Roc And A Hard Place (5 page)

“Yes!  Bring her back!”

THERE IS NO NEED.

'Silence, imbecile!  She'll destroy you.’

“Yes!” Metria cried, responding to both the Simurgh's query and her worser halts warning.

The enormous head turned, one eye bearing on her.  BE AT EASE, GOOD DEMONESS.  I ACCEPT YOU FOR SERVICE.  THE GOOD MAGICIAN CHOSE WISELY.

'Last chance, stupid!  Stifle it.’

But Metria was beyond sensible restraint.  “Well, I'm not ready to give service!  Not to any creature who does that to an innocent person.  Mara never harmed you; she wanted only to go home.  I was trying to help her, because—”

The Simurgh twitched one wing-feather.  Suddenly Mara was back, exactly as she had been before.  “Let it be, Metria; I'm done here.”

“You're safe?” Metria asked, half-stunned.

Mara smiled.  “As safe as a figment can ever be.” She vanished again.

'See?  She doesn't really exist.  You irritated the big bird for nothing, moron!’

NOT so, WORSER SELF, the Simurgh's thought came, this time stunning Mentia, who had thought her thoughts were hidden.  HER CONSCIENCE HAS SERVED HER WELL.

Parts of this were beginning to settle into haphazard place.

“This was all a—a test?  The woman, the storm, the chain? Like the Good Magician's castle?”

HE GAVE YOU TOKEN CHALLENGES, BECAUSE HE WANTED YOU TO PERFORM THIS MISSION.  I VERIFIED YOUR FITNESS IN MY OWN FASHION, AS YOU NOW UNDERSTAND.  I REQUIRE A PERSONAGE WHO IS INVENTIVE, DETERMINED, AND COMPASSIONATE.

Metria worked it out.  “First a mere physical obstruction or two, of no particular consequence.  Then a personal threat that needed to be dealt with.  Then a small trial of conscience.

Just to make sure I could do the service you require.”

EXACTLY, GOOD DEMONESS.  I AM CAREFUL ABOUT THOSE TO WHOM I ENTRUST IMPORTANT TASKS.  I REQUIRE ONE WITH THE POWERS OF A DEMON AND THE CONSCIENCE OF A SOULED PERSON.  YOU WILL DO.  DO YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS BEFORE COMMENCING?

'Don't ask any, dunce!’

'This mountain—I thought it was supposed to be one big emerald, but—”

YOU ARE OBSERVANT, GOOD DEMONESS.  IT IS EMERALD, OR MORE CORRECTLY, BERYL, THE TYPE OF STONE OF WHICH EMERALD IS BUT ONE SHADE.  THE WHITE IS ORDINARY BERYL, THE BLUE IS AQUAMARINE, THE YELLOW HELIODOR, THE PINK MORGANTTE, AND THE RED BIXBYITE, THE RAREST BUT FOR ONE.

“One?” Metria asked somewhat stupidly.

BLACK BERYL.  The Simurgh twitched her head, and a bag appeared in her beak.  TAKE THIS.  The bag dropped to Metria's involuntarily outstretched hands.

She opened the bag.  It was filled with glistening black disks.  “What am I supposed to do with this?”

THESE ARE SUMMONS TOKENS.  YOU WILL SERVE ONE ON EACH PERSON OR CREATURE OR THING NAMED, AND WILL GUIDE THOSE WHO NEED IT TO THE NECESSARY SITE.

Metria had never felt so stupid in her existence.  “Necessary site?”

THE NAMELESS CASTLE.  THAT IS WHERE THE TRIAL WILL BE.

“Trial?” She still had not caught her mental balance.

ROXANNE ROC HAS BEEN INDICTED AND WILL BE TRIED BEFORE A JURY OF HER PEERS A FORTNIGHT HENCE.  YOU WILL SERVE SUMMONSES ON ALL PARTICIPANTS:  TRIAL PERSONNEL, WITNESSES, JURY.  YOU WILL SEE THAT THEY ARE PRESENT AT THE CORRECT TIME.  THAT IS YOUR SERVICE TO ME.

“But Roxanne's a decent bird.  What did she do?”

THAT WILL BE MADE EVIDENT IN THE COURSE OF THE TRIAL.

“And how do I know whom to serve the summonses on?”

EACH BEARS THE NAME OF THE SUMMONEE.

“But suppose they don't want to come?”

THAT WILL NOT BE A PROBLEM.  EACH PERSON MUST KNOWINGLY ACCEPT THE SUMMONS, AND ACKNOWLEDGE THIS TO YOU BEFORE YOU DEPART.

“But—”

'Give it a rest, dope!  You are trying her patience.’

TRUE, WORSER SELF.  The great eye oriented on Metria again.  YOUR INFORMATION is NOW SUFFICIENT.  PERFORM YOUR SERVICE, GOOD DEMONESS.

Metria realized that she had been dismissed.  She started to change into her ladder form.

YOU MAY POP ACROSS TO XANTH.

“Thank you,” she said, relieved, and popped off, carrying the bag of tokens.

Metria popped across to Xanth, to her home castle, where she made her husband deliriously happy enough to leave him in a trance for several days.

Then she considered.  She realized that there could be a good many summons tokens in the bag, and it might take time to use them all up, so she had better get them efficiently organized.  She opened the bag and spread the glistening black beryl disks on a table.

Sure enough, there were thirty tokens, and each was inscribed with a name.  Most of the names were familiar, but some were obscure, and some amazed her.  For example, her old nemesis Demon Professor Grossclout was on a chip.

What in Xanth could he have to do with this?  She turned over the disk, and on the other side it said JUDGE.  Oh, of course; that was the perfect role for him.  Another chip bore the name of the Simurgh herself; on the back it said WITNESS.

She could have served that token at the outset, saving herself a difficult trip.  Then she reconsidered:  She might need to consult with the Simurgh if she couldn't find one of the people to summon, so she should save the Simurgh's own token as a pretext for that occasion.  So she put that one at the end of the line.

One token was blank.  That was interesting.  Whom was it for?  Or was it a mistake?

Then she got marginally smarter, and turned over all the tokens, classifying them by assignment.  There was one for Prosecutor, and another for Defense, and others for Bailiff, Special Effects, and Translator.  Translator?  She turned that one over.  It was Grundy Golem.  That figured; he could translate anything spoken by any living thing, including plants.

Who was Special Effects?  The Sorceress Iris, mistress of illusion.  That figured too.  Someone had chosen these roles well.  Since it must have been the Simurgh herself who marked the tokens, this was no surprise; she was, after all, the wisest creature in all Xanth.

But why did she want Roxanne Roc put on trial?  Metria's limited direct experience with the Simurgh suggested that she was a fair-minded creature, and Roxanne was a good bird, quite loyal to her mission.  In fact, she was doing a service for the Simurgh herself, in the Nameless Castle—where the trial would be.  Was this the way the Simurgh rewarded her?

That didn't seem to make sense.

Well, there was one fast way to find out.  She would serve Roxanne's summons first, and ask her.  Then she would go after the other important participants in the trial, and finally the Jurors, who were the biggest category and would probably be a nuisance to run down.  Her schedule was coming clear.

She put the tokens back in the bag, and formed a knapsack to hold the bag.  Then she popped over to the Nameless Castle.

This was a quaint medieval edifice begirt with towers, parapets, turrets, battlements, embrasures, moat, glacis, pennants, and all the standard accouterments.  There were only one or two things different about it:  It was made of solidified vapor and it floated high in the air.  In fact, it was built on a cloud, which seemed like an island in the sky.  From the ground it looked just like an ordinary cumulus.  For some reason, few folk knew of it.

She walked up to the main entrance and knocked on the door, because it wouldn't be polite to enter unannounced, and besides, there was a spell that prevented unauthorized demon entry.  In a moment there was a loud questioning squawk from the interior.  “I'm the Demoness Metria,” she answered.  “Here on business.”

The door creaked open, and she walked in.  The interior hall was elegant in the usual manner, with finely set cloud stones for the floor, and carpets hung on the cloud walls.

Though the Nameless Castle was made of vapor, it was surprisingly strong, and could withstand all the things a castle was expected to withstand.  Enchanted cloudstuff was light, not weak.

She came to the vast central chamber.  There was an enormous nest of marbled granite, and on the nest sat Roxanne Roc, a bird so big she could swallow a normal human person without chewing.  Just about the Simurgh's size, in fact, but not as authoritative or beautiful in plumage.  Roxanne was mostly shades of brown.  She had been assigned by the Simurgh several centuries ago to hatch a special stone egg, and was still at it.

Metria floated in.  “Roxanne, I have a summons for you,” she said.  “But I’d like to know—”

The big bird opened her beak.  “Squawk!”

Oops.  She couldn't understand roc-speak.  She could give the big bird the token, but that wouldn't satisfy her; she wanted to know what this trial was all about.  How could she talk with the roc?

The question brought the answer:  Grundy Golem.  His name was on a token, as Translator.  So she should summon him, and use him to translate for the roc.

“Be right back,” she said, and popped off to the Golem residence.

Grundy Golem, Rapunzel, and their seven-year-old daughter Surprise lived in a tree house, actually a cottage industree.

They were a small family, because Grundy could be picked up in one ordinary human hand, and Rapunzel could assume any size she wished, so preferred to match him.  Surprise did too, for now.  So Metria matched their scale, so as to fit in their residence.

“Why, D. Metria!” Rapunzel exclaimed, spying her, exactly as if glad to see her.  The truth was that just about nobody was glad to see a demoness, but Rapunzel was beautiful in body and spirit, an ideal complement to the mouthy golem.  Her distinguishing trait, apart from her niceness, was her infinitely long hair, which assumed various colors as it coursed down across her body toward the floor.  “To what to we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Rapunzel had succeeded in doing what was almost impossible:  She made Metria feel guilty.  So she hedged.  “Um, could I talk to Grundy?”

“Of course.” Rapunzel lifted her long hair out of the way and called, “Dear!  There's someone here to see you.”

Grundy walked into the room.  He was a fully living creature, but still bore the aspect of his origin as a rag and wood construction.  He spied Metria.  “That's not someone!” he snapped.  “That's Metria, the most mischievous nuisance in Xanth, who can't even get a word right.”

This was more like it.  Metria affected a serious mien.

“Grundy Golem, I have an enjoin for you.”

“A what, you ludicrous excuse for a spirit?”

“Bid, request, invitation, proposal, solicitation, petition, demand—”

“Summons?”

“Whatever,” she said, smiling as she handed him his token.  “Take that, you little crawl.”

This time he chose to ignore the miscue.  “What am I being summoned to?”

“The trial of Roxanne Roc.”

“That big bird?  The worst thing she ever did was annoy the Simurgh by innocently flying too close to Parnassus.

Why is she on trial?”

“That is what I would like to know.  Come with me and we'll ask her.”

Grundy nodded, not really annoyed by the situation.

“Bound to be an interesting story here,” he said.  “It should be fun translating for whatever weird creatures get hauled in.

But what about my wife?  I don't like leaving her out of it.”

“I have a disk for her too,” Metria said, producing it.

“She's up for jury duty.” She handed it over.

“But what about Surprise?” Rapunzel inquired as she studied her token.

“She's not on my list.  Maybe this concerns something adult, and she's underage.”

“But I could become overage,” the little girl said brightly.

“If I had to.”

“No, dear,” Rapunzel said immediately.  “You must save your magic for when it's really needed, and not waste it for something that would probably bore you.  You can stay with Tangleman while we're gone.”

“Goody!” the child agreed.  Tangleman had originally been a tangle tree, transformed into a jolly green giant man in the course of a censored chapter; his vegetable mind was somewhat simple, so he got along well with children.

“Actually, the trial is a fortnight hence,” Metria said.  “So the Jurors don't have to report to the Nameless Castle until then.  But I'd like to have Grundy come to help me talk with Roxanne now.”

“You got it, Demoness,” Grundy agreed enthusiastically.

“Say, didn't you get married or something?  Why are you involved in this?”

“I got married, got half-souled, and fell in love, in that order,” Metria agreed.  “Now I'm trying to get the stork's attention.  But Humfrey sent me to the Simurgh, and she's requiring me to do this.  I pop back home every so often to make my husband deliriously happy.”

“I know how that is,” Grundy said, glancing briefly at Rapunzel, whose hair formed momentarily into a heart shape framing her body as she winked back at him.  “Well, let's get a wiggle on.  Take me to Bird Brain.”

Metria picked him up and popped back to the Nameless Castle in the sky.  She could do this now, because the castle door remained open, making a small hole in the protective spell.  They arrived at the same spot she had vacated in the central chamber, before the nest.

“Roxanne Roc, I have come to serve you with a Summons,” Metria said formally.

As she spoke, Grundy squawked.  Actually he didn't need to, because Roxanne understood human talk.  It was others who couldn't understand her.  The roc's near eye widened.

She squawked back.

“She says she can't go anywhere,” Grundy translated. “She has an egg to incubate, and mustn't let it get cold.  It is due to hatch any year now.  Simurgh's orders.”

“This summons is from the Simurgh,” Metria said, and Grundy squawked.  She nipped it at the huge bird.

Roxanne caught it in her beak, displaying surprising dexterity.  She set it down on the rim of the nest before her, and focused one eye on it.  Then she used one monstrous claw to flip it over, and perused the other side.  She squawked.

“What's this about being the Defendant?” Grundy translated.  “She says she hasn't done anything wrong.  In fact, she has hardly been out of this room in almost six hundred years, and has guarded the egg faithfully throughout.  Is this a cruel hoax.  Demon Smoke?”

“All that with one squawk?” Metria asked, bemused.

“Those were her exact words?”

“Well, I sanitized what she called you.  It was actually—”

“Never mind.” Metria was familiar with the golem's propensity for stirring up trouble.  Roxanne had probably spoken politely.  “You mean she doesn't know why she's to be assayed?”

“She's to be whatted?”

“Attempted, endeavored, ventured, exerted, wielded, judged—”

“Tried, fog-brain?”

“Whatevered.  It must be something horribly serious, to get the Simurgh herself involved.  Doesn't she have any hint?”

There was an exchange of squawks.  “No hint,” Grundy reported.  “She has been here, just doing her job, as she said. There must be some mistake.”

“The Simurgh didn't act as if there were any mistake,”

Metria said, remembering what the most knowledgeable bird in all Xanth had THOUGHT to her.  “And the words on the token are clear.  Roxanne will be put on trial, here, in a fortnight.”

Grundy translated.  The roc shrugged, remaining perplexed.

She would be here, because she would not desert the egg, regardless.

So Metria walked out, closed the door, and popped back to Grundy's home.  “I'll fetch you next time I need you,” she told him.  “Just make sure you and Rapunzel are there for the trial.”

“We will be,” Grundy agreed.  “Rapunzel will make herself tall enough to reach that cloud, and put me on it, and then I'll haul her up after me as she changes back to small size.  I wouldn't miss this trial for all Xanth.”

“Neither would I,” Metria confessed.  “There's something awfully anomalous going on here.”

“Awfully what?”

“Peculiar, odd, irregular, unusual, curious, bizarre, queer—”

“Strange?”

“Weird,” she agreed crossly.

“For sure.  If it were anyone but the Simurgh behind it, I'd suspect it of being a joke.”

“The Simurgh doesn't joke.”

“She doesn't joke,” he agreed.

Still pleasantly mystified, Metria popped next to the only other entity on her list who might know about the trial:  Demon Professor Grossclout.  It would be an unholy pleasure, serving him with a summons.

He was teaching a class at the Demon University of Magic.  She appeared in the back of the chamber, suddenly suffering a fit of apprehension.  Grossclout had always intimidated her, though she had always denied it.  His aspect was horrendous, even in demon terms, and small horns glowed red when he made a strong point.  His face was so ugly that he could have walked without notice among ogres.  But the worst of it was his overwhelming knowledge:  If there was anything he didn't know, it was hardly worth knowing.

“And therefore,” he was saying, “we can conclude that the fourth principle of responsive magic has not been violated, and there is no paradox.” He paused, his eye glinting.

Every student in the class trembled, fearing that the Professor was about to make an Example.  “What are you doing here, Metria?”

Suddenly she was Woe Betide.  She hadn't changed intentionally; there was just something about the professor that turned her spine to mush.  This had never happened to her before.  “Nothing at all.  Your Greatness,” she whined, a big frightened tear rolling down her cute little cheek.

“Most students come here with heads full of mush,” he remarked.  “You have a spine of mush.  You couldn't have crashed this class without help.  Come here, gamine.  Out with it:  What are you up to?”

Woe Betide took one dread step after another toward him, unable to help herself.  “I—I—have something,” she peeped.

“Give it here,” he said with such ultimate authority that the rafters vibrated.

She handed the token to him.  “It—it's a summons, sir.”

“What?” Now the ground shook, and plaster and silt sifted down from the ceiling.  The students cowered.

“To appear at the Nameless Castle a fortnight hence, to preside over the—”

“I can see that!” the Professor roared, and now the walls began to crumble.  The students flinched as much as they dared.  “Why is this trial occurring?”

“I—I thought you would know.”

He glowered.  “I shall certainly find out.  Begone, mushspine!”