Piers Anthony - Juxtaposition

“Since that would have been an unpleasant complication, my chief of staff arranged to protect you anonymously. After all, it might have been a practical joke, leading to my embarrassment. Why take a chance?”

“You protected me—to save yourself from being framed or embarrassed,” Stile said slowly. “No other reason?”

“None. I had no concern for you personally. I was not even aware of the matter until you called it to my attention just now. I leave such details to my staff.” That was some staff! But of course Stile had already discovered the caliber of staff a Citizen could afford.

“How did your chief of staff know about this plot?”

Kalder checked his records again. “Anonymous message. That’s why it could have been a joke. Was it?”

“It was not,” Stile said. “Your robot saved my life on more than one occasion. Now I will marry her.”

Kalder burst out laughing. “If her screws aren’t loose, yours are! Be sure to invite me to the wedding! I’ll gift you with a mail diaper for your cyborg offspring.” He faded out.

A cyborg was a combination of flesh and machine, such as a robot with a grafted human brain, neither fish nor fowl. They generally did not last long. This was a cruel gibe, but Kalder was not a bad type, as Citizens went. The mystery remained. Who had sent the anonymous message to Kalder’s staff?

“The same party who sicked the Red Adept on you, perhaps,” Sheen said, following his thought. “And who may be fouling me up with changed Oracle pronouncements,” Stile agreed. “Now more of the pattern emerges. It could all stem from a single source. That is my true enemy.”

“Why would an enemy arrange to have you protected?”

“Why, indeed!”

“My circuitry is inadequate to solve that problem,” she said, smiling briefly.

“And mine. Put your friends on that message to Kalder; see if they can trace its source.”

“Yes, sir.” She made a coded call.

Now something new was happening in Phaze. The scene had been still while the Lady Blue put her hands on Clip and healed his bruises and restored his confidence. The ogres had stayed back. But Clip’s ears—he was back in natural form—were perking forward, and he blew a brief, startled note.

“I see nothing,” the Lady said. “What is it?” Clip did not answer. His nostrils twitched. Obviously he heard and smelled something. Now, very faintly. Stile heard it too: the tinkling of little bells. Why did that seem familiar?

Then the source came into sight. It was another unicorn. This one was female, and lovely. Her coat was a deep red, almost purple, and shone with sleek health. Her mane rippled iridescently. As she approached, she changed to an elegant blue heron, then to a cat, and finally back to equine form. Her bell rang again, sweetly. Clip’s ears vibrated with amazement. He blew a querying note on his horn. The mare responded with a truly melodious tinkling of bells.

“What does she say?” the Lady Blue asked nervously. Clip changed to man-form. “She says she was thrown out by her herd. She is all alone in the wilderness.”

“She seems familiar.”

“She and her brother danced at the Unolympics. They defeated Neysa and me for the prize.”

“Now I remember! What a pretty ‘corn she is!”

“Aye,” Clip agreed wistfully.

“But why would her herd cast her out, after she brought them the prize?”

“She refused to be bred by her Herd Stallion, who is getting old and violent, so he exiled her. Now she is with out a herd.”

“Can’t she join another?”

“Nay, the Herd Stallions interfere not in each other’s herds. She is ostracized.”

“The way Neysa was! That’s terrible!”

“Neysa was merely excluded for a time. Belle can never go back.”

The pretty mare tinkled her bell again.

“She asks if I will go with her,” Clip said.

“It’s a trap,” Stile said. “Don’t trust her.” But the holo pickup was too far from the present setting for them to hear him unless he shouted; transmission was largely one way now. He did not want to shout and have the ogres know his situation.

“How is it she shows up here now?” the Lady inquired, evidently having a similar suspicion.

But Clip, enchanted, changed back to equine form. As a lesser male, he was not permitted the chance to breed. This was obviously a phenomenal temptation. The marc nickered and rang a lovely melody on her bell horn. Clip quivered with eagerness.

“I don’t trust this at all!” Stile said. “Clip has defended my Lady Blue against the monsters. Suddenly the loveliest mare unicorn in all the herds appears, luring him away.”

“All males are fools in this manner,” Sheen remarked.

“Clip, go not to her!” the Lady Blue pleaded. “At least wait until my Lord returns. It will not be long now.” But Clip had lost control of himself. Evidently the mare was in heat; he had to go to her. He fought the lure, but step by step he went.

The Lady Blue had to remain in the cave, guarding herself and Hinblue. She was not so foolish as to venture where the ogres could pounce.

Now at last the capsule approached the curtain. But the capsule was below ground, under desert; Stile could not step through at this level. “Get me to the surface, anywhere by the curtain!” he snapped, in a fever of impatience to reach the West Pole.

Sheen located a bus stop. Stile got out and hurried up the stairs to the surface. “Keep things in order until my return,” he called back.

“Don’t get yourself killed, sir,” she said. Stile didn’t answer. He held his breath and burst out on to the desert, running for the curtain. As he came upon its shimmer, he willed himself across—and found himself running on the green plain of Phaze.

Immediately he stopped, formulating a suitable spell in his mind while he played his harmonica to summon his power. Then he sang: “Convey me whole to the West Pole.”

The spell wrenched him from here to there, making him nauseous. It was never comfortable to work his magic on himself, and he avoided it except in emergencies. Feeling ill, he looked out from the West Pole.

There was no sign of Clip the unicorn. Stile sang a flight spell he had in reserve, rose into the air, and zoomed toward the ravine and cave where the Lady Blue waited. The two ogres were there. As Stile approached, one of them picked up the troll one-handed and hurled him high and away. Apparently Trool had left the security of his tunnels and so fallen into the power of the more massive monsters.

“Please—freeze,” Stile sang, willing the interpretation of the spell. But though there was a faint effort of magic, the action did not stop.

Then he remembered that he had already used this spell to freeze the sea monster of the Translucent Demesnes. No wonder it had lost its potency. “All will be still,” he sang.

This time the tableau froze as intended. The two ogres became statues, along with their injured companion, who was licking his arm a short distance away. The troll hung motionless in the air. The very wind stopped—but Stile himself continued.

The Lady Blue stood in the cave, knife in hand, her lovely face frozen in grinning ferocity as she slashed at the nearest monster. Behind her stood Hinblue, lame but trying to move out and get in a good kick.

Stile made a subspell to free the Lady only. “My Lord!” she exclaimed, breathlessly glad to see him. “Clip—he was lured away!”

“I saw,” Stile said. “First I must tend to thee and thy friends; then will I quest after the unicorn.” The Lady was all right, though tired; it was no easy thing to stand up to an ogre with no more than a knife. Stile made a spell to restore Hinblue, whose injury had been beyond the Lady’s gentler healing power. Then he brought Trool sliding slowly down from midair.