Currant Events

Clio looked wildly around. The roiling clouds seemed to stop at an invisible barrier just clear of the ship. There was a globe of calmness that surrounded them; beyond it the storm vented its full fury without effect. "What did you do?"

  "I conjured reverse wood to coat the hull. It reverses the storm where it touches, so it can't affect the ship."

  "But that should affect only the water. What of the air?"

  "Maybe the mast is coated too."

  The area of quiet air did seem to be as high as the mast, and as broad as the spars radiating from it. The air rushed in, got reversed, and went quiet. But how could he have coated the whole rigging without touching it?

  The others came out of their cabins. "Is the storm over?" China asked, looking around.

  "It is fended off," Clio said.

  "We see it," Japan said. "It changed its mind."

  "We're in a bubble of calm," Mexico said.

  They walked to the rail. "I wouldn't touch that," Sherlock said.

  But China put her hand on it. Suddenly she changed. Her fair young features imploded and her skin turned black. Her hair frizzled. Her eyes stared out of a a gaunt, almost skull-bare face.

  "You're looking your age!" Clio cried. "Let go of the rail!"

  Japan pried China's skeletal fingers off the rail. Then China returned to her normal appearance. "Oh, that was terrible!" she gasped.

  "That's reverse wood," Clio said. "It reversed the magic that keeps you young."

  Ciriana had left the cabin and was admiring the storm. Now she touched the rail. "»»»»," she said.

  China reeled, Japan sank to her knees, and Mexico fainted. Clio ignored them for the moment and hurried to fetch the child away from the rail. The reverse wood had reversed the reversal, and restored her immunity to the Adult Conspiracy. "Don't touch that," she warned the child. "It's bad for you."

  "Okay," Ciriana agreed amicably.

  "Do you remember that bad word?"

  "What bad word?"

  Good: the effect was only while she actually touched the wood. "Never mind. Just stay away from that rail."

  Now that the storm had been nullified, they were free to relax. As her emotion settled back into place, Clio realized that she had serious questions for Sherlock. So while Ciriana returned to play with Cricket, and E returned to listen to Randi's reasoning, incidentally keeping a close eye on her outfit, Clio and Sherlock retired to their cabin.

  "That was no incidental magic," she informed him firmly. "You did not conjure reverse wood, or shape it; you transformed an entire ship's hull and rigging to reverse wood. How do you account for that?"

  "I'm not sure," he said. "You were in danger—the dragons told me you had just rolled the ship back upright, but lacked the magical strength to do it again—and I knew I had to do something. So I made a great effort, as I held on to the rail, and it happened. I think desperation enabled me to do something I could never have done ordinarily."

  "But a whole ship! Transformation! This is phenomenal."

  "I must have more power over reverse wood than I thought. I'm amazed myself."

  That was where it rested. They had no better explanation.

  Still, it nagged her. She was glad the danger had somehow been abated, but she didn't like mysteries of this nature.

  Once the storm saw that it couldn't get at them, its fury dissipated. The winds died, the swirling fog evaporated, and the sunbeams managed to reach down to the calming sea. The remaining cloud floated innocently away, pretending she had just been passing by.

  The Maidens emerged. "Wynde Tchill never threw a tantrum like that before," China said.

  "I wonder whatever got into her?" Japan asked.

  "My curse," Clio said. "I am cursed to be exposed to danger once a day. This was that danger. I'm sorry it extended to all of you, this time."

  Mexico frowned. "In that case, we would prefer that you not remain on the Acquaintance Ship. We're not that immortal."

  "I understand," Clio said. "We'll disembark as soon as we can."

  The ship seemed to hear that, because almost immediately it arrived at a crude wharf and nudged to a stop. Their cabin reverted to carnation mode, ready to take them off.

  "Ciriana, you may remain here with Cricket and the nice Maidens if you wish," Clio said. "But you must understand that you will never grow up."

  "They're fun," the child agreed. "But I like you." She scrambled into the car.

  Clio was privately flattered, and did think it was the best course, though she remained uncertain where the child might be suitably placed.

  "And Mr. E, this seems ideal for you, as long as you know the conditions."

  "Yes, do stay," Randi said, clinging to his arm.

  "No, I must go," he said, gently disengaging. He got into the car. Randi dissolved into evocative tears and fled to her cabin.

  "Are you sure?" Clio asked, feeling vaguely guilty. "She's a pretty girl, and will never be otherwise."

  "And I will never be other than I am: homely," E said. "Do you think she'll pay any further attention to me, once I'm safely committed to the ship? She just wants the bonus for my soul."

  "Even homely men become attractive to women when there aren't enough men to go around," Sherlock said.

  "Oh, I'm sure she would make me extremely happy to be here," he agreed. "And so would the Maidens. For a while. But once my soul ran out, they would be tired of me, and I'd have nowhere to go. I think my destiny is elsewhere. I still want to discover my talent, and with luck, find a woman who needs me for something other than my soul."

  "A mature decision," Sherlock agreed.

  The car moved forward, driving off the ship and onto the wharf. Clio looked back, and saw the Maidens and handsome Tran waving. That increased her guilt. They were nice people, in a special situation. But for her curse, she would have been severely tempted. But of course she had eternal life at Mount Parnassus, and a job to do, if she could make it safely home before dying young.

  The wharf led to a road, and the road led to Castle Zombie. They came to the bridge over the moat, but that was so dilapidated that the car thought the better of it, and halted short of it. They got out, and the car reverted to a big pink flower. Its job was done. "Thank you," Clio told it, and the pink intensified.

  "Oooo!" Ciriana exclaimed, admiring the sordid spectacle of the castle.

  "Our appointment is at Castle Zombie, it seems," Sherlock said, less enthusiastic.

  Clio looked at the compass. "Yes. I hope it is in the living quarters rather than the zombie quarters."

  They set themselves, and ventured onto the moldy boards of the drawbridge. It held, barely. Clio kept a tight grip on the child, lest she slip on slime and fall into the gook of the moat. She knew the zombies were merely another culture of Xanth, but this particular castle was rather far from her favorite tourist attraction.

  They made it safely to the great warped front door. Clio reminded herself that this was where the blue arrow led her, so she had to follow through. She lifted a quailing knuckle and knocked.

  16

  Spancel

  The door creaked open. A zombie stood there, of course. "Whe donz whanz anee," he said.

  Taken aback, Clio soon rallied. "We're not here to sell you anything. Please tell the proprietors that Clio, the Muse of History, is here."

  "Huh?" the zombie asked. Zombies weren't very smart, because their brains were rotten.

  "Fetch the boss," Sherlock said.

  That the zombie understood. It turned, dropping a clot of rot, and shambled into the dark depths of the castle.

  Soon a dark young woman appeared. "Sherlock!" she exclaimed.

  Sherlock was taken aback, not recognizing her. "Tell him it's Breanna of the Black Wave," Clio told Drew. "She was a child when he knew her there."

  "Breanna!" Sherlock said, picking right up on it.

  "Tell him she and Justin Tree took over here when the Zombie Master and Millie the Ghost retired."

  "And how is Justin?" She
rlock inquired.

  "He's fine." Breanna glanced at the others. "Who are your friends?"

  "This is Clio, the Muse of History. And—"

  "The Muse of History!" Breanna repeated, astonished.

  "Here on business," Clio said.

  "And Mister E," Sherlock continued smoothly. "And Ciriana. We were led here by a magic sign."

  "Well come in," Breanna said. "Justin is out at the moment, but I'll try to handle whatever it is. We don't get many live visitors."

  Soon they were in the cozy living quarters, which were clean and clear of rot. Clio explained about the compass and its mysterious directions. "So now we're here, and would like to follow the arrow to its destination, somewhere in this castle. Then we'll surely be on our way again."

  There was a sound. "Oh, Amber's awake," Breanna said. She went to a crib and lifted out a lovely little amber-colored girl with brown hair like waves of grain. "This is Amber Dawn, my daughter," Breanna said proudly. "Age one."

  "Oh, how nice," Clio cooed, taking the child. She couldn't help it; she was a woman. "Do you know her talent yet?"

  "Yes. She makes a sticky clear resin that catches bugs and hardens around them, preserving them for future observation. Her father was a tree, you know. She already has a small collection."

  Indeed, the child held up a translucent tan pebble. Inside it was a tiny ant, perfectly preserved.

  "That's no gi-ant," Clio said, smiling.

  "Let me see, let me see," Ciriana clamored.

  Clio set Amber down, and she stood a bit unsteadily on her feet. Ciriana took the piece of amber, admiring the insect. Little girls liked pretty pebbles, and this was more than pretty.

  "She has more in her box," Breanna said. In half a moment the two were going through the box with enthusiasm. Amber was plainly pleased to show off her accomplishments. "Justin likes to joke that Amber's so active she must be from an embryo I carried for Mare Imbri, and we should call her Embri-Anna."

  "Oof," Sherlock muttered.

  "Where does your arrow lead?" Breanna asked.

  Clio looked. "That way."

  Breanna frowned. "That would be Sis. She's new, and doesn't fit in well with the other zombies yet, so we have her in a room by herself. I don't think she really likes being a zombie."

  "That would seem to be understandable," Sherlock said dryly.

  "What do you mean by that?" Breanna demanded, bridling.

  "Only that being a zombie is surely an acquired taste."

  "Oh. Yes. Well, Sis is a natural zombie. I mean, the Zombie Master didn't make her; she just formed when she died. We took her in, of course, but she lacks a sense of community with the made zombies, if you see what I mean."

  "Perhaps that's why we have been brought to her," Clio said.

  "I'll show you to her room. The children will be all right here; no one intrudes, believe me, and the zombies are protective."

  Clio, Sherlock, and E followed Breanna through a dark passage and up spongy stone steps. There was no doubt they were going right; the blue arrow kept turning on Clio's wrist, orienting on the zombie's chamber. They came to the door, and Breanna knocked.

  "Go waay," a slurred voice answered from within.

  "There is someone here to see you, Sis," Breanna said.

  "Thee-siss," the zombie said petulantly.

  "She always says that," Breanna said. "We don't know why." She raised her voice. "Please let us in."

  Finally the zombie relented. She opened the door and stood back, holding what appeared to be a bedraggled circular hank of yarn in her hands. "Waz you wanz?" She was typical, with limp straggly hanks of hair, missing teeth, sunken eyeballs, and a torso best not investigated closely. Zombie maidens did not lose buttons on blouses or cross their legs.

  "Please put that away," Breanna said. "Clio wants to talk to you." Then, to Clio: "She came with that zombie snakeskin. She says she needs to give it to someone, but no one wants it."

  Clio entered the chamber and moved to the left. Sherlock moved to the right. E entered, tripped on a loose board, and tumbled headfirst through the loop, fetching up against the zombie's decayed legs.

  "You idiot!" Sis snapped. "You went right through the spancel! You're lucky you didn't break it." She brought the twisted loop up, making sure it remained unbroken.

  E's face was against her calf. "What a lovely leg," he said. "And beautiful foot." He tried to right himself, but lost what little balance he had and slid to the floor between her legs, facing up. "And what phenomenal pan—" He didn't finish; he had frozen in place.

  "Cut that out, you faker," Sis said severely. "Zombie panties don't freak out living men; they're too rotten."

  "Sis!" Breanna said. "You're talking normally!"

  "Thesis," the woman said. "How many times do I have to tell you? My name is Thesis, after my occupation. I'm writing my dissertation on the origin of the magic spancel."

  "Thesis," Breanna said. "You're alive again!"

  "Ridiculous! I hate being a zombie, but I've never been one to avoid reality. I'll thank you not to tease me further. It's cruel, and I'm hardly in the mood."

  "Look at your body," Breanna said. "Your legs."

  "Why should I? I hate seeing my wasted limbs." Nevertheless, Thesis glanced down at herself, and froze.

  For her legs were full-fleshed and shapely. Above them, her clothing had become fresh and clean, shaped by a torso of nymphly proportions. Farther up, her face had assumed firm beauty, framed by lustrously flowing hair.

  "Look in the mirror," Breanna said.

  Thesis wadded the spancel into a ball in one fist. She strode lithely across the room to gaze into the mirror hanging on the wall. "That can't be me. It's alive. Is this a magic mirror?"

  "No."

  Something significant had certainly happened. Clio needed to get to the bottom of it. "You do seem to have been restored to full life, Thesis. What is this about a spancel? In fact, what is a spancel?"

  "That is complicated to explain. Suffice to say it is a most remarkable artifact."

  E stirred. "What happened? Why am I on the floor?"

  Sherlock went to him, helping him up. "You tripped and fell. Right through her—her spancel. You saw up under her skirt and freaked out, as any man would."

  "But she's a zombie!"

  "Not anymore. She transformed back to her living state."

  "How could that be? Zombies are goners. Everyone knows that."

  "Especially the zombies," Thesis agreed, turning back toward him. "But it seems I did transform. My flesh is firm." She felt her own arm, verifying. "I apologize for calling you a faker. You did see live panties."

  E gazed at her. "I love you!"

  "Oh, no! So you do. Darn."

  "What are you talking about?" Breanna asked. "Panties freak men, they don't generate love, at least not instantly."

  "The spancel," Thesis said. "I see I'd better explain after all. It is made, if I must be graphic, by cutting a narrow band of flesh from a man, all around his body in a continuous loop. If you start at his head, it takes a ribbon of skin and hair, proceeds down past his ear, along his shoulder, down his arm, around every finger lengthwise—"

  "His skin?" Sherlock asked incredulously. "That band of skin is gone?"

  "Exactly. Then back up the inside of his arm, down his side, down the outside of his leg, around the toes similarly, back up inside the leg, through the crotch—"

  "Doesn't it hurt?" Clio asked, appalled.

  "Of course. He is screaming all the time. That enhances the magic. It follows down his other leg, then up again, to his arm, and finally back to his head. So you have the complete outline of the man, in one thin band. The spancel."

  Appalled, Clio still had to ask. "And what is the purpose of this horrible artifact?"

  "It's magical. When passed around any person, it makes that person fall instantly and hopelessly in love with the person holding the spancel. So when this man fell through the loop—" She glanced again at E. "What's your n
ame?"

  "Zaven."

  "But you said it was E," Clio protested. "Mister E."

  "That was because I couldn't remember my real name. Now true love has restored it to me."

  "It's not true love," Thesis said. "It's the mischief of the spancel. You passed through it and it made you love me. What's worse, I don't know the antidote. I haven't completed my research on it."

  "I don't care what you call it," Zaven said. "I love you utterly and eternally."

  "But you have to understand, the feeling is not mutual. I regret your accident, but I have a research project to complete." She returned to the mirror to touch up her hair. "In fax, Iz besser be on my zway now."

  "Thesis!" Breanna cried. "You're reverting!

  The woman stared at her mirror image. It showed her legs and arms wrinkling and crusting, and her full fresh torso wilting. "Oo, noo!"

  "I love you anyway," Zaven said gallantly. He went to put his arm around her shoulders.

  Her shoulders lifted. Her body freshened. "I'm beautiful again!"

  "Always, in my eyes."

  "His talent!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Restoring zombies!"

  Thesis and Zaven turned together to look at him. "Can that be so?" Zaven said in sheer or nearly sheer wonder.

  "But it's temporary," Sherlock said. "Or at least limited. You have to remain close to your subject or the effect wears off."

  Thesis nodded. "So it seems I do need you, Zaven. There is only one thing to do."

  "No, don't revert to zombie!" he cried. "Let me stay with you! I promise not to interfere with your research."

  "Hold this," she said, handing him the spancel.

  "I don't understand."

  "You don't need to. Shake it out into a loop."

  He obeyed, still protesting. "I just want to be with you and help you do whatever you want to do."

  "Now pass it over my body."

  He paused, catching on. Then he put the loop carefully over her head and passed it on down her body. When it reached her feet, she stepped out of it. "Now I love you too. We'll do everything together." She embraced him and kissed him passionately. "And I do mean everything."

  He seemed about to float away. "How fast can we get married?"

  "We have a zombie chaplain," Breanna said. "If you care for that kind of service."