"This is a Chroma zone. The natives all do magic. Some do a little, some a lot, but all do some."
"It must be fun."
"Routine, for them. They clothe ordinary chores with illusion, but still must do them."
"They can't just conjure food and palaces and lovely obliging women?"
"Those things require practice and effort, and most ordinary folk lack the potential, so they settle for the easiest magic, illusion." He smiled. "Even those skilled in conjuration can't craft a woman from nothing, let alone an obliging one; they must bring her from somewhere. Then illusion can make her lovely. It is easier just to persuade a neighbor to cooperate. Many can't even conjure themselves from place to place."
The farmer reappeared, along with a fairly severe looking older woman. "I am the Elder of Pleasant Village," she said. "You will entertain?"
"Old Earth folk songs, mainly," Hayseed said. "Do Chroma folk like them as nonChroma folk do?" Of course he knew the answer.
"Affirmation. Take my hands."
Hayseed took her left hand, and Opaline her right hand. There was a wrench, and suddenly they were in the center of a lovely village. She realized that the Elder had transported them by magic, assuming they had none. She was right about Opaline, and of course Hayseed had not revealed his nature.
"Here are your quarters," the Elder said. "We will assemble in one hour. Be ready." She vanished.
Opaline realized that entertainers were in strong demand everywhere, even in the Chroma zones. That was why Havoc traveled as a minstrel; he would always be welcome, anywhere.
The house was beautiful, of course, and stocked with all matter of exotic fruits, breads, and drinks. Opaline was thrilled. "I never knew what I was missing," she said as she poured herself a glass of purple juice.
"Negation," Havoc murmured. "That is alcoholic. Not for my kid sister."
"Argument."
"Squelched." He took away the drink and gave her another.
"Big brothers are an irritation in the butt," she muttered. But the alternate juice tasted very good.
"We will get fairly started," Havoc said. "Then I will have to go. I will plead a sudden incapacity.
We must select a transition song."
"Nervousness," she confessed.
"Reassurance." He reached out to touch her hand, and she felt the infusion of reassurance.
Glamors were remarkable people!
He had her dress in a rather short skirt they found in the closet, and in a colorful but somewhat skimpy blouse that tended to stretch tightly when she inhaled. Worse, she saw in the mirror that when it stretched it became translucent. "Havoc—"
"Now you must tease every man the way you have been teasing me," he said. "They can't touch you on-stage; they can only look. Make them slaver."
"And they won't notice the state of my singing," she said, remembering.
He bent to kiss the hollow of her breasts. "Affirmation."
Impulsively she grabbed his head and jammed his face down into that hollow. No other words were needed.
They went out on schedule to perform. The villagers were assembled, an uncommonly handsome lot, with perfectly formed children, handsome men, and lovely girls and women. It certainly was true that in the Air Chroma every person made his or her own appearance, being otherwise invisible, so naturally all were esthetic. Opaline knew she hardly compared, but Havoc had assured her that because the villagers knew her flesh was real, not illusory, they would notice it. It was like the difference between seeing a woman in skin-tight clothing, and seeing her naked. The outline was clear in either case, but the male eye sought the latter.
Havoc sang, impressing the villagers as usual; they were in this respect typical. They might enhance their appearance with illusion, but that did not give them the ability to perform the arts well. Opaline noticed one young man paying close attention, occasionally nodding. "Aspiring singer," Havoc murmured between songs, noting her attention.
Then Havoc addressed the villagers personally. "My little sister does not sing, but I am encouraging her to learn," he said. "Family tradition, you know. I have persuaded her to sing the refrain. Please be kind; she is shy." Indeed, Opaline was already blushing at the reference. Havoc had made her up to be pretty, but that wasn't enough.
He sang:
There was a gentle applause, not so much for her singing, which was marginal, but for her effort. She had done it!
He sang the second stanza, speaking for her:
Havoc kissed her on the cheek. Then she sang her refrain again.
Havoc suddenly looked pained. "I fear I ate something this morning I shouldn't have," he said. "Apology." He hurried offstage, holding one hand to his face as if about to heave. He disappeared into their guest house.
Opaline shook her head. "I told him not to eat that fallen fruit. I told him it looked tainted. But would he listen to his little sister? Oh, no John!"
The villagers laughed, appreciating the situation.
"But the show must go on, until he returns," Opaline continued. "I am no real singer, as you know. Do we have a real singer here? One who might like to practice as a minstrel?" She looked at the man she had observed.
"I can sing," he responded. "But I don't know the words to your songs. Only the tunes. And I have never performed for an audience." Indeed, the other villagers seemed surprised; they had not known of his ability.
"I know them all," she said. "I have heard my brother sing them so many times. I can tell them to you, line by line, if the audience will indulge us." She looked at the Elder.
"Considering the situation, we will," the Elder said.
"But I would be too nervous," the man protested. "I am not a showman."
Opaline remembered Havoc's drilling on how to manage a man. "Entreaty," she said, leaning forward so that the blouse fell open. "I can't do this alone. I need you." She dabbed at her eyes as if becoming tearful.
The man's eyes focused on her décolletage. He stood and approached, though clearly nervous. "I am Bright," he said.
She took both his hands in hers. "Opaline. Let's pick up where my brother left off. Face me from a small distance, as if addressing me, but make sure the audience can hear you."
"That is my fear."
Stage fright. "Reversal," she said quickly. "Address your song only to me. Beyond the stage does not exist."
"Doubt. I know they are there."
She drew him into her close enough so that he could feel her breasts against him, lifted her face, and kissed him quickly on the mouth. "No longer. You are John, and I am your world, this moment."
He gazed at her, clearly taken aback by the kiss. She had stunned him the way Havoc stunned her. "Oh, madame, in your face is beauty," she murmured, squeezing his hands encouragingly as she held his gaze. "Sing to me alone, Bright, lest I kiss you again."
There was a chuckle in the audience. They knew man-management when they saw it.
Immediately he sang it, and well.
As he finished, she spoke the next line. "On your lips red roses grow." He sang it, taking refuge in the immediate task.
"Will you take me for your lover?" She looked down, inhaling, as if surprised and flattered by his proposition, as he sang it. "Madame, answer yes or no."