A Sudden Wild Magic

The High Head stared at this dumpy elderly female, at the damp and drooping feather on its head, at its beaded gown the color of Arth, and particularly at its great white furry feet. The edge of his vision took in an irate centaur with an ether monkey crouching beneath its belly, and the shower of water receding across the meadows. “My name is Lawrence, madam,” he said, and wondered why she was staring at him as if he were a ghost. Probably because he had seemingly fallen out of the sky. He sensed she had power. Therefore he asked politely, “You are a Goddess Priestess, perhaps?”

“In a way.” Gladys still had her face tipped up, staring. “I’m from the place they call otherworld here.” The eyes of the High Head sped involuntarily to her white, woolly feet. “No, they are not my feet!” she told him crossly. “I’m as human as you are! And you’re the very image of Len — my husband. But Len died years ago now, so I reckon you’re just his thingummy — analogue — aren’t you? Where did you spring from?”

“Arth,” said the High Head with grim dignity. “And I take it you are another piece of the otherworld conspiracy?”

The girls, Gladys thought, have managed to pull something off, bless their hearts! “In a way,” she admitted. “But there’s no good in glowering like that at me, my friend. Len never could get the better of me, and I’ve learnt a lot since then. So who are you? Your gods and Powers set me to meet someone on my way, and you must be the someone.”

He shot her a grimmer look still and turned to the centaur. “Centaur, I’m the High Head of Arth, and I need to get to the king urgently.”

“Oh no, not another one!” Hugon growled. “Have you any money?”

“Well, naturally, not at the moment—”

“Then go whistle!” said Hugon. “I’m paying her train fare because the damn gods will have my guts if I don’t, but I’ll be raped if I pay for you too!”

The High Head, to his exasperation, was forced to look pleadingly at Gladys.

“Yes, I’ve got to get to the king too,” she said. “That’s gods for you. I’ve never known them be entirely practical. Hugon—”

“No,” said Hugon.

Surly brute, thought the High Head. He could argue all day and the centaur would probably still refuse. And he knew he had to get to the king and have him raise his royal power on behalf of Arth today. Given the time difference between here and Arth, those alien witches would have pulled the citadel apart by tomorrow. The High Head dithered for a moment, contemplating knocking the centaur out, putting the woman under stasis — which might not work, because she need not have been bluffing that she could best him — and running for the nearest train with the centaur’s pouch. But there was that ether monkey crouching between the centaur’s hooves. Its round black eyes were fixed on his, knowingly.

He was not sure whose side it was on, except that it was probably not on his. No one in Arth or the Pentarchy had ever been able to fathom the powers of an ether monkey, but they were generally suspected to be considerable. He saw he would have to stoop to negotiation.

“Madam,” he said, selecting Gladys as marginally the most rational of the three, “since it seems we have the same destination and somewhat the same problem, would you agree to some measure of cooperation?”

“I might,” she said. “It depends what you want.”

“There is,” said the High Head, “an alternative means of reaching the king which, being from another world, it is possible you do not know. I would be willing to instruct you in this method, provided you would agree to perform no hostile act until we stand before the king. I would, of course, agree to the same truce on my part.”

“Suits me,” Gladys replied readily, “though I don’t see why you should be on about hostile acts. I bear you no malice, Mr Lawrence. I need to see your king about both our worlds, as it happens.”

“Then you agree?” he said.

“I do.”

“In that case,” said the High Head, “perhaps this good centaur could guide us to the nearest grove of the Goddess?” He turned to the centaur in his most majestic manner, which hid both hope and apprehension: hope because it was always possible the centaur would show a little belated patriotism and offer him the train fare; apprehension because Hugon might realize what he was up to and give him away.

The centaur, however, merely looked relieved at not having to spend his money. “If you want,” he said. “The nearest grove’s a good mile over that way. But you’ll have to walk it.”

“I’ll walk too,” Gladys said. “I need to talk to you,” she explained to the High Head. Besides, she was tired of biting her tongue.

“I fail to see what we have to talk about,” the High Head said haughtily as they set off toward a gate in a distant hedge, with Hugon jogging ahead and the ether monkey silently scuttling behind.

“Oh, come on!” Gladys said. “You’re not stupid! But I can see you’ve had a shock, dropping out of the sky like that, and you may not have taken in what I said. You did hear me mention your gods and Powers, did you?”