Vale of the Vole Part 20

"It seems that we cannot help these visitors at the moment," Chex said. "Perhaps if they do not mind remaining with us for a time, we can find some other person whose gourd orientation is more relevant."

"That's fine," Bria said. "I shall be happy to spend some time here."

"But you will have to dress decently," Latia said.

"What?"

"Different conventions!" Esk said quickly to Bria. "She only means that here it will be better if you wear a dress."

"That's right," Marrow said. "You do wear clothing here."

"I don't," Chex said.

"Humanoids wear clothing, mostly," Esk said.

"I suppose we shouldn't embarra.s.s the world we visit," Bria said reluctantly.

"There is a broadcloth tree close by," Latia said. "I can readily make you clothing from that." She glanced at Marrow. "And if I can find some herringbone material, that should do nicely for you." Latia set off for the fabric, trailed by the two from the gourd.

"Broadcloth and herringbone," Chex murmured. "She has a special sense of alignment."

"The curse fiends are very conscious of the proprieties," Esk agreed. "I gather she rendezvoused with you and Volney, and then Volney sniffed me out?"

"Exactly. We did not realize that you would return with company, but perhaps it is for the best. I gather you were unsuccessful in your quest for a solution to the problem of the Kiss-Mee River?"

"Unfortunately, yes. But I can still ask the ogres for help."

"We must eat and compare notes," she said, "then decide what to do in the morning."

"Yes. I am eager to hear how the two of you fared." Indeed, he was glad to be back with familiar company. But still his mind kept flirting with the experience he had had with Bria's mode of apology. He had returned from the gourd, his body intact, but his mind had hardly settled yet. He wished he could talk to someone about that.

"She seems like a nice enough girl, and quite well formed," Chex remarked, as if reading his mind. "But she is not of your world, Esk."

Chapter 10. Cheiron.

Chex trotted south, carrying Marrow on her back. She was headed for her sire's region, and the skeleton would not have been able to keep up afoot.

Actually, Marrow did not look like a skeleton now. Latia had worked up an effective suit of herringbone cloth, and picked him a pair of stout slippers and a pair of thick gloves that extended well up past his wrists. He looked very much like a living man, except for his skull, and even that could be masked by the hat and scarf. Fortunately he did not weigh very much, even bundled up like this, because he was all bone.

They had discussed it the prior night, after exchanging stories of recent adventures. They had decided to distribute the new additions to the group among the original members, with the fiend woman and bra.s.s girl accompanying Esk, and the skeleton accompanying Chex. The vole was tunneling alone, again; it was too difficult for any of the others to keep pace with him deep underground. Perhaps this time they would be able to obtain some more solid commitment of a.s.sistance. They would meet in seven days, as before, and see where they stood. One way or another, they intended to rescue the Kiss-Mee River from its unhappy plight.

It was possible that Marrow would not remain with her long, for they had agreed to ask any other folk they met to look in a gourd, and to conduct Marrow there if either the horror house or the haunted garden were found, because the two were adjacent. Meanwhile, she was happy to talk with him, because like all centaurs she was curious about anything that was out of the ordinary.

"How is it that you hold together without flesh or tendons?" she inquired.

"That is the nature of skeletal magic," he explained. "The toe bone is connected to the foot bone, and the foot bone is connected to the ankle bone, and the ankle bone is connected to the leg bone-"

"I grasp the connection," she cut in wryly. "I suppose it is that same magic that animates you?"

"Of course. Just as the magic of life animates your flesh. Doesn't it become quite hot in there, with such a ponderous ma.s.s of flesh encasing you?"

"We have become acclimatized to it," she said with a private smile. "How is that you are able to speak, when you have no lungs, no throat, no mouth?"

"It is just part of the magic. Certain motions of the jaw produce certain sounds, and we learn to control these when young, until we become proficient. The full process takes several years, but we consider it part of the art of growing up."

"Of growing up? You mean, there are child skeletons too?"

"Of course. Did you suppose we were fas.h.i.+oned whole from air?"

"I thought you were the remains of formerly living folk."

"The remains of living folk? What an appalling notion!"

"No offense was intended, Marrow," she said quickly.

"We of the outer world don't have much direct contact with you of the gourd, so are ignorant about many things. I apologize if-"

"No apology required," he said quickly. "Of course you did not know; that is why you asked."

Chex remembered something that Esk had mentioned in pa.s.sing. "About apology-is it true that your kind does it by kissing?"

"Of course not! Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Perhaps I misconstrued a reference. Esk said something about the bra.s.sies-"

"They do it their way, of course. Bria embarra.s.sed Esk, so she kissed him."

"Skeletons don't do it that way?" This was interesting!

"Certainly not. How could we kiss?"

"I see your point. Yet in that case-"

"We knock skulls."

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"Hurt?"

She realized that pain would be a foreign concept to creatures who had no soft flesh. "I think I understand that it does not. But suppose a skeleton embarra.s.sed a bra.s.sie? Would they kiss or knock heads?"

"How could a skeleton embarra.s.s a bra.s.sie?" he asked.

That stumped her, so she moved on to another subject. "You said there were small skeletons. How do skeletons reproduce?"

"Very simple. He strikes her so hard she flies apart. That is known as knocking her up. Then he selects some of the smaller bones and a.s.sembles them into a baby skeleton."

"But doesn't she need those bones for herself?"

"Well, how does a living creature reproduce?"

"He inserts his seed in her, and she grows a foal from her flesh."

"Doesn't she need that flesh for herself?"

Chex considered. She concluded that Marrow had made his point.

In due course they reached Xap's stamping ground. The hippogryph was there, snoozing. He had the body of a centaur and the forepart of a griffin, with great golden wings and a golden bird-of-prey head. He was evidently past his prime, but still a powerful figure of a winged monster.

"h.e.l.lo, sire," Chex called.

Xap snapped his head out from under his wing and squawked.

"He doesn't talk much," Chex explained to Marrow. "But I understand him well enough." Then, to the hippogryph: "Sire, this is Marrow Bones from the gourd. He would like to return if he can find a normal person oriented on his region."

Xap squawked again. Chex turned to Marrow, who remained on her back, swathed in his herringbone. "Sorry; my sire says the last time he looked in a gourd, all he saw was a lake of purple manure. I don't think you'd care to go there." The skeleton nodded agreement; manure made bones smell bad.

"Sire," she continued, "I am looking for help for a friend. I would like to ask the winged monsters for that help. Do you suppose I could meet with them?"

Xap squawked. "Who? Cheiron?" she asked. "No, I don't know him or of him, but I doubt that I need to. Sire, I wish you'd stop matchmaking! I've told you before that no ordinary centaur wants to mate with a winged one; most won't even speak to me. My centaur granddam won't, and she's typical. I feel more comfortable with the winged monsters. At least they don't treat me like a freak. That's why I'm hoping they might help, when the centaurs refused."

Xap squawked again. "But I can't go up there!" Chex protested. "It's inaccessible to landbound creatures!"

But it turned out that the winged monsters had a firm policy: they would not deal with any creature who would not meet them on their turf. Xap could help by notifying them of her coming appearance, but she would have to get herself to the turf.

Chex nerved herself. She dreaded the effort, but knew it was the only way. She knew the route, but doubted she could travel it. About the best she could do was to die trying.

She explained this to Marrow as she started for the mountain trail. "But isn't dying awkward for fleshly creatures?" he inquired.

"Very."

"Does it require courage for a fleshly creature to risk it, then?"

"I suppose so," she agreed. "Fortunately, centaurs are noted for their courage." But her tongue was drying up in her mouth. How she wished she had been able to find the Good Magician and had learned how to fly! At the foot of the mountain she paused to defecate and urinate; there was no sense carrying any inessentials up! Marrow found this process quite interesting; his kind had no experience with it. "Life seems like such an inconvenient business," he remarked.

The trail proceeded steeply. Soon it came to a rus.h.i.+ng torrent of water: the mountain's own process of urination. "Hold on," she warned Marrow. "There is no bridge; I'll have to ford this."

Marrow hung on, and she waded into the stream. The water was frigid; in a moment her legs were getting numb. Then the current intensified, doing its best to dislodge her footing, but she maintained it.

Then, in the center, the channel abruptly deepened. She was unable to find proper footing, and the rush of water was too fierce to permit her to swim.

Frustrated, s.h.i.+vering, she backed out. "I can't pa.s.s!" she said, uncertain whether the droplets on her face were from river spray or her eyes. "Allow me to inspect the situation," Marrow said. He climbed off her back, doffed his clothing, and walked along the bank, swinging his skull from side to side. "Yes, as I thought, there is a cave."

"A cave? Here?" she asked. "How do you know?"

"Skeletons have a sense about things underground," he explained. "There is water in this cave, not as cold as the river, with very little current, and it is large enough for your body. I can guide you through it, if you wish."

"Yes!" she exclaimed, gratified. Then, realizing that there was a detail he might have overlooked: "But I have to breathe, you know. Is there any air?"

Marrow angled his skull, orienting on the hidden cave. "Some. In bubbles. Several paces apart. I can guide you."

Chex decided to take the plunge. "Then guide me! Just remember, I need to breathe every minute or so; if I don't, I'll drown."

"What is drown?"

"Dying because of insufficient air."

"Oh, yes; you don't find that comfortable. I will try to remember that: air every minute."

"Exactly where is this cave?" she inquired, not completely at ease about this, but seeing no better alternative.

"Just a few paces upstream. It is quite convoluted.*'

Another problem occurred to her. "That means you will have to direct me constantly-but if it is underwater, you won't be able to speak."

"Oh, I can speak; you merely may have difficulty hearing."

"I appreciate the distinction. Let me explain to you how to direct me without words." She proceeded to drill him as she had Esk, so that he could guide her accurately with his knee bones and feet bones. Now the interference of his speech (or her hearing) would not put her at risk of drowning. Perhaps Marrow did not properly appreciate her concern about this detail, but she was greatly relieved anyway.

Whoa, his leg bones said.

Chex halted. "Here? But I don't see it."

Turn, the left knee said. Marrow was already good at this!

She turned to the stream. Caution, his knees said.

He was getting very good! She hadn't known that that directive existed! She stepped into the river, experiencing the deadly chill of it.

The bed fell sharply away; it was surprisingly deep here. Guided by his leg bones, she made her way around and down, discovering a big hole below the water's surface, slanting back under the bank and curving to be parallel to the river. Here was the cave!

She had to duck her head to get completely into it, but it was big enough to accommodate her. Before she did that, she turned one last time to face the skeleton. "Remember, you must direct me to air within a minute. How good is your time sense?"

"It is excellent," he a.s.sured her. "We must have precise timing when we dance, just as we need thorough coordination when we gamble."

"You gamble? How do you do that?"

"We roll the bones, of course. It's a great way to pa.s.s the time between gigs."

"Gigs?"

"a.s.signments. When an order for a bad dream comes in, and we have to perform. They never give us enough advance notice, so it can be a real scramble. So our existence consists of long periods of boredom punctuated by brief flurries of terror. It's just like war."