01. When the Changewinds Blow (23 page)

Even without the boots she'd be a tall woman, though. Sam guessed her at well over six feet. Neither she nor Charley would come up much higher than Boday's breasts.

She went to the far part of the studio, unlatched a lock, and opened the door. "Amswaq! Are you there, darling?" she called down into the warehouse.

"Yeah, Boday," came a man's voice from far off. "Problems?"

"Boday thought she heard someone knock. Did anyone come in?"

"No, nobody and I been sitting here all night. Not since them big bruisers hours ago. You want I should come up and check the place out?"

"No, it's all right, darling! Boday must have simply put something where it was sure to fall over later. She will find it in the light of day. Good night."

"G'night, Boday," the man responded, and the woman closed and relocked the door, then turned and walked briskly back to the lighted doorway and through.

What land of whacko paints herself like that and then talks about herself like she's somebody else?
Sam wondered.
I guess the kind that would think of people as things.
Everybody in this damned world seemed to think about people that way. Weren't there any
good
people in this world?

After waiting to make sure Boday wasn't setting a trap, Sam crept out, keeping low and in the shadows, until, silently, she made it to the doorway. She could hear Boday's voice in there, clearly talking to somebody, although if she had somebody in there why hadn't they come with her to investigate the noise? The next room was still a large one, although nothing like the studio, but it was a mess. Walls were covered with shelves containing old and musty-looking books, some intermixed with jars and other containers, and one whole wall had only the small jars on it. There was also an old, beat-up looking marble-topped counter in front of the wall full of jars, on which were the odd-looking, Akahlarian equivalents to bunsen burners, holders and stands, and even several mortars and pestles. The whole counter was covered in multi-colored crud. There was also trash and even some ancient garbage on the floor and counters and shelves. Boday was something of a pig.

Boday was clearly working on something-or someone. With a little maneuvering, Sam could see that it was a girl with very long hair standing there, still as a statue, stark naked, on a pedestal. It
could
be Charley, but the hair was colored wrong, and there were designs or markings on the girl's rear end. Boday circled around her, stopping to study or think now and then, a palette balanced professionally on one shoulder and arm, a long, brush instrument in the other. Boday was talking, now and again, to the girl, who gave no reply, no reaction at all.

"Ah, darling, Boday is tempted to create from you a whole pattern of color and design, but that would not be artistically true. No, understated is best with you, my little butterfly.

Boday knows best, including when to fight her impulses and excesses. Oh, those potions have done their work
perfectly!
You are simply
gorgeous.
Boday shall hate to give you away, but that would be selfish, cheating the world of Boday's genius. You must be displayed to be appreciated. How Boday wishes you could speak to her and sing her praises. Ah, but not to worry. Boday could have created this in plaster or clay. Tomorrow comes the true art. Living art." She turned, put down the palette and brush or whatever it was, and looked on the counter, then picked up a black bottle.

"Here, precious one, is Boday's special essence of love which will bind you to your master so you will be protected as Boday's works should be and not get in any trouble." She picked up a green bottle. "But first this, which will sponge away all those memories, all that guilt, all those things you were before Boday remade you. Then you will be a blank slate on which Boday will create the rest of you. The simple tongue-only a few hundred words but all you will ever need. A wonderful creation of times past in which you will only be able to
think
as my creation. You will want for nothing, think of nothing, live for nothing save the
tableau
Boday's living art will teach you, and you will be eager to learn and know nothing else so none will ever spoil the creation. Now-some proper adornments to insure the perfect symmetry, then Boday can rest and you, my sweet, can rest as well and let the potions complete their work."

Sam thought quickly. What the hell could she
do?
Getting here was tough enough, but if that was Charley-should she take on Boday or wait? The multi-colored woman was a big woman, thin or not, and in her own element. She had done a lot already considering it'd been maybe six hours-dawn was breaking fast through the studio windows-and the jewelry and stuff Boday was putting on her was finished off with little dabs of something that caused tiny puffs of smoke and hurt to watch. Still, Zenchur had been right. No love potions or amnesia juices yet. If Boday couldn't give them until all the other stuff had set and taken, then there was no reason to jump the gun and take a big risk. If Charley was "setting" then Boday had to sleep
sometime.

It was tempting to use the Jewel of Omak and be done, but that might come later. It suddenly occurred to Sam that she had no idea what the range of the thing was-and no way right now to ask the question.

The sun was shining brilliantly by the time Boday finished with her "proper adornments" and seemed willing to let things go. It had been at least two, maybe three more hours; the sounds of the warehouse starting up work for the day came muffled through the floor while other voices and noises came in from the windows as the studio, in particular, heated up.

Finally Boday put out her hands and took the girl's and brought her gently forward off the pedestal, then led her around and out of Sam's sight. But before she did, Sam got a look at the face and felt a thrill. It was Charley, all right! But, boy! If she snapped out of this okay, she was sure gonna be in for a shock when she looked in the mirror.

It would be best, Sam decided, to wait a couple of hours more before going any further. She wanted Boday very solidly asleep and the full din of business outside and below to cover her. She was feeling damned tired, that was for sure. All the aches and pains of the previous night were catching up with her, including a new and growing sensation that every inch of skin was bruised and every bone in her body was broken. She barely made it into a corner where she'd be well hidden behind some boxes. She was just in time, too; Boday came suddenly out of the door, went somewhere in the studio, messed about with something for a little while, then turned and walked back in the other room and perhaps beyond.

God, I'm so damned dizzy and sore I can't move!
Sam thought miserably. She was incredulous at what she'd done, but it was wearing off quite rapidly now. The jewel had warned that she would pay a price. She didn't want to rest long, though, certainly not sleep. It would be horrible if she fell asleep and let the worst happen when she'd come this far. It was a plaintive thought, and she wasn't aware of sinking into slumber.

But when she next jerked her head up to stay awake, the studio was no longer lit by sun and the shadows were long and darkening. She was suddenly wide awake, although still feeling some pain.

She
was awake-but was Boday? And, if so, had the crazy artist gone too far?

7

Personality Changes

Sam removed the Jewel of Omak and gripped it tightly. "What is your range for hypnotism?" she whispered. "Tell me."

Normal power three meters,
the gem responded in her brain.
I
am now under severe power down, however. Perhaps one meter. I believe I can maintain your protective disguise fqr up to two more days without time to recharge, but no other functions fully operative. Last night was a heavy drain. You were warned.

A meter! That was like three feet! She'd almost have to be kissing Boday to get it to work. "How long will it take you to recharge?" she barely breathed.

If I am not used at all, thirty-six hours should be sufficient.

She put it away. Thirty-six hours! Christ-Charley would be dead meat by then. Not to mention the fact that she herself was feeling pretty drained and achy as hell-and there was no way she was getting down the same way she got up. She was also hungry and thirsty as hell and she was going to burst if she didn't piss pretty soon. This was
great.
Just
great.

Boday was up and about in there, too. She could hear the artist now moving around, humming an inane tune, and smell some pretty wild smells, a few of which were helpful in making Sam forget how hungry she was.

Sam sat there trying to figure out what to do. Damn it, if she didn't do anything at all Charley was gonna be history, but what could she do? The jewel was no good, and Boday was bigger and from the looks of those arms a lot stronger than she was. Sam went to the short sword which the previous night had felt so light and easy to use and found it so heavy she could hardly manage it. This wasn't
fair,
damn it! It just
wasn't fair!

But what she had done last night, as incredible, as unbelievable, as it now seemed, was only partly magic. The gem had given her nothing but confidence and some background knowledge skills; she had done nothing she was not capable of doing, only things she would not have dreamed possible for her to do. It was getting dark and she was about to piss on the floor. The hell with it. Without Charley she just didn't want to see what this armpit world looked like, and to hell with Boolean.

Grasping the short sword for all it was worth, she crept around the corner, through the doorway, and into the laboratory, keeping behind a mound of piled up stuff on a table. She could see Charley lying kind of diagonal on a bed with an X-type adjustable frame. Boday was over at the lab counter checking on something. The two little bottles were still on the counter, too, but it was hard to say whether or not they'd been used. Sam had to believe they had not; it was just dark, and it was still not quite twenty-four hours.

Boday was in her usual state of colorful undress, although she was wearing a pair of sparkling pink panties and open-toed sandals now, and she had a bib around her to shield her in case something bubbling on her countertop might splash.

The artistic alchemist had her back to Sam, but she still looked
huge.
Sam felt like David and Goliath-only David had God and a slingshot. Both would be very useful right now.

Boday suddenly dropped something on the floor. "Moonstones and little fishes," she cursed a bit colorfully. She got up slightly from her work stool and leaned down to pick up whatever it was. Sam decided it was now or never.

She summoned every bit of strength she had, leaped suddenly out with sword drawn and rushed the big woman, saying "Yaaaa!"

Boday was so completely surprised she jerked up just in time to see what was coming but not to do anything about it. Sam hit her full force with her body, and Boday, bent over and just in the process of straightening up, went back sharply when hit and her head struck against the marble side of the lab table. Her eyes opened wide, her eyeballs went up toward her eyebrows, and she sank down onto the floor in a heap.

Sam rolled off and managed to pull herself up. It was so quick and impulsive she hadn't even thought beyond the rush, but now she suddenly was aware that the big woman was lying there in a heap, like some discarded giant colorful rag doll. She stared incredulously at the sight, then thought,
Oh, my God, I've killed her!

But then Boday moved and Sam realized she had only a minute, perhaps seconds, before things got different. She grabbed one of the bottles off the counter-the black one-and kneeled down beside the artist, who was just returning to consciousness, if not sense. "Here-drink this. It'll make you feel better," Sam said, sounding concerned, and put the bottle to Boday's lips.

The big woman tasted it, coughed a bit, then almost greedily drank the rest of it down. Her big eyes opened hazily and she looked at Sam, then saw the bottle, and the eyes grew suddenly wide.

"Apple cider," she mumbled. "Boday always wondered what it tasted like. How about that . . . !" She sighed, gave a sweet smile, then passed out again on the floor.

Sam had deliberately grabbed one of the potions, of course; it was the only sure way to make sure the big woman didn't come to and turn the tables fast. Now she looked at the bottle and tried to remember what it might have been.

Well, whatever it was, it had knocked the artist out again and that was plenty of breathing space. She wanted to rush to Charley, but first she spied a door at one end of the lab and a somewhat familiar object and headed to it. The piss was almost as sweet as the victory.

That done, she was able to see to Charley, and what she saw amazed her. Boday had been
very
busy with Charley, and if they could do this sort of thing with potions, who knew what magic might accomplish?

Charley had had Sam's old very long straight black hair, but Boday had changed that to strawberry blond with streaks of black and brown, and somehow managed to really fluff it up and thicken it, at least so it appeared. There were differences in the face, too. The lashes seemed extraordinarily long, like the most extreme false ones, and the pronounced overbite was gone, the lips a little turned out more, fuller and thicker like an almost permanent pucker, and colored a deep, rich, solid red. But most noticeable was the face painting around the eyes themselves, each a separate, delicate drawing and a mirror image of the other although they did not connect across the bridge. They were delicate, pale blue butterfly wings, one per side, coining out from the eye and curving gracefully away, yet . in the solid color were small, fine lines of white and black that gave it a fascinating look, and from the tops of the "wings" came fine black lines that curved as well and ended in small black dots.