Well, why not? It was a system he could live with. He regretted turning Doris off. A girl like that, in a comfortable place like this …
But he had a mission to accomplish, and another society to help save. Thoughts of remaining here were idle; the curse fiends would not accept him anyway. They were treating him nicely now only because they valued his input as an ignorant audience, and soon that would be done, as he completed their current repertoire of plays.
The final play impressed him for a reason other than the fiends intended, however. It was about a man’s interaction with a demon. Abruptly intent, Esk watched it closely.
It was, as the fiends put it, a standard pact-with-demon narrative. A young man with whom Esk readily identified (the players were very good at that sort of thing) went to Good Magician Humfrey with a Question: how could he safely tame a demon? He served his term of service—the intermission between scenes served to abbreviate that year for the audience—and received his Answer: a talisman, a diagram, a verbal spell, and a parchment on which was written a contract. “Now this will only work once, because the elements are self-destructing,” the Good Magician cautioned him. “But this combination will summon and control a demon, and the demon will then have to negotiate with you for its freedom. You can compel it to do anything you wish.”
“Anything?” the lad asked eagerly.
“Anything within its capability. What I have provided will handle one of the most powerful demons, so it will be able to do a great deal, but it is not omnipotent. However, it will not be able to deceive you, so you may ask it what its capabilities are before you decide. Just make sure that it signs this contract, after you have filled in the details of your deal.”
“I will!” the youth exclaimed. Esk felt as if he were there himself, talking to the Good Magician. How nice it would have been if he could have asked a similar Question. But of course the problem in the Vale of the Vole was that there were many demons; controlling one demon wouldn’t do the job. Still, he was really caught up in the play; perhaps he would learn something helpful.
The boy took the things home and set the process in motion. First he traced the diagram, which was a strange five-sided affair, onto his floor, and when he had it exactly right he painted it there so that it could not be scuffed out. Then he took the talisman and held it aloft. “Demon of the Day, I summon you!” he intoned. “By this spell, appear in the pentagram!” And he spoke the spell, which sounded incomprehensible to Esk, but potent all the same.
The stage darkened. The music swelled ominously. Sparks flashed. The air above the pentagram filled with smoke. There was a horrendous roar, making Esk wince. He was sure that the one watching him was making a note: special effects were being effective for the audience.
The smoke dissipated, and within the pentagram stood a glowing demon. Esk could see that this was an actor in a demon suit, not a true demon, but of course no real demon would have cooperated unless truly compelled by such magic. At any rate, the figure was suitably horrendous, and Esk wondered how it had been brought onstage in this manner. Maybe the smoke had concealed a trapdoor entry.
“Ha! Gotcha!” the boy exclaimed. “Now you have to do my bidding.”
In response, the demon roared, and a flame shot out of its mouth. Esk was delighted; that was another marvelous special effect. Metria had never done that; now he wondered whether she could have. Dragons of the right variety could breathe out flame, but he wasn’t sure whether demons could do likewise. This might be an error.
The lad, visibly daunted by this display—things were delightfully visible onstage—rallied his courage. “You can’t get out of that pentagram until I let you out!” Then, as the demon swelled up angrily: “Can you?”
The demon pounded its fist at the air above the pentagram, and made it look just as if there were an invisible wall there. It tramped around, poking at the floor and at the ceiling, but met resistance everywhere. So determined was it, that Esk found himself worrying that it would discover some trifling gap in the magic shape, so that it could get out and go on a destructive spree.
But the pentagram was tight. The demon could not escape. Finally it stood still, defeated and outraged. “What do you want, dunghead?” it demanded of the boy.
Esk smiled. It was always fun to hear language on stage that it would not be feasible to use in life.
“I want a fine house to live in for the rest of my life, a cornucopia that never grows empty, and a totally beautiful woman to love me utterly,” the boy said bravely.
“What? This is impossible!”
“No, it’s possible. I verified it. A demon of your power can do these things, and I won’t let you go until you sign the contract that specifies that you will do them all.”
“Never!” the demon swore.
“Then stay there forever,” the lad said, and turned his back as if to depart.
“Be reasonable!” the demon cried. “It takes time and expertise to make a fine house, and I know nothing about construction.”
“You don’t have to make it, just get it for me. I don’t care how you do it.”
Esk appreciated the fine point, but was losing sympathy for the boy. Evidently he didn’t care who else suffered as long as he got what he wanted.
“Cornucopias don’t grow on trees, you know,” the demon continued. “The only one I know of is being used by an orphanage to feed its children.”
“I don’t care where you get it, just bring it to me,” the boy said.
Esk lost further sympathy.
“And beautiful women don’t love folk like you,” the demon said. “I may be able to do some physical things, but I can’t change the heart of a woman!”
“Find a way,” the boy said coldly.
“I tell you, there is no way! I might get a woman to say she loved you, but her heart would still be her own.”
Esk nodded. That demon was making some sense. He was almost having some sympathy with it.
The lad considered. “On further thought, I don’t really care what’s in her heart. Just have her completely beautiful, and willing to do anything I ask, anytime, with a smile on her face, and her heart can be whatever it wants.”
“Ah, so you will settle for the semblance of a woman, provided she performs to your specifications.”
“Exactly. No questions asked.”
“Then perhaps we can do business.”
The boy passed in the contract, and the demon signed. The deal had been made. The curtain dropped.
Esk spent the brief time between scenes pondering his own situation with the demoness Metria. He had not summoned her, she had come unbidden to his hideout, setting off this whole adventure. She, too, had offered him the semblance of a woman, a deal to get him to vacate his premises. Should he have made that deal? Perhaps this play would help him to come to a conclusion.
When the curtain lifted again, the youth reclined within the open-face mockup of a fine house. The demon entered from the side, carrying a huge cornucopia from which fresh fruits tumbled. In the distance came a cry, as of a hungry orphan child. The demon put the horn of plenty into the youth’s hands.
“Well?” the youth demanded.
“Sir?” the demon asked respectfully.
“Well, where’s the woman?”
“The semblance of a woman,” the demon muttered.
“I don’t care what you call her! The deal’s not complete until you deliver her, and then leave us alone forever. You can’t do a thing to me, because of the contract.”
“True, sir,” the demon said. “I will send in the woman.”
By this time Esk’s sympathy had transferred pretty much to the demon. The youth was a spoiled brat, while the demon was honoring the letter of his contract.
The demon walked offstage, while the boy pulled luscious fruits from the cornucopia, bit once into each, and tossed them away, reveling in the horn’s plenty.
In a moment a truly striking woman walked onstage. She undulated in her reveali
ng gown, she almost flowed from her long golden tresses to her dainty slippers; she was the most luscious creature Esk had seen in all his life. He was half smitten with her himself, foolish as he knew this to be. The curse fiends had produced an actress to portray the most totally beautiful woman alive—and she was that.
“I have come to please you, you handsome man,” the woman announced in a sensuous tone.
The youth looked at her. His eyes widened appreciatively. “You’re the one?”
“I am the one,” she said, doing a little pirouette that flung her gown out, showing a flash of her awesome legs. “The semblance of the perfect woman.”
“You’ll do anything I want?”
“Anything,” she breathed.
“Take off your dress.”
“As you wish, O virile man,” she said, and opened the upper section of her gown as the light dimmed and the curtain came down. Esk strained to see her body, but could catch only the most tantalizing glimpse as the scene was cut off.
When the curtain lifted again, the two were in bed, having evidently completed a scene Esk wished he could have watched. But this was a family-rated play, where suggestion was prevalent over reality. The youth was asleep, the woman awake. She stage-whispered in his ear: “Is the contract safe? Is the contract safe?”
The youth stirred. “The contract!” he muttered blearily. He lurched up in his nightclothes and lumbered to a cabinet, where he drew out the scroll.
“Is it the right one? Is it the right one?” the woman whispered.
The youth peered at it. “I can’t read it in this light!” he exclaimed. “If anyone stole it, and put another paper here—”
He fumbled for a candle, and lit it from a live coal in the fireplace, almost singeing his fingers. He held the candle above the parchment. “Yes, it’s the right one,” he said, peering down.
“Does it protect you from the demon? Does it protect you from the demon?” the woman whispered.
He looked more closely finding his place. The candle tilted precariously. “It says ‘ … said demon shall not harm said beneficiary in any way, nor seek to have any other party do so.’ That’s tight; the demon can’t touch me.”
“Are you sure? Are you sure?” the woman whispered.
“Sure I’m sure!” he said irritably. “See, right here it says—oops.” For a drop of wax had fallen from the tilting candle, landing with a splat on the parchment. There was a puff of smoke as the hot wax interacted with the ink.
With a curse of annoyance, the youth grabbed at the solidifying wax with his fingers and yanked it off. A bit of the parchment adhered. “Only a spot,” he muttered.
“Where did it strike? Where did it strike?” whispered the woman.
“Damn! It blotted out a word! Now it says … said demon shall … harm said beneficiary. The word ‘not’ is gone.”
“Well now, isn’t that a coincidence!” the woman said. But she wasn’t the woman anymore. From the bed rose the horrendous shape of the demon. “I wonder how that drop of wax could have landed right at that particular spot?”
The youth looked at it with appalled realization. “You did it!” he cried. “You used your magic to make the wax fall right there! You cheated!”
“I did not harm you,” the demon said. “I only guided a little wax so that it would not burn your hand. I honored the contract, and shall continue to do so.”
“You will?” the youth asked with sudden hope. “Then turn back into the woman!”
“But now the wording of that contract has a new directive for me,” the demon said. “It directs me to harm you. So—”
The youth screamed as the demon advanced menacingly on him, but the curtain dropped, concealing what happened next. The play was over.
Suddenly Esk was glad he had not made the deal with Metria. Demons were too clever, too slippery! The youth in the play had deserved his fate, but it was still a scary reminder.
And the Vale of the Vole was overrun by demons. Now Esk appreciated Volney’s quest much more directly. They had to get those demons out!
“Your visa has expired,” the Magistrate informed him. “You must now depart.”
“But first I must ask my favor,” Esk reminded him.
“Oh, that. Very well, let’s hear it.”
“I want the curse fiends’ help in ridding the Vale of the Vole of demons.”
“Get rid of the demons? Why?”
“So that the voles can restore the nice curves to the Kiss-Mee River.”
The Magistrate laughed. “What do we care about the voles? We have problems enough right here at Gateway Castle! The level of the lake rises and falls erratically, alternately flooding our farmlands and dehydrating them. Our crops suffer, and wild animals run amuck. We are hardly about to sacrifice valuable manpower to help stupid animals put curves in a stupid river!”
“But I served as a good sample audience for two days!” Esk reminded him. “Now you folk know how to tailor those new plays more precisely to your audiences. Don’t you feel you owe me anything?”
The Magistrate frowned. “Perhaps there is a small debt owing. Very well, we shall assign you a person to investigate the situation.”
“A person?” Esk asked doubtfully.
“I’m sure she can do what is required,” the Magistrate said with a quirk of a smile.
“She?”
“Her name is Latia. She will meet you at the exit.”
Esk groaned inwardly. How could a single woman help against demons? But it seemed that this was the best he could get. “Thank you,” he said, with what grace he could muster. The effort strained his own acting ability.
“You will depart these premises in the morning. I am authorized to extend to you the appreciation of Gateway Castle for your service.”
“Gateway Castle is welcome,” Esk said shortly, his ability exhausted.
He had some spare time, so he took a tour of the castle. The servant wench was happy to guide him. The castle was entirely underwater, with windows that showed the fish swimming by, and in its center was a massive glass wall that circled a depression in the water. In fact, this was a whirlpool that spun its way savagely down to unseen regions beneath the bottom of the lake.
“But where does it go?” Esk asked.
“No one knows,” the girl said. That was it; not only did she not know, she was not curious. Apparently that quality had been largely bred out of the curse fiends.
The woman was waiting for him at the dock. She was ancient. Her body was stooped and ugly, her hair stringy and gray, her skin so wrinkled that it almost buried her features. “Well, let’s get going, youngster,” she snapped.
“Uh, do you know what I asked for?”
“No. Does it matter?”
Esk sighed. Perhaps it didn’t. She was unlikely to be of much use regardless.
They climbed down into the boat and took seats. Soon a bevy of girls joined them, their legs flashing prettily as they descended the ladder. “Say, it’s Esk!” one exclaimed.
“And Crone Latia,” another added with distaste.
“Don’t let It bother you, wench,” the old woman snapped. “I’m leaving Gateway.”
“Oh.” The girl was disconcerted. “Well, good luck, I guess.”
“Don’t be facetious.”
That dampened things, and they rode in silence as the cable hauled the boat to the outer pier. Then the girls climbed out and headed off to their harvesting duties of the day, and Esk and Latia started on the way to Castle Roogna.
“I have two pills,” Esk said. “They will enable us to travel without much resistance, so that we can cover the distance in a single day.”
“Hmph,” she remarked. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
So he gave her a pill, and took the last one himself, and she believed. They traveled rapidly northwest, but she was old, and unable to move as rapidly as he could, so they did not get the whole way after all. Esk tried to hurry her along, knowing that their trek on the foll
owing day would be much slower, he wanted to cover as much as possible while it was easy. But she would not be hurried, and when the evening came they were still some distance from Castle Roogna.
They stopped at a suitable glade near a spring, making camp. Latia mellowed some, now that they were well clear of the home of the curse fiends. “Do you know why they assigned me to go with you?” she asked.
“No. I admit to being curious.”
“It’s because they wanted to get rid of me anyway, and they believe that I am unlikely to return from such a wild mission.” She glanced sidelong at him. “What is the mission?”
“To get rid of the demons, so that the Kiss-Mee River can be made curvy again, so that the Vale of the Vole will be nice.”
She snorted. “That figures. Mortals can’t do anything about demons.”
“Unless they get the right talisman and spell and diagram and contract.”
“Those are known only to the Good Magician, who is as grumpy as I am. And they don’t necessarily work as advertised.”
“I know. I saw the play.”
“Well, I’ll try to help you, because that’s what I’m here for, but I am obliged to advise you of the risk.”
“The risk?” Esk asked.
“You know how we curse fiends all have the same talent? That of cursing?”
“Yes. I haven’t actually seen it in action, but I understand it can be pretty bad. My grandmother was a curse fiend.”
“She was?” The old woman showed greater interest. “What was her name?”
“I don’t know her curse fiend name. She married my grandfather, an ogre.”
“Oh, that one! I remember her. A fine actress, but impatient with convention.”
“You knew her?” Esk asked, amazed.
“Of course I knew her! How young do you think I am? I’m glad she managed to make a good life for herself.”
“You consider marrying an ogre good?”
“Certainly. Ogres have their points.”