Out of Phaze

Fleta paused to sniff the air in the fashion of an animal. “Methinks I smell aught foul,” she remarked. “Best we not pause.”

The path followed a ridge, then curved to the east and dropped down to a stream. Mach was ready to wade through, but Fleta held him back. “Not this one; there be poison in it. We must touch not the water.”

“But it is too broad to jump over,” he said.

“There be a ladder of rope. We merely pull it across and tie it in place.” She pointed, and there across the stream was a thick coil of ropes.

“How do we pull it, without first crossing?”

“There be a string.” She reached up near a branch, her fingers questing for it. Then she stamped her foot with sudden anger. “It be not here!”

There was a raucous cackle from the bushes at the far side. “Thou dost bet it be not there, nymph!” a voice cried.

“Methought I winded garbage!” Fleta snapped.

“Smile when you say that, cutie-pie!” the other responded. “Thou’rt in Harpy Demesnes!” And the speakerl came into view: a gross, filthy creature, with a woman’s head and bosom, and a vulture’s wings and tail and legs. The odor became stronger.

“And thou’rt in ‘corn Demesnes!” Fleta retorted. “Didst mess with the ladder? Thou knowest that is not to be, by the pact ‘tween species!”

“What dost the like of thee know of any pact?” the harpy demanded. “Dost think canst trot thy stud past Harpy Demesnes w’ impunity? Stay, filly, an we’ll goose thee across in our own fashion, after our sport with the other.”

“What sport?” Mach asked, not liking the harpy’s attitude.

“Their kind be e’er shy of males,” Fleta muttered. “I’ll say no more.”

“Well, I’ll say more!” the harpy screeched. “First we’ll strip the leaves off thee, my fine morsel, then we’ll hold thee down while our choicest hen has at thy—“

But Mach had grasped enough of the picture by this time. He hurled his axe at the obnoxious body. The harpy spread her wings and sailed upward with a desperate screech, barely in time; the axe knocked loose several greasy tailfeathers.

“Wait and see, stupid man!” she screamed, gaining altitude. “Dost not know thou’rt already the plaything o’ an animal? We’ll show thee some real piny, an I bring my siblings back in a moment!”

Furious, Mach hurled a stone at her, but the creature was already flapping her way between the trees to the west.

He turned to speak to Fleta, and paused with dismay. She was gone.

Astounded, he cast about. She couldn’t have returned along the path, for he had been on it and she hadn’t passed him. She couldn’t have hurdled the stream; she was too small. She must have gone into the bushes along the bank of the stream, searching for some other way across. But so quickly and silently; he had never seen her go!

What had that harpy said about Harpy Demesnes? Mach suddenly made a connection. He had lived in Hardom, a city named, it was claimed, after the mythical harpies of Phaze. All the cities of Proton had similar designations: the first three letters of some creature, and the appendage “dom” for dome. He had taken it to be an innocent affectation. Now, abruptly, he realized that it could be more than that. There really were harpies, every bit as ugly as described in the myth, and apparently this was their region. Thus, perhaps, the geography of Proton did correspond with that of Phaze, to this extent. There could be a great number of the filthy birds in the vicinity!

Then he heard a humming. He looked, and there was a bright little hummingbird, hovering over the path.

Then it darted across the stream, touched the coil rope ladder, and took hold of a thread there. It carried this thread back across the stream, right to Mach himself.

Amazed, he lifted his hand and took hold of the thread. The tiny bird let go and darted away, its errand done.

Mach pulled on the thread, and it became a string, and then a stout cord that finally enabled him to haul the uncoiling ladder across. He tied its two loose ends to the broad branch, making sure it was firm.

Now he needed to find Fleta, because he certainly was not going to leave her to the mercy of the harpies. Where had she gone?

He peered into the bushes. “Fleta?”

“Yes, Mach?” she said right behind him.

He jumped. “Where were you? I was afraid—“

She shrugged. “A girl needs some privacy sometimes.”

“She does?”

She laughed. “Wait till thou dost have to do it! I’ll stand and watch.”

“Do what?”

‘They don’t have to do it in thy frame?”

“Don’t have to do what?”

“Defecate.”

“Of course they defecate! Why do you ask?”

Her mirth became genuine curiosity. “But thou dos not?”

“I’m a robot.”

“Thou seemst much like a man to me. What be a rovot?”

“Robot, not rovot. A—“ He paused with belated realization. “Defecation! You mean you had to—“

Her amusement returned. “I had not dreamed it such a well-kept secret! All those who eat must cast their leavings, e’en young females.”

Now he found his face burning again. “I did not—“

‘Truly, thou’rt not the one I knew!” she said merrily. “He ne’er had such confusion!”