Currant Events (14 page)

 “D. Vore's turn is ending; my turn
is starting.”

 “Demon Prince Vore is Princess
Nada Naga's husband,” Clio explained to the dragons. “Their daughter
DeMonica keeps company with Metria's son Demon Ted. The demon adults take turns
babysitting, because the human spouses can't keep up with them.”

 “We don't need babysitting!”
DeMonica protested, appearing at Metria's left. She was a rather pretty girl
with three oink tails.

 “After all, we're eight years
old,” Demon Ted agreed, appearing at her right. He was a handsome boy with
an unruly shock of hair.

 “The same age as the three
Princesses,” Monica said.

 “An excellent age,” Clio
agreed. “And are the princesses allowed to go unsupervised?”

 “Well, they're not half
demons.”

 “And you are,” Metria said.
“And you will still have adult regime.”

 “Adult what, mom?” Ted asked.

 “Fosterage, auspices, countenance,
administration, influence-”

 “Supervision?” Monica asked.

 “Whatever,” Metria agreed
crossly.

 “Awww,” they said together,
then broke out laughing. The funny thing was that Metria joined them. It was
clear that she liked both children, and was trying to be a good parent. That
was her half soul operating again. Actually it was now a quarter soul, since
Ted had taken half, but it seemed to be up to the job.

 “What's that?” Monica asked,
turning to Sherlock.

 “A figurine,” he said,
quickly wrapping his hand around its middle section. “We need some
clothing for it.”

 “We'll conjure some,” Ted
said.

 Clio had a reservation about that, but
let it be; it was better to let the children experiment.

 A small pair of trousers appeared in
Ted's hand, and a matching shirt. “Here.”

 “Thank you.” Sherlock took
the shirt and put it on the figure. The shirt promptly puffed into smoke and
floated away. “Oops.”

 “You dope,” Monica said
witheringly. “You conjured it out of demon substance. That doesn't last
away from a demon.”

 “Did not,” Ted retorted.
“I made it from some cloth I found.”

 “Whatcloth?”

 “Your skirt.”

 She looked down. There was an irregular
patch missing from her skirt. “You beast!” she cried. She conjured a
thorny club and smashed it down on his head before the adults could stop her.
It landed with a horrendous hollow thunk.

 “Oooh, I'm done for!” Ted
moaned, whirling around and dropping to the ground. “The harpy has done me
in.”

 “Serves you right for calling me a
harpy, you goblin.”

 “You'll be sorry when Mother sees
me dead.” Ted dissolved into a glob of goo.

 Clio applauded politely. “Very
nice show, children,” she said. “You must have rehearsed it.”

 “They did,” Metria said
complacently.

 “Gee, did it fool you?” Ted
asked, reforming and getting up.

 “At first.”

 “What gave it away?”

 “That hollow thunk,” Sherlock
said. “That's a slapstick. It makes a loud noise and doesn't hurt at all.
We use them in our whiteface comedy shows.”

 “That's where we got the
idea,” Monica confessed. There was no longer a hole in her skirt.

 “Meanwhile you need clothing for
the anatomically correct figurine,” Metria said. “Nothing made
magically will do, because the wood will reverse it.”

 “I'm make some from reverse
wood.” He looked around. “I need a place to conceal him while I work
on it.”

 “Wedge him in a crevice of the
rock, so his lower half doesn't show.”

 “That seems good.” Sherlock
moved the figure toward a ragged crack.

 “But won't it hurt him?”
Monica asked. “He looks so-so alive.”

 “Alive? He is merely wood.”
Sherlock set the figurine firmly into the crevice.

 “Hey, watch it!” the figure
cried. “My poor tender feet!” He scrambled out of the crevice.

 The others stared, astonished. Monica
screamed as she caught a good glimpse of the torso. “Freeeak!”

 “Get over it, doll!” the
figure said, and ran to the edge of the rock, jumped off, and fled across the
ground.

 Clio rushed to catch Monica before she
fell. She had freaked out; her eyes were fully round and staring.

 “I'll catch him,” Ted said,
running after the figure.

 “Not on your own,” Metria
said, following him. “You can't touch reverse wood.”

 “I'll make that clothing,”
Sherlock said, recovering his poise. More wood appeared in his hand. “Is
she all right?”

 Clio snapped her fingers before the
girl's face. Monica's eyes focused. “What happened?”

 “You saw something that freaked
you out,” Clio said. “It's gone now.”

 Monica nodded. “I'll never
tell.”

 “That's best,” Clio agreed.
Because demons had different standards she couldn't be sure the girl had really
freaked out, but it was best to maintain the pretense. She had played the scene
correctly.

 “Yow!” It was Ted's voice
from the forest.

 “I told you you couldn't touch
reverse wood,” Metria's voice answered. “Now leave it alone.”

 “Yeah, poop-for-brains,” the
figure's voice came. “You can't touch me. Nyaa! Nyaa!”

 Monica smiled. “Ted doesn't like
being teased.”

 “Surely not,” Clio agreed.
“But I don't think it's wise to have reverse wood running around like
that. There's no telling the mischief that could generate.”

 “Like maybe an explosion?”
Monica asked hopefully.

 “Can you control it?” Clio
asked Sherlock.

 “How?”

 “Perhaps you could conjure it back
to your hand.”

 “That's right. It's my talent.
Conjuring reverse wood.” He glanced toward the taunting sounds.

 The figure appeared in his hand.
“Hey!” it cried. “Let go of me, you hamhanded cretin!”

 “You can't get away,”
Sherlock said. “Because I can bring you back.” He set the figure down
as Clio hastily turned Monica away.

 “I'll get away! Get away from
me.” The figure took off again.

 “I think what you have there is a
rebellious golem,” Clio said.

 “Getaway Golem,” Sherlock
agreed.

 “Getaway!” Monica said.
“The perfect name.”

 Sherlock considered. “I suppose I
should abolish him. He's obviously nothing but trouble.”

 “You must not do that,” Clio
said, alarmed. “He has become an animate, feeling creature, however
obnoxious. He needs control and training, not destruction.”

 “But he is uncivilized.”

 “Then we must civilize him.”

 “You tell him, wench,” the
golem said as he jumped off the stone.

 The golem reappeared in Sherlock's
hand. “You must not address the Muse of History in that manner.”

 “Yeah, blackface? Who'll stop
me?”

 “I will. She has just interceded
to prevent me from mashing you back to anonymity. You ought to show her some
respect.” He set the figure back on the rock.

 “Yeah?” The golem looked at
Clio. “Respect this, wench.” He turned around and bent over, displaying
his tiny bare bottom. Both children stifled titters.

 Clio was somewhat taken aback, and not
just by the bottom, which also was anatomically correct. The golem had a very
difficult attitude.

 “You see the thanks you get for
helping him,” Sherlock said. “I think this is a bad job.”

 “You know, he's like the
inanimate, when King Dor makes it talk,” Metria said. “It's pretty
shallow, always making smart-bottom remarks and threatening to peek up girls'
skirts and blab the colors of their panties. But Queen Irene makes it behave by
threatening to stomp it.”

 “That she does,” Sherlock
agreed. “This golem was very recently inanimate, so must be similar. It
has to be taught respect.”

 “Go fry your middle-aged
face,” Getaway said, heading for the edge of the rock.

 “Like this,” Sherlock
continued evenly. He conjured the figure back to his hand. “You will be
polite, or I will squeeze.”

 “Go soak your fat-oooh, that
smarts!” For Sherlock was slowly squeezing.

 “The correct expression is 'Yes,
Sherlock, I will be polite from now on.' Do you think you can manage
that?”

 “The bleep I can! Ouch!” For
at that point the squeeze resumed, as the two children blanched at the bad
word.

 “This is not a type of discipline
of which I wholly approve,” Clio said uneasily.

 “He insulted you, yet you still
plead his case? You're a nicer person than I am.”

 “She's nicer than anyone,”
Drusie Dragon said.

 The golem looked at her in Sherlock's
pocket. “Go steam your tail, snake-snoot.”

 “Did you ever have a child?”
Metria asked Clio.

 “No, of course not. I never
married. Still, certain standards seem warranted.”

 Metria turned to the two children.
“What do you think?”

 “He's worse than we are,” Ted
said.

 “He shouldn't say such words,”
Monica said.

 “And he's got Xanth's worst
attitude,” Metria said.

 “So stomp him,” Ted said.
“Mother would stomp me if I ever said such a word, if I even knew
it.”

 “But of course we don't know what
it means,” Monica said contritely. “And wouldn't want to know.”
A little fake halo appeared over her head.

 “I'll tell you what it means, you
hypocritical brat,” Getaway said. “It means-ooomph!” For the
squeeze was on again.

 Metria put her face close to Getaway's
face. “Get this, you little piece of bleep. If you don't shape up in a
hurry, we'll all gang up on Clio to make her let Sherlock squeeze you into
pulp. We're trying to do something here, and you're getting in the way.”

 Getaway opened his mouth. Sherlock
squeezed. “Uh, all right. I'll try to manage to be polite. For now. But
you gotta do something for me, too.”

 “The bleep we do!” Metria
snapped. Then, conscious of the flinching children, she modified it. “Like
what?”

 “Like making me a gal golem so we
can-” he paused, as a squeeze threatened. “Make nice together.”

 “Out of naughty pine,” Ted
said, giggling.

 "And they'll sing 'Love is a many
splintered thing,' Monica said, adding her giggle.

 “That seems fair,” Clio said,
relieved to have a positive inducement. “People do need companions of
their own kind.”

 “But not right away,” Metria
said. “Make him behave for a month first. Once he's civilized, then it
will be time to break in another. If he messes up, deal's off.”

 “And make him help find the red
berry,” Ted said. The dragons had evidently caught the children up on
that.

 “And if he helps a lot,”
Monica said, “You'll even make her pretty, with a shape like
Metria's.”

 “I can do that,” Sherlock
agreed. Indeed, he had recently done it. He faced the golem. “How about
it? Is it a deal?”

 “Let me see that shape
again.”

 Metria's shape suddenly became
phenomenally voluptuous. “Like this.” Her decolletage slipped slowly
down.

 The golem's eyes locked into place.
“Now that's interesting,” Clio said. “He's freaking out.”

 “Wonderful!” Metria said,
delighted. “It means I can disable him without touching him.” Her
dress became more concealing.

 “Will I be able to do that when I
grow up?” Monica asked jealously.

 “Certainly,” Metria agreed.
“It's a girl thing.”

 “Aw, I'll never fall for that, no
matter how old I get,” Ted said.

 Metria and Monica exchanged a glance
and a smile.

 “Deal,” Getaway said as he
caught his breath.

 “Good enough,” Clio said.
“Now put on your clothing.” Because in the interstices Sherlock had
managed to make a pair of shorts.

 Getaway put them on, and seemed to need
nothing more. He was, after all, made of wood. That made him presentable.

 “Now we were trying to ascertain
Sherlock's talent,” Clio said. “We have observed that he can conjure
reverse wood, and shape it despite its hardness. I think we have just
experienced another aspect: animation.”

 “Are you talking about me, you
per-” Getaway paused, reconsidering. “You perceptive creature?”

 “Nice recovery,” Metria
murmured.

 “I am,” Clio agreed.
“You were a mere wood figurine. Then you animated as a golem. Sherlock
must have done this.”

 “I didn't mean to,” Sherlock
said. “It just happened.”

 “Can you animate something
else?” Metria asked.