Well-Tempered Clavicle

  The music became overpowering. His own music collapsed; he could no longer wield the clavicles. He jammed them back on his shoulders, lest he lose them. He seemed to be helpless before the onslaught.

  Could he flee while his legs still worked? Maybe, but what would be the point? The monster would follow, and Picka would not be able to outrun it. Not even if his legs worked perfectly.

  Then he got an odd notion. He was playing by the monster’s rules, and losing. Could he change the rules?

  He bent down to the ground. This was easy to do, as it was a collapse. But he had something else in mind. He put his two hands to the sand around him, pressed his finger bones together, and clutched two handfuls. Then he lifted his hands and flung the sand into the vibrating vents of the monster.

  The notes soured as the sand fell in and clogged them. It was not a lot, but it didn’t take much sand in the works to mess up a musical instrument other than Picka’s own bones. The interference made the devastating melody less effective, and Picka was able to move more freely. He scooped up two more handfuls and threw them, fouling more pipes.

  The music became grainy. The monster tried to blow out the sand but it was hard to clear, and Picka kept throwing in more. He had found his own attack that could not be used against him, using the same sand the monster had made by fracturing the ground around Picka. It would take Piper many hours alone to get all the sand clear. Even then he would have to beware of future encounters, making sure there was no sand.

  Piper, stifled, had to withdraw. He pulled back, then fled. Picka had won this encounter, or at least made it another draw.

  Just in time. His weakened joints could no longer sustain him. He sank to the ground.

  Joy’nt returned. “Picka!” she cried, alarmed.

  “Just get me out of here,” he said, hugely relieved to have her back.

  “Immediately,” she agreed, picking him up.

  18

  CARNAGE

  Soon enough they were back with the siblings, who were duly grateful for being rescued. “I never thought much about walking skeletons before, and never about dating one,” Fattila said. “But I’d almost consider this one.”

  “I’m taken,” Joy’nt said.

  “Then all I can say is thank you for rescuing me from the monster,” Fattila said. “We did not take him seriously enough. It was almost too late before we learned better. But you, Picka Bone, held him off, and you, Joy’nt Bone, carried us away. We wish we could repay you.”

  “You already have,” Picka said. “Battila took Adora Bull, and Gattila took Pundora. That greatly improves our position with the monster, because he can no longer track Dawn.” He sent an eyeless glance toward her. She smiled.

  “However,” Dawn said, “the monster remains dangerous. If you ever see him again, flee immediately.”

  “We will,” Fattila said. He shook his head. “Who would ever have thought that such beautiful music could be so ugly!”

  Soon they returned to the handbag, and Granola lifted them up, up, and away. She had stayed clear of the action, knowing that the monster could readily bring her down. She had been more useful keeping Dawn safe.

  * * *

  The giantess strode rapidly across Xanth until she came to the coast. She waded across to one of the temporary islands that appeared and faded on their own schedules. “I don’t know what’s here,” she said, “but my feeling is it is where we want to be now.”

  They looked out on a nice landscape, girt with flowering trees. There was a lovely little house by a small lake. The handbag came to rest beside it.

  A young woman emerged as Dawn climbed out and became visible. “Hello. Do I know you? I’m Sara Nade.”

  “I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Dawn said. “I am Dawn, a member of an unusual party in need of isolation for a while. Are we intruding?”

  “That depends. Are there any men in your party?”

  “No human men. Why is that important?”

  “Because I’m avoiding them. Every man who ever sees me wants to serenade me. At first I thought it was romantic, but since they all do it, it soon became tedious.”

  “Is it the music you object to?”

  “Not at all. Just being the center of attention, when I know it’s not really me they care for.”

  “Then we should get along perfectly.”

  “Just how unusual is your party?” Sara asked, not entirely satisfied.

  “It consists in part of three formerly Mundane pets who are learning magic talents,” Dawn said. “A dog, a cat, and a bird. They are all nice.”

  “I love nice pets!”

  “Then you must meet them.” Dawn signaled the invisible handbag, and Picka and Skully lifted up the groundbound pets so they could join Dawn. Tweeter needed no assistance; he simply flew up and across to perch on Dawn’s shoulder. “This is Tweeter Bird,” Dawn said.

  “Pleased to meet you, Tweeter,” Sara said.

  “Tweet!”

  “He returns the sentiment,” Dawn translated. “He also says you’re a pretty girl.”

  “Are you making that up?”

  “No. It is my talent to know about living things, so I understand him. He understands human speech, and is a sharp observer.”

  “Now I don’t want to seem unduly suspicious, but—”

  “Tell him to do something unusual,” Dawn suggested.

  “Fly to her other shoulder and face the other way.”

  Tweeter did so.

  “I apologize for doubting,” Sara said.

  Woofer arrived. “This is Woofer Dog, who also understands you.”

  “Hello, Woofer.”

  “Woof.”

  Midrange arrived. “And Midrange Cat, ditto.”

  “Do you like catnip, Midrange?”

  “Mew.”

  “He says—”

  “I got that. I have a patch of it growing wild behind my house, and not much use for it. You can have any you want.”

  Midrange bounded around the house.

  “We also have three walking skeletons,” Dawn said.

  “Walking skeletons! Are they haunting you?”

  “Not exactly.” Dawn signaled the handbag again.

  Picka climbed out and approached them, giving Sara time to get used to him. “Hello, Sara,” he said politely.

  “Uh, hello.” She was clearly taken aback, as most living folk were.

  “This is Picka Bone, my fiancé,” Dawn said.

  “Your what?”

  “He’s a musician. You might say he serenaded me, and I fell for him.”

  Sara considered. “I’ve heard hundreds of serenades. He must be really good.”

  “Do you care to demonstrate?” Dawn asked Picka.

  Pick took off his clavicles and played an intensely moving love song. Dawn melted visibly. So did Sara. Now he realized that there was an element of Summoning in it, compelling emotion beyond simple appreciation. He had had the ability before he understood its nature.

  “That the most moving music I’ve ever heard,” Sara said. “If any of my suitors had been that good, I’d be married.”

  “We face a musical monster,” Dawn said. “Picka has to practice hard to get good enough to beat the monster. Otherwise I’ll have to marry the monster. We thought this would be a good place for him to practice.”

  “It’s the perfect place,” Sara said. “I could listen to that quality of music forever.”

  “Picka’s sister Joy’nt is also with us. And her boyfriend Skully.” Dawn signaled, and the two climbed out and came to join them.

  “Are you musical too?” Sara asked.

  “We just play along with the others,” Joy’nt said. “Were not musically talented ourselves.”

  “And finally we have an invisible giantess, Granola,” Dawn said. “We traveled here in her invisible handbag.”

  “She’s welcome too, if she watches where she steps,” Sara said doubtfully.

  “I am careful,” Granola said.


  “All we need is a place to practice,” Dawn said. “We can go to a far edge of the island if you wish.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it! I love music, as I said. I even sing.”

  “Then you are welcome to join us,” Dawn said. “We’ll teach you our signature song.” She brought out her ocarina.

  Before long they were doing “Ghost of Tom,” and Sara sang one of the parts. She was good; her voice was clear and firm and exactly on key. It was a beautiful rendition.

  That was the beginning of a very nice interlude. Sara took an interest in Picka and sang with him while he played, encouraging him to tackle the more difficult themes and effects. He could feel himself improving. Dawn showed no trace of jealousy, knowing that Sara’s interest was purely musical. In fact, Dawn obviously appreciated the assistance. She still had more confidence in Picka’s potential than he did.

  Sara had a guest room, and made it available. Dawn and Picka took it. She made him invoke the transformation spell, and it had the same effect as before, causing him to indulge in all manner of fleshly gratification that she eagerly accommodated. If he had had the slightest inclination to doubt his love for her, this would have abolished it. The next night she invoked the spell, and had at him as eagerly in skeletal form.

  How could he ever yield her to the monster? Yet still he doubted his ability to prevail.

  They worked more on “Ghost of Tom,” because Sara liked it as well as the others did. They used it as relaxation between bouts of serious practice. Picka learned to play parts one and two while Dawn and Sara did parts three and four. Then he tried parts one, two, and three, and went to pieces, figuratively; it was just too tricky to manage.

  At other times he practiced the kill-music. Sara needed gravel for permanent paths around the island. She had a little quarry, but it consisted largely of stones and boulders, the free sand having been taken long before. Picka went there and played rock-cracking music, reducing stones to sand with increasing proficiency. He now knew that this ability could be especially useful against the monster.

  There was also a patch of mean-spirited thistles that liked to stab any legs that ventured within range. Picka practiced pacification music that intensified and made the thistles wilt and shed their prickles and finally vacate the premises entirely. He likewise tried the reverse, to make tougher and meaner thistles, though he wasn’t sure they would impede the gelatinous monster. It was best to be prepared in any possible way, just in case.

  Sara was also a willing subject for attraction/repulsion music, knowing that Picka had no designs on her living body. She tried to resist, to give him practice, but could not; she came toward him when he summoned, and retreated when he repelled. Then Dawn and Sara got together, and he attracted one while simultaneously repelling the other. That was precise control, another step forward.

  And the fire and water balls. They made a pile of brush, and he practiced igniting it with fireballs, then extinguishing it with waterballs. When he was able to light one side of it while wetting the other side, they knew he was there.

  “You are better at kill-music than at melody music,” Joy’nt remarked.

  “It’s cruder,” he agreed. “Just a matter of invoking the correct themes. But real music takes years to perfect, and I haven’t had those years.”

  “And the monster has,” Joy’nt agreed. “So you had better focus on defeating him with kill-music.”

  “But I’d prefer to be a great musician!” he protested. “Rather than a destroyer.”

  “You won’t be anything if you can’t stop his kill-music.”

  She was right. Reluctantly he returned to practicing the deadly forms. But between times he practiced quality themes, just for the joy of it. Sara always came to listen to those, and so did Tweeter, who turned out to be a fair connoisseur of music. The bird did not sing much himself, but song was evidently in his bloodline, and he liked it.

  Picka also practiced the healing music GoDemon had taught him, simply because it felt better to heal than to hurt. He obviously was not cut out to be a warrior, regardless of the weapon.

  As it happened, he got a chance to use it. Woofer sniffed too avidly at an obnoxious plant and got scratched by a thorn. The wound wasn’t dangerous but it was painful, perhaps because of caustic sap. Picka played healing music, and slowly the pain became discomfort, and the discomfort faded, until the dog was better. “That’s wonderful,” Sara said. “The cure music is prettier than the kill-music.”

  They were safe from a raid by the monster, because now he lacked Pundora’s magic mirror. But that meant that soon enough things got dull. Joy’nt and Skully weren’t bothered, because they had each other and liked boning up on mutual interests. Picka and Dawn also had each other. But the other four members of their party became restless.

  “Maybe you should go out and check on the monster,” Dawn suggested. “Just in case he’s up to something he shouldn’t be.” As if there was any proper monster pursuit.

  Granola consulted with the pets, and they concluded that this might indeed be worthwhile. She could carry them to some likely site, where the others could spread out. Her talent could not take them directly to what they wanted, but she could show them interesting places, give up the search, then back off to the prior stop, where there might indeed be something worth checking. The pets had come to know and trust Granola, and she was getting better at interpreting their woofs, meows, and tweets.

  They got together with Dawn and the skeletons to present their decision. “So we aren’t deserting you,” Granola concluded. “Merely going out to check. We’ll return often to report on what we have seen.”

  A ball of smoke formed over the outdoor hearth they had, but there was no fire in it. Had the monster found them and hurled a fireball?

  “No, it’s only Demoness Metria,” Dawn said with resignation.

  A head poked out of the smoke. “Are you contemplating something evaporating?” she inquired.

  “Something what?” Sara asked innocently before the others could caution her.

  “Heating, blowing, gripping, drying, absorbing—”

  “Interesting?”

  “Whatever,” Metria answered irritably.

  “No,” Dawn said. “It’s absolutely dull.”

  “So it wouldn’t relate to monster searching?”

  “You’ve been listening!”

  “I admit to nothing,” the demoness said. “But that monster is some character, and he thinks you will marry him. That seems like an interesting development.”

  “The pets and I mean to go out looking for him,” Granola said. “You are welcome to come along.”

  “Why would I want to go anywhere I was welcome?”

  “Because otherwise you might have to stay here where we don’t want you and listen to us practice music,” Picka said.

  The rest of the demoness formed, a dusky figure with overflowing bra and panties stretched to the tearing point. Unfortunately the show was wasted on women and skeletons. “But if they find something awful, then you would have to go there too,” Metria said. “That would be interesting.”

  “Why?” Dawn asked. “I mean, why would we go near the monster? We have no business we want to do with him.”

  “Oh, I can think of a reason,” the demoness said.

  “What reason?” Dawn demanded.

  Metria shook her head. “That would be telling.”

  Trying to question her would be a waste of time. “I think we should let them go, while we practice,” Picka said. “With luck, both groups should be utterly boring.”

  “Maybe sew,” the demoness said.

  “Maybe what?” Picka asked before he caught himself.

  “Stitch, fix, fasten, secure, tailor—”

  “So?” Dawn asked impatiently.

  “Whatever.” The demoness smiled, knowing that Dawn had not intended the word as an answer, but as a “what’s the point?” demand. “So I had better see about making it interesting.”

&
nbsp; “How could you possibly do that?” Dawn snapped.

  “By serving as liaison, instantly communicating to you whatever important discoveries the explorers make.”

  “But that would be useful,” Picka said.

  “A side effect. Mainly it would stir things up, and put me in the center of remarkable action.”

  “I don’t see how.” Picka was normally even tempered, but the demoness was getting to him.

  “That’s because your empty skull lacks brains,” Metria explained helpfully.

  “Oh, she’ll do what she wants to, regardless,” Dawn snapped. “We’ll just ignore her and get on with our business.”

  “Or so you think,” Metria said slyly, and faded out.

  “That creature can be so annoying!” Dawn said.

  “We’ll be on our way, then,” Granola said. She flattened the handbag so Woofer and Midrange could readily enter it, then lifted it up, making them invisible. Tweeter flew down into it, disappearing in midair.

  “Farewell!” Joy’nt called, and was answered by a medley of woof, meow, tweet, and “Thank you” run together, followed by a stirring of the water as big invisible feet displaced it at regular intervals. They were on their way.

  “Do you think she really will?” Skully asked.

  “There’s no telling,” Dawn said. “She will calculate the path of maximum annoyance, and follow that. But I simply don’t see how acting as liaison will accomplish that.”

  “You will,” the air said, followed by a whiff of brimstone odor. The demoness hadn’t quite gone, as was often the case.

  “That’s some character,” Sara said.

  “Oh, Metria has her points,” Dawn said. “She was stepped on by a Sphinx centuries ago, and it fractured her personality. Her alter ego D. Mentia is a bit crazy, but doesn’t foul up words, and her other alter ego is a rather sad, sweet child named Woe Betide. Metria’s married, though you wouldn’t know it by her escapades.” She paused, listening, but there was no response from the air. The demoness was really gone this time.

  They resumed music practice, and thought no more of Metria. Picka was steadily improving, but still doubted that he was good enough now, or would be in the likely future.