Two To The Fifth (12 page)

“Thank you so much for this part,” Crabapple murmured. “When you held me and kissed me, I almost thought you meant it.”

He had almost thought so too.

But we are forgetting that hint. Two to the Fifth,“ Melete said. ”You are only one. You need a partner. Then you can tackle the rest of it."

“But I have no prospects for marriage.” he protested. “Besides, I like being a Playwright.”

“You can be a Playwright. Just find the right woman. Consider the actresses. They are all interested in you.”

“I wish there really was a visible aura,” he said. “So I could see who was right for me.”

Rhythm appeared with the sound of the beat of her drum, “I can make it real.”

“You can?”

“Sure. Melete's right; the way those stupid actresses flirt with you, you need to be married to fend them off.”

“She has a point.” Melete agreed.

“Go look at them now,” Rhythm said. “They will have auras that only you can see.”

“They will?”

“Like this.” She used two chicken leg drumsticks to beat her drum again. That was why they had looked odd, before; he hadn't picked up on their nature. A white light appeared around her.

Bemused, he tucked Melete into his pocket and went out to look at women. They did have auras—the same ones that showed in the play, but turned off after the rehearsal. “The little minx,” Melete murmured. “She gave them their real auras.”

And the only play-aura suitable for him was Crabapple. This made him pause. She was a nice person, without doubt, and he had gotten used to her pincers, and she was very nice to hold close. But this was not the play, and he was not at all sure he wanted to marry hen.

“Too bad,” Melete said. "You men are too locked into perfection of form. Let's check again.

So he walked about the lot again, considering auras. Now, with Melete's remarks, he saw how the other actresses were flirting with him. Rhythm was right about that. They weren't too direct, but they were definitely smiling at him, and subtly posing, showing off their figures. They all knew how to catch the eye of a man, without being obvious.

Acro was sitting in the kitchen area sorting potatoes for dinner, and somehow her skirt rode up on her thighs, showing off her nice legs. “That exposure isn't by accident,” Melete said. He disliked admitting that those legs nevertheless turned him on. They reminded him of the rest of her body, when he had first seen her in the moat along with her myriad copies.

Dusti was scrubbing the dust off a tent, and as he passed she had a low place to work on, so that she bent well down and he could see into her halter “She saved that spot for when you came by,” Melete said. Regardless, those dusky globes turned him on too.

Xina, seemingly oblivious to his presence, was scrubbing clothing at the pond, nude at the edge of the water. That almost made him jump in to join her. “Water is marvelous for bodies.” Melete said. “It conceals some and flashes some, attracting the eye. One has to admire her technique.”

“I do,” he said, tearing his eyeballs away with slight sucking sounds.

The Witch was harvesting assorted pies for the next meal, as the cast had gotten tired of sandwiches. She was fully clothed but in a voluptuous state. She darted him a glance that fairly heated his clothing and straightened out his hair. She knew what she was doing, and knew he knew it, but it remained effective. It made him want to find out what else she could straighten. The others were young and fresh, while the Witch was thoroughly experienced. She knew exactly what to do, and how to do it, and that was something that he in his inexperience appreciated.

“Any of them would marry you,” Melete said. “They all regard you as a good catch. You are handsome, strong, talented, and diffident, so they could readily run your life. But all of their auras are wrong. You would have fun with them for a while, but then would discover objectionable differences and be less than satisfied. Only a pure white aura is right for you.”

“The kind Crabapple has,” he agreed morosely.

“And she's the only one who is not flirting with you.”

That was interesting. So he went back to Crabapple. “Suppose I could see auras, as in the play, and yours was the right one for me. Would you marry me?”

“No, Cyrus,” she said regretfully. “You're a nice man, and very attractive, but I would be bad for your public image. You'll never become a famous Playwright if I'm with you.”

“What if I don't believe that?”

“Unfortunately, I do believe it. I must not cripple your chances,” she said, and turned away.

“That was as nice a turndown as could be imagined,” Melete said. “She was careful not to hurt your feelings. She does like you, but doesn't want to harm you by her association. She's being extremely unselfish.”

“She's too bleeping nice for me.”

“That is the case. That is surely why her aura is white. She would be right for almost any man.”

He returned to his tent. He set Melete down on the writing table and considered his script. He had spot revisions to do, but his mind couldn't focus properly on it.

“But there are other women,” Melete said. “Why don't you take a walk around the area beyond the camp, looking at auras?”

“I'll do that,” he agreed, rising. He stepped outside the tent and strode beyond the troupe camp.

Only when he was well clear of it did he realize that he had forgotten to put Melete in his pocket. Well, she could surely survive an hour without him.

Rhythm appeared, “I was naughty,” she said, walking beside him.

“You were? I did not notice.”

“I made you forget to bring her.”

“You made me forget? But why?”

“Because I wanted to talk with you alone.”

“I am ready to talk with any member of the troupe, at any time,” he said. “All you had to do was ask.”

“She wouldn't have let me be alone with you.”

He nodded. That was true, though he wasn't sure why. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Two things. I know you are looking for a woman to marry, and aren't satisfied with the actresses, I thought I could help.”

“Help? How?”

“By enabling you to broaden your search. Maybe sticking to women your own crafted age is too limited. That's a very thin slice of womandom.”

“It is,” he agreed. “But what use would I have for any that are too old?”

“Or too young,” she said.

“I wouldn't even consider those.”

She paused, evidently seeking the right phrasing. “Yet suppose one who is too young now, would be just right for you once she matures? Would you want to pass her by?”

“I suppose not. But that's academic. I need to marry now.”

“Yes. So you can't wait. It's too bad.”

“It's the way it is,” he said shortly. “The Adult Conspiracy makes it impossible.”

“I wish I understood the Adult Conspiracy better.” she said. “But of course I don't.”

“By definition,” he agreed.

“Yet my sister Melody already has a boyfriend, and she'll marry him when they come of age. On Planet Ptero they are already of age, and doing whatever they want. They even have a child. I'm jealous.”

This dialogue was making him uncomfortable. “This isn't Ptero.”

“Piper's coming.”

“What?”

“The girl you met on the way to the Good Magician's Castle.”

“How could you know that?”

“I can read your mind, remember?”

He was taken aback. “I forgot about that.”

“You think I'm a winsome girl.”

“Oh, bleep!” For of course it was true. He knew he had no right to see her as anything other than a child. A Sorceress, and a Princess, but still a child. It was embarrassing to have such a wrong thought, and worse to have her know it.

Yet, oddly she seemed satisfied rather than confused or alarmed. What was going on in her mind?

“I'll never tell,” she murmured.

Bleep!

A girl appeared on the path ahead, “Hello, Piper,” he called.

“Hi, Cyrus,” she replied. “Who is your friend?”

“This is—” he paused, remembering that Rhythm was supposed to be anonymous.

“Rhyme. A girl in his play,” Rhythm said. “He's a Playwright now.”

“Oh, that's so wonderful,” Piper said, clapping her hands. “I wish I could be an actress.”

She and every other girl. “Maybe when you get older,” Cyrus said.

“But I'm thirteen. Rhyme looks only twelve. She's in your play.”

“And he is looking for a girl to marry,” Rhythm said. She elbowed him. “Note her aura.”

The little mischief! For Piper's aura was pure white.

Now Piper eyed him in a disturbingly appraising manner. Why did he suspect at times that girls were not always entirely innocent about the Adult Conspiracy? “I wonder,” she murmured. “A girl could certainly do worse.”

“You're too young!” he said desperately.

“But it happens we have a spell,” Rhythm said. “It ages a person one decade, for an hour.”

“That's interesting,” Piper said. “I'd like to try it.”

“Here it is.” Rhythm handed her a little ball. “Bite it.”

Piper bit it. It burst into vapor, for a moment obscuring her. Then the mist cleared.

A fully adult, twenty-three-year-old woman stood before him, “Suddenly I know all about the Adult Conspiracy.” Piper said, “It is a necessary thing.” She adjusted her dress, which fit her somewhat tightly now. In fact rather more bosom showed than was usual, as it strained at the girl-sized bodice lacing. “So you are looking for a wife?”

“Well, not exactly,” he said.

“Yes he is,” Rhythm said. “But she has to be just right for him.”

“But is he just right for her?” Piper asked.

“What do you mean?” Cyrus asked, bemused by this abrupt shift.

“Now that I am mature, it occurs to me that my girlish dream of marrying a handsome man and living happily ever after is not well grounded in reality,” Piper said seriously. “You're a nice man, but I think not my type for a long-term relationship, I am concerned about cyborg qualities I might come not to appreciate. Would our children have metal bones?”

Yet her aura was white: right for him. This was a new concept: she was right for him, but he might not be right for her. There needed to be a match both ways.

“This is sensible,” Cyrus agreed.

“Still, since in permanent life I am still a teen, I believe I will indulge myself for a while. I will join your troupe, hoping for some small part on stage. By the time I am grown, that foolishness will have been expended, and I will be ready to settle down with a man who loves oak trees.”

“Welcome to join,” Cyrus said. He had no interest in devoting his life to tending oak trees. So it was turning out that her caution was justified. Perfect women, it seemed, had sensible concerns. “The troupe is farther along this path.”

“Thank you.” Piper walked on. By the time she reached the troupe, she would revert to her real age.

Cyrus turned to Rhythm. “That was certainly interesting. Your magic amazes me.”

“I am a Sorceress,” she reminded him. “Because I am general purpose, I can do just about any magic. But I have to craft it beforehand, as I did with the Decade spell. It's not an automatic talent like flying or growing ears on tree trunks. When I am with my sisters, we can do things much faster.”

“But their presence here would give away your nature,” he said, remembering.

“That, too,” she agreed.

“There's something else?”

“I need to get out on my own. To discover my own identity. My own dreams. Not to be an almost perfect copy of my two sisters.”

“That makes sense.”

“I'm a sensible girl.”

“Yes you are. You have been an enormous help to the troupe.”

She blushed. “Thank you.”

“You said there were two things you wanted to talk to me about. One was the Decade spell, so I could seek more widely for my perfect woman. That dialogue with Piper taught me something: that it's not just how good she would be for me, but how good I would be for her. That was very helpful of you. Now what was the other thing?”

“I will tell you in the right place,” she said. “There's a special path. This way.” She led the way to a side path he hadn't noticed before.

He followed her, feeling guilty for noticing again that she moved lithely, with nice legs. She would be a lovely woman when she matured. She was already well on the way there.

“Thank you.”

Now he blushed. He had been caught again by her mind reading ability. That would be another one of the talents she had crafted in advance, “I shouldn't have been thinking that. I apologize.”

“Why?”

“Because it's not right to look at girls as if they are women. The Adult Conspiracy—”

“Is a pain!” she exclaimed. “I wish it didn't exist.”

“There is good reason for it.”

“I don't believe it. It's just a plot to torment children, and some who aren't really children.”

He did not try to argue the case. No child was capable of understanding that particular thing. So he changed the subject. “Where is this place you are taking me?”

“It's a nice little glade with a nice little pond. Very special.”

“Special?”

Now she changed the subject back. “You shouldn't think of me as a child, Cyrus. I'm really not.”

He could almost hear Melete muttering “Treacherous waters!” He needed to stop this line of discussion. “You are twelve years old, Rhythm.”

“No. Only in my body.”

He smiled indulgently. “That defines you.”

She paused in the path, facing him with disturbing intensity. “Let me explain something, Cyrus. Not long ago I was seventeen. That's Old Enough.”

He knew better than to ask old enough for what. She was too close and too pretty. “That temporary aging spell? I don't think that counts.”

“This was different. Do you know much about Mundania?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “Oh, there's data in my bank, but—”

“They have something called Daylight Saving Time.”

He sorted through his memory. “Yes, I find it now. They get up an hour earlier in summer to take advantage of extra daylight, then revert in the fall. It strikes me as like cutting one end off a stick and gluing it to the other end to make it longer. But what can you expect? It's Mundania.”

She laughed, almost falling into him. He had to put his hands on her elbows to steady her. Somehow his arms wound up partly around her as her large eyes lifted to meet his. There was a faint pleasant scent. He remembered the rest of Melete's remark: the girl had womanly ambition. He stepped back, embarrassed.