Dragon on a Pedestal (34 page)

“As are the elves, gnomes, and ogres,” Chem agreed. “I think there is as much variation in the humanoid variants as in the crossbreeds. Would you prefer to have your daughter marry an ogre?”

Gorbage spluttered, while Haggy burst out in raucous laughter. “Marry an orgre!” she screeched. “Breed some looks and intelligence into your stock!”

“Listen, rotten-egg-brain—”

“My point is,” Chem said, cutting their insults off again, “crossbreeds and humanoid variants should not be ashamed to continue the traditions of Xanth. Maybe in drear Mundania the species don’t mix much, but Xanth is
not Mundane. That’s why Xanth is so much better! We creatures of Xanth have much greater freedom to—”

“Would
you
breed with some other kind of crossbreed, not a centaur?” Haggy screeched challengingly.

“The old biddy’s got you there, horsy!” Gorbage cried. “
Would
you—?”

“Yes,” Chem said. “If he were a worthwhile creature, and if there were mutual respect and appreciation.”

“Centaurs aren’t supposed to fib!” Haggy cried.

“Yeah?” Gorbage asked at the same time. “Like what?”

“Like a hippogryph,” she answered.

Irene watched her, wondering how far Chem would go to make her point. Centaurs were relatively open about some topics that human folk preferred to keep secret, but her liaison with Xap was really no business of these foul-minded creatures.

Both the old and the young harpies looked at the centaur, surprised, as did the young and old goblins. It was evident that no one had anticipated this answer.

“Aw, she’s making it up,” Gorbage said after a pause. “There’s no bird-horse to call her bluff.”

“But there
is
one!” Haggy screeched victoriously. “He belongs to the witch’s boy—”

“Xap,” Chem said. “Who carries Xavier, son of Xanthippe.”

Haggy’s ugly mouth gaped. “She knows him!”

Gorbage was equally astounded. “She’s really been with a hippogryph?”

“She must have been,” Haggy screeched.

The two of them looked at Irene. “What do you know of this claim?” Gorbage asked.

“It’s true,” Irene said. “Chem traveled with Xap.”

“Then she’s worse than any of us!” Haggy screeched indignantly.

“She sure is!” Gorbage agreed.

The two looked at each other, startled. They were agreeing!

“Have you noticed,” Chem said, “how few goblins and harpies there are, compared to what there used to be? And how many crossbreeds there are, and how vigorous they are?”

Now both goblin and harpy were sullenly silent.

“Did it occur to you that maybe your close inbreeding is weakening both your species?” Chem continued. “The straight human beings were losing power in Xanth, until they reopened the border and mixed with fresh new Mundanes. Human folk didn’t want to do that, for they have always been afraid of the Mundane Waves, and contemptuous of the Mundane inability to do magic. But they did interbreed—and now the human folk are
strong, and goblins and harpies are weak, when once it was the other way around. Before long, historically, you’ll fade away entirely—especially if you keep killing one another off. You would both do better as species if you made peace and let your people interbreed, any who wanted to.”

“Ludicrous!” Haggy screeched.

“Appalling!” Gorbage shouted.

Again they looked at each other, finding themselves in unsettling agreement.

“Let me show you something,” Chem said. “You both know that neither goblins nor harpies have magic powers. That’s another reason neither is prospering in Xanth now.”

Mutely, they nodded.

“Please watch what Hardy and Glory do together.”

“Oh, no, we won’t!” Haggy screeched. “We’re respectable creatures! We won’t sit still for that kind of obscenity, will we, Gorbage?”

“Certainly not!” the goblin chief agreed emphatically. “We’re decent, natural-law-abiding folk!”

The harpy spread her wings, and the goblin edged across the wall, both ready to jump down into the enclosure to preserve decency as they knew it. But the Gorgon turned to face one and then the other, her hand at her hood, and they settled back without further protest. Decency wasn’t
that
important!

Hardy and Glory joined hand and claw—and disappeared.

Haggy almost fell off the wall.

“So that’s how they got away!” Gorbage said. “I thought they found some vanishing cream or something.”

“Together, they can do magic,” Chem said as the two reappeared. “Together they have power that no other person in either of your species has. For the first time, goblins and harpies can compete with the human folk and the centaurs in magic. But only together. Apart, you are merely ordinary creatures, losing out to the ones who can do magic.”

Haggy stared as the couple joined hands again and vanished. “What I wouldn’t give for power like that!” she screeched faintly.

“Would you join with a goblin for it?” Chem asked.

“Never!”

“What—never?”

“Well …”

“But maybe you could see your way clear to let other harpies seek their magic, in whatever manner they wished,” Chem said.

“Maybe …” Haggy grudged, looking as if she were tasting a stinkworm.

“And you,” Chem said, turning to Gorbage. “Your older daughter married a goblin chief and got a magic wand that makes things fly. Your
younger daughter has the chance to marry a prince and to do magic without the wand. Would you deny her that?”

“Well—” Gorbage said, looking as if the stinkworm had crawled into his own mouth.

“And what of their offspring?” Chem continued. “Maybe they will combine the best of both species. They could be winged goblins, able to fly like harpies without sacrificing their legs. Maybe they will have magic talents by themselves, as human folk do. Maybe they will make your line strong again, able to do things no other creatures can do. Your descendants may once again dominate the Land of Xanth. They may once again achieve greatness. Will you deny your daughter and your species that chance?”

Gorbage scowled. “I never thought of it that way.” He was violent and opinionated, but he did want what was best for his daughter.

“So why not end the war and give your blessing to the union of these two fine young folk? It could be the dawning of a new age for your kind.”

“Well, maybe, but the scandal—”

Glory jumped up and down, clapping her fine little hands. “That’s his way of saying yes!” she cried. “And you?” Chem asked Haggy.

“I don’t have any power over any male of our species,” the harpy screeched reluctantly. “I’m just a common fighting hen.”

“Which is her way of saying yes,” Hardy said. “All the old battle-axes are alike. If Haggy goes along, they all will, even the Queen hen.”

“Good enough,” Chem said, and Irene realized she was moving it along so the longtime enemies would not have a chance to change their minds. “Let’s declare this interminable internecine war over and be on our way.”

“Now hold on, horsefoot,” Gorbage said. “Wars are not just stopped like that! Tradition must be upheld.”

“Of course, I realize there will have to be conferences with the other chiefs and formal agreements made,” Chem said. “But there’s no reason not to start—”

“I mean there has to be a bash,” Gorbage said.

“And engagements aren’t just started cold,” Haggy screeched. “There has to be a big flap.”

“We need a whoop-de-doo!” the goblin cried.

“And a poop-de-poo!” the harpy agreed.

“Not on
my
head!” Gorbage said. He turned around on the wall and waved to his troops. “War’s over,” he bawled. “Come on in for the whoop-de-poop!”

Haggy flew up and screeched similarly to her flock about the doo-de-poo.

Soon goblins were swarming over the south wall and harpies were flapping over the north wall, ready to fling a wing-ding.

“I hope this is as positive as it’s supposed to be,” Irene murmured nervously.

“Don’t worry,” Glory said. “They’ll fling a party like none you’ve seen.”

“That may be what I’m afraid of.” Yet this was bound to be better than war!

“Move it, human woman!” Gorbage exclaimed. “Grow some real party plants!”

“And make some music,” Haggy screeched. “You can’t match the mouth organ, but—”

Irene fished for a seed and planted it. “Grow!” she told it. The thing sprouted into a cactus with ridges up the sides and needles in every ridge. It brached into a number of shoots, some large, some small. When the plant reached sufficient size, it began to tootle.

“What is that?” Grundy asked.

“An organ-pipe cactus.”

The notes deepened and richened as it continued to grow, until at last they were full, rich, organ sounds.

“We’ll need dancing slippers,” Glory said. “And hair-brushes, to pretty up.”

Irene grew a moccasin flower, a hairbrush cactus, and, for good measure, a necklace plant so people could dress up.

“And refreshments!” Haggy screeched. Irene grew a pickle-weed.

“And perfume,” the Gorgon murmured.

Irene wrinkled her nose, agreeing. Already the air was close with the fetor of the harpies, and the goblins were none too clean themselves. Irene grew several sweetly scented flowers, including some drops, which were really varieties of rose by other names, smelling as sweet.

“And everyone should sign the register,” Hardy said. “But we don’t have a—”

Irene grew an autograph tree. It had places for everyone to sign.

“And some party stuff,” Grundy said, getting into the spirit of it.

Irene delved for some more seeds, and grew a fiesta flower, a rainbow fern, a good-luck plant, a silver-ball plant, a pearl plant, a live-forever plant, a love-charm plant, and a bag flower for the refuse of the party. Now the enclosure seemed appropriately festive, and the scent of the perfume plants was almost overpowering, enabling her to ignore the aroma of the harpies.

“Move it! Move it!” Gorbage cried, clapping his hands. “Start the bash!”

Hardy and Glory went to the center of the enclosure, where the surface of the water table remained clear except for a layer of carpet grass. The
organ-pipe cactus blasted out louder music, and they began to dance. Hardy hovered in midair, his wings shining, while Glory whirled before him, again showing her pretty legs. Irene felt more than a tinge of jealousy; once she had had legs like that!

The two came together, wings and skirt swirling like sections of the same apparel, then flung apart, then came together again in a joint swing. Then they separated completely, going to the walls of the enclosure where the spectators were. Glory skipped across to reach out her hands to her father, bringing him grumblingly onto the dance floor. She was lovely and he was ugly, yet somehow the affinity of lineage was apparent. He stomped and she pranced, their feet striking the carpet in unison, and the dance was good.

Hardy flew to the wall where Haggy perched. “Move your tail, you abysmal old hen!” he cried. She launched into the air, sweeping a dirty talon at him, but he spun in place, and circled, making an orbit about her, and shoved her toward the center. She screeched an epithet that momentarily darkened the sun, but could not truly oppose the will of a male of her species. So she spun in air, joining the dance. As it turned out, she did know how; the two never touched the ground, but matched the beat of the music.

Irene smiled privately. It was evident that the bottom of the harpy male hierarchy ranked the top of the female hierarchy. Haggy screeched her protest, but she would have been affronted had Hardy chosen any lesser hen to haul in to the dance before her.

Irene had a bright notion. She delved for another seed, and found what she wanted. “Grow!” she said, flipping it at the north wall, where the harpies perched. It was a fumigation bush, which would quietly clean any harpy in its vicinity. She found another and flipped it at the south wall.

There were now four on or near the floor, dancing to the music. Harpy faced harpy and goblin faced goblin, making patterns, and it was heartening in the way that any dance was. This was indeed becoming a festive occasion.

Then the two couples separated, each person going out to fetch in another. Gorbage went to the wall to insult another harpy into joining them; Glory brought in another goblin; Hardy got a new harpy hen; and Haggy flapped over to challenge a new goblin. The four on the dance floor became eight. It was a multiplication dance.

Soon the goblins and harpies were all in the dance, and several were questing for new partners. A goblin came to claim the Gorgon, who was startled but suffered herself to be drawn forward. “But I can’t see very well,” she protested faintly through the hood as she went.

“Who needs to see?” the goblin demanded, moving into the close ballroom embrace, his head coming up just about to her waist. “You petrify me!”

A harpy came for Grundy. She simply snatched the golem up and whirled with him in the air. Irene noticed that her feathers were now clean; the fumigation bush was working. All the old hens were looking better, now that their colors could be seen; they really weren’t as old or ugly as they had seemed, though it would not have been fair to call them young or pretty.

Then Hardy himself came for Chem. “We crossbreeds must dance together!” he said. “I want to thank you for making a marvelous case!”

Finally Gorbage came for Irene. He was half her height and scowling horrendously, but he was now clean and ordorless and she could not refuse. The war had been converted to a party, and she wanted to keep it that way!

She whirled in the crowd, doing her version of the goblin stomp. Gorbage was a surprisingly good partner, for he had a sense of timing and motion. For an instant, she almost forgot that she was stuck in the jungle. “Hey, you got legs like my daughter!” Gorbage remarked, and she was embarrassed to find herself blushing.

“Want to know something?” Gorbage asked as he stomped in perfect time to the music, completely undisturbed about the difference in their sizes. “When I was dancing with one of those old hens, I did some high steps—and I swear my feet left the ground.”

“Shouldn’t they?” Irene asked, half bemused by the innocence of the remark.