Well-Tempered Clavicle (34 page)

Sara had a guest room, and made it available. Dawn and Picka took it. She made him invoke the transformation spell, and it had the same effect as before, causing him to indulge in all manner of fleshly gratification that she eagerly accommodated. If he had had the slightest inclination to doubt his love for her, this would have abolished it. The next night she invoked the spell, and had at him as eagerly in skeletal form.

How could he ever yield her to the monster? Yet still he doubted his ability to prevail.

They worked more on “Ghost of Tom,” because Sara liked it as well as the others did. They used it as relaxation between bouts of serious practice. Picka learned to play parts one and two while Dawn and Sara did parts three and four. Then he tried parts one, two, and three, and went to pieces, figuratively; it was just too tricky to manage.

At other times he practiced the kill-music. Sara needed gravel for permanent paths around the island. She had a little quarry, but it consisted largely of stones and boulders, the free sand having been taken long before. Picka went there and played rock-cracking music, reducing stones to sand with increasing proficiency. He now knew that this ability could be especially useful against the monster.

There was also a patch of mean-spirited thistles that liked to stab any legs that ventured within range. Picka practiced pacification music that intensified and made the thistles wilt and shed their prickles and finally vacate the premises entirely. He likewise tried the reverse, to make tougher and meaner thistles, though he wasn’t sure they would impede the gelatinous monster. It was best to be prepared in any possible way, just in case.

Sara was also a willing subject for attraction/repulsion music, knowing that Picka had no designs on her living body. She tried to resist, to give him practice, but could not; she came toward him when he summoned, and retreated when he repelled. Then Dawn and Sara got together, and he attracted one while simultaneously repelling the other. That was precise control, another step forward.

And the fire and water balls. They made a pile of brush, and he practiced igniting it with fireballs, then extinguishing it with waterballs. When he was able to light one side of it while wetting the other side, they knew he was there.

“You are better at kill-music than at melody music,” Joy’nt remarked.

“It’s cruder,” he agreed. “Just a matter of invoking the correct themes. But real music takes years to perfect, and I haven’t had those years.”

“And the monster has,” Joy’nt agreed. “So you had better focus on defeating him with kill-music.”

“But I’d prefer to be a great musician!” he protested. “Rather than a destroyer.”

“You won’t be anything if you can’t stop his kill-music.”

She was right. Reluctantly he returned to practicing the deadly forms. But between times he practiced quality themes, just for the joy of it. Sara always came to listen to those, and so did Tweeter, who turned out to be a fair connoisseur of music. The bird did not sing much himself, but song was evidently in his bloodline, and he liked it.

Picka also practiced the healing music GoDemon had taught him, simply because it felt better to heal than to hurt. He obviously was not cut out to be a warrior, regardless of the weapon.

As it happened, he got a chance to use it. Woofer sniffed too avidly at an obnoxious plant and got scratched by a thorn. The wound wasn’t dangerous but it was painful, perhaps because of caustic sap. Picka played healing music, and slowly the pain became discomfort, and the discomfort faded, until the dog was better. “That’s wonderful,” Sara said. “The cure music is prettier than the kill-music.”

They were safe from a raid by the monster, because now he lacked Pundora’s magic mirror. But that meant that soon enough things got dull. Joy’nt and Skully weren’t bothered, because they had each other and liked boning up on mutual interests. Picka and Dawn also had each other. But the other four members of their party became restless.

“Maybe you should go out and check on the monster,” Dawn suggested. “Just in case he’s up to something he shouldn’t be.” As if there was any proper monster pursuit.

Granola consulted with the pets, and they concluded that this might indeed be worthwhile. She could carry them to some likely site, where the others could spread out. Her talent could not take them directly to what they wanted, but she could show them interesting places, give up the search, then back off to the prior stop, where there might indeed be something worth checking. The pets had come to know and trust Granola, and she was getting better at interpreting their woofs, meows, and tweets.

They got together with Dawn and the skeletons to present their decision. “So we aren’t deserting you,” Granola concluded. “Merely going out to check. We’ll return often to report on what we have seen.”

A ball of smoke formed over the outdoor hearth they had, but there was no fire in it. Had the monster found them and hurled a fireball?

“No, it’s only Demoness Metria,” Dawn said with resignation.

A head poked out of the smoke. “Are you contemplating something evaporating?” she inquired.

“Something what?” Sara asked innocently before the others could caution her.

“Heating, blowing, gripping, drying, absorbing—”

“Interesting?”

“Whatever,” Metria answered irritably.

“No,” Dawn said. “It’s absolutely dull.”

“So it wouldn’t relate to monster searching?”

“You’ve been listening!”

“I admit to nothing,” the demoness said. “But that monster is some character, and he thinks you will marry him. That seems like an interesting development.”

“The pets and I mean to go out looking for him,” Granola said. “You are welcome to come along.”

“Why would I want to go anywhere I was welcome?”

“Because otherwise you might have to stay here where we don’t want you and listen to us practice music,” Picka said.

The rest of the demoness formed, a dusky figure with overflowing bra and panties stretched to the tearing point. Unfortunately the show was wasted on women and skeletons. “But if they find something awful, then you would have to go there too,” Metria said. “That would be interesting.”

“Why?” Dawn asked. “I mean, why would we go near the monster? We have no business we want to do with him.”

“Oh, I can think of a reason,” the demoness said.

“What reason?” Dawn demanded.

Metria shook her head. “That would be telling.”

Trying to question her would be a waste of time. “I think we should let them go, while we practice,” Picka said. “With luck, both groups should be utterly boring.”

“Maybe sew,” the demoness said.

“Maybe what?” Picka asked before he caught himself.

“Stitch, fix, fasten, secure, tailor—”

“So?” Dawn asked impatiently.

“Whatever.” The demoness smiled, knowing that Dawn had not intended the word as an answer, but as a “what’s the point?” demand. “So I had better see about making it interesting.”

“How could you possibly do that?” Dawn snapped.

“By serving as liaison, instantly communicating to you whatever important discoveries the explorers make.”

“But that would be useful,” Picka said.

“A side effect. Mainly it would stir things up, and put me in the center of remarkable action.”

“I don’t see how.” Picka was normally even tempered, but the demoness was getting to him.

“That’s because your empty skull lacks brains,” Metria explained helpfully.

“Oh, she’ll do what she wants to, regardless,” Dawn snapped. “We’ll just ignore her and get on with our business.”

“Or so you think,” Metria said slyly, and faded out.

“That creature can be so annoying!” Dawn said.

“We’ll be on our way, then,” Granola said. She flattened the handbag so Woofer and Midrange could readily enter it, then lifted it up, making them invisible. Tweeter flew down into it, disappearing in midair.

“Farewell!” Joy’nt called, and was answered by a medley of woof, meow, tweet, and “Thank you” run together, followed by a stirring of the water as big invisible feet displaced it at regular intervals. They were on their way.

“Do you think she really will?” Skully asked.

“There’s no telling,” Dawn said. “She will calculate the path of maximum annoyance, and follow that. But I simply don’t see how acting as liaison will accomplish that.”

“You will,” the air said, followed by a whiff of brimstone odor. The demoness hadn’t quite gone, as was often the case.

“That’s some character,” Sara said.

“Oh, Metria has her points,” Dawn said. “She was stepped on by a Sphinx centuries ago, and it fractured her personality. Her alter ego D. Mentia is a bit crazy, but doesn’t foul up words, and her other alter ego is a rather sad, sweet child named Woe Betide. Metria’s married, though you wouldn’t know it by her escapades.” She paused, listening, but there was no response from the air. The demoness was really gone this time.

They resumed music practice, and thought no more of Metria. Picka was steadily improving, but still doubted that he was good enough now, or would be in the likely future.

Evening came. “It seems quiet,” Joy’nt said.

“Granola and the pets are gone,” Picka reminded her.

“Oh. Yes. I miss them. They’re nice folk.”

“They are,” Sara said. “So are you folk. I never got to know giants, animals, or skeletons before. Now I know they can be decent people, pretty much like regular humans.”

“They can be,” Dawn agreed.

*   *   *

Next morning Metria appeared. “Tweeter Birdbrain found an awful mess for you to disintegrate.”

“To what?” Dawn asked.

“Decay, decompose, modify, alter, change—”

“Fix?”

“Whatever. It’s urgent.”

“Why should we accept that?” Picka asked.

“Because it’s true.”

“How do we know that?” Dawn asked.

“Because I brought a witness.” The demoness made a flourish, and a man appeared. “This is Brant, who can answer any question without confusion.”

“Brant, what is the situation?” Dawn asked grimly.

“A horrible monster raided an innocent girl’s valuable beehives and ruined them, scattering the bees.” He spoke with such clarity and authority that it was impossible to doubt him.

“What kind of bees?”

“Bumble, honey, sweat, spelling, and others. They are desperately needed by many communities for everything from pollination to schoolwork. The ripples will spread outward, doing increasing damage, unless the situation is repaired immediately.” Again, there was no doubting him.

“So there,” Metria said.

“I remember when my grandfather Prince Dor made a spelling bee help him,” Dawn said. “It was a disaster. We do need tame spelling bees. And the rest.” She sighed. “We’ll have to go there. It’s our fault the monster is on a rampage.”

“But by the time we get there, more damage will have been done,” Skully said.

“No. I have a motion spell I have saved for emergency use. This is an emergency. Gather round; you must be in contact with me.”

“I’m so sorry to see you go,” Sara said.

“We will return when we have done what we can,” Dawn said. “We really like it here with you, and Picka needs to continue his progress on his music.”

“That’s a relief,” Sara said. “I will be expecting you.”

“Metria, if you are serious, guide me,” Dawn said.

Then the three skeletons closed in around Dawn, and she invoked the spell.

Suddenly they were standing in a field of flowers. Beehives were overturned and broken apart all around. A young woman was amidst them, weeping.

“See?” Metria said, and faded out.

Tweeter was there, hovering helplessly. “Tweet!”

“I know,” Dawn said. “You did right to summon us. This is a bad scene.”

They separated, and Dawn approached the woman. “I am Dawn, and these are my assistants,” she said. “We are here to help you.”

“I’m Emily Bee Keeper,” the girl said. “It’s too late; my bees are scattered, and I fear I’ll never recover them.”

Dawn reverted to her princessly organization mode. “Picka, summon the bees back. Skully and Joy’nt, rebuild the hives. I will get more information from Emily.”

Picka unlimbered his clavicles and started playing summoning music, attuning to bees. Skully and Joy’nt got to work on the hives, collecting their pieces, righting them, and fitting them together. Sometimes pieces needed to be cut apart and reassembled; Skully did that with his saw-edge arms. Combs were scattered across the ground, smeared with honey and clogged with tangles of hair; they fit these inside their hives. It wasn’t perfect, but the bees would know what to do with them. The skeletons were far more efficient than living folk would have been, because the disturbed bees were stinging any living folk they encountered. Except Emily, whom they knew, and Dawn, who understood them so well that they had to understand her back.

While he played, Picka listened. Dawn, knowing all about Emily, had no need to interview her; she was actually diverting and reassuring her while the others worked.

“It was horrible,” Emily was saying. “This ghastly blobby monster came sliding along on its goo like a giant slug and knocked over the hives. The bees stung it, of course, but it didn’t seem to notice. It just seemed to be trying to do as much damage as possible, just for the bleep of it. I never saw anything so utterly malignant.”

“That was Piper the Music Monster,” Dawn said. “He is mad because I won’t marry him, so he seems to have gone berserk.”

“Who would ever want to marry him?” Emily asked.

“Well, if he marries a princess, he will revert to a handsome human man and get to live in a marvelous traveling castle. He won’t be the monster anymore.”

“You know this? You’re a princess?”

“I am.”

“Then why won’t you marry him? It doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Because I love another.”

“Oh.”

Soon the hives were reasonably restored, and the bees were flying in in swarms. When they reached the hives Picka released them. Bees were quite useful creatures, but not phenomenally smart; when they saw the hives they went to them, forgetting what had happened. They resumed their normal activity, visiting flowers and tending to the combs. Some even did dances of joy.