Geis of the Gargoyle

Geis of the Gargoyle

Book 18 in the Xanth Series

Piers Anthony

1

GARY GAR

The demoness formed into smoke, and then into an insidiously lovely (if you like that type) humanstyle woman.
 
Her face was unutterably fair, her hair flowed like honey, her bosom was so full and well-formed that it was probably sinful just to look at it, and the rest of her was moreso.
 
But there was something odd about her apparel.

She eyed the creature sitting in the dry riverbed, who was about as opposite from her as it was possible to be.
 
"My, you're an ugly customer," she remarked.

"Thank you," the thing replied gruffly.

"You can speak!" she said, surprised.

"Only when I make the effort."

She walked around it.
 
Her dainty delicate feet did not quite touch the ground, but the ground here was so scabbed and messy that this was just as well.
 
She peered closely at every detail.
 
"You have a face like a cross between a lion and an ape, with the worst features of each, and with an extremely big mouth formed into a perpetual 0.
 
You have a grotesque compact body with an inane tail and four big clumsy feet.
 
And you have a pair of really ugly stumpy leathery wings.
 
Overall I can't imagine a worse-looking creature."

"Thank you.
 
You, in contrast, are unconscionably aesthetic."

"I'm what?" she asked, frowning.

"Disgustingly pretty."

"Oh.
 
Thank you."

"My statement was not a compliment."

"Well, neither was mine! I have just three questions to ask of you, monster."

"Then will you go away?"

She shook a fine firm finger.
 
"Answer mine, then I'll answer yours, you refugee from a horror house.
 
What are you?"

"I am a gargoyle."

"Who are you?"

"Gary Gar."

"And what are you doing, Gary Gargoyle?"

"I am performing according to my geis."

"What's a gaysh?"

"Forget it, demoness! You promised to answer mine after three of yours."

She frowned prettily.
 
"Very well, Gary Garble.
 
Ask your stupid question." A large mug appeared in her hand.
 
"Would you like a drink from Ein Stein first?"

"What's tha-" he started to ask, but caught himself almost barely in time.
 
She was trying to trick him into wasting his stupid question.
 
"No.
 
I don't know what that is, so I won't risk it."

'Too bad," she said.
 
"One drink from this would have made you Xanth's smartest creature, capable of concluding that Eeee equals Emcee squared." The mug disappeared.

"I can live without that Conclusion," he said.
 
"Who are you?"

She fidgeted, beginning to lose definition.
 
"That's awkward to answer."

"Well, make the effort, smokeface."

Her features reformed, lovelier than before.
 
"I'm D.
 
Mentia, but that's only a half-truth."

"What's the other half of the truth?"

"I'm the alter ego of the Demoness Metria.
 
She did something disgusting, so I'm sailing out on my own."

"What did she do?"

"She got married, got half a soul, and fell in love, in that order.
 
Now she's so nice I can't stand her."

"Do demons marry?"

"Forget it, gargle.
 
I answered three already.
 
Now it's my turn again.
 
What's a gaysh?"

"A misspelling of geis."

"How can you tell it's misspelled when I'm speaking it?"

"I am long familiar with the word.
 
You're pronouncing it as it sounds."

She grimaced.
 
"Sorry about that.
 
So what is it?"

"An obligation of honor."

"What does an ugly character like you know about a fair concept like honor?"

"That's your fourth question.
 
Mine first: Why are you wearing a skirt upside and a blouse downside?"

Mentia glanced down at herself.
 
The clothing faded out, leaving a body so barely luscious that any ordinary man who spied it would freak out in half a moment.
 
'That's hard to explain."

"Make another effort, bareface," Gary said, looking slightly bored though her face was the least of her bareness.

"Well, my better nature-that is, D.
 
Metria-has a certain problem with words.
 
For example she would say you really don't look properly volant, and you would say-"

"Properly what?"

"And she would say feathers, uplift, flapping, sky, winging-"

"Flightworthy?"

"And she would say Whatever, crossly."

"That's what volant means?"

"Uh-uh, Garfield.
 
I answered three.
 
What's this about honor?"

Gary sighed.
 
It was a good effort, because his stone body was mostly hollow.
 
"From time vaguely memorial on, my family of gargoyles has been in charge of this river, the Swan Knee, which flows from drear Mundania into Xanth, as you can see." He gestured with a wing.
 
Sure enough, to the north the dry channel wound unhappily through truly dreary terrain.
 
The line where the magic of Xanth took effect was marked by increasingly magical vegetation, such as shoe trees, lady slippers, and acom trees.
 
The Mundane equivalents were sadly deficient.
 
"Normally the water flows south, and it has been our geis to guarantee its purity, so that Xanth is not stained by Mundanian contaminants.
 
Normally the water was mostly clean, so this was no problem, but in recent decades it has become sullied, until it was virtually sludge.
 
It was awful, cleaning it up! But now there's a drought, and there's no water at all, which is worse yet.
 
I hope that when the rains return, and the flow resumes, that it will be cleaner, so that it doesn't leave such a foul taste in my mouth.
 
But regardless, I will do it, because my line is honor bound to guarantee the quality of this water.
 
No wading swans will get their knees dirty in this river."

"Now that's interesting," Mentia said, looking about as bored as he had been when she had lost her clothing.
 
"But why are you wasting your time here, when you could get the job done without all that fuss?"

Now the gargoyle began to show some feeling.
 
"What do you mean, wasting my time? This is my job, demoness.

"So it's your job.
 
But why not do it the easy way?" "Because it's the only way I know." He paused, counting.
 
"That's three questions I've answered.
 
My turn.

What's this easy way?"

"How should I know, spoutface?"

"You don't know how?"

"That's right, gamishee."

Gary paused, realizing that two of his questions were already gone, by her slightly crazy rules.
 
He had already failed to learn why her clothing had been confused, and he didn't want to fail to leam how to do his job the easy way.
 
So he phrased his question carefully.
 
"What gives you the idea that there is an easy way to do my job?"

Mentia shrugged, making ripples all across her front and down her arms.
 
"There has to be, because if you went to ask the Good Magician about it, he would have the answer."

The Good Magician! He had never thought of that.
 
But he realized that this was not a wise course for him.
 
"I couldn't go to ask him, because the moment it rains, the river will resume its flow, and I shall have to be here to clarify it.
 
Anyway, I understand he's extremely grumpy.
 
And I don't know the way there."

"Why don't you make a dam, so the water can't pass until you return to process it? And what's so bad about grumpiness, if it frees you from a lifetime's geis? And why not ask me to show you the way there?"

Three more questions.
 
Gary pondered, then answered them.
 
"I could make such a dam.
 
A few minutes of grumpiness seem a bargain, when I think of it that way.
 
And I won't ask you to show me the way there because you're a demoness who surely has mischief in mind."

She considered that.
 
"It's your turn for questions.
 
Why don't you ask me if I mean to lead you astray?"

He became interested.
 
"Do you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I have a defect of demonly character: I'm slightly crazy.
 
That's why my clothing was mixed up." Her blouse and skirt reappeared, correctly placed.
 
"I share this with my better half: I like to be entertained, and you promise to be entertaining.
 
I don't care about you personally, of course, but I hate being bored."

That seemed to be a fair answer.
 
So Gary gambled and asked the expected question: "Will you guide me safely to the Good Magician's castle?"

"Yes."

"Very well.
 
I shall make the dam."

He got to work.
 
There were some wallflowers not far distant, and he was able to transplant several to the river bed.
 
But there was a problem: they needed water in order to flower, and he had none.

"Well, find some water lilies or water melons or water cress," Mentia suggested impatiently.
 
Her body was aimed away from him, but this didn't matter because her head was now on backwards; she had gotten confused again.

"There aren't any in sight," he pointed out.
 
"I know only the plants that are in sight, because I have been bound to my post in the river for the past century or so."