Five Portraits by Piers Anthony Page A

perhaps alone, has no problem with my antimatter; it does not make him explode into energy, because the interaction is too slight.”
    â€œAmorous advances?”
    â€œDemons are not limited the way mortals are, but if he took mortal form he would be entirely typical of mortal males, being interested in only one thing. I have no patience for it.”
    â€œMy man Art is interested in that, but once his edge is off he has qualities I like, like his artistic ability. He truly does like to paint, and he is good at it.”
    â€œIt would require a century of amour squeezed into one second to take Nemesis’s edge off, as you put it, and then the respite would be brief. More trouble than it is worth.”
    Astrid had to laugh. “Because he is not limited in that manner either, I suspect. Art falls asleep after once. That is typical of mortal men.”
    â€œDemons don’t sleep. They merely simulate it as convenient.”
    â€œYou have my sympathy.”
    â€œOh, I would do it if I had reason. It’s not as if I would have to pay more than token attention. But why bother?”
    â€œWell, if you ever needed him for something.”
    â€œI am a Demon. I need nothing. Except what I am getting from you: friendship.”
    The tunnel debouched at what appeared to be a playground, with slides and swings and seesaws, sandboxes, and a little merry-go-round. There was also a raised stage, with benches before it.
    â€œA playground!” Astrid said.
    â€œIt is more devious than it looks,” Fornax said darkly. “There is a fair amount of magic here.”
    â€œThis is the way the children can be together?” Astrid asked, perplexed. “Of course they can have fun here, but only when they come here. I don’t see how this solves that.”
    â€œYou will,” Fornax assured her.

Chapter 5:
Playground
    â€œCan we take a break?” Firenze asked. “Get to know the playground?”
    â€œ May we take a break,” Astrid said.
    He looked at her. “You’re not my mother, but sometimes you remind me of her.”
    Astrid nodded. “And?”
    â€œMay we take a break?”
    â€œYes. Then tell me what this is all about.”
    The children pitched into play. The two younger girls, Win and Myst, shared the seesaw, whose central eyeball watched them closely. Squid enjoyed the slide. Santo punched little holes in the sand-in-a-box, without touching it physically. Firenze pumped himself up so high on a swing it looked as if he was in danger of flying away into the sky.
    â€œChildren have fun,” Fornax remarked. “It had not occurred to me before to observe it, but there is a certain pleasure in the viewing.”
    â€œMaybe we should join them, to share the spirit.”
    â€œAnd understand them better,” Fornax agreed.
    The two of them went to the merry-go-round and mounted two of the little wooden horses. Music sounded, and the device started moving. The horses went up and down on their poles. “Wheee!” Astrid exclaimed. “I never saw one of these when I was young.”
    â€œI was never young,” Fornax said.
    After no more than a moment and a half the children came to join them. “I’ll race you to the post!” Firenze challenged Santo. Of course the horses were fixed to their poles; they couldn’t race each other.
    â€œYou’re on,” Santo said. His horse put down its head and galloped faster, surging ahead.
    â€œOh, yeah?” Firenze’s horse snorted steam and bore down, catching up.
    Astrid stared, amazed. The horses remained on their poles, yet somehow they were racing.
    â€œI believe I mentioned magic,” Fornax murmured.
    â€œSo you did,” Astrid agreed weakly.
    Soon Astrid began to get dizzy, and had to get off her high horse. Then she jumped to the ground. Fornax joined her by the side of the merry-go-round.
    â€œThe children are right: this is