Demons Don’t Dream (21 page)

"Rocs," Nada yelled back. "By their color, I'd say female rocs. But whatever can they be doing?"

For the birds were standing in a line, flapping their wings, and kicking then feet up. That was the source of the swishing and thumping. They were so solid that when they set down their feet, the ground shuddered. For the rocs were large birds. Each was big enough to carry away an elephant, if it chose, if it could find an elephant

It was Sherlock who caught on. "They're rockettes!” he exclaimed. "Practicing their routines!"

"Rocettes," Nada agreed. "Female rocs. But what do you mean by routine?"

"Dancing. A chorus line. High kicks.”

"They do seem to be doing that," she agreed. "But to what point?”

Sherlock exchanged a glance with Dug. "Well, they like H in Mundania," Dug yelled.

Just then the rocs halted, in perfect unison, resting their feet and closing their wings. It was the end of their act Silence fell like a sudden curtain. Just in time to catch Dug at the top of his voice. His words carried right through the glade with loud and perfect clarity.

Every huge bird head turned toward him.

"Uh-oh," Sherlock murmured.

"They can't fly through the forest," Nada said. "We can escape along the next path. Follow me!" She shifted to large serpent form and slithered rapidly forward.

Dug paused only long enough to snatch up her clothing and jam it into his pack. Then he and Sherlock galloped after her.

The rocs, evidently annoyed by the intrusion, launched in a mass into the air. They bore down on the fugitives. But the circle of trees ringing the glade was too close; the birds had to land before they crashed. So some dropped down to pursue afoot, while others winged on up over the forest to peer down at the path from on high.

This was one tall hassle, for sure, Dug thought.

Nada Serpent slithered out of the glade, down the next path through the forest Dug and Sherlock followed. The nearest roc screeched as she made a grab for them with her claws and beak. The sound was deafening. But she overbalanced, not being accustomed to hunting on her feet, and fell beak-first on the ground. Dug felt the great whomp just behind him, and kept going.

Then he realized that Sherlock wasn't beside him. He snatched a look back—and saw that one outstretched talon had snagged Sherlock's pack. The man was trying to get loose, but the talon had plunged right into the ground, anchoring him.

Dug stopped, turned, and hauled out the club they had provided. He ran back toward Sherlock.

"Watch it, you fool!" the man cried. "She's watching you!"

Indeed, the huge head was lifting, and the huge near eye was orienting. Even stretched flat on the ground, the bird could readily snap him up, because the foot was close to her head. What could he do? If he fled, Sherlock would be done for; if he didn't, both of them could be done for. Because his club was a puny thing compared to that monstrous beak. If he had gotten another magic sword, this time around—

But he did have a knife. That would have to do. He put away the club and got the knife.

The roc's head swung toward him. The beak opened.

Then he saw a stink horn growing almost in front of him. He jammed the point of the knife through it

BBBRRRRRRUMMPPOOPOOHH! The foul-smelling sound ripped through the glade, staining everything. But Dug paid no heed. He held his breath, squinted his eyes, and lifted the thing up toward the roc's gaping mouth. He whipped the point about, so that the stuck stink horn flew off—into that mouth.

The roc snapped at it reflexively. Then her eye assumed a somewhat startled, somewhat disgusted look, as if something tasted monumentally bad. A wisp of putrid stench leaked out from the corner of her beak.

Dug didn't wait to watch. He already had a pretty good notion how the big bird felt. Instead he ran up to Sherlock and the claw and wielded his blade. It bit into the claw as if it were so much tough wood. This was like hacking down a tree, except that his meager blade lacked the heft to do much damage.

The roc screeched. It seemed he had struck a nerve. She yanked her talon out of the ground, hauling Sherlock into the air. He slid off the talon, landing neatly on his feet "Go, man!" he shouted.

Dug realized that he was just standing there watching. He put his legs in gear and ran as fast as he could for the path. He almost expected to have a talon skewer him on the way, but he made it intact.

He joined Sherlock behind a hassle tree. They looked back at the roc. She was dancing in a much fancier pattern than before, trying to get the stink horn smell out of her beak. "That was one smart ploy," Sherlock said appreciatively. "Nothing else could've distracted her. You saved my life."

"I was lucky," Dug said. It wasn't false modesty, it was an exact description.

"Well, it looked good from here," Sherlock said. "Come on—we've lost the serpent lady."

They resumed motion down the path. Nada was waiting, in her naga form. "What happened?" she asked. "I thought you were right behind me."

"Bit of a problem," Dug said. "Let's move on before that roc realizes that this path is wide enough for her to run along if she keeps her wings closed."

Indeed, the roc was already drawing that conclusion. She was blowing out the last of the stench and advancing on the path. She was not nearly as fast on her feet as she would have been in the air, but she was a mighty big bird, and could surely move as rapidly as they could.

Nada resumed her slither, and they followed, running. They heard the thumping as the roc's big feet hit the ground. Her footsteps seemed slow, but that was deceptive; they were far apart. Dug snatched another glance back, and saw that she was gaining on them.

Fortunately the path was winding, which slowed the big bird, because she could not maneuver her bulk in this confined space as readily as they could. Then they came to a fork. They dashed right, because that bore south, and had the luck to hear her take the left fork, losing the way.

But they had hardly begun to relax before a roc wheeling in the sky squawked loudly. There was an answering squawk from the ground, followed by the screech of claws skidding to a halt. The other rocs were correcting her course!

"How are we going to escape, with those spy eyes up there?" Dug demanded. "There might as well be a satellite video unit!"

Nada's pretty face on her serpent body looked perplexed. "Who sat light? What did he do on it?"

"Never mind. I was speaking in Mundane. We can't get away as long as those rocs are watching from me sky."

"Unless we hide between the trees of the forest, until they go away," she said.

Sherlock glanced to the side. "Forget it I never saw such impenetrable underbrush."

Dug looked too. He saw a solid mass of thorns, brambles, and what looked like poison ivy. No hiding place there. "We'll just have to keep moving, and hope things improve," he said. He realized that this was a rather anemic excuse for leadership, but it was the best he could do for now.

They ran on. It took the roc a while to reverse her course and get on the correct path, so they had a bit of leeway. Maybe the game was giving them a chance.

Then they came to a small, swift river. It was too wide to jump over, and way too strong to wade through. However, mere was a footbridge over it.

And a sign: STOP. PAY TROLL.

Sure enough, from under the bridge was coming a tall, thin, brutishly ugly manlike creature with a warty countenance. The troll blocked the access to the bridge.

Dug realized that this was another game challenge. He had to get across that bridge before the roc caught up. So he approached it forthrightly: "What's the toll, troll?”

"All your wealth," the troll rasped.

"Wealth? I don't have any wealth! I'm just a poor Player, strutting and fretting my hour upon this stage."

"Too bad." The troll crossed his ugly but all too serviceable arms, still blocking the way. At that point the sound of the pursuing roc became louder.

"Suppose we just push you out of the way and cross without paying?” Dug demanded.

"Then my friend the diggle will push the bridge out of the way, and you too, if you're on it"

"Diggle?”

From the ground beside them a formidable snout appeared. It had to be the hugest worm anybody ever dreamed of.

"The diggle is the largest of the voles," Nada explained. "It travels through rock, and works only for a song. Maybe the troll sings to it"

"But a vole is a mammal," Dug protested. "This is a worm."

“Uh, friend," Sherlock said. "In Mundania, there are mammals and worms. Here in Xanth it's different"

Dug realized that it was true. The old familiar rules just didn't apply here. He had seen that when Nada first turned from woman to serpent

"Okay. The diggle works for a song. That lets me out; they tell me that I couldn't carry a tune if I had two others to hold up the ends of it"

"The diggle is not too choosy," she said. "But please don't try to sing; I'm sure it would offend my princessly sensitivities."

That made sense. He had no intention of embarrassing himself that way anyway. He would have to settle with the troll. "Okay. Here's my money," he said, digging into a pocket He found a handful of coins.

The troll peered at the coins. "What manner of wealth are you?” he inquired

"I'm a measly dime," the ten-cent piece replied. "I'm a plugged nickel," the five-cent piece said. "We're cheap pennies," the one-cent pieces chorused.

Dug almost dropped the coins. They were speaking!

"Money talks," Sherlock said, smiling.

"Are you solid and true wealth?** the troll asked.

The coins laughed. "Us? We're strictly small change! We aren't even the pure metals we're supposed to be. The pennies aren't pure copper, and the nickel isn't really nickel, and the dime doesn't have any silver at all!"

Dug saw that the coins wouldn't do it He brought out his wallet and offered a dollar bill.

"Are you solid and true wealth?" the troll asked. Apparently he had a bit of magic, and could make money talk.

"Me? I'm not worth the paper I'm printed on! I'm just one buck, the least of the folding money denominations. This cheap Mundane is trying to foist off zilch on you. Where would you spend me, anyway? Xanth doesn't use money."

"How did mere paper ever get confused with wealth?" the troll asked.

"Well, originally I was backed by gold or silver," the paper dollar said. "But once they got the paper established, they quietly removed the backing, so now I'm only worth what folk think I'm worth, and that's less every year. They keep printing more of us, and that makes us worth less."

"Worthless," the troll agreed.

The sounds of the roc were drawing closer. Dug knew he had to find some way to pay the troll. "What else will you accept?" he asked desperately.

The creature looked around. "Does your black servant work well?"

Sherlock began to get angry.

"He's not my servant!" Dug snapped. "He's a friend, traveling with me. He's not for sale."

"Then your naga princess."

Nada hissed, outraged.

"She's not a servant either! She's my Companion!"

"Precisely. Is she soft at night?"

"She's guiding me through Xanth," Dug said quickly. "No deal on either of them."

The troll shrugged. "Then you can't pay the toll. Go away."

Now the ground was shaking as the roc came closer. They did not have much time left.

Dug looked desperately around. He saw the bridge, and the river coursing through its deep channel. Part of the long body of the diggle was in that channel; it must have drilled through the river along with the ground. Beside that torso was a bit of fluff.

Something percolated through his mind. This was the game. There always had to be a way through. But it wasn't necessarily obvious. Anything odd might be a clue. And that bit of fluff was odd. There was no other fluff, and no pillow bushes in the vicinity; it wasn't from a leaking pillow. It was almost as if it had been carried along with the diggle, as it magically tunneled through the ground. What kind of a hint could it be?

Well, he could ask. "Nada, do you see that bit of fluff? What do you think it is?"

Nada looked. "Why, that looks like a germ," she said.

"A germ? You mean the diggle's infected?"

"It looks healthy to me."

Her lack of a more complete answer just might suggest that there was more to this that she was not supposed to tell him. He had to figure it out for himself. "Germs don't infect things in Xanth?"

"Not exactly," she said evasively.

Suddenly he had a faint nagging thought. Which side was she on? Was it possible that she could be a False Companion? He had almost forgotten about that chance. No, she couldn't be; she had been too loyal. She simply wasn't allowed to tell him some things that were supposed to be game challenges.

The troll, meanwhile, was simply standing there, like a cartoon character who was no longer active. His job was evidently not to attack, but to be a barrier, reacting only when approached. Another game aspect Xanth had turned real, but the game aspects were slightly flawed, perhaps deliberately.