Up In A Heaval (18 page)

“Yes, you may kiss me,” she agreed. Then they both laughed. And kissed.

They arrived back at the little house. Now Grundy Golem was there too, standing beside his wife. “Surprise!” Rapunzel cried, her size diminishing her annoyance not half a whit. “Your hair is all mussed. What have you been up to?”

“Oops,” Surprise murmured, fetching out a comb and straightening her disarrayed tresses. “We'll have to confess.” She did not seem overly concerned.

“It's my fault,” Umlaut said gallantly.

“Nonsense,” Rapunzel said, and he realized that even at this he had messed up. She gave her daughter a stern glare. “Well?”

“Oh, Mother, he's the One,” Surprise said.

The woman's endless hair seemed to change color, though of course that couldn't happen without magic. “How can you possibly know that?”

“The Demoness Metria told me my ideal man was coming today, so I knew. And here he is.”

“And you believed her? That demoness is full of nothing but mischief.”

“Why would she bother? She doesn't care about my life,”

Ouch. Umlaut hated the need, but had to speak up. “She may be trying to stop me from delivering the letters. There have been other things.”

“Why stop the letters?” Rapunzel asked, fixing him with a stare that left figurative welts on his guilty face.

“I don't know. But the first one went to the Demon Jupiter, and it made him so mad that he threw his Red Spot at us. The Good Magician says I can find a way to stop it, if I deliver the letters. But I'm reading them first, to make sure no one else gets one to make him that mad.”

“It may not be the letter that makes folk mad,” Grundy said significantly.

Rapunzel turned to her daughter. “So you see, it may have been a setup.”

Surprise looked in turn at Umlaut. “If it was, do you take it all back?”

“Take what back?” Rapunzel demanded.

This was getting more awkward by the moment, and it hadn't been easy to begin with. He was already blushing, but he couldn't deny it. “I, uh, we, uh, that is—”

“We're in love,” Surprise said clearly.

Rapunzel's hair darkened another shade. “In one hour? I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Grundy said. “I loved you from the first, Punzel, though I didn't know it.”

She dismissed that out of hand. “Well, you're a man. Fortunately we can get to the bottom of this.” She faced the two cats. “Claire Voyant, is it true?”

The cat nodded.

Rapunzel looked as if she had smelled a stink horn. She looked icily at Umlaut, and her hair seemed to freeze in place. “Don't you have other letters to deliver?”

“Uh, yes,” he said miserably. He had been dismissed. He turned to go.

“I'll be in touch,” Surprise said.

With no magic? But how could he argue with her. “Okay.” He walked away so as not to see Rapunzel's angry stare, but he felt it boring into his back. How had he ever managed to get into so much trouble? He had never sought to set mother against daughter.

And yet it seemed to be true. In only an hour he had found a girl to truly love.

They returned to the magic section. Para was waiting for them. The boat's attitude was a question: How had it gone?

“Mixed,” Umlaut said. “I'll try to explain as we travel.”

So where were they going next? Umlaut had no idea, so he grabbed the next letter in the pile. “Demon Professor Grossclout.”

He had no idea where to find the professor, but evidently Para did. They got into the boat and started heading back south.

As they traveled, Umlaut described somewhat haltingly how he had delivered the letter, then gone to meet Surprise. And, it seemed, fallen in love with her: Sammy and Sesame were interested, as they had not heard the details before.

“She was pretty, she was nice, she was interested in me. She talked with me, she teased me, she kissed me,” Umlaut said. “I uh, responded. But it seems it was set up by the Demoness Metria, maybe to distract me from delivering the next letter.”

But the day mare's daydream had indicated that this was about to happen, Sesame reminded him.

“That's true,” he agreed, brightening.

“You were adhesive in her hands.”

Who had said that? “I was what?”

A swirl of smoke was hovering above the gunwale. “Mucilage, cement, glue, gum, paste—”

“Putty?” That had been his term for malleability.

“Whatever,” the swirl agreed crossly.

“Metria, what are you doing here?”

“I heard my name. What were you saying about me?”

“That you set me up. You told Surprise that her ideal man was coming, and she thought it was me.”

“Exactly. Why didn't you stay with her?”

How he wished he could have done that! “Her mother sent me away.”

“Darn!” Sulfurous fumes rose from the bad word.

“So it's true!” he exclaimed. “Why are you trying to stop me from delivering the letters?” He saw the cloud quiver. “And don't fade out this time!”

To his surprise, it worked. Instead of fading, the cloud formed into the voluptuous demoness who came to rest on a seat of the boat. Her legs were toward him, not quite showing anything above the knees. Yet. “It's just something I have to do.”

She admitted it! “Why?”

“What's the next letter?”

She was changing the subject, but he wasn't sure he could get a direct answer from her anyway. “To Demon Professor Grossclout.”

“Oh, my,” she said. “That could be fun.”

“Only I don't know how to find him.”

“Let me see the letter.”

“So you can destroy it undelivered? No way.”

She nodded. “You are getting less stupid by the hour. Very well, read it to me.”

“You think I won't?”

“I think you're in love.”

That seemed like a non sequitur, but he couldn't refute it. He decided to read the letter. He brought it out.

My Dear Professor Grossclout,

This is to bring to your attention a matter of utmost importance. It is to inform you of the impropriety of behavior regarding a past student of yours.

If my information is correct—and it rarely is not—a certain demoness is now in possession of a portion of a soul. This could become a dangerous matter.

It is reported that said demoness has become CARING— a shocking event. While namby-pamby actions suit the fool humans, it is most inappropriate for the demonic race.

This deplorable situation makes us all appear simpering idiots. We demons are meant to create havoc and make as miserable as possible the lives of all with whom we come in contact. You as an instructor must surely be aware of this simple fact. You cannot possibly condone this situation. This dire state of affairs must not be allowed to continue.

This calls for immediate discipline: chastisement, punishment. She must be made to see the error of her ways. The revolting human soul must be removed.

Do something about it, Grossclout! Now! Or else!

A concerned citizen

Metria had been swelling up throughout the letter. Now she exploded, literally. She flew apart, arms, legs, head, and torso scattering across the boat and into the air above. A leg landed in Umlaut's lap. Caught by surprise, he lifted it up, not knowing what to do with it. Then it dissolved into smoke, as did the other parts of her, and the cloudlets drifted together to form a single floating mass, and that mass shaped itself back into the form of the demoness. She came to rest on the seat.

She brushed a stray hank of hair away from her face. “What a missive!”

“That makes you angry?”

“Angry? That was a detonation of laughter. Just the very thought of talking to Grossclout like that—oops, it may set me off again.” She wrapped her arms about herself, as if trying to hold things together. But she lost her balance and fell backward off the seat, her legs flying up in the air. Umlaut got one compelling glimpse of her voluptuous panties.

Something was nudging him. It was Sesame, again, bringing him out of his freak-out. The demoness was back upright, her legs decorously covered.

Umlaut realized that the glimpse of her panties had not been accidental on her part. She, as a demoness, formed clothing out of her own substance. She had flashed him on purpose. Having part of a soul did not stop her from being mischievous. But now, satisfied that she could do it at any time, she was covering up and focusing on business.

“So let's go deliver this letter to My Dear Demon Professor,” Metria said when she saw that he had resumed consciousness. “I believe he is about to conduct Freshman Nature 101, a class used to wash out any demons who aren't totally serious about improving themselves. I have flunked it many times, of course, and am number one on the Ineligibility List. That's the perfect one to crash.”

“But why would you want to?”

“Why else? To annoy His Pomposity, of course.”

Umlaut decided to let this pass, like so much else about her. He put the letter in his shirt pocket. “How do we get there?”

“Well, you can't get there from here, of course.”

He knew she was setting him up for another put-down, but he had to ask. “Then what—?”

“But I can get there, if I have suitable cover so he won't recognize me. Take off your pants.”

Despite his caution, he was caught off guard. “My what?”

“Trousers, nether apparel, slacks, jeans, shorts—”

“I knew that! I mean, why take them off?”

“Whatever,” she agreed crossly. “Hey, you didn't follow the form. It's a good thing I'm tolerant, or I'd show you my pants.” Her dress faded, to reveal full, tight polka-dotted panties, with each dot spinning in place like a little whirlpool.

After a moment he heard her talking again. “Oh, all right. But he should have followed the form. It's expected.”

Umlaut realized that all he was seeing was serpent hide. Sesame had interposed her body to block his view of the demoness, and the rotating dots were slowly fading. He blinked and turned his gaze away, and the eyeballs creaked as they cracked off the glaze. He had gotten a dangerous dose that time.

He remembered how Surprise Golem had kissed him but never shown him anything awkward. No declining décolletage, and definitely no panties. That was part of what he liked about her. She was a nice girl, easy to be with. He might never see her again, but he treasured the brief time they had had together.

Sesame lowered her coil and he saw Metria again. She was now wearing slacks, so there was no danger of exposure. Unless she got annoyed again and dissolved them.

“Why do you want me to take off my whatevers?”

“So I can emulate them and hide from Grossclout. He'll zap me if he catches me in the class, but he'll take you for a gawky freshman student. He won't know I'm there because I'll just be dull clothing.”

Umlaut thought about her being wrapped around his crotch and surely tickling him in extremely awkward places. “Wouldn't a shirt do as well?”

“Oh, pooh, he thought of it,” she muttered. “If you insist on being dull about it.” She fuzzed and formed into a floating long-sleeved shirt.

Umlaut hastily removed his own shirt, so as not to give her time to change her mind. She drifted up to him and held out one armhole for him to put his arm into, then the other. It was actually a silky and comfortable shirt, and it fitted him perfectly. It even had buttonable buttons down the front.

“Tuck me in,” the shirt said.

Oh. He loosened his belt, then hesitated. The shirt tail extended a fair way down. She was going to get to stroke his behind anyway. But what choice did he have? So he resigned himself and tucked in the shirt.

“That's better,” it said, patting his bottom.

“Let's just go deliver the letter,” he gritted. Then he remembered a complication. “Para! How can he go there without giving it away?”

“He can visit ParaDice while he waits.”

“Visit what?”

“Heaven, Nirvana, Arcadia, Elysium, Eternal Bliss—”

“Paradise?”

“Close enough,” the shirt agreed crossly. “Hang on.”

As if he could do anything else, with her surrounding his torso. There was a wrench, and suddenly they were at the verge of what seemed to be two more fading islands. Each was cubical, with black dots decorating the faces, connected by a pair of docks guarded by paratroopers. Para was in the water paddling toward them, but there was something odd about it.

“This is the Celebes Sea,” the shirt explained. “Folk here are unable to summon the stork, so their number is dwindling, but they feel great, because ParaDice has that quality. Para will love it here; it's his real home.”

So it seemed; the boat was propelling himself eagerly toward the islands.

“Hang on again,” the shirt said, and helped by whipping its tail around his posterior from both sides.

There was another wrench, and the four of them were part of a group of really odd characters following a floating demon in a professorial cape. One vaguely resembled a mundane giraffe with only three legs; another was mostly head with tiny arms and legs; another seemed to be a tangle of black lines. Several were variants of humanoid, ranging from ogre to imp. Most were animalistic in some devious manner.

The demoness was right: Two cats, a large serpent, and a regular man fit right in.

“You come here with heads full of mush,” the professor was saying. “But if you survive, you may come to deserve the title of demons, instead of remaining like half a passel of zombies with PHSD.” He spun on a frog-faced student. “Elucidate the initials.”

“The what?” Frogface croaked.

Grossclout frowned, and the frog demon jumped and dissipated into smoke. “You,” he said, fixing on a coconut head.

“Pull Her Slip Down?” Coconut asked timorously.

Small sparks radiated from Grossclout's eyes. “Anyone?”

Half a spate of mush faces looked blankly back.

A curl of smoke rose from the professor's left ear. “PHSD: post-hypnotic stress disorder,” he said with savage calm. “Occurring after some sad excuse for a creature has spent too much time trapped in the hypno-gourd. That may be on the final exam, if you are fortunate enough to achieve it.” He drew up at a garden alcove. “Who can tell me what kind of bug this is?” He gestured, and a buzzing bug flew up.

“Ooo, eeek!” a lady demon cried, her arms windmilling to ineffectively repel the bug that flew at her. In a moment it went on to sit on the head of another female. “Ugh!” she cried, outraged. “It crapped on me!” It moved on to a third demoness, hovering threateningly before her face. “Go away, you nasty fly!”