“She’s not the one,” Melete said.
“It may rain,” Cyrus said to the woman as they met. “You should get under cover.”
“No need. I am Umber Ella. I never get wet in a rainstorm.” She walked on by.
Don groaned without other comment.
“We are meeting women, but not the one I’m looking for,” Cyrus said.
“Keep looking,” Melete said. “I am sensing her nearby”
The rain held off. They encountered another girl. She was painting red and white stripes on bushes, making them look like candy.
They paused to introduce themselves. “What are you doing?” Don asked.
“I am Candy Striper. I paint the bushes so that they become candies that heal people. It is my little way of making Xanth a nicer place”
She was right, but she was not the actress he needed.
Now they encountered a man. He turned out to be Weslee Weredragon, who could breathe any type of dragon breath: fire, smoke, or steam. That wasn’t the actress either.
But Cyrus inquired anyway, explaining what he was looking for.
Weslee nodded. “It happens I know a girl who fits your description. She does not have the face of a frog, but she’s just as bad.”
“In what way?”
“Her arms terminate in giant crab pincers. No one wants to embrace her. That’s too bad, because she really is a sweet person, and very nice looking apart from that one problem.”
“She could be the one,” Melete said.
“Can you lead me to her?” Cyrus asked, interested.
“Yes.” The man paused. “Would you by chance have any likely role for a man with dragon breath?”
“Find me my ideal lead actress, and I’ll write a bit part for you.”
“Done.” Weslee set off, and they followed.
“What’s her name?” Don asked.
“They call her Crabapple. She pretends to like it.”
“So as not to hurt their feelings?” Cyrus asked.
“Yes. As I said, she’s a nice person. If only—” He shrugged.
“But can she act?” Don asked.
“I don’t know. I see her only when she needs her weeds burned back.”
“Do her pincers work?”
“Oh, yes. That’s how she earns her keep: cutting vines into short length for ready storage. That’s why the villagers treat her with respect. But there’s not a man among them who would ever marry her. All she wants is to find true love and settle down to raise a family, but it will never happen.”
“Notoriety can work wonders in such respects,” Melete said. “Make her famous, and she’ll find a man”
They reached Crabapple’s house. Weslee knocked, then announced himself before the door opened. “Crabapple! It’s Weslee Weredragon. I brought you visitors from elsewhere.”
“Please take them away,” a voice replied. “You know I don’t like to be an exhibit.”
“This is different. It’s a Playwright. He wants to cast you in a play.”
“As a monster? No!”
“Talk to her,” Melete said.
“Crabapple!” Cyrus called. “I am Cyrus Cyborg. I am writing a play with a mon—a woman like you. I need her for a role.”
“Don’t tease me! It’s not nice.”
“Please! Let me in. Talk to me. I think you’re the one. But it will help if you can act”
The door opened. There stood an elegant young woman in a voluminous cloak.
“Well, now,” Melete said. “But is she just a pretty face?”
“You’re beautiful,” he said honestly. “May I see your body?” That didn’t sound quite right, but he wasn’t sure how to fix it.
She spread her arms, wrapped in the cloak. It drew away from her torso, showing it bare. It was stunning.
“Well now, doubled,” Melete said appreciatively.
Cyrus jammed his eyes closed before he freaked out. “I didn’t mean nude. I thought you were—well, clothed.”
“It’s hard to put on clothing over these”
He opened his eyes cautiously. She had covered up her body and revealed her arms. They were ordinary to the elbows, but then became giant greenish pincers. Indeed, it would be difficult to don any ordinary shirt or dress with those in the way. So she was being practical. He simply hadn’t expected it. “Can you act?”
“I could if anyone let me.”
“Put her in a scene,” Melete said. “A romantic one.”
“Pretend you’re my girlfriend, angry with me but willing to be persuaded.”
“Come in”
He left Don and Weslee outside and joined her inside the house. She closed the door behind him.
“And where have you been, you rascal?” she demanded. “I have been waiting these three weeks for news of you, but there was nothing.”
“I was—busy,” he said, already impressed by her delivery.
“Busy! Busy! What ever could keep you so busy you couldn’t at least send me word? Were you with some village hussy? Answer me!”
“Demur,” Melete said. “Proffer her a mock gift.”
“No, no,” he said, hastily improvising. “I was—making this gift for you. I couldn’t tell you, because that would ruin the surprise.”
“Gift?” she asked suspiciously.
“Here.” He held out an empty hand.
He took the invisible object. “Oh, it’s lovely. Thank you so much! I’m so sorry I was suspicious. It’s only because I love you.”
“And I love you. I—”
She stepped into his arms, keeping her own arms clear, and kissed him firmly on the mouth.
His arms closed automatically about her marvelously slender yet shapely body. Then he realized that it was still bare. He freaked out.
“Bleep,” Melete muttered helplessly.
He recovered, uncertain how much time had passed. Crab-apple had sat him in a chair and covered up again. “I’m so sorry. I got carried away. For an instant it seemed almost real. I get that way when I’m reciting lines. It’s as though I really am the part I’m playing in my fancy. I apologize for putting you through that.”
“She will certainly do,” Melete said.
“You’ll do,” he said. “You canact. It felt real to me too. Then when I realized that you were—I don’t have much experience with women”
She smiled. “I don’t have much experience with men. Only in my fancy.”
“Tell her of the role,” Melete said.
“Let me tell you about the play I’m writing. A young man can see feelings, so he knows how women feel about him. But the pretty ones have ugly personalities. They conceal these, so as to seem nice, but really they hold him in contempt. So he knows they are no good for him to marry. So he searches for a woman with perfect feelings, not even looking at her body. Until he finds her—and she looks like you. Because you will be the lead actress.”
“The lead!”
“It’s all about how he comes to terms with you. Because you are the best, if he could only get over your—you know.”
“I know.”
“Something will happen—I haven’t figured it out yet—that makes him come to truly appreciate your—your—”
“Pincers.”
“Yes. You use them in some way that saves him from danger, or something, and then he comes to like them as an aspect of you. So it will be a happy ending, after considerable doubt. Can you accept that story line?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Oh, yes,” Melete echoed. “She’s perfect. Caution her and sign her up.”
“You will need to emote, to make the audience truly feel your pain, and to come to love you, pincers and all. You have the face and features, and the acting ability. I simply need to write a play that will bring out those qualities. Will you join my troupe?”
“Who is the lead man?”
“Sharp question,” Melete said. “She’s hoping it’s you. Better damp that out immediately.”
“He hasn?
??t been selected yet. But he’ll be competent, I assure you”
Crabapple sighed. “But he won’t be falling in love with me for real.”
“Not for real,” he agreed. “It will all be an act.”
“I wish it could be real.”
“Actually, you could do worse,” Melete said.
Cyrus shook his head. “Crabapple, I can’t promise it won’t become real. Your body freaked me out, and I’m fully clothed. So it is possible he will—sometimes actors do fall for each other, and fulfill the roles they play. But—”
“But I have these pincers.”
“That is the case. I need you for the play, and I believe you can do a good job. But whether men will want you for anything more than a passing dalliance, I can’t say.”
“But keep her in mind,” Melete said. “You do need a woman”
Unless you are the second of the “two,” Melete, he thought.
That set her back, for once. “Not a wife, but a muse. I suppose it is possible”
Mean while, Crabapple was nodding. “In short, you are telling me the truth.”
“Well, yes.”
“That’s the way I want it. Yes, I will join your troupe. Is it far from here?”
“Not far. But you can ride Don. That’s my robot donkey.”
“Perhaps I will.”
“We are on our way,” Melete said.
6 CURSE
Cyrus was back in his tent, writing madly. He had his lead actress, but as yet lacked the lead actor. He would have to assume that role himself, until he could cast some other man in the role.
“Maybe we should bring in some pages,” Melete said.
“Pages?”
“Folk that find things. White and yellow pages, good at finding things or people. Set them to searching for a good male actor.”
“That would help. But how do we find the pages?”
She laughed. “That’s the problem. They aren’t always where you need them.”
“You’ve got a visitor,” Don said. The donkey had become the guardian of his necessary privacy for writing the play. Cyrus trusted the animal’s judgment, to an extent. “A girl.”
“Tell her to check in with the Witch.”
“She demands to see you personally”
Cyrus flung down his quill. It splattered blots of ink on his parchment. “How can I work, when I keep getting interrupted?”
He realized that he was displaying Artistic Temperament, but didn’t care. He flung open the tent flap.
There was the girl. She wore a red dress, had red hair, and green eyes. She was about twelve years old. She wore a little golden crown. “Hi,” she said, a bit shyly.
“Look, I don’t have a part for a child,” he said. “You’ll have to do drudge work around the camp. Otherwise go away”
She entered the tent, brushing rather closely by him. “I know. But I had to talk with you first.”
“Well, I don’t have to talk with you! Now stop wasting my time”
She gazed at him with a cold expression. In fact in this moment her face reminded him of an eye sickle, a plate of ice with eyes. This was not the look of an ordinary child. That should have made him wary, but he was too impatient to be properly cautious.
A small drum appeared in her hands. She produced an oddly shaped little baton and beat gently on it. There was a single small boom.
Cyrus found himself frozen in place, unable to move half a muscle. What was happening?
“That’s a Sorceress!” Melete exclaimed from the desk where the block had been parked.
“Right, Muse,” the girl said. “I am Rhythm.”
“The Princess!” Cyrus exclaimed, recovering or released from his stasis. “One of the three who were going to join us.”
“Just one, for now,” Princess Rhythm said. “All three of us together would be a live giveaway. For one thing, we always speak in turns, completing each other’s thoughts. So I had to come alone to let you know. In private.”
“You can hear me,” Melete said, taken aback.
“Oh, sure. I’m a Sorceress, remember? But I won’t tell. I know Cyrus needs you.” She studied the tiny bare upper torso. “Don’t you freak him out?”
“He’s used to me,” Melete said. “But I could freak him out if I tried. I won’t, because I want him to write the play.”
“It must be nice to be able to freak out a man.”
“You should be able to do it, in six more years.”
“Two more years. Cousins Dawn and Eve were able to freak out men when they were fourteen.”
“They were naughty girls.”
“So are we,” Rhythm said defiantly. “This whole Adult Conspiracy business is a pain in the pants.”
“You will need to blend in,” Cyrus said, uneasy with the direction the dialogue was taking. Rhythm was a child, after all. “Different clothing, different hair. The crown has to go.”
“I’m not really a child,” the girl protested. “I’m on the very verge of teendom.”
“Different attitude,” Melete said. “You should work on the silver lining, the talent to discover advantages in any situation, even that of childhood.”
“I’ll consider it.” The girl paused, considering. “Nope, I have a better idea. I’ve heard that if you walk in someone else’s shoes, you can live that person’s life and do the same magic.”
“That’s not true,” Melete said.
“So if I borrowed a grown woman’s shoes, maybe then I could kick a stork or two in the tailfeathers”
Ouch! This child had dangerously adult ideas.
“So what?” Rhythm demanded, looking him in the eyeball. “Maybe the wood bees exist only on Ptero and will never be in Xanth, but we can still dream, can’t we?”
Cyrus remained uneasy. “You can read my thoughts?”
“Some,” Rhythm said. “Except for the Adult Conspiracy stuff. It comes with being a general purpose Sorceress”
That was a relief. The fact was, she was a rather winsome girl, her status as a Sorceress Princess adding to her intrigue, and he didn’t want her picking up any untoward thoughts.
Especially when the actresses teased him, as they continued to do on occasion.
“They tease you?” Rhythm asked. “How?”
“Never mind,” Melete said. “Just get changed”
Rhythm sighed. She put her hands on her dress and tugged it upward. Her knees showed.
“Not here!” Cyrus and Melete said together.
“Why not?”
“Because a man isn’t supposed to see a girl—not even a girl child—unclothed,” Cyrus said. “Because—” He broke off, staring.
For Rhythm was now dressed in green jacket and shorts, the crown was gone, and her hair was dull brown. She had changed magically.
She was, indeed, a Sorceress.
“Are you going to write a part for me?” she asked, being the girl again.
“Immediately,” he agreed, returning to his desk. “But I can’t call you Rhythm in the play, or in life. I’ll call you Rhyme.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “Rhyme or Reason.”
“It will be a bit part, so as not to attract undue notice. No one must know your real identity.”
“Actually I’ll spread a disinterest spell, so no one will inquire. But it’s true: no one must suspect.”
“No one,” he echoed.
“I’ll go meet the Witch.” Rhythm left the tent.
“You’ve got to watch those thoughts,” Melete said. “Winsome girl indeed. She’s a child.”
“I know. She just took me by surprise.” He focused on writing the part.
“But also a Sorceress,” she continued. “And a Princess. Never forget that.”
“How can I treat her as a garden- variety child when I’m not forgetting she’s nothing of the kind?”
“You have to be an actor, playing a role. In this case the role of yourself, addressing her role of unspecial child. You know better, and she knows better, bu
t the rest of Xanth is the audience that doesn’t know better. Play your roles well, and all should end well”
Cyrus realized something. “You know my real mission? You read it in my mind?”
“Yes. I would have suspected anyway. A beginning Playwright does not warrant the assistance of a Princess Sorceress. So I am helping you fulfill it.”
“Thank you,” he said somewhat drily.
“Now pick up your pen and kiss bust or kick butt,” she said, her head sliding off the top as her bottom slid into view. Bust and butt.
Cyrus was wickedly tempted to jam the quill at the butt. But he remembered her prior caution: not to needlessly aggravate a Sorceress or a Goddess. He focused instead on his scroll.
“Good thing, too,” Melete muttered as her head slid back into view.
“Suppose I had done one or the other? Kissed or kicked?”
“In your dreams, rascal.”
“I can dream of you?”
“Naturally. I am largely made of dreams. Now quit dallying and start writing.”
“I’m ready to write the whole thing,” he said. “But I don’t know where to start it.”
“With the Curse,” Melete said promptly.
“How does that happen?”
“Your lead man must aggravate a witch. That’s another no- no in life, but a yes- yes in fiction. So she curses him.”
“I don’t have a lead man cast for the role yet.”
“Put yourself in the role, in your mind. Every writer does.”
“Oh.” He bent to the task.
It went surprisingly well. Every time he paused to ponder, Melete goaded him with sharp remarks. He couldn’t goof off while she was watching him. Which was perhaps much of the point of the Writer’s Block: it prevented the writer from not writing.
When he went out of the tent later, he found things well organized. The others were doing their menial parts, playing their social roles, making it a viable temporary mini-community. Rhythm, who had introduced herself as Rhyme, had blended right in; no one noticed her particularly, or seemed to realize that she had just joined them this day.
“Talk to them,” Melete advised. “They are desperate for news of the Play”
She was of course correct. So after the evening meal he bonged on a glass to attract their attention. “I have my Writer’s Block,” he announced. “And it is enabling me to write. I have fairly started the Play today”