The froogear squeezed its very fresh lunch. Now other juices escaped through ruptured tissues and mixed with the blood. Yellow, brown, black, and mixtures.
Kelvin lost his battle of the gorge. With no transition at all he was vomiting. The contents of his stomach splashed out across the froogear in front. He was afraid the creature would turn and kill him, or at least drop him in the swamp, but it took no notice at all.
Much later, a year or two by the feel, Kelvin's retching abated. Feeling horribly weak and nauseous, he hardly noticed the slowing of the party. When he did manage to notice, they had come to a complete halt in greenish mud before a flat, still, scum-topped lake. Great prickly trees grew in the water, seemingly out of the scum. An island of some size soaked up orange sunrays and seemed to wait, curiously idle and foreboding. A rock battlement fronted the island and disappeared around the sides.
The froogears repositioned their loads, startling Kelvin and causing his father to give a groan of apprehension. Then the froogears were in the lake itself, wading, and finally swimming with their powerful hind legs. Somehow the froogears kept them above the surface.
This is where it is, Kelvin thought. Now we'll meet their god, or what they think of as a god. He shivered and felt cold, though the orange sun beat down with fiery waves reminding him of an overheated stove in his mother's kitchen.
They splashed up a ramp. There, concealed until now by the black thorny tree branches, was a huge gate. The froogears put their prisoners down on a dry surface and backed off. Kelvin saw some of them as they dipped back below the scum; bubbles traced their route away from the island.
Tribute, he thought. They've brought their tribute. It was almost like the time the flopears had tried to sacrifice Lonny. Kian had rescued her, then, and started what turned out to be a significant interaction. He hoped Kian would have the chance to marry her! At the moment that seemed doubtful. He wondered whether Kian appreciated the parallel, and debated breaking the silence to tell him. No, it probably wouldn't be kind.
In an aperture high in the wall there was suddenly a woman's comforting face. She wore a coppery crown on coppery tresses, with coppery rings dangling from two definitely rounded, not pointed ears. She was, Kelvin had to notice, a beauty. But what could such a woman be doing here in this ironically godforsaken place? Or was she another captive, brought here for tribute?
The woman looked down at them from disturbingly coppery eyes. She spoke one word: “Tribute.”
Gods, Kelvin thought, she read my mind! But who is she? Is she the froogears’ god? If so, she can't be the monster I've expected. She's absolutely lovely!
“Thank you so much, Kelvin Hackleberry.” Her voice tinkled almost in the manner of a bell. She was looking right at him, reading his mind!
Kelvin felt himself blushing. What would Heln think?
But now the beautiful face was gazing at his father. “Oh, and you, John Knight, trying so hard to get that knot untied! What a great pleasure to meet someone whose original home is far down the Flaw! With your son Kelvin, a hero! And your other son, Kian, wanting to wed his truelove in still another frame!”
What was this? Were they supposed to respond? Should he be the one to break their silence? What should he say? Should he ask this queenly woman for their release and her help? For obviously she was a queen, which the froogears took as a goddess.
“Oh, but you mustn't judge by appearances,” the woman told him in her musical voice. There was just a hint of reproval. “I am more-- very much more-- than you imagine.”
But human, he thought carefully. A human being who thinks and speaks and has the power of life and death. That is correct, isn't it? You do have the power either to save us or destroy us?
“Why of course I have those powers, Kelvin!” she agreed brightly. “What do you think I am?”
A compassionate queen, he thought with hope.
“Physically,” she prompted him.
Kelvin tried not to picture the phenomenal contours he was sure her body had, hidden by the wall.
“Ah, you are married, so you hesitate to conjecture,” she said, smiling. “Yet suppose I were to offer you your freedom, in return for that conjecture?”
She was toying with him, he knew. Yet try as he might, he could not stop his mind from picturing that gorgeous body. Was she naked? Was that why she kept all except her face concealed?
She laughed. “Oh, it would be delightful to make you do with me what you so dread! Perhaps I should indeed free you, instead of saving you for a late-night snack.”
Kelvin felt the hair prickle at his nape. Her face and tone were beautiful, but the words were teasing to the point of discomfort. A late-night snack? Was that figurative, or-- ?
“Go on, Kelvin,” she said encouragingly. “It is such a pleasure, following your thoughts.”
There seemed to be an admixture of cruelty. Beauty and cruelty were not incompatible, he knew. He remembered Queen Zoanna, Kian's lovely but evil mother. But there could be another reason for her to hide her body. Was she something other than she appeared to be, physically, as she had hinted? Perhaps old, as the witch Melbah had been, yet able to assume the semblance of youth and beauty?
The coppery tresses tossed. The laughter was that of a cheerful hostess. “A witch! Me? Shame on you, Kelvin! A hero of your stripe should know better. You have heard of me, or of something like me. Certainly your father has. He told you, too, though you thought he was speaking nonsense. And you as well, Kian. Indeed, I am not like your mother!”
Insane, Kelvin thought with a chill. But even as he thought it, there came another voice. This one was gruff and masculine, reminiscent of the toughest of working men:
“Mervania, do you always have to play with our food?”
“Of course I do, Mertin,” said the pretty tresses. “And why not? Aren't human females and felines that way? Here I have almost coaxed this innocent young man into lusting after my luscious torso! It can be fun, accomplishing that!”
“GWROOOWOOF!” growled a decidedly unhuman voice. Certainly that dragonlike roar had come from no human throat! The vibrations hurt Kelvin's ears.
“Oh now, Grumpus,” Mervania said, “you know it's not really feeding time yet.”
“GROOOOWOOF!”
“Yes, yes, I agree. We will have to show ourself. But it's going to be a surprise. Particularly for Kelvin, who is resolutely focusing on my forbidden sex appeal. Kian is thinking of his Lonny, and John of his Charlain and of another named Zanaan. Naughty, naughty John! Only one can be your wife. But you, Kelvin, you are thinking of me, and that is the naughtiest of all.”
“That's not entirely true,” Kelvin said, embarrassed by the amount that was true. “I'm thinking also of Heln.”
“Yes, that night you got her pregnant. But now she is gravid, and doesn't look quite like that, whereas I may-- “
Mervania's face moved away from the wall opening as if shoved aside. Replacing it was a man's face: coppery eyebrows and copper warrior helmet emphasizing high cheekbones and a bulging forehead. He scowled, and snorted through his nose in the manner of a bull. “Mervania, these aren't even fat!”
“But it will be fun fattening them up,” Mervania's voice said. “If I could somehow pose as Kelvin pictures me, voluptuous, almost naked, plying him with succulent grapes-- “
Damn that mind-reading! And damn his errant mind! She was so infernally good at tuning in on what he most wanted to suppress!
The man's face disappeared. There was a clumping sound, as of something huge and unseen. Then in the opening appeared the snout of a dragon. Its scales were copper rather than a more normal gold, and the eyes it turned down on them were as coppery as its scales. A forked tongue emerged from its terrible mouth, vibrated, then shot down at them. The tip of it dripped coppery saliva and was much too close for comfort.
“Father! Kian!” Kelvin cried. It was quite involuntary. He had been this close to dragons of the golden-scaled variety, but never while bound. The dragon'
s head drew back. A loud female laughter filled his ears. It was not pretty; rather it was taunting.
It had to be illusion, Kelvin thought. It had to be magic-- witchcraft. There couldn't be a dragon here! Not that close to human beings! It would have gobbled them up. Even the sorcerer Zatanas had not been able to control dragons that well. True, Zatanas had ridden one, but that was a treacherous business. No magic could safely handle a magical creature for long.
“I think I know what it is,” his father said. “Remember when I was telling you stories about Greek myth? Remem-- “
He broke off. With horror, Kelvin realized that his father was helplessly rolling his eyes as if stricken. Magic used against him by Mervania? Magic used so that he would not talk?
The coppery tresses reappeared at the aperture. The coppery eyes that no longer seemed entirely human looked down on him. “You are quite right, Kelvin. I did stop your father from speaking. A simple paralysis hold on his vocal cords. It's wrong for him to want to spoil your surprise. I'd much rather share your naughty vision of me leaning forward to feed you a delicacy, my breasts becoming more visible as my gown falls away, their delightful contours-- exactly how does that go, after that?”
Kelvin thought desperately of what his father had been saying. Greek myth, all mixed up with history and therefore partially true. His father had told of such things as the Hydra, a great serpent with nine heads, or was it seven heads; cut off one head and two others grew magically in its place. Then there had been Medusa, a monstrous woman with hair filled with living, hissing snakes. Why did everything he thought of have to involve snakes?
“Keep thinking, Kelvin,” Mervania teased. “Keep thinking. There was also Circe, with whom Odysseus dallied for twenty years before returning to his wife. Now there was an example for you! Will poor little Heln weave a tapestry by day and unravel it by night, waiting for your return?”
“I think I know!” Kian said. “It's-- “
Coppery eyes glanced at his brother. Kian choked and went silent. A spell like a serpent's gaze? Why, oh why couldn't he think!
“You can, Kelvin,” Mervania said encouragingly. “You just have to try. You are getting warm, as you used to say in that children's game. Multiple heads. Yes, that's close. But do you recall the particular mythical being that caused you the most terror? I'll give you a clue: it wasn't your wife's namesake, Helen of Troy.” She paused, tilting her head prettily. “Oh, excuse me! She was named after her father, a figure of quite another nature!”
He thought hard. Multiple heads. The trinity? Something like that? But something Greek. Something legend. Something that had worked on his boyish imagination and given rise to a nightmare.
“A great hero fought this one, Kelvin. But then they always did, in your father's frame. One of us visited that world back in its infancy, and that's the source.”
Kelvin felt as though he were failing a test. All he could think about was the face at the aperture, and whether there was any clothing on what was below it, and his bonds, his father and his brother.
“Dunce!” she snapped at last. “I tire of this. I'll show you my fascinating body. I'm coming out.”
The gate clicked, then swung wide on creaky hinges. Back of the opening Kelvin saw a walk, a garden, and a building. Then the face, the beautiful woman's face, was peeking around the gatepost.
“Mervania,” he started.
The face kept coming. It was on a long, coppery-scaled neck.
A serpent woman! I knew it! Gods, she's a snake!
“Oh, fiddle,” Mervania said, and stepped all the way out.
Kelvin drew in a disbelieving breath as he took in the sight.
On clawed feet, a coppery scaled body of immense size. Beside her head, a dragon's head, and beside the dragon's, Mertin's. All three heads were on the front of a body that was all coppery scales, but was otherwise that of a scorpiocrab in all but size. Great pincers reached and clicked in front while at either of the monster's two sides were two human arms: scaly feminine ones on Mervania's, scaly muscle-bulging ones on Mertin's. On the farthest end of the body, coming up last, the tapering crustacean posterior and the long sting, this one of copper.
Kelvin was forced to think, now. The one creature he had been suppressing because of a nightmare. Modified greatly, but recognizable. Instead of a goat's body, the body of a scorpiocrab. Instead of one lion head, one goat head, and one dragon head, two human heads and the dragon. Instead of a serpent's tail, a scorpiocrab's sting. The realization overwhelmed him. To think that he had imagined peeking at the luscious feminine body of that!
“Chimera,” he whispered.
“Chimaera,” she said. “Or Chimæra, if you can fathom it. Get it right, Kelvin.”
Chimaera. A monster that had to be far smarter and even more dangerous than the one the ancient Greeks had known.
CHAPTER 4
Amb-assador
St. Helens rode the big gray war-horse down the country road, musing to himself as he shooed a buzzing insect away from his black beard. It was a sunny, nice day for a ride, but this was to be a long one.
Damn! Special messenger to King Bitler of Hermandy! Sounds great, but I don't like it. What skills do I have for dealing with kings? Charm, right? But from what I hear, Bitler is about as nice as old Adolf! Sometimes I wish I were back on Earth, I really do. I don't feel like an ambassador for anyone, particularly that guy at the palace. That just can't be Rufurt, it can't! I feel like an ass. Ambassador. Ass. Amb-assador.
“St. Helens! St. Helens!”
He turned in his saddle to see the former boy-king Phillip Blastmore riding down on him. The boy had evidently been awake after all. Naturally the lad would have followed him, waiting until he was well started on his journey before showing himself.
“Damn!” He pulled up and waited until Phillip's brindled gelding was alongside his mare. “I thought I told you to stay! This is official. Damn it, I don't need a kid along!”
“I'm coming to keep you out of trouble.” His mouth smiled, but St. Helens suspected that truth resided in that statement.
“YOU! Keep ME out of trouble?! You, young pupten, have been trouble since you were hatched!”
“I wasn't hatched. I was found under a rock, same as you.”
“Probably you were. And old Melbah then took complete charge of you.”
The boy's face fell. Immediately St. Helens regretted saying it. Bantering insults were one thing, but real ones were another. There was too much truth in Melbah's early influence over the lad.
“I'm sorry, St. Helens.” Phillip's voice trembled. “If you really don't want me along-- “
“Now where'd you get a dumb idea like that! Of course I want you along! Glad to have your company. What would I do for trouble without you?”
“But you said-- “
“I say a lot of things. Curse of the Irish-- one of the curses, anyhow. Haven't I taught you about jokes?”
“Eh, yes. Like when you said ‘That girl has nice jugs!’ when anyone could see she carried wine bottles.”
Ouch! Under Melbah's evil care the young king hadn't gotten out much. A trip or two with the old man might add immeasurably to the lad's education. “You happen to notice anything else about her, lad?”
“She had an excellent figure. I'm surprised you didn't realize that.”
Well, maybe there was hope; he was beginning to catch on to the basics. “Maybe next time.”
“I can really be a lot of help, you know. I was king once, if only in name. I can tell you the protocol that's expected, and then you won't embarrass us.”
“Tell you what, Phil. If you catch the old saint crapping on the carpet, you speak right up.”
“Oh I will, St. Helens, I will. Only you didn't do that, even in Aratex. I'd have smelled it if you had.”
St. Helens rolled his eyes upward. Smart kid, but sometimes he was a smarty pants. A little dusting of the britches cured that, but royal posteriors presented problems.
“Jus
t let's say that I'll appreciate your help. Whenever and however.” And if ever.
But Phillip was now looking back the way they had come. A horse was approaching with a rider. As the horse drew closer the uniform of a palace guard was evident.
“Now why would one of those fellows be riding after me?” St. Helens asked. “Something new come up?”
The rider was a young guardsman St. Helens had seen at the palace but not spoken to. He could have sworn the fellow rode the king's favorite horse.
“Messenger Reilly,” the guardsman gasped. “I'm from the palace detail, but I'm on my own. I've heard a lot about you, how you fought the witch and all. Sir, I'm Charley Lomax.”
“I recognize you, close enough. What's the urgency?”
Lomax eyed the boy. “It's for your ears alone, St. Helens.”
“You can speak in front of Phil. I trust him.”
Charley Lomax, Royal Guardsman, breathed rapidly in and out. His brows knitted as if he were forcing a difficult thought. “Sir, I beg permission to accompany you on your mission to Hermandy.”
“The king send you?” This was indeed strange.
“No, sir. As I said, I'm doing this on my own.”
St. Helens had heard, but hadn't assimilated it. “You mean you're deserting your post?” He didn't like this. Deserters always had his sympathy, but helping one was trouble.
“I mean I wish to serve the true interest of my king and country. I know that you do too, Messenger Reilly, so-- “
“You serve your king by deserting him?” St. Helens asked sharply.
“I don't believe the man at the palace is the king.”
There it was. “You did right. Very right. Certainly you can accompany me.” Then, after a pause: “And call me St. Helens.”
“Thank you sir!” Lomax exclaimed, breaking into a grin. “St. Helens, sir!”
The man was in trouble with the man who wore the crown, he thought. If his guess was correct, all of them were about to be in similar trouble. If they couldn't head off that trouble, they would have to prepare to meet it head-on.