Well-Tempered Clavicle Read online

  Dara became a skeleton with glowing bones. That made Picka take note. He found himself leaning against a wall. Some time must have passed, because the three animals were finishing snacks that Picka had never seen served.

  “Ha!” Dara said. “I did freak him out.”

  That made him wonder whether a demoness could be a good girlfriend for him. There were very few walking skeletons in Xanth proper, but many demonesses. Obviously they could be attractive when they tried. But then he realized that most Demonesses wouldn’t have the patience to mess with a dull skeleton.

  “So when may I see the Good Magician?” Dawn asked.

  “Oh, you won’t be seeing him this time,” Dara said. “He’s busy with something else. But I can brief you.”

  “Something else!” Dawn said, tiny sparks snapping from her eyes. “I went through this bleeping Challenges charade just to have him ignore me?”

  “At ease, Princess,” Dara said, not at all intimidated. “Humfrey asked me to explain your Service to you.”

  “When he hasn’t even given me an Answer?”

  “He says you’ll find your ideal significant other by the time you complete the mission.”

  Dawn subsided. “He does arrange things that way, sometimes,” she said. “So there is a suitable prince for me?”

  “There is an ideal male for you,” Dara said. “I’m not sure whether he’s a prince, but Humfrey says he will be more than worthy of you, and you’ll be well satisfied when the time comes. Now are you ready to learn about the mission?”

  Dawn sighed. Her normally straight nose had become slightly crooked. It was evident she wasn’t accustomed to being treated this way—no princess was—but of course the Good Magician was a rule unto himself. A whole complex of rules, as the matter of five and a half wives demonstrated. If she wanted her Answer, she would have to cooperate. “Yes,” she said.

  “Humfrey has learned, after a century or so, the whereabouts of Pundora’s Box. He means to recover it.”

  “Pandora’s Box?” Dawn asked. “Isn’t that Mundane? It held all the blessings and curses, and when Pandora opened it they all escaped, which is why Mundania is such an awful place. What would the Good Magician want with it? It’s empty, after all, except maybe for one blessing, Hope. We learned about it in Comparative Magic class.” She yawned delicately, clearly not much interested.

  “Pundora’s Box,” Dara repeated. “With a U. Pundora was the Xanth equivalent. When she opened the Box, all the confined puns escaped, and they have been infesting Xanth ever since. The only thing that will contain them for any length of time is the original box, securely closed. But though it is possible to sweep up errant puns—if you have a strong stomach—that is pointless, because the Box has been lost. Until now.”

  Picka got interested. “So now those puns can be put back in the Box, and not soil Xanth anymore?”

  “Exactly,” Dara agreed. “It will finally be possible to clean up Xanth. ’Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.”

  “But isn’t Xanth mostly made of puns?” Joy’nt asked. “If all of them were taken out, there might not be much left.”

  “We’ll be selective. Only the worst riffraff will be culled, at first. Then we’ll see about what else is expendable.”

  “Once you recover the Box,” Dawn said. “Where is it?”

  “That is another story,” Dara said. “Every time Humfrey got a fix on the Box, and sought to fetch it in, its location changed. It was almost as if the Box knew it was being tracked, and sought to escape. Which doesn’t seem sensible. Why would the Box care? But though Humfrey knows just about everything about everything, somehow that knowledge escaped him. It was frustrating. It made him grumpy.”

  “For over a century?” Dawn asked. “That would explain a lot.”

  “It does,” Dara agreed. “His grumpiness is legendary. All five and a half of us wives are highly aware of it. Now we know why. We must recover that Box, and not just because of the potential pun cleanup.”

  “Yes,” Dawn agreed. “A way to reduce the Good Magician’s grumpiness would be a significant service to Xanth. He might even start seeing querent princesses instead of snubbing them.”

  Dara smiled, evidently amused by Dawn’s irony. “Even that, perhaps,” she agreed. “I am glad you appreciate the importance.”

  “I do. So exactly where is the Box? I presume my mission will be to go fetch it.”

  “Not exactly. Pundora’s Box is in Caprice Castle.”

  “What castle? I think I know all the castles of Xanth, but I never heard of that one.”

  “It’s a feral castle, escaped from some long-forgotten Magician, never officially classified because it never remained in one place long enough to be identified. Legend has it that it seeks a worthy occupant, scaring off unworthy ones, so has a reputation for being haunted. But Humfrey says it was never haunted, just choosy. So it keeps traveling, looking, but is never satisfied. Maybe it likes being wild, and is only pretending to look for a suitable occupant.”

  Picka was interested again. “This castle—Caprice—is alive?”

  “We don’t think so, at least not exactly. It may be like you, Picka, animate without being alive. Possibly it derives from demon stock. It does seem to have a will of its own.”

  “And it travels,” Joy’nt said. “How does it do that? Does it have legs?”

  “No legs,” Dara said, smiling again. “It merely fades out from one location and fades in at another. There’s no implosion or explosion of displaced air. It’s completely silent.”

  “Maybe it’s illusion,” Dawn said.

  “No, it’s quite solid.”

  “How do you know, if nobody can catch it?”

  “Nobody catches it, but people have nighted in it on occasion. They report that it’s an excellent host, with good food, soft beds, and all the other amenities. But when it goes, it goes, and they are left standing on empty ground.” Dara paused thoughtfully. “They say that it seems to be studying them, in some manner. We suspect it is considering them for permanent occupation, but when they prove unworthy, it moves on. So it’s still looking, as it has for centuries.”

  “You think I might be considered worthy?” Dawn asked. “That it might stay put for me?”

  “We suspect that you might be half-worthy,” Dara said. “The other half would be the Master, your husband. When you find him and marry him.”

  Dawn brightened. “You saw me coming! You’re getting two birds with one arrow! I need a good man to catch that castle, and you’re making me capture the castle in return for getting that man. What connivance!”

  “Humfrey can be devious,” Dara agreed. “Your mission will be to find and tame Caprice Castle. We suspect it will not be easy, even if it finds you worthy. This is a very choosy edifice.”

  “Let me see if I understand correctly,” Dawn said seriously. “You can’t tell me where this castle is, because it moves without a forwarding address. So I have to catch it on my own, persuade it to accept me, and nail it down so you can recover Pundora’s Box.”

  “That is the essence,” Dara agreed.

  “How the bleep do you expect me to find it when it moves randomly?” Dawn demanded.

  “Humfrey didn’t tell me that.”

  “Which must be why he’s not showing his gnomelike face.” Dawn frowned, pondering. “Maybe I should decline to take this mission.”

  “But we really need to get that Box,” Dara protested. “Xanth has survived so far, but it will be overwhelmed by idiotic puns if something isn’t done soon.”

  Picka got an idea. “How does the Good Magician track the Box?”

  “You are an empty-headed genius,” Dawn said. She looked at Dara. “Well?”

  Now Wira answered. She had been so quiet they had forgotten she was still there. “He doesn’t track it constantly, just when he’s in touch with someone who can track it. He gave me a small list of people.” She produced the list.

  “Let me see that,” Dawn sa
id, taking it. She looked at it. “Attila the Pun?”

  “He hates puns, and destroys them relentlessly,” Wira said. “Somehow he knows where they are. His subtitle is the Punisher.”

  “And where is Attila?”

  “He moves about, seeking puns to destroy.”

  “So we have to track down Attila, so he can track down the Box,” Dawn said. “And how to we do that?”

  “He has a distinctive savage primitive odor. Woofer will be able to wind it from some distance, after Tweeter locates a region of freshly dead puns.”

  “So all the members of our party will contribute to the effort?”

  “In time,” Dara agreed.

  “And is there anything else we should know before we start?”

  “Yes,” Wira said. “The Good Magician will see Picka and Joy’nt Bone now.”

  “He will see them but not me? Exactly whose Quest is this?” Dawn demanded. Now her nose was definitely out of joint.

  “Yours. But the skeletons aren’t normal people. They need some assistance.”

  “Still, if it’s my Quest—”

  “Some definitions,” Dara said firmly. “You are the person with the Quest. But Picka is the protagonist.”

  “The what?”

  “The viewpoint character. The one from whose perspective the Muse of History will relate the narrative. Protagonists warrant special attention, even if they are merely assisting the main enterprise.”

  “But I don’t warrant that,” Picka protested. “I’m just a no-account spook.”

  “For the moment, yes,” Dara said. “But things may change.”

  Dawn’s nose was bent so badly it was threatening to snap in half. “He’s the main character of this narrative? How does he rate that?”

  “Oh, it’s a pretty standard convention. The protagonist needs to be an apt observer. Often a bystander can do that more effectively than the action figure.”

  “I am a bystander?” Picka asked. It was just as well he didn’t have a nose, because it would have strained its joint.

  “It is important to pick the correct bystander,” Dara said patiently. “One who witnesses most of the most important activities. You happen to be that one.”

  “So he’s along to notice what I’m doing?” Dawn asked, her nose relaxing somewhat.

  “Yes, approximately. At least until he becomes an action figure himself.”

  Picka would have liked to learn more, but Wira was urging him and Joy’nt to follow her. So they left Dawn and the pets to question Dara, while the two of them followed Wira up the narrow winding stairway to the Good Magician’s dingy office.

  There he was, a small, wizened, and, yes, gnomelike man seated before a giant open tome, which he was perusing intently.

  “Father Humfrey, here are Picka and Joy’nt Bone,” Wira said, introducing them.

  The Good Magician looked up. “Give them the spell,” he said grumpily.

  Wira delved into her pocket and produced two small spheres, which she handed to the two of them.

  “What spell is this?” Joy’nt asked, looking at hers.

  “Transformation,” Humfrey answered. “When you invoke it, it will transform you to a living person, for one hour. Then you will revert to your natural state. You will not be able to invoke it again that day, so don’t waste it.”

  “A living person?” Picka asked. “With meat on my bones?”

  “Gobs,” Humfrey agreed with the trace of a smile.

  “Why would we ever want to do that?” Joy’nt asked, repelled.

  “To conceal your identities, if the necessity arises.” Humfrey frowned. His face was marvelously formulated for that. “Do not allow any other person to use that spell. It is for the two of you alone.”

  “We’re not ashamed of our nature,” Picka said. “We don’t mind who knows we are walking skeletons.”

  But Humfrey had already returned his attention to his tome. He had tuned them out.

  They put the spells into their skulls for safekeeping and returned to the downstairs room, bemused. Picka doubted they would ever use the spell. The very idea of living meat on his bones was sickening.

  Dawn faced them as they returned. “I think we’re done here,” she said, evidently reconciled to her nonprotagonist status. “Let’s go.”

  Picka was happy to agree. He was not entirely comfortable with the revelations they had received.

  “There is a spell for Dawn too,” Wira said, bringing out another small ball.

  “What’s this?” Down asked, hardly mollified.

  “A transport spell. You can invoke it to transport yourself and anyone in physical contact with you instantly to any spot you choose. It is in a manner similar to your Hades pass. Do not invoke it unless it is quite necessary; it is not for casual use, but for emergencies.”

  “Only for emergencies,” Dawn agreed, putting away the spell.

  “You will want to stay the night,” Dara said. “Fracto Cloud has located you and is waiting to drench you.”

  “Skeletons aren’t afraid of water,” Joy’nt said.

  “But fleshly creatures don’t always appreciate getting their clothing or fur or feathers soaked.” Dara’s expressive mouth twitched. “And we have tasty treats for each of you.”

  The interest of the pets intensified.

  “Including some wonderful marble cake the Gorgon made by stoning a flour cake. It has a special edge.”

  Dawn threw up her hands in a mortal expression. She, being a princess, naturally loved special cake. “One night,” she said gruffly.

  4

  TRAVEL

  Princess Dawn was given a room of her own, while Joy’nt shared one with the three pets, who weren’t easy being alone in a strange castle. That left Picka alone in his own room. He didn’t need a room, as he didn’t sleep, but he didn’t want to be a bad guest, so he accepted it.

  There was a knock on his door. He opened it, and there was Dawn in her nightie. “We need to talk,” she said, brushing past him.

  “If you wish,” he said.

  She sat on his unused bed, leaned against the wall, and lifted her knees. Her nightie reached only to her knees, so that her legs showed under it, and a section of her sunny panties. “Sit down,” she said.

  He fetched a chair and sat on it, facing her. What was on her mind?

  “Closer.”

  He hiked the chair closer.

  She put her legs down and leaned forward so that her bright bra showed. She caught a chair leg, pulling it closer yet, so that he had to lift his weight to allow it to slide. Now his knees touched hers.

  “You really don’t notice, do you,” she said.

  “Notice what?”

  “I just flashed you with my well-filled panties, and my well-filled bra. You never blinked.”

  “I can’t blink. I have no eyelids.”

  “I think you know what I mean, Picka. Remember when we were children and we went skinny-dipping?”

  “You and Eve floated on the water,” he agreed. “Joy’nt and I sank.” He still did not know what she had in mind.

  “We splashed each other, and then you walked on the bottom and held me over your head so that it looked as if I was swimming without moving my arms or legs. Then I dived down and tried to tickle you, but your bare ribs weren’t very ticklish. We wound up in a tangle of bones and limbs. I kissed your bare teeth. We had a ball.”

  “I don’t remember the ball.”

  “Not a physical ball. I mean we had a lot of fun.”

  “Oh. Yes, we did.”

  “We were children—Eve and I were ten, you and Joy’nt fourteen. You were more responsible than we were, and made sure we did not get into water too deep.”

  “I remember. You wanted to swim too far out, and I had to fetch you back. You tried to make me lose my footing.”

  “I wrapped my legs about your skull,” she agreed. “So that you couldn’t see which way to go. It almost worked.”

  “Until you started laughi
ng,” he agreed. “Then I knew I was going wrong, and reversed direction and got you out.”

  “You were a spoilsport.”

  “I am sorry about that.”

  “I think I could do it better now,” she said. “Because I wouldn’t laugh.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “You doubt? I’ll show you. Let me get my legs on your skull.”

  “But—”

  She pulled him to her on the bed, then lifted her legs and locked them on his skull. His face was caught against the base of her belly. “Can you see anything?” she asked.

  “No,” he said into her bottom. “Your flesh is blocking off my eye sockets.”

  She relaxed. “So it really is true.”

  “Yes, you can hamper my vision.”

  She laughed. “That too.”

  She was leading up to something. “There is something else?”

  “Picka, if I had done what I did with you just now with a living man, he would have freaked out so badly he wouldn’t have recovered for a week! But you never even noticed.”

  “I don’t understand. What didn’t I notice?”

  “My sister Eve, who is no better endowed than I am, showed the Dwarf Demon Pluto less than I just showed you, and he was so taken he married her. You saw my panties, into my bra, and I pressed my bottom against your face, and you suffered no male reaction at all.”

  He was perplexed. “Should I have?”

  “When we swam, we were children, so you wouldn’t have been turned on anyway. But now we’re adults. And you still aren’t turned on.”

  “I am sorry I disappointed you,” he said contritely. “Maybe if I had known what you wanted, I would have done better. What did you want?”

  “You didn’t disappoint me, Picka. You proved that I can trust you.”

  “Of course you can trust me. We’re friends.”

  “Yes, we are. That is extremely important to me.”

  “But why should my failure to appreciate your flesh matter? You know you are not my type. You said yourself, I don’t like meaty panties. Was that intended to be humor?”

  “Picka, I am a beautiful princess. When most men see me, they develop notions that make it difficult for us to relate as friends. So I have had very few friends in adult life, and those tended to be not exactly human, like Jumper the Spider. Even so, Eve managed to seduce him, and I could have too, if I had tried. But I couldn’t seduce you.”