"Adult what, mom?" Ted asked.
"Fosterage, auspices, countenance, administration, influence—"
"Supervision?" Monica asked.
"Whatever," Metria agreed crossly.
"Awww," they said together, then broke out laughing. The funny thing was that Metria joined them. It was clear that she liked both children, and was trying to be a good parent. That was her half soul operating again. Actually it was now a quarter soul, since Ted had taken half, but it seemed to be up to the job.
"What's that?" Monica asked, turning to Sherlock.
"A figurine," he said, quickly wrapping his hand around its middle section. "We need some clothing for it."
"We'll conjure some," Ted said.
Clio had a reservation about that, but let it be; it was better to let the children experiment.
A small pair of trousers appeared in Ted's hand, and a matching shirt. "Here."
"Thank you." Sherlock took the shirt and put it on the figure. The shirt promptly puffed into smoke and floated away. "Oops."
"You dope," Monica said witheringly. "You conjured it out of demon substance. That doesn't last away from a demon."
"Did not," Ted retorted. "I made it from some cloth I found."
"What cloth?"
"Your skirt."
She looked down. There was an irregular patch missing from her skirt. "You beast!" she cried. She conjured a thorny club and smashed it down on his head before the adults could stop her. It landed with a horrendous hollow thunk.
"Oooh, I'm done for!" Ted moaned, whirling around and dropping to the ground. "The harpy has done me in."
"Serves you right for calling me a harpy, you goblin."
"You'll be sorry when Mother sees me dead." Ted dissolved into a glob of goo.
Clio applauded politely. "Very nice show, children," she said. "You must have rehearsed it."
"They did," Metria said complacently.
"Gee, did it fool you?" Ted asked, reforming and getting up.
"At first."
"What gave it away?"
"That hollow thunk," Sherlock said. "That's a slapstick. It makes a loud noise and doesn't hurt at all. We use them in our whiteface comedy shows."
"That's where we got the idea," Monica confessed. There was no longer a hole in her skirt.
"Meanwhile you need clothing for the anatomically correct figurine," Metria said. "Nothing made magically will do, because the wood will reverse it."
"I'm make some from reverse wood." He looked around. "I need a place to conceal him while I work on it."
"Wedge him in a crevice of the rock, so his lower half doesn't show."
"That seems good." Sherlock moved the figure toward a ragged crack.
"But won't it hurt him?" Monica asked. "He looks so—so alive."
"Alive? He is merely wood." Sherlock set the figurine firmly into the crevice.
"Hey, watch it!" the figure cried. "My poor tender feet!" He scrambled out of the crevice.
The others stared, astonished. Monica screamed as she caught a good glimpse of the torso. "Freeeak!"
"Get over it, doll!" the figure said, and ran to the edge of the rock, jumped off, and fled across the ground.
Clio rushed to catch Monica before she fell. She had freaked out; her eyes were fully round and staring.
"I'll catch him," Ted said, running after the figure.
"Not on your own," Metria said, following him. "You can't touch reverse wood."
"I'll make that clothing," Sherlock said, recovering his poise. More wood appeared in his hand. "Is she all right?"
Clio snapped her fingers before the girl's face. Monica's eyes focused. "What happened?"
"You saw something that freaked you out," Clio said. "It's gone now."
Monica nodded. "I'll never tell."
"That's best," Clio agreed. Because demons had different standards she couldn't be sure the girl had really freaked out, but it was best to maintain the pretense. She had played the scene correctly.
"Yow!" It was Ted's voice from the forest.
"I told you you couldn't touch reverse wood," Metria's voice answered. "Now leave it alone."
"Yeah, poop-for-brains," the figure's voice came. "You can't touch me. Nyaa! Nyaa!"
Monica smiled. "Ted doesn't like being teased."
"Surely not," Clio agreed. "But I don't think it's wise to have reverse wood running around like that. There's no telling the mischief that could generate."
"Like maybe an explosion?" Monica asked hopefully.
"Can you control it?" Clio asked Sherlock.
"How?"
"Perhaps you could conjure it back to your hand."
"That's right. It's my talent. Conjuring reverse wood." He glanced toward the taunting sounds.
The figure appeared in his hand. "Hey!" it cried. "Let go of me, you hamhanded cretin!"
"You can't get away," Sherlock said. "Because I can bring you back." He set the figure down as Clio hastily turned Monica away.
"I'll get away! Get away from me." The figure took off again.
"I think what you have there is a rebellious golem," Clio said.
"Getaway Golem," Sherlock agreed.
"Getaway!" Monica said. "The perfect name."
Sherlock considered. "I suppose I should abolish him. He's obviously nothing but trouble."
"You must not do that," Clio said, alarmed. "He has become an animate, feeling creature, however obnoxious. He needs control and training, not destruction."
"But he is uncivilized."
"Then we must civilize him."
"You tell him, wench," the golem said as he jumped off the stone.
The golem reappeared in Sherlock's hand. "You must not address the Muse of History in that manner."
"Yeah, blackface? Who'll stop me?"
"I will. She has just interceded to prevent me from mashing you back to anonymity. You ought to show her some respect." He set the figure back on the rock.
"Yeah?" The golem looked at Clio. "Respect this, wench." He turned around and bent over, displaying his tiny bare bottom. Both children stifled titters.
Clio was somewhat taken aback, and not just by the bottom, which also was anatomically correct. The golem had a very difficult attitude.
"You see the thanks you get for helping him," Sherlock said. "I think this is a bad job."
"You know, he's like the inanimate, when King Dor makes it talk," Metria said. "It's pretty shallow, always making smart-bottom remarks and threatening to peek up girls' skirts and blab the colors of their panties. But Queen Irene makes it behave by threatening to stomp it."
"That she does," Sherlock agreed. "This golem was very recently inanimate, so must be similar. It has to be taught respect."
"Go fry your middle-aged face," Getaway said, heading for the edge of the rock.
"Like this," Sherlock continued evenly. He conjured the figure back to his hand. "You will be polite, or I will squeeze."
"Go soak your fat—oooh, that smarts!" For Sherlock was slowly squeezing.
"The correct expression is 'Yes, Sherlock, I will be polite from now on.' Do you think you can manage that?"
"The bleep I can! Ouch!" For at that point the squeeze resumed, as the two children blanched at the bad word.
"This is not a type of discipline of which I wholly approve," Clio said uneasily.
"He insulted you, yet you still plead his case? You're a nicer person than I am."
"She's nicer than anyone," Drusie Dragon said.
The golem looked at her in Sherlock's pocket. "Go steam your tail, snake-snoot."
"Did you ever have a child?" Metria asked Clio.
"No, of course not. I never married. Still, certain standards seem warranted."
Metria turned to the two children. "What do you think?"
"He's worse than we are," Ted said.
"He shouldn't say such words," Monica said.
"And he's got Xanth's worst attitude," Metria said.
"So s
tomp him," Ted said. "Mother would stomp me if I ever said such a word, if I even knew it."
"But of course we don't know what it means," Monica said contritely. "And wouldn't want to know." A little fake halo appeared over her head.
"I'll tell you what it means, you hypocritical brat," Getaway said. "It means—ooomph!" For the squeeze was on again.
Metria put her face close to Getaway's face. "Get this, you little piece of bleep. If you don't shape up in a hurry, we'll all gang up on Clio to make her let Sherlock squeeze you into pulp. We're trying to do something here, and you're getting in the way."
Getaway opened his mouth. Sherlock squeezed. "Uh, all right. I'll try to manage to be polite. For now. But you gotta do something for me, too."
"The bleep we do!" Metria snapped. Then, conscious of the flinching children, she modified it. "Like what?"
"Like making me a gal golem so we can—" he paused, as a squeeze threatened. "Make nice together."
"Out of naughty pine," Ted said, giggling.
"And they'll sing 'Love is a many splintered thing,' Monica said, adding her giggle.
"That seems fair," Clio said, relieved to have a positive inducement. "People do need companions of their own kind."
"But not right away," Metria said. "Make him behave for a month first. Once he's civilized, then it will be time to break in another. If he messes up, deal's off."
"And make him help find the red berry," Ted said. The dragons had evidently caught the children up on that.
"And if he helps a lot," Monica said, "You'll even make her pretty, with a shape like Metria's."
"I can do that," Sherlock agreed. Indeed, he had recently done it. He faced the golem. "How about it? Is it a deal?"
"Let me see that shape again."
Metria's shape suddenly became phenomenally voluptuous. "Like this." Her décolletage slipped slowly down.
The golem's eyes locked into place. "Now that's interesting," Clio said. "He's freaking out."
"Wonderful!" Metria said, delighted. "It means I can disable him without touching him." Her dress became more concealing.
"Will I be able to do that when I grow up?" Monica asked jealously.
"Certainly," Metria agreed. "It's a girl thing."
"Aw, I'll never fall for that, no matter how old I get," Ted said.
Metria and Monica exchanged a glance and a smile.
"Deal," Getaway said as he caught his breath.
"Good enough," Clio said. "Now put on your clothing." Because in the interstices Sherlock had managed to make a pair of shorts.
Getaway put them on, and seemed to need nothing more. He was, after all, made of wood. That made him presentable.
"Now we were trying to ascertain Sherlock's talent," Clio said. "We have observed that he can conjure reverse wood, and shape it despite its hardness. I think we have just experienced another aspect: animation."
"Are you talking about me, you per—" Getaway paused, reconsidering. "You perceptive creature?"
"Nice recovery," Metria murmured.
"I am," Clio agreed. "You were a mere wood figurine. Then you animated as a golem. Sherlock must have done this."
"I didn't mean to," Sherlock said. "It just happened."
"Can you animate something else?" Metria asked.
"I can try." Another chip of wood appeared in his hand. "What would you like?"
"Not another golem, yet! How about a plant?"
Sherlock molded the chip into a small plant with roots, stem, and several leaves. He set it in the ground.
The plant straightened out, its leaves orienting on the sunlight. It was alive.
Or was it? "Dragons, can you read the minds of plants? I am curious whether that plant is alive or merely animate."
"Animate," Drew said. "It has no living mind."
"Neither does the golem," Drusie added.
That answered her question. Sherlock was not creating life, merely animated things. She was relieved; life was in its way sacred. Still, it was a considerable talent, though limited to reverse wood. Perhaps reverse wood had special properties most folk couldn't know of, because they were distracted by its problematical effect on their magic.
"It seems you can animate the constructions you make," Clio said. "But they are indeed golems, not living things."
"I am not inclined to animate any more very soon."
She smiled. "I appreciate that."
"Time for us to go home," Metria said. Her interest diminished when things got dull by her definition. "On my mark, children. Three, two, one—"
"Mark!" the children exclaimed together as the three of them vanished.
"Which leaves us," Clio said. "It is late, and we must sleep. There are two shelters; we can each use one."
"I agree."
"What about me?" Getaway asked.
"Do you need to sleep?"
"No."
"Then you can explore the premises during the night, and notify one of us or the dragons if you see anything that could cause us trouble. The campsite is enchanted, so should be safe, but it's best to be careful."
"How do I tell the dragons? Do they understand person talk?"
"Why, they're telepathic," Clio said. "Just think to them."
"He can't," Drew said. "He has no living mind."
"But he sassed Drusie when she said Clio is nice," Sherlock said.
"I saw her snoot poke out of your pocket," Getaway said. "She has a mind?"
"Go roast your bottom, woodhead," Drusie said.
The golem did not react. He couldn't hear her, since she was mind speaking, not physically speaking.
"Tell me," Sherlock said.
"Got it, master."
"There's no need to call me that." But the golem was already gone.
"At least he's polite now," Clio said.
"Good evening," Sherlock said, and stepped into his shelter.
"And a good night to you." She stepped into hers.
And froze. It was overrun by nickelpedes.
"Now that's a danger," Drew said.
"All too true," she agreed.
"Get out of your shelter!" Sherlock called.
She was already on her way out. "You saw nickelpedes too?" But she knew he did, because the dragons had relayed the images. "How could this happen? This campsite is supposed to be enchanted against monsters."
"There must be a leak." Sherlock raised his voice. "Getaway! See if you can find out where the nickelpedes are getting in."
"I already found it," the golem said, reappearing. "There's a piece of reverse wood on the perimeter. It nulled the spell. I thought you put it there."
"I did not. Move it clear."
Getaway paused. "Now I don't want to be impolite by calling anyone an imbecile, but you do realize that would trap the monsters inside the camp?"
Sherlock laughed. "I'm glad you didn't call anyone that. You're right; leave it there for now and I'll try to herd them out."
"I can do that."
"Then do it."
Getaway ran into the nearest shelter. "Come play with me, monsters!" he cried. "I want to hug you."
There was an instant scuttling as the insects scrambled out of the golem's way. They knew what reverse wood was, and wanted no part of it. They must have skirted the piece across the boundary very carefully.
Clio stepped back as several came toward her. But Getaway was on it, running to intercept them. It was weird to see such fearsome little monsters being afraid. He herded them toward the same gap they had used to enter.
It took a while, but in due course all the nickelpedes were gone and the stick was off the perimeter. They were secure from suffering nickel-sized gouges from their flesh.
"So have I helped?" Getaway asked.
"You certainly have," Clio agreed. "You have made an excellent start." She had doubted that the golem would be much help, but now was reconsidering.
"That's good." Getaway was off again, making his rounds.
"But did the danger c
ount?" Drew asked. "You never wound back."
"I don't have to wind back if I don't need to. In this case Getaway handled it. Had he not been here, I might have had to do it myself. Certainly the danger was real. Nickelpedes are really nasty creatures."
"Now I think I understand. When a danger comes that you can't handle, it will be our turn—mine and Drusie's—to save you."
"Perhaps so."
It was safe now. Even so, it took Clio a while to get to sleep. She didn't like being so long out in the world, because every hour added to her age, and she did not know just how young she was slated to die. On the other hand, it was nice having such an adventure. She had almost forgotten how un-dull mortal existence was.
And Sherlock was turning out to be a good companion. It was probably his facility with reverse wood that had caused the compass to point him out, but it was nice having company for a while. She would be sorry when they parted company.
8
Demon Wave
Clio woke refreshed. She had had a good night despite the events of the prior day. There was something about living in reality she liked, despite the inevitable aging it forced on her.
"Welcome to a new day," Drew thought.
She had a sudden notion. "Did you have something to do with my sleeping well?"
"Yes. I projected a pleasant, calming ambience. Was I wrong?"
She stroked his little head. "No, dear. But didn't that prevent you from sleeping?"
"No, it's easy. We use it to enhance our own sleep."
"Bit by bit, I become more satisfied with your company."
He sent an image of himself turning bright pink with pleasure. She had to laugh, because it made him look like Drusie.
But there was a problem. Her dress was rumpled, because she had slept in it, having nothing else. That was a detail she had not anticipated; she had been long away from real life. She would have to wash it. But how? She was not alone, and there was only the neighboring pond.
Well, she would handle it. She nerved herself and stepped out of the shelter.
Sherlock was up and busy. He had a fire going and had breakfast pies and milkweed pods lined up. Getaway Golem sat on a stone, watching.
"You are a fine housekeeper," she told Sherlock, smiling.
"I'm used to doing for myself, and Getaway helped," he said. "It's nice to have human company, however briefly."