Piers Anthony - Juxtaposition

“What could you pay a harpy to serve you?” Stile asked, intrigued by this detail.

“She loves blood-soaked raw meat, but is too old and frail to catch it herself.”

“The others of her flock would provide,” Stile said, thinking of the harpy attack Clef had weathered upon his entry into Phaze. How important that entry had turned out to be!

“This one is a loner. No flock helps her.”

“Is she by chance your other self?”

Merle stiffened, then relaxed. “Oh, you have a sharp tongue. Stile! No, it doesn’t work that way, or I couldn’t cross. My other self was exactly like me, only she seemed older. She did befriend the harpy, and when she died I assumed the burden of that friendship. It is not easy to get along with a harpy! Now will you tell me what I do not know about yourself?”

“Will you accept that information in lieu of the sexual liaison?”

“Na, of course not. Stile. I accept it in exchange for the protection I am offering you here, and for the information I am giving you about the Citizen plot against you.” She would not be swayed from her objective! She wanted another notch for her garter. He would have to give her the full story and hope it would persuade her to help him without insisting on the liaison. She might be displeased to learn about his bet in that connection, but at least it was no affront to her pride.

There was a chime and glimmer of light in the air. “That’s my holo,” Merle said. “Call for you. Stile, blocked by my privacy intercept.”

“Better let it through,” he said. “The enemy Citizens know I’m here anyway.”

The picture formed. It was the Brown Adept. “The creatures don’t believe me. Blue,” she said tearfully. “They think I’m with the bad Adepts, trying to fool them. They are attacking my golems.”

Stile sighed. He should have known. “What would it take to convince them?”

“Only thee thyself. Blue. Or maybe one of thy close friends, or the Lady Blue—“

“No! The Lady Blue must remain guarded by the unicorns. The Adepts will be watching her.”

“Maybe Neysa. She’s friends with everybody.”

“The Herd Stallion won’t let her go.” Stile hardly objected to the care provided for Neysa in her gravid state. Then he had an idea. “Thy demesnes are near to the range of the werewolves, are they not? Kurrelgyre’s Pack?”

She brightened. “Sure, Blue. They come here all the time, hunting. But they don’t believe me either.”

“But if Kurrelgyre believed, his Pack would help. The other animals would believe him.”

“I guess so,” she agreed dubiously. “But thou wouldst have to tell him thyself.”

“I will,” Stile said. “Give me half an hour.”

Brown’s smile was like moonlight. “Oh, thank thee, Blue!”

“Nay, thank thee. Brown. It is an important service thou dost here.”

“Gee.” The happy image faded.

“So that’s the Brown Adept,” Sheen said. “A child. A cute child.”

“She’s a full sorceress, though,” Stile said. “Her golems are tough creatures.” He remembered his encounter with the golem shaped in his own image. He was glad to have those wooden men on his side, this time! He turned to Merle. “Now I have to explain to you my reason for not wishing to have this liaison, then hurry across your section of the curtain to straighten things out in Phaze.”

“No need to explain,” Merle said. “I can see you are busy, with people depending on you. I’ll chalk this one up to experience.”

“I do need your help,” Stile said. “So I want you to understand—“

“You shall have my help. Stile. If that sweet child believes in you, so must I. I’m sure she is not asking any quid pro quo.”

“Well, she may want a ride on a unicorn,” Stile said, wondering whether he could believe this abrupt change of heart on her part. “But you still deserve to know—“

“About your secret bet,” Merle said. “That’s what made it such a challenge. Stile. But if you lose your fortune and can’t do what you need to, that brown-eyed child will suffer, and I don’t want that on my withered conscience. I’ll show you to my comer of the curtain; that will get you neatly past the ambush awaiting you outside.”

Stile stood, taking her hand. “I really appreciate this, Merle.”

She drew him in for a kiss. “I think it was that child’s thee’s and thy’s. You did it too, when you answered her. Somehow that melts me. I haven’t been this foolish in decades.”

They were before the curtain. It scintillated across Merle’s huge round bouncy bed. No coincidence, that; she probably had a demon lover in the other frame. Beyond, Stile could discern the slope of a wooded hillside. “How will I rejoin you?” Sheen asked.

“You’ll come with me,” Stile decided. “By now the enemy Citizens know how useful you are; they’ll be trying to take you out too.” He picked her up, strode across the bed, and willed himself through the curtain. He stood on the forest slope, the inert robot in his arms. In Phaze, she was defunct.

“Take this form of Sheen’s to the wolves’ demesnes,” he sang. This was simplified; what he intended was for them both to travel there. They arrived in good order. The wolves were snoozing in the vicinity of a recent kill, while several of the cubs growled at a golem they had treed. Half a dozen roused and charged Stile, converting to men and women as they drew near.

“Greetings, Blue Adept,” Kurrelgyre exclaimed, recognizing him. “I see thou hast found a defective golem.”

Stile glanced down at Sheen, startled. “I suppose I have, friend. In the other frame she is my fiancee.”

“Ah, a bitch in every frame! Dost thou bring her here for animation by the Brown Adept?”

Again Stile was startled. Would such magic work? He would have to inquire. “I came to advise thee that I am at odds with the other Adepts, who seek to slay me. Thus I cannot stay here long, lest they discover me and strike. Only the Brown Adept is with me, and I have asked her to spread warning to the tribes of the creatures of Phaze, whose help I may be needing soon.”

“Oooowwl” Kurrelgyre howled, glancing at the tree. “I turned her down—“

“I know,” Stile cut in. “I should have prepared better. Things have been very rushed. Now must I beg thee to help me by helping her. If thy wolves will go with her golems, to give them credence—“

“Aye, immediately,” Kurrelgyre agreed. He made a signal at the tree, and the cubs quickly retreated, allowing the golem to come down. “Had I but realized before—“

Stile clapped him on the shoulder. “I thank thee. Now must I flee.”

There was a wrenching. Oops—he had made an inadvertent rhyme, with Sheen leaning against him. Quickly he took better hold of her and willed himself to the Brown Demesnes. It worked; he landed neatly in the foyer of the wooden castle. The giant golem on guard did a double take, but managed to recognize him before clubbing him, and in a moment the Brown Adept was there. “That’s not one of mine!” she exclaimed, seeing the inert Sheen in his arms.

“This is Sheen, my Proton fiancee. She was with me when thou didst call a little while ago. She’ll be all right when we cross the curtain. I just talked to Kurrelgyre, and the wolves will cooperate. Instruct thy golems; a wolf will go with each.”

“Oh, goody!” But her attention was focused on Sheen. “I don’t usually animate metal, but I can when I try. Of course her personality might not be the same—“

Stile had not intended to get into this now, but again he was intrigued. “Sheen always wanted to come to Phaze, but she’s scientific. Thy golems are magic, and won’t operate in Proton. I don’t think it could work.”