She could have fled, and saved herself a beating, but she wanted to be sure it was far enough away so that it would not blunder into the castle again. So she endured the unrelenting attack, though hardly any part of her body escaped laceration and bruising.
When she was finally satisfied, she backpedaled faster, escaping the nearly mindless thing. But now she was so worn and battered that she wasn't sure she could straggle back to the castle herself, let alone defend it from other predators.
She wanted simply to collapse and expire.
But she didn't. She dragged herself in what she thought was the right direction. After a time the deadly fatigue overwhelmed her and she sank down on the ground, unconscious.
But after more time she recovered a bit, and resumed dragging. She couldn't leave the egg vulnerable!
She had no idea how long she dragged and collapsed, dragged and collapsed, but certainly time was passing. Her concern for the egg grew; when would it cool too far? She had to get there, and collapse on top of it, so that it would have its best chance, regardless what happened to her. Even if she died, her body would take time to cool—perhaps time enough for the magic to return. Then—
Then what? The egg needed her protection with magic as much as without it.
Her consciousness was dimming, but she realized that she had to do more. She had to find a way to get the castle back in the sky, where it and the egg would be safe. If the magic returned, the castle might recover, and float again. But she had to be with it, warming and protecting the egg.
But what could she do? She was so far gone that just getting to the castle might be more than she could manage, and then she would be unable to do anything more useful than warming the egg.
She pondered, and slowly came to some conclusions. First, if the magic did not return, all was lost; the egg, Roxanne herself, and all Xanth. Second, if the magic returned, there was a way to help. But first she had to help herself, because otherwise the egg would be lost anyway. And if the magic returned, there was a way.
She had to find a healing spring. And she remembered that there was one in this vicinity; it was one of the numerous springs that fed the Kiss Mee lake. For there was healing in kissing. Where was it?
She struggled with her memory, and concluded that the spring was no farther from her than the castle was. So she changed her course and dragged toward the spring. If the magic did not return, it would be no good, but since in that case everything would be lost anyway, it didn't matter. If the magic did return, it could be the salvation of the egg.
At length she reached the place she remembered. There was an indifferent pool, but the growth of vegetation around it was good, suggesting that normally it existed in supreme health. This had to be it.
She would need to take a quantity of it with her. So she labored to fashion a watertight container. She gathered leaves and twigs and clay, and tediously pieced together a bag, drawing on bird lore that was older than magic. Now, if the spring ever resumed its power, she would be ready.
She stood at the brink of it, and relaxed. She had done what she could. As she relaxed, she lost her balance, and fell forward into the spring. She landed with a great splash, and sank down below the surface of the water, too tired to try to climb back out. She knew she would drown, but her last physical resource had been expended making the bag; now she could not save herself.
Then something happened. She was feeling better! The pains and rawnesses of her mangled body had faded, and she saw that her plucked feathers had been restored. But that was impossible, unless— The magic had returned!
But why hadn't she drowned, even so? She was floating beak down in the pool, not breathing.
Then she realized that it was impossible to drown in a healing spring, because it constantly healed whatever damage the body suffered. The magic had returned in time to save her. Or maybe it had returned after she had drowned, and restored her. It didn't matter; she was suddenly fit to proceed.
She was no longer horribly fatigued, and her broken wing was whole.
She hauled herself out, and filled her bag with the precious elixir. Then she charged for the castle, at a phenomenally faster rate than before. In two and a half moments she was there—and saw the castle walls stiffening. Magic gave them their hardness.
But more was required. She lifted the bag and held it over the gouged rim of the cloud isle. If this worked—
The rent healed. The cloudstuff had just enough life in it to respond to the healing elixir. Her desperate ploy was working.
She walked all around the isle, carefully dripping elixir on every wound. Then she went inside, and dripped more elixir on the castle's injuries. These, too, healed. Finally she came to the nest, and the egg, which was shivering with cold, and dropped the last drop on it. The shivering stopped; the egg, too, had healed.
She climbed on top of it—and felt the castle move. It was floating again! It lifted from the ground, at first slowly, then more swiftly, as the healing elixir penetrated to the last of the damaged crevices.
She had done it. She had saved the egg. That was all that mattered. All was well again.
“The Defense rests,” Ida said as the illusion image faded.
“Your Witness.”
But for some reason Grey didn't choose to question Roxanne further.
“Proceed to the summations,” Judge Grossclout said, Now Grey Murphy took the floor and addressed the Jury.
“You have just one thing to decide,” he said grimly. “Did Roxanne Roc violate the Adult Conspiracy? Her personality does not matter; the Prosecution concedes that she is a fine bird. Her intent does not matter; the Prosecution concedes that her violation was inadvertent. Only one thing matters:
Did she do it? The evidence shows that she did. You have no choice but to find her guilty as charged.” He sat down again.
Ida approached the Jury. “It is not that simple,” she said.
“Intention does matter. Perhaps it can't entirely excuse the infraction, but it can mitigate it. You must weight the balance of what Roxanne Roc did. Suppose she had not been there.
What would have been the fate of the egg? Would it have been better off without her? This is the context in which you must judge her.”
She paused, marshaling her arguments, and her moon got focused. “Imagine that you were passing innocently by a region you didn't know was forbidden, and suddenly found yourself grounded, as she was, and punished by being required to sit on an egg for centuries. Wouldn't you feel a trifle rebellious?” Now the power of her sorcery was coming into play. Her talent was the Idea, and what she believed came to be true, provided that no one who knew her talent originated the idea. Could there be some members of the Jury who didn't know her talent? Metria doubted it, but wasn't sure.
“Suppose you nevertheless served that penance honorably, though it meant almost complete isolation from your kind, and from all others, except for unwarranted intruders? So that your only contacts with others were hostile ones, though you yourself were naturally friendly?” Metria saw Jenny Elf nodding, and Graeboe Giant-Harpy, and Sherlock Black. An impression was being made.
“Then suppose that your chance came to escape, because the enchantment that bound you was gone, in the Time of No Magic? Would you have done it?” Stanley Steamer nodded, and Marrow Bones. “But Roxanne Roc did not. She remained true to her mission, though in great pain and peril.
She went to extraordinary lengths to preserve the egg, and succeeded when many another creature would not have.”
Kim Mundane nodded, and Gayle Goyle.
“Then suppose you made a trifling inadvertent error, merely exclaiming in frustration when you realized that you were unable to explain to an accidental intruder what the situation was. Would you ever have suspected that a chick who had been silent in the egg for more than five centuries was listening? That it would understand?” This time only three did not nod: Com-Pewter, whose screen couldn't nod anyway, Stanley Steamer, and Che Centaur, who as a centaur was probably s
marter than all the rest of them.
“And suppose that for that inconsequential infraction you were hauled up on a charge of Violation of the Adult Conspiracy? That despite all your loyalty beyond the call of duty, you faced punishment for. breaking a rule that many feel is a pointless infringement on the rights of children?” Now Com-Pewter's screen showed a pattern of dots that formed into an exclamation point: his way of agreeing. And Che Centaur, the youngest Juror, nodded. So did Cynthia and, Chena Centaur, in the Alternate Juror section.
And so did Ida. “You have to know, when you think about it, that sometimes the law is a donkey. Sometimes it is not the person, but the law, that needs correction. When extreme honor and loyalty are punished on a technicality instead of being rewarded, you have to know that something is wrong.”
Che Centaur nodded again, and so did several others. So did most of the audience.
Now there were tears in Princess Ida's eyes, and her moon clouded over. “Roxanne Roc gave the best years of her life doing the very best she could in a sometimes extremely difficult situation. She made one tiny mistake. Who among us all would have done better? Who among us all has not made at least as bad a mistake at some point in our lives? How can anyone condemn her for being, in the end, not quite perfect? That egg could not have had a finer guardian, other than the Simurgh herself! How are we to reward this devoted servant of that egg, who did so much to preserve it, and who would never have had the chance to commit the infraction had she failed to safeguard that egg so well?” The tears were reflected in Kim's eyes, and Jenny's, and Gayle's, and Gloha's, and the Alternate Jurors', and the others looked uneasy.
“If this is the reward of virtue, what hope is there for any of the rest of us? You must decide whether you can in conscience convict Roxanne Roc in a case that shames the standards of Xanth. You must decide what is right. Otherwise what point is there in even being here?”
Ida turned away, and her moon hid behind her head as if disgusted with the proceedings. There was silence in the court. Metria felt the way she was sure most of the others did: that the trial was, in the end, ludicrous.
The Judge focused both grim eyes on the Jury. “It is not your business to determine the fairness of the law, only whether it has been violated. The evidence and arguments have been put before you. I want you to understand that I expect a suitable decision in this matter. I do not expect to have a hung Jury. However, if that turns out to be the case, I will deal with it as needs be. Behold.” He gestured, and one of Iris' illusions appeared behind him. It was an economy-sized gallows, with twelve hangman's nooses turning slowly, slowly in the wind. “I trust I make myself sufficiently clear.”
The Jury made a collective gulp and nodded. There would be no hung Jury.
Judge Grossclout banged his gavel. “The Jury will be sequestered for deliberations. This court is in recess.”
The Jury and Alternates went to a private room, and a murmur of relaxation rippled across the audience. The trial was almost done.
Metria hoped that the Jury would come to the right decision. But she had a soul-sinking feeling that there was no certainty of that.
Chapter 16
VERDICT
Mela and Nada were back in their pools, splashing each other and screaming and bouncing as each was struck by drops of salt or fresh water, and assorted males were watching just as if this were the most interesting show in Xanth. One would never have known from watching them that both were mature Princesses, or that one had a daughter almost as well endowed as she was. Cute Steven Steamer was being adored by any spare ladies in the vicinity; when Ida picked him up he snapped at her moon, but the moon was elusive. The little skeletons were playing tag around the chairs in the courtroom. Others were feasting on the refreshments provided, including a considerable puddle of boot rear left over from somewhere.
Metria went to talk with Roxanne Roc, who remained at the stone nest. “They can't convict you,” she said. “The whole thing is facetious.”
“Squawk?”
“Ridiculous, droll, farcical, funny, absurd—”
“Squawk?”
“Whatever. It would be ludicrous to convict you after six centuries of such loyal service.”
But the big bird did not look reassured.
“Metria.” It was Bailiff Magician Trent. “The Judge wants to talk with you, in his chamber.”
“Oh. Thanks.” She popped off, leaving Trent to converse with Roxanne.
Grossclout's glower was unchanged. “Metria, fetch Princess Ivy here.”
“But I can't carry a full person,” she protested.
“Then get Prince Dolph to do it. In fact, you might as well bring Electra and the twins too. And King Dor and Queen Irene.”
A bulb glimmered over her head. “Ooo, Grossie, is this what I think—”
“Don't call me Grossie, you impertinent spook!” When he saw that she was sufficiently cowed, he continued: “And don't say anything about any conjecture you may have. Just tell them that I wish them to attend the conclusion of the trial.”
“Yes, Your Honor!” She popped off to Castle Roogna.
Soon enough the entire royal family was traveling in a basket carried by Prince Dor in roc form. Metria popped back to the Judge's chambers. “Mission accomplished. Judge,” she reported.
“Good. Now go with the feline.”
“The what?” But then she saw Jenny Elf's cat Sammy approaching her. “Oh, he must be lost. I'll take him back to Jenny.” She picked him up and walked to the Jury's chamber.
Jenny Elf was waiting. The other Jurors were seated in a wide circle. “Thank you, Metria,” she said. “Now, please sit here and watch what we do.”
“But I only brought the cat back,” she protested. “I'm not supposed to stay in here.”
“Yes you are,” Jenny said evenly. “I asked Sammy to find the one most suitable for our purpose. He found you. It seems appropriate, since you are half-souled. Judge Grossclout understands.”
“But what—?”
“We do not wish to be a hung Jury, but we have found ourselves unable to agree on a Verdict. Therefore we have agreed to find another way to do it. We have a show for you.”
“A what?”
“Demonstration, exhibition, array, display—”
“I know what a show is! But why show me anything, when you're supposed to be deliberating?”
“We will explain that in due course. It is important to us that you not know immediately.”
“I have no idea what this is about!”
“Excellent. Now, please watch, and I will explain as it goes.”
“As what goes?”
“The play about the dream of souls.”
“The—?”
“Whatever. Now, there once was a young woman called Donna, but you may think of her as anyone you wish to.”
At this point Kim Mundane stood and stepped into the center of the circle. “She was wooed by a very handsome, sensitive, thoughtful, and likable young man.” Dug Mundane rose and joined Kim, taking her hand and kissing it. Kim looked thrilled.
“He had a pair of lovely winged centaur steeds who took them wherever they wished to go,” Jenny continued, her voice assuming a humming quality as Che and Cynthia Centaur joined them. “He took her to nice places. They did many interesting things together, and Donna was falling deeply in love with him, and believed that he loved her too. He just seemed to have more than the normal amount of soul.”
Metria watched, bemused. What was the point of this irrelevant little skit?
Then a scene filled in around the two people and the steeds. They were no longer in the castle chamber, but in an amusement center having fun. She saw Dug tease Kim (Donna) by inviting her to step on a pretty rug. When she did, the rug threw her off, so that she landed in a bed of feathers. “That's a throw rug!” she exclaimed with happy indignation.
He laughed and stepped on the rug himself. It promptly threw him after her. They wound up in a tangled heap on the bed. Ki
m squealed and kicked her feet as he tickled her, obviously enjoying herself.
A light illuminated them. Kim quickly sat up straight and tried to straighten her hair, afraid that someone would think she was doing something private in public. “What's that spotlight doing here?” she demanded, picking a feather off her skirt.
“That is not a spotlight, it's a searchlight,” Dug informed her.
“What's the difference?”
“The searchlight hasn't yet found what it's looking for.”
Kim grabbed a feather pillow and whammed him over the head with it. They had another pleasant bout of tickling and squealing. But Metria noticed something slightly odd: Dug did not look when Kim's skirt flew up to show too much of her legs, and did not let his hands stray when he tickled her under her arms. These were opportunities any normal young man would take automatically. It was almost as if he had some purpose other than normal.
Then they entered the castle's dining hall. Kim reached for a large, pretty, but oddly shaped fruit. The top part of it was transparent, and there were moving bubbles inside.
“I wouldn't recommend eating that,” Dug said.
“Why not? It looks good.”
“It's a perk-U-later fruit. It tastes fine, but later it makes you wide-awake, so you can't sleep.”
“Oh.” She set the fruit down, and its perking subsided.
“I'm already beginning to get tired; I don't want my sleep disturbed.”
“Here,” he said, bringing out a small metal object. He used his thumb to flick a little wheel on it as he touched it to her arm.
“What's that?” she asked.
“It's a lighter. It will make you light, so you won't be tired.”
“Oh, yes, I feel much lighter now,” she agreed, and indeed her step became bouncy.
They walked into the courtyard. There was an icy wall with odd formations on it. Dug reached out and took one.
“What is that?” Kim asked.
“An I-cycle. Shall we have a race?”
“How do we do that?”
“We each get on an I-cycle and pedal it as fast and far as we can before it melts.”