself grounded, as she was, and punished by being required to sit on an egg for centuries.  Wouldn't you feel a trifle rebellious?” Now the power of her sorcery was coming into play.  Her talent was the Idea, and what she believed came to be true, provided that no one who knew her talent originated the idea.  Could there be some members of the Jury who didn't know her talent?  Metria doubted it, but wasn't sure.

“Suppose you nevertheless served that penance honorably, though it meant almost complete isolation from your kind, and from all others, except for unwarranted intruders?  So that your only contacts with others were hostile ones, though you yourself were naturally friendly?” Metria saw Jenny Elf nodding, and Graeboe Giant-Harpy, and Sherlock Black.  An impression was being made.

“Then suppose that your chance came to escape, because the enchantment that bound you was gone, in the Time of No Magic?  Would you have done it?” Stanley Steamer nodded, and Marrow Bones.  “But Roxanne Roc did not.  She remained true to her mission, though in great pain and peril.

She went to extraordinary lengths to preserve the egg, and succeeded when many another creature would not have.”

Kim Mundane nodded, and Gayle Goyle.

“Then suppose you made a trifling inadvertent error, merely exclaiming in frustration when you realized that you were unable to explain to an accidental intruder what the situation was.  Would you ever have suspected that a chick who had been silent in the egg for more than five centuries was listening?  That it would understand?” This time only three did not nod:  Com-Pewter, whose screen couldn't nod anyway, Stanley Steamer, and Che Centaur, who as a centaur was probably smarter than all the rest of them.

“And suppose that for that inconsequential infraction you were hauled up on a charge of Violation of the Adult Conspiracy?  That despite all your loyalty beyond the call of duty, you faced punishment for.  breaking a rule that many feel is a pointless infringement on the rights of children?” Now Com-Pewter's screen showed a pattern of dots that formed into an exclamation point:  his way of agreeing.  And Che Centaur, the youngest Juror, nodded.  So did Cynthia and, Chena Centaur, in the Alternate Juror section.

And so did Ida.  “You have to know, when you think about it, that sometimes the law is a donkey.  Sometimes it is not the person, but the law, that needs correction.  When extreme honor and loyalty are punished on a technicality instead of being rewarded, you have to know that something is wrong.”

Che Centaur nodded again, and so did several others.  So did most of the audience.

Now there were tears in Princess Ida's eyes, and her moon clouded over.  “Roxanne Roc gave the best years of her life doing the very best she could in a sometimes extremely difficult situation.  She made one tiny mistake.  Who among us all would have done better?  Who among us all has not made at least as bad a mistake at some point in our lives?  How can anyone condemn her for being, in the end, not quite perfect?  That egg could not have had a finer guardian, other than the Simurgh herself!  How are we to reward this devoted servant of that egg, who did so much to preserve it, and who would never have had the chance to commit the infraction had she failed to safeguard that egg so well?” The tears were reflected in Kim's eyes, and Jenny's, and Gayle's, and Gloha's, and the Alternate Jurors', and the others looked uneasy.

“If this is the reward of virtue, what hope is there for any of the rest of us?  You must decide whether you can in conscience convict Roxanne Roc in a case that shames the standards of Xanth.  You must decide what is right.  Otherwise what point is there in even being here?”

Ida turned away, and her moon hid behind her head as if disgusted with the proceedings.  There was silence in the court.  Metria felt the way she was sure most of the others did:  that the trial was, in the end, ludicrous.

The Judge focused both grim eyes on the Jury.  “It is not your business to determine the fairness of the law, only whether it has been violated.  The evidence and arguments have been put before you.  I want you to understand that I expect a suitable decision in this matter.  I do not expect to have a hung Jury.  However, if that turns out to be the case, I will deal with it as needs be.  Behold.” He gestured, and one of Iris' illusions appeared behind him.  It was an economy-sized gallows, with twelve hangman's nooses turning slowly, slowly in the wind.  “I trust I make myself sufficiently clear.”

The Jury made a collective gulp and nodded.  There would be no hung Jury.

Judge Grossclout banged his gavel.  “The Jury will be sequestered for deliberations.  This court is in recess.”

The Jury and Alternates went to a private room, and a murmur of relaxation rippled across the audience.  The trial was almost done.

Metria hoped that the Jury would come to the right decision.  But she had a soul-sinking feeling that there was no certainty of that.

Mela and Nada were back in their pools, splashing each other and screaming and bouncing as each was struck by drops of salt or fresh water, and assorted males were watching just as if this were the most interesting show in Xanth.  One would never have known from watching them that both were mature Princesses, or that one had a daughter almost as well endowed as she was.  Cute Steven Steamer was being adored by any spare ladies in the vicinity; when Ida picked him up he snapped at her moon, but the moon was elusive.  The little skeletons were playing tag around the chairs in the courtroom.  Others were feasting on the refreshments provided, including a considerable puddle of boot rear left over from somewhere.

Metria went to talk with Roxanne Roc, who remained at the stone nest.  “They can't convict you,” she said.  “The whole thing is facetious.”

“Squawk?”

“Ridiculous, droll, farcical, funny, absurd—”

“Squawk?”

“Whatever.  It would be ludicrous to convict you after six centuries of such loyal service.”

But the big bird did not look reassured.

“Metria.” It was Bailiff Magician Trent.  “The Judge wants to talk with you, in his chamber.”

“Oh.  Thanks.” She popped off, leaving Trent to converse with Roxanne.

Grossclout's glower was unchanged.  “Metria, fetch Princess Ivy here.”

“But I can't carry a full person,” she protested.

“Then get Prince Dolph to do it.  In fact, you might as well bring Electra and the twins too.  And King Dor and Queen Irene.”

A bulb glimmered over her head.  “Ooo, Grossie, is this what I think—”

“Don't call me Grossie, you impertinent spook!” When he saw that she was sufficiently cowed, he continued:  “And don't say anything about any conjecture you may have.  Just tell them that I wish them to attend the conclusion of the trial.”

“Yes, Your Honor!” She popped off to Castle Roogna.

Soon enough the entire royal family was traveling in a basket carried by Prince Dor in roc form.  Metria popped back to the Judge's chambers.  “Mission accomplished.  Judge,” she reported.

“Good.  Now go with the feline.”

“The what?” But then she saw Jenny Elf's cat Sammy approaching her.  “Oh, he must be lost.  I'll take him back to Jenny.” She picked him up and walked to the Jury's chamber.

Jenny Elf was waiting.  The other Jurors were seated in a wide circle.  “Thank you, Metria,” she said.  “Now, please sit here and watch what we do.”

“But I only brought the cat back,” she protested.  “I'm not supposed to stay in here.”

“Yes you are,” Jenny said evenly.  “I asked Sammy to find the one most suitable for our purpose.  He found you.  It seems appropriate, since you are half-souled.  Judge Grossclout understands.”

“But what—?”

“We do not wish to be a hung Jury, but we have found ourselves unable to agree on a Verdict.  Therefore we have agreed to find another way to do it.  We have a show for you.”

“A what?”

“Demonstration, exhibition, array, display—”

“I know what a show is!  But why show me anything, when you're supposed to be deliberating?”

“We will explain that in due course.  It is important to us that you not know immediately.”

“I have no idea what this is about!”

“Excellent.  Now, please watch, and I will explain as it goes.”

“As what goes?”

“The play about the dream of souls.”

“The—?”

“Whatever.  Now, there once was a young woman called Donna, but you may think of her as anyone you wish to.”

At this point Kim Mundane stood and stepped into the center of the circle.  “She was wooed by a very handsome, sensitive, thoughtful, and likable young man.” Dug Mundane rose and joined Kim, taking her hand and kissing it.  Kim looked thrilled.

“He had a pair of lovely winged centaur steeds who took them wherever they wished to go,” Jenny continued, her voice assuming a humming quality as Che and Cynthia Centaur joined them.  “He took her to nice places.  They did many interesting things together, and Donna was falling deeply in love with him, and believed that he loved her too.  He just seemed to have more than the normal amount of soul.”

Metria watched, bemused.  What was the point of this irrelevant little skit?

Then a scene filled in around the two people and the steeds.  They were no longer in the castle chamber, but in an amusement center having fun.  She saw Dug tease Kim (Donna) by inviting her to step on a pretty rug.  When she did, the rug threw her off, so that she landed in a bed of feathers.  “That's a throw rug!” she exclaimed with happy indignation.

He laughed and stepped on the rug himself.  It promptly threw him after her.  They wound up in a tangled heap on the bed.  Kim squealed and kicked her feet as he tickled her, obviously enjoying herself.

A light illuminated them.  Kim quickly sat up straight and tried to straighten her hair, afraid that someone would think she was doing something private in public.  “What's that spotlight doing here?” she demanded, picking a feather off her skirt.

“That is not a spotlight, it's a searchlight,” Dug informed her.

“What's the difference?”

“The searchlight hasn't yet found what it's looking for.”

Kim grabbed a feather pillow and whammed him over the head with it.  They had another pleasant bout of tickling and squealing.  But Metria noticed something slightly odd:  Dug did not look when Kim's skirt flew up to show too much of her legs, and did not let his hands stray when he tickled her under her arms.  These were opportunities any normal young man would take automatically.  It was almost as if he had some purpose other than normal.

Then they entered the castle's dining hall.  Kim reached for a large, pretty, but oddly shaped fruit.  The top part of it was transparent, and there were moving bubbles inside.

“I wouldn't recommend eating that,” Dug said.

“Why not?  It looks good.”

“It's a perk-U-later fruit.  It tastes fine, but later it makes you wide-awake, so you can't sleep.”

“Oh.” She set the fruit down, and its perking subsided.

“I'm already beginning to get tired; I don't want my sleep disturbed.”

“Here,” he said, bringing out a small metal object.  He used his thumb to flick a little wheel on it as he touched it to her arm.

“What's that?” she asked.

“It's a lighter.  It will make you light, so you won't be tired.”

“Oh, yes, I feel much lighter now,” she agreed, and indeed her step became bouncy.

They walked into the courtyard.  There was an icy wall with odd formations on it.  Dug reached out and took one.

“What is that?” Kim asked.

“An I-cycle.  Shall we have a race?”

“How do we do that?”

“We each get on an I-cycle and pedal it as fast and far as we can before it melts.”

“Oh, this sounds like fun,” she said.  She took an I-cycle of her own.

They both got on and put their feet on the cold pedals.

The cycles enabled them to race through the courtyard and on out into the garden.  The loyal steeds ran after them, seeming strangely subdued, as if none of this fun meant anything to them.  Again Metria felt a tinge of concern.

There was a friendly barking sound as several of the flowering plants leaned toward them.  “Oh, how cute!” Kim said.

“What kind of flowers are those?  They remind me of dogs.”

“Those are cauliflowers,” Dug said.  “When they are young, they are collie pups.  They grow into dogwood trees.”

Actually they looked and sounded more like the two gargoyles.  But Metria didn't care to quibble with the dream animation.

Kim laughed, loving it.  But neither Dug nor the steeds did.  Dug seemed quite serious, when not actually playing up to Kim, and the centaurs seemed depressed.

They zoomed toward a lady with a musical instrument.

She looked just like Jenny Elf, and the instrument looked like Sammy Cat.  She began to sing, but then cut off.

“What's the matter?” Kim asked, concerned.

“I am Marcia the minstrel, I just realized it's too early for me to sing,” the singer replied.

“Oh—you must have the pre-minstrel syndrome,” Kim said sympathetically.

“Yes.  Soon I'll be singing the greens and blues, instead of the reds and oranges.”

They raced on through a series of arches.  But there was a man with a sledgehammer knocking them down.  He looked like Graeboe Giant-Harpy.  “Why are you making falling arches?” Kim asked him.

“I have to.  I'm an arch-enemy.”

“This is one weird place!” Kim exclaimed as they raced on into a sheep pasture.  But now their I-cycles were melting.

Soon both dissolved into puddles, on which the breeze raised very small waves.  In fact, they were microwaves.  That left Kim and Dug standing on their feet in the pasture.

“You won,” Dug said.  “You cycled farther than I did before yours melted.”

Kim looked around at the sheep, laughing.  “That depends on your point of ewe.” She didn't notice that neither Dug nor the centaurs laughed.

Then they saw the beautiful sunset.  “Oh, this has just been the most wonderful day of my young life!” Kim cried.  “I'm so excited I could burst!  I think my soul is ready to float away in pure happiness.”

“Yes,” Dug agreed.  He took her in his arms and kissed her deeply.  The centaurs flinched.

Something was wrong.  Kim seemed to shrink, to dwindle, to fall away as if struck.  “Oh, I am undone!” she cried.

“You have sucked out my soul!”

“Right,” Dug said, satisfied.  “And a fine soul it is, too.”

He walked away, whistling.  The centaurs followed, downcast.

“He what?” Metria asked.  She realized belatedly that she was in one of Jenny's dreams, and so were the others.

“He sucked out her soul,” Jenny said.  “He is a soul vampire.”

“That's awful!”

Jenny didn't answer.  Metria watched in horror as Kim staggered away, barely finding her way home.  She looked despondent, hopeless, empty, and wishing she could die.  But, Jenny explained, Kim discovered that scattered bits of her soul remained, clinging to her deepest loves, such as her pet green steamer dragon who came out looking for her and helped her struggle the rest of the way home.  These pieces came together to keep her alive, but they were only a shadow of what had originally been hers.

Kim was now mostly soulless, and with this emptiness came the baser emotions.  She had been happy; now she was depressed.  She had loved life; now she had the urge to kill.

She was bent on revenge.  She got a sharp knife and made a concealed sheath for it, so she could keep it with her all the time.

“No, no!” the inadequate fragments of her soul cried faintly.  “This is not right!”

Because those fragments were precious to her, Kim tried to heed them.  She went to a wise and gentle man to ask for help.  This man was Graeboe Giant-Harpy, no longer knocking down arches.  “My child,” he counseled her, “do not seek revenge.  Stay home and let yourself recover; your soul may regenerate in time from the fragments you still possess.”

It was good advice, but she lacked enough soul to take it seriously.  Vengeance was an easy concept, and forgiveness a difficult one, for a person with too little soul.  She had thought Dug loved her, and he had only been after her soul.

He had played her along, until her happiness of the occasion had lightened her soul and loosened its moorings, so that he could more readily steal it.  He had callously taken her most precious possession.  She had to make him pay for it.

In fact, she wanted to kill him.  Yet she was also afraid that he might return, realizing that he hadn't gotten quite all her soul.  She didn't know how she would react if she saw him again, because the main remaining fragment of her soul was what had loved him most deeply.  She was afraid that if she somehow found him, she wouldn't be able to destroy him, because of that little bit of love that remained in her, and that he would then finish her off, cleaning out the last bits and pieces of the remnants of her soul, leaving her entirely barren.  So she wasn't certain whether she should kill him, or if she could.  She battled the monsters in her mind, trying to come to a firm decision.

In the dream, those monsters appeared, resembling two gargoyles and a walking skeleton.  Kim fought them, but her knife had no effect on stone or bone, and she had to retreat.

She realized that she wasn't the only victim.  Dug must have done this to many other girls before her.  Ooo, that made her furious!  Maybe she could, after all, kill him.

Then Dug reappeared.  She knew what he wanted:  the rest of her soul, which had regenerated a little bit.  She knew what she should do:  stab him.  But he was so handsome, and so much fun to be with, and his two sad centaur steeds were so nice.  He brought her a Q-T pie, guaranteed to make her cute.

He promised to take her to see the bottle-nosed purpose, one of Xanth's most helpful marine creatures.  He said they could even go to Washing-town, where they washed folk utterly clean.  He spoke of eating the special fruit that hung from bendy branches and tasted so good that anyone who tasted it was ready to have a party; it was called the dangling party citrus.  It all sounded so wonderful!

In this manner he wooed her again, and though she knew better, she felt herself giving up.  She wanted to believe it was true, that she could share joy with him as she had before, that her loss of soul had been only a bad part of the dream.

She wanted to love him.  At the same time she knew that she was being utterly foolish, and that she should kill him.  She fought to get her hand on the hidden knife, to bring it out and up, to stab him, but her willpower was feeble and fading.

Dug took her in his arms and brought his lips down to hers.  He was going to do it!  He was going to suck the meager rest of her soul out, and leave her completely void.

She made one final effort.  Her knifepoint came up partway.  She wasn't able to stab him, just to prick him through his clothing.

And he exploded like a burst balloon.  Souls flew out everywhere.  Some were fresh, some decayed; some were in good shape, some hideously shrunken.  Most were in between.  Hundreds, maybe thousands of them—and in his greed he had wanted yet more.  He had been so full of souls that he was ready to burst, and her tiny pinprick had done it.  She had, after all, managed to kill him.