Pet Peeve (3 page)

Well, the ugly sight and smell would not really hurt him. Goody walked toward it. As he approached he began to feel awkward in the middle of his body. In fact he needed increasingly to, well, use a toilet.

Then he realized something else. The folk availing themselves of the facilities were not moving on. The elf girl continued retouching her face, never satisfied. The troll might have done its business, but was still trying for more. The insects were not departing. It seemed that this was not a passing thing, but a required continuous effort that it was never possible to complete.

Goody halted, then backed way from the tree. This was not an avenue he cared to take either.

He paused to consider, which was a sensible habit of his. This was a Challenge, so there had to be a way through. He should not have to get past mountains made of molehills, be compressed by a gravi-tree, get stalked by vegetables, suffer the ire of a bi-polar bear, or be trapped on a toilet. Yet these seemed to be the only choices offered.

But there was something he had learned in the course of his middle-aged life, and that was that what was apparent was not always the full story. Other goblins had rejected Go-Go because she was cursed to fade before her time, yet Goody had found her to be the perfect wife in every other respect. She had of course wanted to marry a normal disreputable goblin male, but had discovered that a polite male could nevertheless have qualities to be respected. Long before the end she had told him that she was glad to have married him, and considered herself better off than her friends. So they had both profited by being willing to avoid the stereotypes and choose unconventionally.

It was called thinking outside the box. Goody had avoided many difficult situations by practicing it.

And this Challenge was in a box. A bulb flashed over his head. Did this box have an outside?

He went back to the entrance. Sure enough, the box sat in a slightly larger chamber. There was a small clearance around it, between its slats and the stone of the chamber walls. Just enough for a goblin to squeeze through.

He squeezed, making his way around the outside of the box to the other side. There was an open door into the rest of the castle. He stepped through it.

A young human woman appeared. “Welcome, Goody Goblin,” she said. “I am Wira, the Good Magician's daughter-in-law.”

“Thank you for meeting me,” he said politely. “I have come to see the Good Magician about a problem.”

She smiled. “That happens here on occasion. Humfrey is busy at the moment, but you can visit with Rose while waiting.” She led the way through labyrinthine passages.

“I am not certain I know Rose.”

“She is the Designated Wife of the month. Humfrey rescued all five and a half of his former wives, but only one can serve at a time, so it alternates. Rose is very nice.”

“Should I explain my mission to her, or to you?”

“There is no need. Magician Humfrey will know.”

They came to an interior court. There was a pretty rose garden there, tended by a pretty woman in an elegant gown. She looked up as they approached. “Hello, Wira. Who is our guest today?”

“This is Goody Goblin.” Wira turned to him, and in the light he saw that there was an odd blankness about her eyes. “Goody, this is Rose of Roogna.”

Goody made a courtly bow. “I am pleased to meet you, Rose.”

Rose was surprised. “I mean no offense, but this is not the greeting I expected from a goblin male.”

“I am cursed to be polite. It is most inconvenient.”

“Ah, now I remember. Grey Murphy mentioned that he once helped a polite goblin male learn how to swear.”

“I am that one,” Goody agreed. “However, it remains not to my taste.”

Rose looked more carefully at him. “You look like a typical male goblin, with a big hard head, big club feet, and a body only half human height. Yet there is sadness about you. May I give you a rose?”

“I appreciate the offer, but there is no need.”

She gestured to the garden. “Take the one that most appeals to you.”

It would not be polite to demur further. Goody looked at the assorted roses, discovering many colors. There was something special about all of them, and he realized that they were in some way magical. All of them were pretty, but one appealed particularly. “This one,” he said, indicating a delicate pale gray rose.

“Take it.”

He reached out and grasped its stem. He twisted, and the rose came free. He smelled it, and was reminded strongly of Go-Go. That of course brought a surge of grief, but it was bearable. “Thank you.”

“That is the Rose of Grief,” Rose said. “Only a person in sincere grief can take it fresh without getting stabbed by its thorn. I thought that might be the one.”

“It is,” he agreed. “My wife.” He did not need to explain further.

She approached him, bent down, took the rose, and tucked its stem into a buttonhole on his jacket. The roses were her magic; she was immune to their thorns. “It will help you bear your grief. When another woman is able to take it, you will know she is worthy, and that you will be able to love her as you loved your wife. That your grief has dissipated enough to allow this.”

“I think that is not possible.”

“It is possible, Goody. The rose knows.”

Wira had disappeared at some point in their dialogue. Now she reappeared. “Magician Humfrey is ready,” she said.

“Thank you, dear,” Rose said. “Go with her, Goody.”

Goody followed the young woman up a winding flight of stone steps to a dingy dark office. “The querent is here, Good Magician,” Wira said. “Goody Goblin.”

Something moved in the shadow. It was the Good Magician, poring over a huge dusky tome. “Ask, goblin.”

“I need to rid myself of an ugly artifact,” Goody said, removing the Finger box from a pocket. “It is a Finger.”

“You hardly needed to come here for that,” Humfrey said grumpily. “Just give it to anyone you don't like.”

“That is not in my nature. I do not wish to offend anyone, or to cause distress.”

Humfrey looked at him more than half a moment. “You are a goblin male?”

“A polite one,” Goody said, embarrassed.

“Give it to Wira.”

“Oh, I couldn't do that!”

“Evidently you are unaware that she is blind. She can't see it, therefore will not be offended.”

“But she led me here without a misstep!”

“I am familiar with this castle,” Wira said. “Give me the Finger.”

Reluctantly Goody handed the box to her. Her expression did not change. She was not offended. She bore the box away.

“Your problem has been solved,” Humfrey said. “Now depart.”

“But I have not yet served my Service.”

“There is no need for a Service for this. I will use the Finger in a challenge for some obnoxious querent I wish to discourage.”

“But that would not be right. You have relieved me of an unpleasant object, and I should pay the usual price.”

Humfrey contemplated him again. “You are a remarkable goblin. I see Rose gave you a rose. That is a mark of considerable favor and significance.”

“Rose is very kind.”

“Have you ever reacted violently to provocation?”

“I wouldn't think of it.”

“There is a task that needs performing. But it is a considerable challenge, and very few folk would be capable of it. Perhaps you are one such.”

“I will do my best.”

“The task is difficult and provocative, but its accomplishment may lead to considerable reward. You will need help. Grey Murphy will help outfit you.”

“If I may inquire, what is this task?”

“To find a suitable home for the parody.”

“I fear I don't quite understand.”

“You will.” The ancient eyes moved, spying the returning girl. “Wira, take him to Grey. He will deliver the parody.”

Wira shuddered. “Yes, Magician.”

She led him to another part of the castle. They entered a room where Magician Grey Murphy was working. On the table before him was a raised wooden bar, and on the bar perched a green bird. “Magician, here is Goody Goblin. He will place the peeve.”

Grey jumped up. “Goody Goblin! I remember you from way back. You were one of my first cases.”

“You showed me how to curse,” Goody agreed wryly. “All it took was a curse burr.”

“Didn't that solve your problem? What brings you back here?”

“Someone gave me the Finger, and I needed to be rid of it. Now it seems I am to find a suitable home for the parody. I hope you have further details, because I admit to being perplexed.”

“Small wonder! I'll fill you in. This green bird here is the parody. It's a pet peeve, and we need to find a suitable home for it.”

Goody studied the bird. It was moderately small, perfectly plain, with a downwardly curved beak, beady eyes, and nondescript feathers. It seemed entirely unremarkable, except for the intense way it stared at him. “It looks like a nice enough creature, rather like a small mundane parrot or large parakeet. I should think almost any family looking for a pet would like to have such a bird.”

“That is not the case. Here, I'll stop using my magic to suppress its nature.” Grey put his arm out, and the parody hopped onto it, fluffing its wing-feathers.

“You're such a poor excuse for a goblin it's a wonder the harpies didn't adopt you,” Grey said.

Surprised, Goody looked at him. He knew it wasn't like him to insult people.

“In fact, you should go stick your head into a nickelpede nest to improve your complexion,” Grey's voice continued. But this was especially odd, because his lips were not moving. In fact his mouth was tightly closed.

“I don't think I understand,” Goody said.

“Of course you don't understand, you moronic idiot,” Grey's voice said. “When they passed out stupidity, you were the first in line.”

Then Goody caught on. “The bird! The parody is talking in your voice.”

“Exactly,” Grey said. “Wira, may I give you the bird?”

Wira stepped forward and put out her arm. The parody jumped onto it. “And you call yourself a Magician,” Wira's voice said. “I've seen better magic in Mundania!” Her mouth was closed too.

Wira proffered the bird to Goody. He put out his arm, and the peeve hopped on. It hardly weighed anything. “Only a real idiot like Hugo would have married you, sleepyhead,” Goody's voice said. “If you could see, you sightless wretch, you'd know what a pitiful bag you are.”

Horrified, Goody opened his mouth to protest.

Wira cut him off with a smile. “I know that's not you talking, Goody. It's the pet peeve. It doesn't like anything.”

“Least of all you, you inane excuse for a chambermaid,” Goody's voice said. “You give blind stones a bad name. They should have put you back to sleep a decade ago.”

She smiled again and put forth her arm. The bird jumped onto it.

She brought up her free hand and stroked its back. She was evidently a gentle soul.

“And you're worse, you denatured goblin,” her voice said to Goody. “Why don't you just put on a pretty dress and be done with it?”

Ouch. He hated being likened to a girl.

Wira kissed the top of the parody's head and gave it back to Grey Murphy. Now the bird was silent. Goody remembered that Grey's magic was to nullify magic. That was why he could stifle the obnoxious avian.

“This should give you half a notion what to expect when you travel with the pet peeve,” Grey said. “It will insult everyone and everything that comes in range, with marvelous specificity, using your voice. Be suspicious if you ever hear a positive word from it. Are you sure you want to take on this mission?”

That daunted Goody, but he persevered. “I shall do my best. But I am concerned about the reactions of those we may encounter.”

“Exactly,” Grey said. “You surely observed how giving folk the Finger made them react. You won't even need to give them the bird to elicit their ire. You will need defensive magic. Wira, do you know where that bag of used four spells is?”

Wira hurried away in search of it. “Four spells?” Goody asked.

“I'll explain in a moment. I trust you realize that what qualifies you to escort the parody is that you must be one of the few folk who won't fly into a rage and wring its neck. Only a supreme pacifist can keep company with this bird for very long without suffering apoplexy or worse.”

“I am coming to appreciate that.”

“It may help to understand our diagnosis of its nature. The peeve has a high AQ.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Annoyance Quotient. Almost anything it encounters annoys it, and it reacts by expressing itself in hostile and sometimes vulgar language.”

Goody had to smile. “I believe I noticed something of the kind.”

“A sense of humor certainly helps when dealing with it. The parody is attracted to the highest AQ it encounters. The recipients of its attention hate it, much as they do the Finger, which is perhaps another reason why the Good Magician gave you this challenge. You are not a creature of hate; you are essentially a pacifist. You will need to find some responsible person who will not be outraged by receiving the bird from you.”

Goody was beginning to doubt. “Is there such a person?”

“There must be, because Humfrey does not assign impossible Services. The challenge is to find him, her, or it. But it shouldn't be another pacifist, because the peeve would languish if not provided a ready source of aggravation. In other words, don't consider any low-AQ folk.”

“A high-AQ person who likes the peeve,” Goody said. The challenge was looming larger by the moment.

“Still, it was left here by the Gorgon, who rescued it from Hell, where it had rather worn out its welcome, and Humfrey agreed to find a good home for it. He has trouble saying no to his wives. We've gotten used to it here, but frankly will be satisfied to see it on its way.”

“I can imagine.”

Grey angled his head, gazing at Goody. “My talent of suppressing magic makes me sensitive to it. I need to know what I am suppressing, so as not to do corollary damage. There may be magic about you.”

Goody was perplexed. “I am merely an ordinary goblin.”

“I suspect you have a magic talent.”

“But goblins don't have talents. Well, some have half talents that have to be matched with harpy half talents.”

“Yes. But half a talent may become a full talent in time. I believe you have that potential.”

“No offense, but I find that hard to believe.”

“Keep it in mind. Maybe you and your wife came to share a talent, in the course of your long and close association, and you are in the process of inheriting the whole of it. Even Mundanes can develop talents in time. In fact there is now a Mundane Magician.”

“Amazing!”

“Magic is amazing,” Grey said seriously. “I came from Mundania, which provides me a certain exterior perspective. There are just so many remarkable aspects to magic. I would not believe in it at all if I didn't have constant experience with it.”

“I certainly believe in magic. But it's hard to believe that I could have any of my own. Do you have any hint what kind of magic I might have or develop?”

“A hint, yes. No more. It is generally protective in nature. Not strong, but perhaps useful when needed.”

Goody considered that. He had never dreamed he could have a magic talent of his own, but he was not in a position to doubt the Magician. What possible type could he have? “Protective” didn't narrow it down very far.

Wira returned with a motley bag. She handed it to Grey.

“Ah, yes, the four spells,” Grey said. “These are potent, but have been used, so may be diminished in force or apt to end abruptly. So it is best not to invoke one until there is immediate need.”

“Why are there four spells, instead of three or five?”

Grey laughed. “There are dozens of them. Such as fourwarned, alerting you to danger by heightened senses of sight, smell, sound, and touch. Or fourshadowed, which provides you with four shadows reflecting your immediate past and future. Really intricate spells, but not fully reliable because of their age and wear and tear. In addition, they are all mixed up in the bag, so you can't be sure which one you're getting; you will just have to poke a finger into the bag and invoke the first one you touch.”

“This seems less than convenient.”

“It gets worse. Their terminations have been lost, so once invoked, they can't be turned off. So you may have four shadows far longer than you want them. But they are effective spells.”