Well-Tempered Clavicle

  “Yes. Granola won’t be able to use it, but the rest of us can.”

  Crymea turned to face the river. She spread her arms wide. From her fingers issued streams of vapor that arched across the river and touched the far bank. The arches thickened and sent tendrils to interconnect. Soon a ghostly bridge formed.

  The image shimmered and intensified. There it was: a lovely arch spanning the river.

  “But it’s illusion,” Dawn said.

  “Not to me,” Crymea said. She stepped on the bridge, and it supported her weight.

  “I wonder,” Joy’nt said. She put a foot on the span—and it sank through it to the ground below. It was indeed illusion.

  “Meowrer,” Midrange said.

  “Midrange would like to cross with you,” Dawn told Crymea.

  “That’s fine,” the girl said, pleased. She bent to pick up the cat, then walked on across the span. Midrange seemed quite interested in it.

  “We’d better see what they’re up to,” Dawn said.

  They piled into the handbag, and Granola carried them across the river, keeping up with the girl and cat.

  “Meow!” Midrange said urgently.

  Crymea stopped. “But we’re not all the way across yet,” she said.

  “There must be something,” Dawn called from the bag. “Midrange can tell when something important is about to happen.”

  “I hope it’s not getting dunked in the river,” Joy’nt murmured. “If Crymea lets go of him, he’ll fall right through the bridge.”

  “Woof!”

  They looked at the dog. Woofer was sniffing avidly, his nose pointing to the water. “What is it?” Picka asked.

  “He doesn’t know,” Dawn said. “Just that it’s something we ought to know about.”

  They all peered down into the river. It wasn’t deep here, and they could see the bottom. It was irregular, except for a series of flat sections, as if some very large creature had waded through it.

  “Giant steps,” Granola said. She knew about such things, of course.

  “What do we care about some other giant?” Picka asked.

  A skull-shaped bulb flashed over Skully’s noggin. “Not a giant,” he said. “A castle!”

  “Castles don’t walk,” Joy’nt reminded him.

  “But they do settle. At least Caprice Castle does. It must have been here not long ago, and those are the marks of its foundations where they flattened the river bottom.”

  The others stared at him. “I believe he’s got it,” Dawn said. “That’s why Midrange knows, and what Woofer smells. The taint of the departed castle.”

  “So now we know we’re getting close,” Picka said. “This may be its last site. We just need to move on to its present site.”

  “But where would that be?” Joy’nt asked.

  “The rocky outcropping,” Skully said. “Woofer was sniffing there.”

  “But that would be the site before this one.”

  “No,” Skully said firmly. “That’s the site after this one, for the traveling castle. It has a different schedule. Our next-to-last stop.”

  “But it can’t be traveling backwards in time,” Picka protested.

  “Not backwards. We’re just following its trail back.”

  A glance of wild surmise circled the group. “That just might be,” Dawn said.

  It seemed that Skully had come through again.

  “Are you satisfied?” Crymea asked.

  “Yes, I think we are,” Dawn said. “Thank you for your help. Your bridge enabled us to see our first direct evidence of the castle we seek.”

  “That’s good,” Crymea said, pleased again. She held Midrange up as the bag swung close, and he scrambled in.

  Then they were on their way back to the next-to-last site, thanks to Crymea, Midrange, Woofer, and Skully.

  9

  CRUSH

  Granola hurried, and they made it back to the outcropping before nightfall. And paused, amazed.

  The massive rock formation was gone. It was simply a level plain.

  “Are we sure this is the right place?” Joy’nt asked.

  “Yes,” Skully said. “Here are the pineapple fragments.” He picked up a small metallic scale. “And here’s my missing finger bone.” He picked it up. It had evidently gotten wedged under a stray stone and been hidden before.

  “So what happened to the outcrop?” Joy’nt asked.

  “And where is the castle?” Dawn asked.

  Then a mutual glance almost crashed in the center of their circle. “The two were the same,” Picka said, putting it together. “The castle was masked as the outcrop. That’s why Woofer sniffed to the edge.”

  “But why didn’t Midrange react?” Joy’nt asked.

  “Meow.”

  “There wasn’t anything to react to,” Dawn translated. “He anticipates significant events, but we weren’t destined to find the castle at that time.”

  Now Midrange became agitated. “Meow!” he said imperatively.

  “Oh, my,” Dawn said. “Now something is about to happen here. He doesn’t know exactly what, except that it may be life-changing.” She paused. “And the only folk here with lives are you three pets, and me.”

  “And me,” Granola said from above.

  “And you, of course,” Dawn agreed. “One or more of us will be significantly affected.”

  “And not any skeletons?” Picka asked. “But we’re working together. What affects one affects the others.”

  “Mew.”

  “Some more than others,” Dawn translated. “There’s a threshold.”

  “Let’s hope it’s good,” Joy’nt said. “Meanwhile, night is looming and you living folk will want to eat and rest. So you can be prepared for that happening.”

  Dawn looked around. “You’re right. Unfortunately there’s nothing much here to eat, and no shelter. We may have to go to another area where we can forage.”

  “But the happening might happen while you’re away,” Skully pointed out. “You living folk need to stay here so you won’t miss it.”

  “Good point,” Dawn agreed. “We must remain for it, all of us, whatever it is. We don’t know which living creature will be affected.”

  “We three skeletons can forage,” Picka said. “We know what food is, even if we don’t need it ourselves. We’ll find something and bring it back.”

  “That is kind of you.”

  The skeletons set out, walking in a widening spiral, searching for anything edible. It was increasingly dark, but that did not bother them. The plain had been warm, almost hot by day; now it was cooling and stray breezes were stirring as if just waking up. It might get cold; the smaller living folk would need some sort of shelter.

  “Joy’nt,” Skully murmured.

  “Yes?”

  “May I … hold your hand?”

  Picka stayed out of it. Hand holding was one of the customs skeletons shared with living human folk. It was a strong signal of mutual interest.

  “Yes,” she replied faintly. She was surely blushing again; that remained a good trick for a skeleton, and signaled burgeoning emotion.

  So they walked connected, their finger bones intertwined. Picka’s feelings were strongly mixed. He was glad for his sister; she had found a worthy male skeleton. But he was also jealous again. Why couldn’t he encounter a nice female skeleton? He knew his chances were diminished, because he could not reconfigure his bones the way normal skeletons could. Female skeletons would consider him to be handicapped. Yes, he could play music on his ribs, but that seemed likely to make him a laughingstock among his own kind, rather than a prospective partner. So even if there were other skeletons out in Xanth proper, he would still have a problem.

  “There’s a garden ahead,” Joy’nt said. She was good at picking up on such things, even when distracted by interdigitation: the twining of finger bones.

  “Just what we need,” Picka said. “But if it is tended by a human, we should be cautious about approaching.”

/>   “It’s dark,” Joy’nt said. “I can call out, and maybe they won’t realize my nature until I have had a chance to reassure them. Then we can make a deal for some fruits, vegetables, or pies.”

  “Seems apt,” Picka agreed.

  There was a trim little fence around the garden, which appeared to be irrigated. The odors of growing vegetables and fruits and pie plants wafted out on a passing breeze. Inside the enclosure was a neat little cottage shaded by decorative trees. The property was like a verdant island in the barren plain. Someone had gone to some trouble to establish it.

  Picka and Skully lay down outside the fence, while Joy’nt walked around to the gate. “Hello!” she called.

  “Who is there?” a living woman’s voice answered from the house.

  “I am Joy’nt Bone. I would like to talk with you about getting some things to eat.”

  The cottage door opened and a figure emerged, silhouetted by the spilling light from the interior. Female, slender, garbed in homegrown blouse and skirt. “I am Doris. You may not want to associate with me.”

  Picka exchanged an eyeless glance with Skully. She thought they would be wary of her?

  “I am not concerned,” Joy’nt said. “I am a walking skeleton. I am friendly, but you may be alarmed by my appearance.”

  “Come on in,” Doris called. “I know you are telling the truth.”

  Joy’nt opened the gate and entered the yard. “How can you be sure of that?” she asked.

  “It’s my talent. No one can lie to me; I always know the truth when a statement is made. There are folk who are uncomfortable with that.”

  “Why should they be uncomfortable?”

  “Social conventions. Most folk don’t want the truth. They prefer to be falsely flattered. I can’t do that; I have to stay with reality. They regard that as unkind candor. So its easier to live apart.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “No, that’s good. It relieves stress. I can be my own person without stressing others or myself. Now, why do you need anything to eat? Skeletons don’t eat, do they?”

  “We are part of a party on a special mission,” Joy’nt said. “Five members are living, three nonliving. We make music together. The living ones need food and rest.”

  “True. Who are they?”

  “Granola, Dawn, Woofer, Midrange, and Tweeter.”

  “A giant, a princess, and three pet animals! That’s a remarkable party!”

  “How did—”

  “My talent, remember? You answered with a partial truth, but I knew the real case. Why didn’t the living folk come here themselves?”

  “Something is going to happen that will be life-changing. So they have to remain there for it.”

  “I would like to meet them,” Doris said. “I don’t get to socialize much, and they sound interesting.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “I will bring a basketful of good food.”

  “Done,” Joy’nt agreed. “My companions are outside the fence. They are skeletons too.”

  “Are they friendly?”

  “Yes, if you are.”

  “True. Bring them in while I gather food.”

  Picka and Skully entered the enclosure and introduced themselves to Doris. “We like your garden,” Picka said. “We can’t eat anything in it, but it’s a pleasant place.”

  “Thank you. I wish one or both of you were alive.”

  “I have a spell to make me fleshly for one hour,” Picka said, “but that would be futile. You are not my type.”

  She laughed. “Indeed I am not! But if you should encounter a suitable fleshly man who is in need of a woman who will always know the truth about him, please do send him my way. I’d love to have company—and perhaps romance.”

  “We will do that,” Picka promised.

  In due course the four of them were walking back toward the camp of the living, with a big basket of food. Joy’nt filled Doris in on things, as she fathomed them anyway.

  Soon they heard music. Granola and Dawn were playing their instruments, and the pets were joining in.

  “And you three are musical too?” Doris asked.

  “Picka is,” Joy’nt said. “I just shake the maracas, and Skully bonks his hollow head, keeping the beat.”

  “Let me hear.”

  Picka unlimbered his clavicles and played on his ribs as they walked. Joy’nt and Skully joined in in their fashions.

  “You are good,” Doris said appreciatively. “Especially you, Picka. But I suppose if you turned fleshly, you wouldn’t be able to play your ribs.”

  “True,” Picka agreed. It was another reason not to invoke the conversion spell.

  They rejoined the others. Joy’nt introduced Doris to Dawn and the pets.

  “What is that scent?” Dawn asked, sniffing. “Is there a horse nearby?”

  “Just perfume I distill from garden herbs,” Doris replied. “Mainly horseradish. I like horses.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Picka realized that Dawn was embarrassed about suggesting that Doris smelled like a horse. She did, but it seemed that as perfume it was all right.

  Doris opened the basket she had packed. There were pies, sandwiches, milk pods, tsoda water and boot rear for the people, and dog biscuits, catnip, and birdseed. A wonderful repast. “There’s even some genuine moon cheese,” Doris said proudly. “I have a friend whose talent is to summon cheese from the moon.” It was obviously genuine, because it had a green cheesy smell and looked like a full moon: a bare human bottom.

  “That needs to be spanked,” Joy’nt muttered.

  “Oh, thank you!” Dawn exclaimed. “How may we repay you?”

  “Just play some beautiful music. I seldom get to hear it.”

  “We can do that,” Dawn agreed. “It’s not relevant to our mission, but it’s fun.”

  “That’s not true,” Doris said. “It is essential to your mission. In fact it will help you tonight.”

  “You can know the truth even when we don’t know it?” Dawn asked guardedly. Picka could tell she was miffed by the girl’s presumption.

  “At least I know an untruth when I hear it,” Doris said. “You said music was not relevant to your mission, but it is. I knew it the moment you spoke of it.”

  “How will it help us tonight?”

  Doris paused, focusing. “I’m not good at fathoming things directly, only at knowing the truth of anything spoken. You are looking for something. Music will summon it. That exhausts my insight.”

  “It is nevertheless some insight,” Dawn said.

  They took out their instruments and played several sprightly melodies. Doris was evidently enchanted.

  “But it’s hard to see how this relates to our mission,” Dawn said.

  Doris shrugged. She must have learned not to argue about truth. “Now I must go home, before the chill of night sets in. Thank you for the music.” She turned about and departed with her empty basket. The odor of horses lingered briefly.

  “The chill of night,” Dawn murmured with an anticipatory shiver. “We’re not equipped, and there are no blanket bushes in the neighborhood.”

  “We could search for some,” Picka said.

  “Did you see any before?”

  “No.”

  “I have a small blanket in my handbag,” Granola said.

  They checked. What was small for the giantess was huge for regular-sized folk. They took it out, and Dawn and the pets wrapped themselves in its folds.

  There was a distant roll of thunder.

  “Oh, no!” Dawn breathed.

  “If rain comes, I can turn over my handbag to serve as a shelter,” Granola said.

  “But what about you?” Picka asked. “Won’t you get wet?”

  “I’m used to it. I go largely naked, and have considerable body mass; water just runs off me without chilling me unduly.”

  Reassured, they settled down. “That was an interesting statement Doris made,” Skully said. “About music bringing the castle.”

>   “Music will summon Caprice Castle?” Joy’nt asked, amazed. “I had missed the significance.”

  “That could be life-changing,” Dawn agreed. Any annoyance about Doris had dissipated. Had she really provided them with the answer to their search? “So let’s make music!”

  They went through their limited repertoire as the night progressed, ignoring the cooling and the gusting winds. The scents of day were being replaced by those of night. But too soon they ran out of the ones they had rehearsed, and no castle had appeared. “Will it accept re-used songs?” Dawn asked.

  “We are talking about it as if it is a conscious entity,” Skully said. “Does that make sense?”

  “If it masked itself as a rocky outcrop to conceal itself from us, then it must be conscious,” Dawn said. “It must have motivation of its own. It may be that we’ll never find it unless it chooses to be found.”

  “And music might make it choose,” Joy’nt said. “So music is relevant.”

  “If we just have good enough offerings,” Picka said.

  There was another roll of thunder, closer, and a gust of wind that was verging on cold. Rain seemed increasingly likely.

  Dawn focused on him. “Can you improvise?”

  He was taken aback. “I don’t know. I have just been playing what I have heard. I don’t think I’m creative.”

  “Try it.”

  He shrugged, which was tricky without his clavicles on, and tried.

  The music flowed. Melodies came to his fingers and resonated from his ribs. He was lost in the marvel of it, transported by the wonder of his own expression.

  The others simply sat in a circle around him and listened. They seemed to be entranced. The breaths of Dawn and the pets were fogging, but they did not seem to notice.

  The first drops of rain spattered on the ground around them. The living folk would have to take shelter, now. But Picka, caught up in the mood of the music, played on.

  Then something happened. Misty walls appeared before Picka’s gaze, like the ethereal strands of Crymea’s bridge. They thickened, becoming opaque.

  He kept playing, fearing that if he stopped, so would the manifestation. The walls continued to solidify.

  When Picka saw drops of rain splashing against those walls, he knew they had solidified. “It’s here,” he said, pausing his music.