“Agreement."
“Two votes: on the better story, and on whether to provide accommodations for the night."
“Agreement."
Soon they were in the center of the village circle. The villagers were assembling, the children sitting on the ground in front, the adults standing outside. There were a fair number, as Ennui had suspected there would be, because of her ploy. Sex was accepted as an instrument of trade, but the idea of it being partly involuntary was compelling.
“Confession,” Andy murmured. “I'm nervous. I've never been a public speaker."
“This won't work unless one of you tells a story,” Ennui said. “I can set it up, but we can't tell your story."
“I'll do it,” Bummer said. It was the first time Ennui had heard him speak. Apparently he saved his words for important things.
When the villagers were ready, Ennui took the center and started talking. This was another thing the ikon facilitated; it gave her confidence and stage presence.
“We are four travelers,” she said, turning slowly so as to address all the spectators. “Two innocent women and two lusty men, strangers to each other before this journey. We women want merely to get where we are going, several more Chroma zones distant, and have agreed to do housework as trade for a ride in the men's covered wagon. But for some reason the men want us in their beds at night. Something about no fault, whatever that is."
She paused to allow a murmur of amusement to pass through the audience, then elaborated. “Obviously a bed is just about big enough for a single person; two people just get in each other's way. It's uncomfortable. So we prefer to sleep alone. Yet they are insistent. We don't understand their demand. They are just so unreasonable.” She opened her robe for a moment, flashing the audience with a brief full length view of her torso. She had to do it several times as she rotated so that those behind and to the sides could get their peeks. This time the murmur was one of appreciation for her outstanding body. Now everyone knew what the men wanted, and that her profession of maidenly innocence was merely a ploy.
“Finally we made a deal,” she continued. “Or rather, a wager. We would have a contest telling stories, and the winners, the tellers of the best stories, would have their way. But we need judges, folk who will fairly judge the merit of our stories and decide which is superior. Thus we have come here; are you good folk of Village Deuce willing to help us?"
Elder Condor made a show of counting responses, though it was already clear that the villagers were solidly in favor of this role. If the intrigue of deciding the fate of would-be lovers was not sufficient, the flash of her bold breasts surely was. They wanted to see more of her. “The villagers agree,” he announced. He was evidently pleased; this was turning out to be better entertainment than anticipated.
“Thank you. We do appreciate it.” She paused. “Of course if we are good enough, we would appreciate a decent lodging for the night, for we are weary of wagon accommodations."
The Elder answered for the village: “If you are good enough."
Ennui nodded. “Traveler Bummer will speak first, then the Lady Speck.” She walked to the edge of the arena and sat down beside Andy, while Bummer got up. He looked a bit nervous, but was game, perhaps inspired by the wager.
“My story is for men,” he said. That gave them warning: it was apt to be raunchy. In most villages children were taught about sex early, but there were exceptions. No children moved, so that was all right. “Once on Planet Counter Charm there was a man who had a type of magic seldom seen: he could turn back time a few seconds. That meant that when he made a mistake, he could step back a bit and play it over. When he did that, he was the only one who knew it. Mostly he just used it to get rid of pain or embarrassment, like when he hit his thumb with a hammer he could step back and next time make sure to get his thumb out of the way. Or when he was out in the field, and thought he was alone, and pissed or bared his bottom to poop, and some old maid walked by just then and saw him, he could step back and wait for her to pass before he showed his stuff."
The children in the front tittered. They knew about getting hurt by accident, and about showing bottoms to piss or poop. They would like to have magic like that.
“Now this wasn't exact,” Bummer continued. “When he stepped back, it was never quite the same again. Sometimes he missed his thumb and hit his finger instead, and would have to step back again. Or the old maid would be there a little earlier and see him anyway. But generally he could get around trouble, if he stepped back often enough.
“One day he traveled with this woman, no fault. She was really pretty, like those two.” He glanced meaningfully at Ennui and Aspect. “But though she said she was willing, she said she had a problem, and it probably wouldn't work. He wasn't worried; he figured she hadn't done it before and was scared, so he'd be very gentle the first time. He discovered she had a special talent of her own: she could make something jet, just by touching it, if it had a jet in it. That was nice when they were thirsty in a desert; she touched a cracked rock and the crack spouted clear water for a moment, which they caught in a leather bucket and drank. But when they got together in bed, naked, and he clasped her, his member jetted the moment it touched her. He was spent, and he hadn't even gotten into her. Bummer!
“'That's my problem,’ she said. ‘I can't have sex with a man, because he can't get into me before he spouts. I'm doomed to be an old maid!’ Well, now; he knew he had to do something about that. So he stepped back in time and got his manhood back inside him, raring to go. She didn't know he'd already tried it. This time he tried to get into her fast, but the jet was faster; the first touch set it off. Bummer again. So he stepped back in time again and asked her to try it with her mouth, but it didn't help; he just got stuff all over her face. Double bummer!"
This time the children burst out laughing. That was a fine joke!
“So he stepped back from that, and she never knew about that embarrassment. But he was really hot for her, and here she was ready to do it with him if he could just figure out a way. But how could he, when he couldn't even touch her? Then he thought, hey, it wasn't exact, and maybe this time he could use that to get around the problem. So he told her to have patience, and he touched her and jetted, but this time he went on into her while he was still hard. Then he held onto her tightly, and stepped back just a bit in time without letting go. Sure enough, he had his potency back, but he was already inside her. Now he pumped away in style, and had a fine jet into her center. It was great, because she was really nice inside. ‘How'd you do that?’ she asked, amazed. So he told her about his magic, and how he'd used it to reverse his jetting but not his penetration. ‘No other man can do that,’ she said. ‘I can't let a prize like you go; I'll have to marry you.’ ‘Okay,’ he said, knowing no other man would ever get into her. And that was how his magic brought him happiness."
Bummer's story was done. The audience applauded politely; they liked the story. It wasn't new; no story on the planet was completely new, but there were variations, and he had told it well enough.
Now it was Aspect's turn. “Once on Counter Charm there was a young woman. She was a village girl who would soon have to marry, but she wasn't lovely, and the man she longed for paid her no attention. He wasn't even interested in playing Tickle & Peek with her. She knew that soon he would marry a pretty girl, and her chance would be lost forever; she would have to marry the village lout. She knew she had qualities that would impress the man she loved, and that she could make him happy, if she could only get past the problem of appearance. But how could she do that?"
Ennui looked around, and saw the nodding heads of several older girls. They identified with this problem. Tickle & Peek was a standard device for girls to get the attention of favored boys; they could arrange to show a good deal of leg or breast in the process of supposedly helpless ticklishness, and boys were generally interested. When that didn't work, the girl was to be pitied.
Ennui got up quietly and went to the center of t
he stage, where she squatted.
“One day, struggling with her problem,” Aspect continued, “she walked out into the countryside and came to a forest pool. She lay down beside it and wept. ‘What's this?’ a voice inquired. ‘You look sad enough to croak.’ She hastily looked up, as she had thought herself to be alone, but there was nothing there except a six legged frog. ‘Yes, I am a frog,’ it said. ‘But I was once a princess. Kiss me and I will resume my natural form and marry you so you can live happily ever after.'” Aspect was doing all the talking, for this was her story, but Ennui faced her in the manner of a big frog. She was a prop.
“'But I'm a girl,’ she protested. ‘I can't marry a princess.’ The frog considered. ‘You do seem to have a point. Well then, kiss me, and I will grant you the gift of music, and go find me a prince to marry.’ ‘What good will music do me?’ she demanded. ‘I don't know, but it's all else I've got. It's a good gift, because it's magic music. You can do a lot with it.'
She thought about it, and concluded that it was better than nothing. So she kissed the frog, and the frog turned into a princess, complete with a royal gown, glass slippers, and a sparkling little crown.” Ennui stood, trying to look regal. “She lifted her hands and gestured. ‘And here is your reward, the gift of music,’ the princess said, zapping her with magic. ‘But remember, it takes time and practice and concentration to learn to use it well.’ She departed.” Ennui returned to the edge of the stage.
“The girl wasn't sure the princess had really given her anything, so she tested it. She had never had any flair for music and couldn't sing, so that would be a good test. She opened her mouth and sang a note.” Then Aspect struck a pose and sang a note. It was strong, firm, even, and melodious. The audience was impressed. Ennui knew it was the ikon enhancing it, as it had when they performed before.
“Surprised, the girl sang several notes.” Aspect did so, and they were excellent notes. “She realized that she really had been given the gift of music. But though that might enable her to participate effectively in a chorus, it wouldn't get the attention of the man she loved, who was tone deaf. So it really hadn't changed her situation. Disconsolate, she walked back toward the village.
“Suddenly a bear charged her.” Ennui was now the bear, walking on hands and feet. “It had been stalking her, but she had been too distracted to notice. Now it intended to kill her and eat her before she got back to the safety of the village. She looked at it and screamed—and the bear fell over as if it had struck a wall, its six legs scrambling in air.” Ennui did that, though she had only four “legs” to lift, in the process proffering a considerable Peek to one section of the audience. “She was amazed; what had happened?
“The bear rolled to its feet and came toward her, growling. All she could think of to do was flee, but she knew it would catch her. Then to her surprise she sang the four notes she had just practiced—and the bear rocked back as if struck on the nose. This was astonishing; could the mere sound of her voice hold the creature off? As it turned out, it could; she was able to sing the bear into complete retreat.” Aspect sang a simple melody, and Ennui fled.
“The girl realized that there really was magic in her music; that was what had driven away the bear. Still, that would not get her the man she loved; he was not afraid of bears. She walked on toward the village. But when she came to the little bridge over the stream that supplied the village with water, she discovered that the supports had given way and the bridge had collapsed into the water. She was unable to cross, because there were crocs therein. But then she wondered: if her voice could stun a bear, what about a croc? She had to cross the stream, because it was getting late, and it was dangerous outside at night.
“So she sang, and walked down the bank to the river. The croc there did not move. She stepped into the water, still singing, for she knew the effect would end the moment the song did—and her foot did not splash. Instead it touched the surface of the water and stayed there."
Aspect paused, looking down at her feet, as if amazed. The children looked there too imagining the river.
“She took another step, singing, and her foot remained on the surface. She walked across the water! When she was across, quite dry, she stopped singing and turned to look back. Could she really have done that? Even the croc looked amazed, and disgusted. Well, now! This had real possibilities. What else could this magic music do?
“The next few days she experimented whenever she was by herself. The powers of the music seemed endless; in fact it was as if she lived in a Chroma zone. But she didn't; she was a nonChroma girl. No one in her village had magic. She knew she would be resented if she let her talent be known, so she resolved to conceal it. But then how could she use it to win the man she loved? Finally she tried a special kind of magic: to use illusion that only he could see to make her seem lovely.
“She waited until he was leaving the village.” Ennui now assumed this role, clumsily striding as if in the manner of a man, garnering a few laughs. “Then she joined him, as if by coincidence. ‘Greeting,’ she sang brightly. ‘Acknowledged,’ he replied gruffly, for she was not the kind of company he craved. He liked pretty and sexy women, and she wasn't either. ‘I wish to marry you,’ she told him. He burst out laughing, thinking it a joke, glancing at her.” Ennui pantomimed the laugh. “But his laugh gave out in the middle, for he saw a lovely face. ‘Huh?’ She smiled. ‘I think I can be what you like.’ ‘You're wearing a mask,’ he said. ‘Negation. Feel my face.’ He did so, and the illusion made it feel the same as it looked.” Ennui felt Aspect's face. “Still he doubted. ‘And I like—’ ‘Feel these,’ she sang, opening her shirt to reveal burstingly full breasts. He did so, and was satisfied.” So was the audience, for Aspect had opened her own shirt to illustrate the story, showing breasts that were every bit as nice as those described, and Ennui gave them a good feel. That got a considerable laugh. “'How—?’ ‘I'll tell you after we are married.’ At which point he got canny. ‘I want to know it works, first.’ ‘Very well.’ They went to a place beside the path, and she lay down and let him have at her body.” They did not act out this part. “'Stop that fool singing!’ he said."
Aspect stopped her own singing narration. “Oops.” And the audience related. What was the girl to do now? If she couldn't sing, she couldn't keep up the illusion.
“Fortunately he was already plunging into her, and didn't notice that she had reverted to plain. While he worked, she thought desperately, and got an idea. She resumed singing, but this time modified the spell to make him like her voice as well as her body. So he no longer complained. Satisfied, he agreed to marry her, for she did seem to have all that mattered in a woman.” Aspect smiled knowingly, and the women and some of the men smiled with her. “After they married, she told him about the frog and the magic. He, not being entirely stupid, realized that this could be quite useful. So he kept the secret, and they prospered. All because she had kissed a frog."
The audience applauded vigorously. The villagers had liked the story, perhaps as much for Aspect's appearance and the incidental acting as for the familiar content. In fact the applause was louder and more sustained than it had been for Bummer's tale. Ennui realized that could be a problem, because they wanted to lose, not win. But the contest was far from over.
* * * *
Now it was Andy's turn. He looked determined, surely because the sight of Aspect's breasts had reminded him what was at stake. He was nervous about public speaking, but knew he would lose his hot night in bed if he defaulted. So he visibly nerved himself and started in. “There was this guy, this ordinary man who had just got dumped by his fiancée. She told him he was of no account, had always been of no account, and always would be of no account. The worst of it was she was probably right. He was so beat by that that he decided to go to the Cave of Death and die. No one who entered it ever came out; it was sure suicide. Maybe that would make his ex-fiancée sorry."
Andy paused, uncertain how this was going. Aspect caught his eye and smiled
: he was doing well. Encouraged, he resumed his narrative, not thinking to question why the opposition should be helping him. “So he came to the cave and peered in. It was totally dark in there, and he was scared. But he couldn't back off now; if he returned to the village everyone would laugh at him for lacking the courage of his convictions. Somehow that seemed worse than death did. So he gulped in some air, cranked up his posterior, and marched boldly into the gloom.
“For a moment there was nothing. Then he heard a voice. ‘A man!’ It sounded like a woman. This surprised him; what was a woman doing here? So he stopped walking and peered into the darkness, seeing nothing. ‘Who?’ he demanded. ‘It's me, Autopsy,’ she replied. ‘I can't see you.’ ‘No one can see me; I'm a ghost.’ ‘A ghost!’ he repeated, appalled. ‘Well, this is the Cave of Death. What did you expect—warm luscious living flesh?’ That made him realize that he was being foolish. Of course there were ghosts in here; where else would they be? ‘Well, I guess I've come to join you. What's it like being a ghost?’ ‘Oh, it's awful! I hate it.’ She burst into sobbing. That made him feel bad; he didn't like hearing a woman cry, especially a ghost woman. ‘Aw, don't cry, Autopsy.’ ‘Oh? What are you going to do about it? Restore me to life?’ ‘I don't know; is it possible?’ ‘No.’ This annoyed him. ‘Then why did you suggest it?’ ‘I wasn't suggesting it.’ ‘Yes you were! You said—’ ‘I was being sarcastic.’ ‘I hate sarcasm.’ The ghost paused, then softened. ‘Why did you come here?’ ‘That's none of your concern.’ ‘Yes it is, if you're going to be a ghost I'll have to associate with you for all eternity. Are you of good character?’ ‘What is this—a test to see if I'm okay to die?’ ‘Yes.’ That set him back. He didn't know how to refute it, so he answered. ‘I'm not a good enough character to rate well with my fiancée, so she dumped me. Now I don't want to live.’ ‘Oh, that's so sad.’ ‘Are you being sarcastic again?’ ‘No.’ ‘So I guess if I'm not good enough for here, I'm not good enough for you, so maybe I'd better find another place to die.’ ‘Let's not be hasty. I was, and I regretted it. Are you sure you really want to die?’ He considered. ‘It's not that I really want to die, it's that I can't live without my fiancée.’ There was another pause while the ghost considered. Then she said ‘I am not alone here. I have two friends. Let's exchange introductions.’ ‘Okay, I guess I've got nothing much better to do. I am Buffoon.’ ‘I am Autopsy, as I said, and my friends are Necropsy and Thanatopsy. They are also ghosts.'