Chicks - Did You Say Chicks Part 2

At the end of the speedy trial-the judge, with Sophora leaning over his shoulder, did not delay proceedings in any way-all body parts were restored to their original owners, except for one: a shepherd girl in the Stormy Hills, slowed by Lady Alicia's flabby legs, had not outrun a wolf. Alicia got to keep the girl's legs, but had to send 20 gold crowns in compensation... or choose to spend the summer herding sheep for the girl's family. She sent the money.

Because the Ladies Aid & Armor Society had incurred unreasonable expense in acquiring exercise equipment for the court ladies to use, the ladies had to agree to three cla.s.ses a week for the next year, by which time the step stools, mirrors, and showers would be paid off.

And, as a special reward for their discovery and solution of the problem, the Ladies Aid and Armor Society received a unique contribution to their annual Iron Jill retreat.

Thirty sulky ladies in silk tunics stepped smartly up and down the flower-painted stools to the rhythm of mallet on shield, and the brusque commands of the LA&AS top instructors.

"Aaaall right, ladies... and FIVE and FOUR and THREE and TWO and ONE... now the other foot and EIGHT and SEVEN and SIX and FIVE..."

"Let's see those smiles, ladies! A proper court lady always smiles!"

"More GLOW, ladies! Let's see some GLOW!"

Gilfort the Great, Dancing Master to theRoyal Court and (privy) black plastic wizard, sat on the rock in the middle of the clearing, hands bound to the ring thereon, and wished he had never left Technolalia.

Twenty-seven of the women of the Ladies Aid & Armor Society had shown up for the annual Iron Jill retreat, at which (so he had heard) terrible rituals were performed. No male had seen them and lived to tell about it.

The corresponding male-bonding ceremonies he knew about, having been taken to the fire-circle todrum and dance by his father and uncles. He had been forced to down raw fish and even a luckless mouse; he had run naked through the meadows and woods screaming the worst words he knew.

But this? Around the rock, the women swirled, seeming to ignore him, as they stripped off armor, kicked off heavy boots, and unpacked provisions for the first nights dinner.

"Hunting tomorrow," said the tall muscley one who had prodded him in the back most of the way here.

"Tonight's the last night for this bough ten stuff."

"Yeah..." breathed the others, and then they did look at him, and he wished they hadn't.

"By the time we find and kill, we'll be ravenous," a perky blonde said, growling a little. "If the Mother sent us off as usual, we won't really have much of a supper tonight..."

He could see that they didn't. Bread, cheese-not much of it-some pickles. To his surprise, they brought him a pot of stew, and urged him to eat his fill.

"It's all right foryou," they said. He wasn't hungry, but the menace of their swords suggested he had better obey, and he forced the stew into a reluctant belly. Later, he hardly slept-it was amazingly difficult to sleep on a hard rock, with his hands tied, and the knowledge that twenty-seven hungry women had plans for him the next day.

Just as the first gray light seeped into the clearing, the women began to wake. First one then another stopped snoring, rolled to her feet, spat, and let out a loud yell. Birds took off, wings clapping, in all directions. Twenty-seven yells, in everything from lyric soprano (with a fine vibrato) to tenor, and afterwards they all looked at him again.

"Now didn't that feelgood?" asked the brown-haired brawny one. "Let's do it again, and this time letall the tension out. Iron... JILLLL!"

Twenty-seven women yelling Iron Jill at the tops of their lungs sent all remaining birds thrashing out of the trees at high speed, and in the echoing silence afterwards he could hear distant hoofbeats becoming ever more distant.

"Ahhh," said the brawny one, stretching. "Usually we can't do that right away, not if we want any breakfast, because it scares the game, but this time..." She smiled. Gilfort the Great fainted.

When he woke up, he was being slapped gently enough by several of the women.

"Oh goodie! He's awake," said the perky blonde.

"Now, what you have to do," said another, "is this: we point you away from the castle and city, and then you run. And then we chase you."

"Such fun," said the blonde one. "You've had more food and a good night's sleep." He tried to protest, but his mouth was dry. "We give you a flagon of water and some sandwiches; we have nothing. You might well outrun us; we might have to subsist on nuts and berries. Even beetle grubs." She giggled.

They sounded so cheerful. They sounded so confident.

"It's just-" Strong fingers clamped his cheeks; bold eyes stared into his. "Don't come back this way,Gilfort. I shouldn't warn you, not really, but-the rules are, if you come back this way, we can do it all.

Tear you. Slowly. Limb. From. Limb. We like it, but you probably wouldn't. So best to runthatway, Gilfort. We do it quickly, when it's a running prey."

"Like a deer," one of the others said. "Prey, not sacrifice."

"Attaboy," said the brawny one, and they hauled him to his feet, attached the water flagon to his belt with care, tucked a packet of sandwiches in his pack, and unbound his hands. "That way," the brawny one said again. "We give you ten Iron Jills head start."

Gilfort staggered away, the stagger quickening to a run as his body found a use for all that adrenaline.

Behind him, the first roar of the women: "Iron... JILL!" He leapt over a fallen log, raced down a little slope, splashed through the creek. "Iron JILL!" Up the slope on the far side, slipping in drifts of leaves, fingers desperate for a grip on branches, rocks, anything... on up, and up, a long gentle slope that offered his burning lungs no rest. "Iron JILL!" Down again at last, gasping, sweat burning his eyes, to another creek too wide to jump. He plunged into icy water, slipped on a rock and fell headlong. "Iron JILL!" came faintly from behind.

Hours later, sore, panting, blistered, stung, sc.r.a.ped, scratched, and very aware of his great good fortune, he emerged on theHacksawPa.s.s road back to Technolalia. He had heard the strident call over and over, in those desperate hours, sometimes nearer, sometimes farther away, as the crazed pack of starving warrior women sought their lawful prey. But now he was at the road, and once over the pa.s.s he would be safe. Forever safe, because he certainly wasn't ever coming back.

The crazed pack of starving warrior women, sprawled at ease on the soft spring turf of the clearing, burped in varying tones. A couple of hours after they'd sent Gilfort off, the supply cart arrived, complete with the festive foods appropriate to an Iron Jill retreat, including the molded chocolate statue of the Mother of All Women Warriors. It had taken the last coin in the treasury, but without the sacrificial chocolate, it just wasn't an Iron Jill retreat.

They were full now, overfull, and hardly able to sing along when Dorcas and Eulalie (honorary inductees to the rites this year) struck up the traditional Hymn to Iron Jill:

"Women must cook, so women can eat Is mostly the rule, Butnoton retreat...

Too much fat, and too much sweet Should be avoided Butnoton retreat...

An iron woman's no fun at all So eat your fill and have a ball.

Food in the belly Love in the night Chocolate today Will make all right."

When night fell, the flames leaped high, and when the vision for which they had come, Iron Jill herself, walked among them... they rolled over and ate another piece of chocolate. Iron Jill smiled at her daughters, and her daughters smiled back.

Slue-Foot Sue and the Witch in the Woods

Laura Frankos

I reckon you all know the story of Pecos Bill, the greatest cowpuncher that ever lived. Most of those tales mention Bill's beautiful bride, Slue-foot Sue, and explain jest what happened on their wedding day, when Sue tried to ride Bills horse, Widow Maker. Sue was a mighty fine rider, but Bill didn't want her riding that wild mustang. No one alive, 'ceptin' himself, could ride that cayuse. But Sue, being a woman, had made up her own mind. Not long after the preacher had read the vows, Sue grabbed Rat, Bill's pet rattlesnake which he used as a quirt. She packed Bill's bowie knife, then, still in her wedding dress, she ran to the corral and leaped into Widow Maker's saddle. Bill was right: he bucked Sue clear up into the sky. She ducked her head under the moon, came back to earth, where she bounced on her steel bustle and went back up again. She bounced and bounced for days.

Some folks say Bill had to shoot pore Sue, to keep her from starving. Others say he pulled her down with his lariat. But this here is what really happened: Sue wasn't jest bouncing up and down in the same spot, she was bouncing in an easterly direction, and a-goin' so fast, even Bill couldn't catch up. She bounced clear across the country, leaving big round circles in farmers' fields that sh.o.r.e puzzled the sod-busters. She left a big gaping hole, chockfull of nothin', smack in the middle ofWashington,D.C. , but that didn't faze the folks there much: they're used to that sort of thing. She flew clear across the Atlantic and Europe, too, afore she managed to stop in the middle of a dense birch forest, deep in the heart ofRussia . She saw those thick tree branches and knew it might be her only chance, so she hauled out Rat. Gripping his tail, she flung his head towards the trees. "Bite, Rat, bite!" Sue shouted, and Rat bit. When Rat bit something, it stayed bit.

Sue swung gently to the ground and told Rat he could let go. She tied him around her waist and gazed at the silvery birches. "Well, Rat, we are in a pickle," she said. "Better find out how to git home. My, but Bill is gonna be mad at me. And on our wedding day, too. I'll have to find some way to settle his fur when we git back.

Trouble is, it's mighty dark."

Then Sue heard the sound of hoofbeats. A handsome man in fine, white clothes on a lovely white horse came into view. "Excuse me, pardner," Sue called, "but I'm a mite lost. Could you tell me..."

Without a glance at her, the white rider galloped past and into the sky. "Well! I never!" Sue exclaimed.

"I'm not inTexas any more, that's for certain. These folks need a lesson in manners! Oh, well, here's the sun's coming up. Maybe I can find a road."

As Sue trudged along, she saw a small house in the distance. As she drew nearer, something peculiar flew overhead in the same direction. At first, Sue thought it was the biggest, blackest buzzard she'd ever seen. But it was an old lady, riding in a land of pot, a-steering with a rounded stick.

It hovered above Sue and the woman looked down. "Are you a naughty Russian girl?" she croaked.

"No, ma'am. I'm a good, red-blooded Texan girl who's plumb lost. And on my wedding day, too."

The old woman shook her head, her matted hair flying. "Be off with you!"

"I'd like to be off, ma'am. But I haven't any notion which ways the h.e.l.l's Gate Gulch Ranch. That's my husband's outfit."

"I gain nothing by helping you."

Sue muttered. "Selfish, that's what these foreign types are. Any Texan would help a stranger in trouble with asking twice." She raised her voice. "What if I make it worth your while?"

"Eh? How can someone like you be of any use to me, Baba Yaga, queen of all witches?"

"I could do some ch.o.r.es, mebbe. If that's your place up ahead, it's a real sight. Clean the yard? Tend to your stock?"

"I make the wicked Russian children I find in the forest do such deeds before I pop them in my stewpot." Baba Yaga stared hard at Sue. "But you are full of spirit, and I have been sorely bored of late.

We shall contest one another, you and I. Two out of three skirmishes. If you win, I shall show you the way home. If you lose, you shall give me all your valuables."

All Sue had was her wedding dress, the bowie knife, and Rat. Bill would be awfully steamed if she lost them, but she had to chance it if she was to git out of that woods. "Okay," she answered.

"Follow me," said Baba Yaga. She flew to the hut, which was the queerest place Sue ever did see. The fence was made of human bones and on every post was a skull, with eyes a-glowing red. The hut itself was standing on four giant chicken legs.

Baba Yaga called out, "Izbushka, izbushka, lower your door to me." Darned if the legs didn't squat so they could enter!

The inside of the hut was as cheery as the outside. There was more dust than on the Staked Plains.Human hands crawled around on the floor, but that didn't bother Sue none. She grew up among tarantulas.

"I shall test your skills at magic," said the witch. "Can you best this?" Baba Yaga reached in a cabinet for a bottle. She swigged it, and shrank to the size of a mouse.

Sue thought hard. "Here's the only way I can change my size." She unfastened that darn spring bustle that got her into this mess.

"Not good enough!" squeaked Baba Yaga. "I have won this contest." She zooped back to her proper size and examined the bustle. "Curious. Now, for the second skirmish, we shall fight, steel to steel!"

Sue gripped the bowie knife, which was the original knife old Jim Bowie gave to Bill's ma when Bill was a tyke. She watched the witch, who waved her hand at a cobwebby wall. Suddenly, a sword flew off a shelf and whizzed around Sue's hair, neatly slicing off one of her purty red locks.

"Behold my enchanted blade, which cuts of its own power," said Baba Yaga.

Sue was a mite surprised by the magic sword, but she figgered nothing could stand up to Bill's bowie knife. That knife was so sharp, its shadow could shave Bill's whiskers. As fast as the magic sword was, it wasn't a match for the bowie knife's shadow. The shadow sliced right through that sword, which fell to the ground with a clank, clobbering one of those little creepy hands.

Baba Yaga screeched.

"My round, fair and square," said Sue, sheathing the knife. "What's next?"

The old witch stomped to her cabinet and pulled out a wooden staff. Leastwise, Sue thought it was wooden until she thumped it on the floor. Then it turned into a wild, hissing snake with real nasty yeller eyes. "You are mine, Texa.s.sss girl," hissed the snake in a voice sort of like Baba Yaga's with a lisp.

"There is no defensssse."

Well, Sue didn't even have to unhitch Rat. As soon as Rat saw that other snake, he unwound himself and slithered to battle. Of course, nothing packs stronger poison than aTexas rattlesnake, unless it's Pecos Bill's spit. Rat made quick work of Baba Yaga's magic snake. One bite and that Russian reptile was stiffer than he had been when he was impersonating a wooden staff. The old witch was so shocked, she couldn't say a word.

"Two out of three," said Sue. "Now show me the way home."

"It is too late," Baba Yaga grumped. "Wait until morning."

Sue helped fix supper and the witch gave her a blanket. Sue went to the barn, preferring the company of the goats to those crawly things in the house. She was sweeping the stalls when another rider, all in black and on a coal black stallion, trotted into the sky. He ignored Sue's calls, too. Darkness fell as Sue complained, "These are the rudest folks on earth!"

"Slue-foot Sue!" squeaked an animal at Sue's foot. Rat hissed at it, but Sue hushed him. The critter looked like a walking pincushion. "Baba Yaga means to kill you," it said. "Tonight she will fly to gather herbs for a potion to overcome your magic." "That's downright dishonest. I won fairly. What can I do? Do you know how to get out of these woods?"

"Baba Yaga's hut will take you wherever you wish," said the animal. "If you can make it lower its doors after she leaves."

"I can do that. I'm much obliged to you, even if you are p.r.i.c.klier than most cactuses."

"I'm not really a hedgehog. I'm an enchanted prince named Dmitri."

"You're a kindly soul. That's good enough in my book."

"Actually, I'm a Romanov, not a Gudenov. Could you please drop me off at the Great Gate of Kiev when you escape?"

"I surely will."

At midnight, when Baba Yaga blasted out of her hut like a cyclone on the prairie, Sue and Dmitri crept past the nasty fence of bones. Sue remarked, "My Bill's come up with something called barb wire.

Works much better than a bunch of shin bones."

Dmitri sniffed the air. "Hurry! Hurry!"

"Here goes: Izbushka, izbushka, please lower your door to me."

The chicken legs didn't budge for a second, then they slowly squatted. "Whew!" said Sue. "I didn't think that would work."

"You confused it when you said 'please,' " said Dmitri. "Baba Yaga never does."