Part 15 (1/2)
”Well, only one, really. But she is Cherie's grandfilly.”
”Only one,” the man repeated coldly. ”On this basis you extrapolate an att.i.tude for the entire species?”
It sounded inadequate, now. ”You asked me why I frowned,” Esk reminded him. ”That's why.”
”A note shall be made.” The man turned away. ”That will be all. Your next audience will be in the morning; the wench will conduct you to it.”
”The wench?” Esk asked somewhat blankly.
”The servant who brought you here.” The man snapped his fingers, and immediately the girl appeared.
The man departed, and the girl showed Esk back to his room. That was just as well, because he would have been lost in the maze of pa.s.sages by himself.
”Was it rough?” the girl asked.
”I'll survive,” Esk said.
She flashed him a quick smile. ”I will wake you in the morning.” Then she was gone. She was evidently no vamp, just one of the nothing folk of this realm.
The next two days were full of plays. Esk enjoyed them, generally, and soon was used to the knowledge that he was being scrutinized as closely as he scrutinized the plays. He did feel that he was performing a useful service for this community, and that his reactions would help them to refine their plays for their outside tours. For it seemed that the curse fiends, though largely self-sufficient economically, had a desperate need for the approval of others, in their chosen art form. They wanted their plays to be recognized as outstanding, and to have their audiences eager for the next season's offerings. Promotion within their hierarchy was based on this; an effective actor became a leader of their society.
Well, why not? It was a system he could live with. He regretted turning Doris off. A girl like that, in a comfortable place like this . . .
But he had a mission to accomplish, and another society to help save. Thoughts of remaining here were idle; the curse fiends would not accept him anyway. They were treating him nicely now only because they valued his input as an ignorant audience, and soon that would be done, as he completed their current repertoire of plays.
The final play impressed him for a reason other than the fiends intended, however. It was about a man's interaction with a demon. Abruptly intent, Esk watched it closely.
It was, as the fiends put it, a standard pact-with-demon narrative. A young man with whom Esk readily identified (the players were very good at that sort of thing) went to Good Magician Humfrey with a Question: how could he safely tame a demon? He served his term of service-the intermission between scenes served to abbreviate that year for the audience-and received his Answer: a talisman, a diagram, a verbal spell, and a parchment on which was written a contract. ”Now this will only work once, because the elements are self-destructing,” the Good Magician cautioned him. ”But this combination will summon and control a demon, and the demon will then have to negotiate with you for its freedom. You can compel it to do anything you wish.”
”Anything?” the lad asked eagerly.
”Anything within its capability. What I have provided will handle one of the most powerful demons, so it will be able to do a great deal, but it is not omnipotent. However, it will not be able to deceive you, so you may ask it what its capabilities are before you decide. Just make sure that it signs this contract, after you have filled in the details of your deal.”
”I will!” the youth exclaimed. Esk felt as if he were there himself, talking to the Good Magician. How nice it would have been if he could have asked a similar Question. But of course the problem in the Vale of the Vole was that there were many demons; controlling one demon wouldn't do the job. Still, he was really caught up in the play; perhaps he would learn something helpful.
The boy took the things home and set the process in motion. First he traced the diagram, which was a strange five-sided affair, onto his floor, and when he had it exactly right he painted it there so that it could not be scuffed out. Then he took the talisman and held it aloft. ”Demon of the Day, I summon you!” he intoned. ”By this spell, appear in the pentagram!” And he spoke the spell, which sounded incomprehensible to Esk, but potent all the same.
The stage darkened. The music swelled ominously. Sparks flashed. The air above the pentagram filled with smoke. There was a horrendous roar, making Esk wince. He was sure that the one watching him was making a note: special effects were being effective for the audience.
The smoke dissipated, and within the pentagram stood a glowing demon. Esk could see that this was an actor in a demon suit, not a true demon, but of course no real demon would have cooperated unless truly compelled by such magic. At any rate, the figure was suitably horrendous, and Esk wondered how it had been brought onstage in this manner. Maybe the smoke had concealed a trapdoor entry.
”Ha! Gotcha!” the boy exclaimed. ”Now you have to do my bidding.”
In response, the demon roared, and a flame shot out of its mouth. Esk was delighted; that was another marvelous special effect. Metria had never done that; now he wondered whether she could have. Dragons of the right variety could breathe out flame, but he wasn't sure whether demons could do likewise. This might be an error.
The lad, visibly daunted by this display-things were delightfully visible onstage-rallied his courage. ”You can't get out of that pentagram until I let you out!” Then, as the demon swelled up angrily: ”Can you?”
The demon pounded its fist at the air above the pentagram, and made it look just as if there were an invisible wall there. It tramped around, poking at the floor and at the ceiling, but met resistance everywhere. So determined was it, that Esk found himself worrying that it would discover some trifling gap in the magic shape, so that it could get out and go on a destructive spree.
But the pentagram was tight. The demon could not escape. Finally it stood still, defeated and outraged. ”What do you want, dunghead?” it demanded of the boy.
Esk smiled. It was always fun to hear language on stage that it would not be feasible to use in life.
”I want a fine house to live in for the rest of my life, a cornucopia that never grows empty, and a totally beautiful woman to love me utterly,” the boy said bravely.
”What? This is impossible!”
”No, it's possible. I verified it. A demon of your power can do these things, and I won't let you go until you sign the contract that specifies that you will do them all.”
”Never!” the demon swore.
”Then stay there forever,” the lad said, and turned his back as if to depart.
”Be reasonable!” the demon cried. ”It takes time and expertise to make a fine house, and I know nothing about construction.”
”You don't have to make it, just get it for me. I don't care how you do it.”
Esk appreciated the fine point, but was losing sympathy for the boy. Evidently he didn't care who else suffered as long as he got what he wanted.
”Cornucopias don't grow on trees, you know,” the demon continued. ”The only one I know of is being used by an orphanage to feed its children.”
”I don't care where you get it, just bring it to me,” the boy said.
Esk lost further sympathy.
”And beautiful women don't love folk like you,” the demon said. ”I may be able to do some physical things, but I can't change the heart of a woman!”
”Find a way,” the boy said coldly.
”I tell you, there is no way! I might get a woman to say she loved you, but her heart would still be her own.”
Esk nodded. That demon was making some sense. He was almost having some sympathy with it.
The lad considered. ”On further thought, I don't really care what's in her heart. Just have her completely beautiful, and willing to do anything I ask, anytime, with a smile on her face, and her heart can be whatever it wants.”
”Ah, so you will settle for the semblance of a woman, provided she performs to your specifications.”
”Exactly. No questions asked.”
”Then perhaps we can do business.”
The boy pa.s.sed in the contract, and the demon signed. The deal had been made. The curtain dropped.
Esk spent the brief time between scenes pondering his own situation with the demoness Metria. He had not summoned her, she had come unbidden to his hideout, setting off this whole adventure. She, too, had offered him the semblance of a woman, a deal to get him to vacate his premises. Should he have made that deal? Perhaps this play would help him to come to a conclusion.
When the curtain lifted again, the youth reclined within the open-face mockup of a fine house. The demon entered from the side, carrying a huge cornucopia from which fresh fruits tumbled. In the distance came a cry, as of a hungry orphan child. The demon put the horn of plenty into the youth's hands.
”Well?” the youth demanded.
”Sir?” the demon asked respectfully.