Part 14 (1/2)
”That's true! You can wash yourself!” She pointed to an open door.
”Thank you,” Esk said, entering the chamber. He was sure he had done what was best, but somehow he was disappointed. Her legs had been quite stunning.
By trial and error he figured out how to use the cleaning facility. It was a kind of miniature waterfall that came on when he turned a handle, and stopped when he turned the handle back. This was a new kind of magic!
When he emerged from the waterfall room he found new clothing where he had left his old. His other belongings were neatly set beside; he had not lost his two remaining travel pills or his hand knife. That was a relief.
He donned the new clothing, which was evidently what a sample audience was supposed to wear. It was a light blue set of trousers and a matching long-sleeved s.h.i.+rt. Both fit him well enough. The curse fiends evidently knew how to entertain a guest, or an audience.
He stepped out of the chamber, looking around. Immediately a girl appeared. She was not Doris; this must be the regular one on duty. She was not as pretty or flirtatious, which was perhaps just as well; he didn't want to forget why he had come here. He really did want to help the voles, if he could.
”Now you must eat,” the girl informed him.
She guided him to a cubby where a decent meal of fruits and cakes was waiting. Esk ate, going along with the local custom though not entirely comfortable with it. Then the girl wiped his face and combed his hair for him and took him to a quiet, darkened chamber. Was she going to show him her legs, he wondered? But she merely indicated the chair he was to sit in, which was wooden with a single brown cus.h.i.+on on it, and armrests. ”The play will begin in a moment,” she said, and departed.
Well, so far so good. He realized that he would have to watch and listen carefully, and form some kind of opinion so that he could make a competent audience report. What would happen if he didn't like the play? Would they throw him out? He hoped he liked the production.
Music sounded, coming from an adjacent chamber. There seemed to be a number of instruments, strings and winds and percussions, operating together harmoniously. Esk had never been much for music, but now he realized that he simply had not been exposed to competent music. This was very impressive, and it induced a positive mood.
There was a stage before him, mostly concealed by a large curtain suspended from the ceiling. Now that curtain brightened, seemingly lighted from below. It rose, showing the rest of the stage-and Esk leaned forward, interested, his interest heightened by the drama of the music.
The stage was a model of Castle Roogna! There was the castle in miniature in the center, suggesting the full-sized castle at a distance. There was the front gate, and the moat, with a model of the serpentine monster to one side.
A young man of about Esk's own age walked to the center. He wore ordinary clothes, but also a small headband resembling a crown. There seemed to be plenty of room to stand despite the presence of the moat; Esk realized that the moat could be painted, so that there was no danger of the actors falling into the water. But it certainly looked real; this was a clever stage.
”How's things, moat?” the young man asked, speaking clearly and with good force, so that Esk heard him very well.
”The monster peed in me again, Dor,” the moat complained.
Esk laughed; the joke had caught him completely by surprise. Suddenly he realized that the young man was supposed to be King Dor, who could talk to the inanimate and have it respond; that was the Magician-caliber magic that had qualified him for the office. Not the King as he was today, but as he was when young, before he a.s.sumed the throne.
”Well, that's what monsters do, when they're not biting people,” Dor said reasonably.
”How do you expect me to keep clean?” the moat demanded. ”I'm not a sewer!” And the music made a blah sound.
”I'm sure you can handle it.” Dor walked around the stage, exchanging greetings with the other objects on it, including the door of the castle.
Just as the novelty was wearing off, a young woman walked onstage. She was rather pretty, with bright green hair, and wore her dress provocatively, though she looked a year or so younger than Dor. She was evidently a major character, because the music became excited as she entered, with little frills. ”Hi, Dor!” she exclaimed, her voice well enunciated and carrying just as well as his did. Esk wished that real people spoke as clearly!
”Oh, h.e.l.lo, Irene,” Dor said with obvious lack of enthusiasm. That was another thing: it was easy to read the feelings of the folk onstage.
”Let's go somewhere and kiss,” Irene said, and the music went into a naughty-sounding theme. Esk was reminded of Doris, though this was a different girl. That started him on a chain of thought: could Doris have been named after King Dor? The curse fiends obviously had some interest in the folk of Castle Roogna, since their play related.
”No, I've got to go talk to more things,” Dor said.
”You care more about the inanimate than you do about me!” Irene flared. There was a rumble of musical anger.
”Well, sure I do!” he retorted. ”You're only a girl.”
”I'm a woman!” she exclaimed.
”Ha,” he said, with withering contempt. Esk found himself trying to repeat the syllable himself, to get the exact inflection; what a way to cut someone down!
”I'll show you!” she exclaimed. She wrapped her arms around him, heaved him up, and threw him into the moat.
There was a splash. Esk almost jumped out of his chair; there was real water there after all, and Dor was in it, sopping wet. What a surprise! He realized that the sound of the splash had been enhanced by the music, contributing to his reaction.
”I'll get you for that!” Dor sputtered, climbing out.
”Ha!” Her use of the word was as effective as his. ”You can't touch me, 'cause I'm a girl.” Indeed she was, and she bared a bit of cleavage to prove it.
”Oh yeah?” Dor advanced on her threateningly.
She stood her ground, the picture of feminine certainty. ”Yeah.” More bosom showed, affecting Esk more than Dor.
Dor grabbed her and threw her into the moat. ”Oooo!” Esk found himself breathing, surprised again; he had thought Dor was bluffing. Evidently the music had thought so too; it was now a jangle of amazement.
”You-you-man, you!” Irene screamed. Her hair was matted about her head and neck, and looked like seaweed now. ”I'll get you for that!”
”I was just getting even,” Dor pointed out.
She climbed out. Her dress clung to her, enhancing contours that were more voluptuous than they had seemed before. ”That's no excuse!”
Dor, alarmed, started to walk offstage, but Irene ran after him and caught him. She hauled him back toward the moat.
”No, you don't,” Dor said, struggling to escape that fate. They got tangled together, and both fell in.
”You-you!” Irene cried, tearing at his clothes.
”That's what you say!” Dor retorted, attacking her clothes. Now they were fighting in the moat, their clothing coming apart. Flashes of Irene's body showed, and Esk gaped; that girl was supposed to be only fifteen years old?
Now they were locked in the struggle, chest deep in the water, while the mock moat monster watched. Suddenly Irene changed her tactics. She put her face up against Dor's and kissed him. The music made a naughty flourish.
”Oooo,” Esk breathed as he saw Dor stiffen, then relax, then begin kissing back. It was easy to imagine himself in such a situation; he'd kiss back too, if a girl as lovely as that did that to him!
A new figure clomped onstage. This was a centaur, evidently mocked up by two human actors in a centaur suit. It was female, because of the two enormous b.r.e.a.s.t.s mounted on front. The music became somber; this was a person not to be taken lightly. ”Dor,” she said, holding up a sheet of paper, ”I have graded your essay. I want to comment on your spelling. Let me read this to you as you have it.”
Dor and Irene continued kissing in the moat, oblivious of the centaur. Esk smiled; he understood how this could be.
The centaur cleared her throat and read, and as she did, the words appeared on a scroll that two arms held from offstage, showing the spelling. ”Eye live inn the Land of Zanth, witch is disstinked from Mundania inn that their is magic inn Zanth and nun inn Mundania.”
Then the centaur glanced into the moat and for the first time realized what was happening. ”Dor! What are you doing with that girl?”
The kiss broke with a guilty start. The music abruptly ceased, leaving awkward silence. The two bedraggled youngsters stood in the moat, their tops half exposed. ”Just, uh, quarreling,” Dor said, shamefacedly.
”Quarreling! In that case I'd like to see what you consider being friendly!”
”We're getting to that, Cherie,” Irene said with a marvelously obscure and unrepentant smile.
”Indeed you are not!” Cherie Centaur said severely. She reached down and took Dor by the ear. ”You are coming to see the King, young man!”