Geis of the Gargoyle

  Surprise, with truly cunning mischief, had left the thing here while allowing Arte to chase her all over the castle.

  He would never get it from her that way, because she no longer had it. And she had done it intentionally, because she had held her little closed fist up in an obvious manner.

  Iris was now pretty curious about the trinket herself.

  She picked it up. It wasn't heavy. It was just the tiny replica of a barrel that might be filled with some kind of spirit. She shook it, listening in case it contained fluid.

  Then she rubbed it with her thumb to see if there were any catch that would allow it to open. There must be something valuable inside it.

  The cook appeared before her. “Demon Rum reporting, master,” he said formally. Then he did a double take.

  “Mistress, I mean. How did you get the amulet?”

  “Amulet?” she asked, surprised. “This barrel trinket?”

  “Mistress, you have asked, and I must answer. That is no trinket. It is the miniature barrel I have been cursed to occupy when not in active duty for my master. Er, mistress. I must obey whoever holds it.”

  Iris' surprise was giving way to appreciation. “You work for Arte—because he commands you with this amulet!”

  “True. Now I am yours to command. What is your directive, mistress?”

  “Just like that? I just pick it up and rub it, and you are my slave?”

  “Even so, mistress.”

  “So you don't enjoy being chief cook?”

  “I don't mind cooking. It's being a slave to a harsh master I can't stand.”

  “Then why were you so nice to me and the children? We didn't have the amulet.”

  “You have asked, and I must answer. I was bored, and you had an interesting décolletage, not to mention your powers as Sorceress of Illusion or your mission to capture the Master Slaver. And the children promised much mischief.”

  “That's not much of an answer,” Iris said. “If you recognized me, why didn't you tell Arte?”

  “He didn't ask.”

  It was starting to make sense. “And you are required to obey, not to volunteer. So you let us in and treated us well.

  But still you had nothing to gain from this, did you?”

  “Oh, but I did, mistress. I hoped that you or a child would be my next mistress.”

  “Why? Isn't one human being as bad as another, as far as you're concerned?”

  “Perhaps. But some are more interesting than others, and some are less bothersome to work for. And there is the moral dimension.”

  “What do you mean? Demons don't care about morals, being soulless.”

  “Demons differ. I happen to abhor slavery, for an obvious reason.”

  “That's right!” she said, realizing something else. “You can help me accomplish my mission. Where is the Master Slaver?”

  “He is at this moment chasing the child through the kitchen.”

  “Chasing—” She paused. “Oh, no! You mean—?”

  “Yes, mistress. Arte Menia. Didn't you wonder why his house is so close to the slave camp?”

  “But he's such a decent man!”

  Rum made a peculiar expression. It was as if something was burbling up inside him that would not be restrained.

  His chest, throat, and head bulged in turn, inflated from within. Was he about to be sick? “Mistress,” he gasped. “May I laugh?”

  “Laugh? If you wish.”

  “Ho ho ho!” he laughed, the syllables bold-faced. “Decent man! Ho ho ho!”

  “But he was being nice to me,” she protested, nettled.

  “He didn't know you were either slave or spy. He thought you were a lovely lost maiden, and he wanted to summon the stork with you before you learned of his business. Even the meanest man can put on a show for a little while.”

  She was rapidly coming to believe. “He's responsible for all this misery? He governs the slavemasters? He is the bane of Xanth?”

  “Even so, mistress. After you caught on, he would have clapped you in chains and used you to satisfy his lust regardless of your sentiment, until he tired of the sport. Then he would have tossed you to his henchmen for similar treatment. But he liked the illusion, if you will pardon the expression, of decency. A willing maiden is more fun than an unwilling one.”

  Iris' emotions were mixed. She had hated the Master Slaver by reputation, and her mission was to capture him and destroy his operation. But she had been really intrigued by the suave, handsome, attentive Arte Menia.

  What was she to do?

  She decided that she needed more information. “I never saw you out in the field, or any other demon. Why didn't he use you to round up slaves?”

  “I am not a violent demon, mistress. I am no good at nasty stuff. So he finds other uses for me. I keep his house, and I fetch food and supplies, and I move him rapidly from place to place as he goes about his business, but I would faint at the sight of spilled blood.”

  A faint-hearted demon? “I find this hard to believe.”

  “Would you believe that I managed to make him believe this, regardless? That it never occurred to him that when he tried to use his talent of persuasion of sincerity on a demon, it bounced-back and affected him instead, because it requires a human object? So that I managed to get a relatively soft hitch working for him, instead of being constantly worked?”

  Iris nodded. “I think I can believe that. But what am I to do with you? I don't care to keep a demon slave.”

  “Wrap up your business here, and then turn me over to your Storm King, who will no doubt hide the amulet away safely so that no one else will know it exists. Thus I should have a prolonged rest, which is what I crave. Will you believe that I am a lazy demon?”

  “Yes, I will believe that,” she said with a smile. “Is there anything else I should know?”

  “I thought you would never ask! Arte Menia is returning to this chamber, having failed to catch the child or recover the amulet. His mood is not sanguine.”

  Iris came to an abrupt decision. “Return to work in the kitchen, exactly as before, so that no one knows that your master has become a mistress. I will summon you at need.” She lay back on the bed.

  “Mistress, if I may make a suggestion—” Rum said, looking alarmed.

  “Yes?”

  “Do not let the amulet leave your person. Because if he should recover it—”

  “Understood. I will keep it on me at all times until this is done.”

  “Thank you.” He faded out.

  She heard the tramping of angry feet coming down the hall. Quickly she put the amulet to her head, braiding several hanks of her hair over it and through its chain, so that it would not fall free. Then she covered the whole by illusion hair, so that none of the amulet showed. Covered only by her illusion blanket, she awaited Arte.

  He burst into the room, disheveled. “That confounded brat!” he exclaimed. He had found a real towel somewhere to wrap around his middle, but it was in danger of falling.

  “But what do you care about a mere trinket?” Iris inquired innocently. “We were about to summon the stork.”

  Indeed, she still rather hoped to do so. But first she had to know the truth from his own mouth. She would give him a fair chance to exonerate himself. After all, the demon might have been lying to her, not being truly bound by the amulet. She did not know a great deal about demons, but her mother had cautioned her not to trust them, because they might have Conspiratorial designs on innocent maidens. So her belief in what Rum had told her was less than she had indicated.

  “Mere trinket!” he exclaimed. But then a canny look sneaked across his features, and he calmed himself. “True, it is not worth much in any practical sense. But it has sentimental value. My grandfather gave it to me.”

  “Well, then, I'm sure the child will return it to you in due course. She just likes to make incidental mischief, and loses interest when she can no longer do that.”

  “I am going to boil that child in—” he sta
rted, then reconsidered, forcing a smile. “That is, do you really think so? Perhaps you should ask her to give up this foolish game and return it to me.”

  Iris shrugged. “Why not?” She let her illusion blanket slip down somewhat beyond the decorous level. “Tell me, Arte, what is the nature of your business?”

  “Merchandise,” he said. “I handle special merchandise.

  That is why I must travel so much, to fetch it and to deliver it to the purchasers.”

  “Really? What sort of merchandise?”

  He had the dubious grace to look faintly uncomfortable.

  “Oh, just items for which there is a market. You wouldn't be interested.”

  “Yes I would,” Iris said, letting her blanket slip another notch.

  His eye glimpsed what now showed, and evidently sent a message to another part of his body. “I think we were about to do something interesting, when we were so rudely interrupted,” he said, exuding refurbished charm. For some reason Iris found it less conducive than she had before.

  “Do you know that there is a slave camp not far from here?” she inquired, intercepting his hand with her own before it reached the region the illusion blanket had recently covered.

  Half a shadow crossed his face. “There is?”

  “Yes.” She saw that he was being evasive, but that didn't necessarily mean that he was a slaver. So she pushed it farther, hoping that he would exonerate himself, because he remained a handsome man. “In fact, I am one of those slaves.”

  “You are? But you don't wear a slave manacle.”

  So he knew about those. “The children and I got caught in a storm so cold that our manacles cracked off. Then we came here for shelter. What do you think of that?”

  His eyes remained fixed on her front, and his hand, held by hers, quivered as if eager to complete its travel. “I think it's a good thing you found this house. Now let's get on with what we were doing.”

  Still she demurred. “Aren't you outraged by the situation? People being caught and chained and made slaves against their will?”

  “That, too,” he agreed. “Now let's just lie down close together and think of storks. Lots of storks.”

  “In fact,” she continued relentlessly, “I am a Sorceress on a secret mission to identify the Master Slaver and destroy his ill operation.”

  That alarmed him visibly. “A Sorceress! What is your talent?”

  “Illusion.”

  “Oh. Yes. The blanket.” But his eyes were calculating now. The news of the slave camp had not surprised or alarmed him, but the news of her nature and mission did.

  “But illusion isn't real. So maybe I'll just hold you down and get on with the stork, refusing to be distracted by special effects.”

  “What, against my will?” she inquired, affecting shock.

  “Well, it isn't as if I can just let you go, after what you have told me,” he said reasonably.

  “So you are the Master Slaver!”

  But he was too canny. “I didn't say that. Come, let's forget about this dialogue and generate some ellipses.” He pushed her back on the bed, getting closer to her torso.

  How could she get a direct confession from him? She wanted to be absolutely sure, before she took him in. He might be merely a henchman, or a relative.

  Perhaps there was a way, though it was risky. She decided to try it.

  She let go of his hand and lay back on the pillow behind her. He immediately closed the gap between their bodies.

  She reached under the pillow. “Oh,” she said in feigned surprise. “What's this?”

  “If you had ever summoned the stork before, you'd know what it is,” he said as he embraced her more closely.

  He did not seem completely displeased, oddly.

  “I mean this thing under the pillow,” she said, bringing out an object that looked like a tiny barrel on a chain.

  “Isn't that the trinket the child took? She must have left it here.”

  “The amulet!” he exclaimed, snatching it from her hand.

  “It was here all the time!”

  “Amulet?” she asked with all the naiveté she could muster. “I thought you said it was just something your grandfather gave you, of sentimental value.”

  “Some sentiment!” he said. “I'll show you.” He drew back and rubbed the barrel.

  Demon Rum appeared. “You summoned me, master?”

  “Yes. Tie up this spy and leave her naked on the bed, so I can do what I desire with her without any more delay before I throw her away.”

  “But I thought you were a nice person,” Iris said to Arte. “Why should you treat me this way?”

  “Nice person!” Arte repeated derisively. “What a foolish girl you are.”

  Rum approached Iris menacingly. “But I thought you liked me!” she cried to Arte. “You're no better than a slaver!”

  “Ho, ho, ho!” he laughed. “I am better than a mere slaver. I am the Master Slaver. So know, 0 foolish Sorceress, that instead of capturing me you have been captured by me, and your last act in Xanth will be to satisfy my urge to address the stork. And then I'll have that brat who tried to steal the amulet boiled in beer.”

  “How can you help him in this?” she asked the demon.

  “You seemed so nice when you let me into the house yesterday.”

  “Sorry about this,” Rum said as he looped cords about her wrists and ankles and tied her securely down on the bed. “I must obey the one who holds the amulet.”

  “But how can you mistreat children?” Iris asked Arte.

  “I am through listening to your mewling, you pathetic creature. Now shut up or I'll have the demon put tape across your mouth.”

  “Then I have no choice but to capture you and turn you over to the King,” Iris said, coming to her final decision.

  She had given him every chance, but he had merely confirmed the worst. Her heart ached, because she had really been getting to like him, before learning the truth.

  “HO HO HO!” he laughed, harder. “You and who else?” Then, to the demon. “Now go round up those brats and keep them in a safe place until I get new manacles for them.” He advanced on her again, the amulet clutched in one hand.

  “I think not,” the demon said.

  Arte paused. “What?”

  “You heard me, pee brain,” the demon said. “I'm not doing a thing to those children. I like children.”

  “How dare you!” Arte exclaimed. “Obey, you ludicrous excuse for a foul spirit, or I'll make you do much worse.”

  “I doubt it, you feculent excuse for a human being. Your days of mischief are over.”

  Arte turned his head to look at the demon. “You can't say that to me, you crazy spook. I'm your master!”

  “Oh yes I can, simpleton. I have a mistress now, and I like her better than I ever liked you.”

  Arte looked at the amulet, then at iris. “What's going on here? This isn't in the script.”

  “As I said,” Iris said, “I'm taking you in to the King for justice. Your fell career as a slaver is through.”

  “When you're all tied up and about to be cruelly ravished? I don't know what's with the demon, but you're about to pay for your arrogance.” He lunged for her.

  Iris' bonds puffed into smoke as she leaped clear. He landed face first where she had been. She landed on the floor facing him. “Haven't you caught on yet, oaf?” the demon asked with a sneer. “You have been caught in a snare of illusion.”

  “What illusion?” Arte demanded, turning over. “All this witch does is make pretend blankets.”

  “I'm illusion, man cheeks,” the demon said. “And so is that amulet.”

  Arte looked at what he clutched in his hand. It fuzzed out and was revealed as his twisted sock. “What?”

  “I have the real amulet,” Iris said. She touched her hair, rubbing in the right place.

  A second demon appeared. “You summoned me, mistress?” Then he did a double take. “How can there be two of me?”

  “Y
our illusion image has been calling your former master names,” Iris said.

  “That's an outrage,” Rum said. “I demand the right to call him names directly.”

  “Do so, as you tie him up.” Iris went to pick up her clothing.

  Rum approached Arte. “You can't touch me!” the man exclaimed, scrambling off the bed.

  “Is that so, stink horn breath?” the demon inquired as he conjured stout ropes and looped them around the man.

  “Mistress, may I dunk him in the boiling soup before hauling him off to the King?”

  Iris considered. “I think not. It would spoil the soup.”

  “All too true,” Rum agreed regretfully. “What about the lesser slavers?”

  “What would you do with them?” Iris inquired.

  “I would give them their heart's desire, which is my very essence.”

  This set Iris back. She wasn't interested in rewarding the slavers; she wanted to punish them.

  “Those lazy bums?” Arte demanded. “Without my harsh discipline, they'd just get blind stinking drunk.”

  Then she understood. “Yes, give them your essence. Demon Rum,” she said. “And tell the slaves to come here to the house for warmth, food, and freedom.”

  “Done, mistress,” Rum said, and vanished.

  The door opened. Surprise peeked in. “Oh, goody—you found it!”

  “Yes, thank you, dear,” Iris said. “How did you know about the amulet?”

  “Buttlescutt around the house said there was something. There had to be, for him to bind the demon cook. So I looked for it in his clothing, but there wasn't time for me to figure it out, so I left it with you while I 'stracted him.”

  Iris hugged her. “You did exactly right. Surprise. Not only does this enable me to save us, we are putting the slavers out of business.”

  Soon the slaves started showing up at the house. Rum gave them warm clothing and good hot meals. They were at first fearful, then astonished; most of them had given themselves up to their fate, and not expected any such reprieve. Iris assured them that it was legitimate, and that they could all go home at any time, assisted by the demon.

  She and Surprise took a walk outside. The storm had passed and it was halfway warm. There were the slavers, sprawled blissfully across the landscape, half-empty barrels of rum beside them. They were unlikely to recover before the King's men arrived.