Dragon on a Pedestal (7 page)

The obscure countenance behind the thick veil brightened. Now the Gorgon had a positive program of action! “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that myself!” she exclaimed.

“We’ll have to get Lacuna here quickly,” Irene continued. “That wilderness jungle is dangerous for children.” But there was no need to remind anyone of that ugly reality; best not to dwell on it. “The carpet’s lost; we don’t know how to use Humfrey’s stocked spells; is there anything else?”

The Gorgon considered. “The roc,” she said. “It will obey you now, since you got past it. It can fly very fast.”

“I’m sure it can,” Irene agreed, not much liking this idea but aware that it was probably best. “I will have to return to Castle Zombie to tell Dor what has happened here, then go after Ivy myself.”

“I’ll help you!” the Gorgon said. “We can go together, combining our searches!”

“No use. Your son’s lost at the Fountain of Youth; my daughter’s lost near Castle Zombie. I don’t know how close the two are to each other—”

“I don’t know either,” the Gorgon admitted. “Only Humfrey knew the location of the Fountain. But it has to be somewhere in that region.”

“What about the Zombie Master?” Irene asked. “You said he knew—”

“Eight hundred years ago, he knew. But in his long tenure as a zombie, he forgot. All he remembered was that it did exist, and somewhere in that area; Humfrey worked from there to pinpoint it precisely.”

“But Humfrey must have told—”

The Gorgon shook her head. “That was not his way.”

All too true. The Good Magician had been notoriously tight-fisted with information of any type, to the frustration of others, even kings.

“Since both Ivy and Hugo are in peril,” Irene said, “we’ll have to look for them separately. You rescue yours, I’ll rescue mine—and pray we’re both successful.”

“Yes,” the Gorgon agreed faintly, and Irene realized that the woman had really wanted to make the search together. Probably she needed the moral support in this hour of crisis. But it just didn’t make sense in the circumstance; they might find one child and lose the other.

“Will you be all right, alone in the jungle?” Irene asked solicitously.

The Gorgon touched her veil suggestively. “Who will challenge me there?”

Who, indeed! The Gorgon had less to fear from monsters than did any other person. “Then it’s agreed. Let me use the roc to return to Castle Zombie, and then it can bring Lacuna here, and then you can have it take you to the general region of the Fountain, which I think must be north of the castle; that’s the way Humfrey went when he left.”

“Yes,” the Gorgon agreed. “Oh, Irene, you’ve been so much help! I didn’t know what to do until you came!”

Irene patted her hand reassuringly. But inside, she was not at all assured. She had come here for help—and there was none. Humfrey’s horror had been added to her own.

I
vy looked around her. She was in a nice jungle with many interesting things, so she inspected each one in turn.

She realized something was in her hand, and she put it in her pocket so it wouldn’t distract her.

Closest was a plant that smelled like a pickle, but its branches and leaves were so hard as to be metallic. “What are you?” she inquired, but the plant didn’t answer.

She pouted. She didn’t like unresponsive things. She walked on, looking for something that would talk to her.

She heard a noise in the brush and discovered a large animal grazing. It had horns like those of a sea cow, a tail like that of a centaur, and silky hair along its sides like that of a beautiful woman. In short, it was a strange, composite creature.

But Ivy was too young and inexperienced to realize how strange this animal was or to know proper fear. She marched right up to it. “What are you?” she asked. She had always found this question useful, because, when her father was near, things always answered.

The creature raised its head and stared down at her with a huge and lovely eye. “I thought you’d never ask! I’m a yak, of course, the most talkative of wild creatures. I will talk your ear off, if you don’t figure out how to stop me.”

Ivy put a hand to her delicate little ear. It seemed to be securely fastened, so she relaxed. “How do I stop you?” She was rather pleased with her ability to assemble a question correctly; after all, she wasn’t very big. But she had discovered that she could do a lot more than she thought she could, if she only believed she could. She had decided to believe she could talk as well as a grown-up person, and now she could, almost. But she didn’t do it when her folks were present, in case they should object. Grown-ups had funny notions about what children should or should not do, so she had learned caution.

The yak shook his head. “Not so readily, cute human child! That is the single thing I won’t tell you! It is my nature to talk as long as I have a
receptive ear—an indifferent ear will do in a pinch—regardless how anyone else feels about it. You can’t shut me up unless you know how. What do you think of that?”

Ivy looked up at him. “You’re a real pretty beast. I like you.”

The yak was taken aback. “You aren’t annoyed?”

“You talk to me. Most people don’t. They don’t have time. My folks don’t know how well I can talk, fortunately.”

The yak seemed uncertain whether she was joking. He twitched his horns. “Well, I have time. I have nothing better to do than talk. I’d rather talk than eat.”

“Eat.” Ivy realized she was hungry. “I want to eat.”

“I will talk about eating, then. But first we must introduce ourselves more formally. What is your given name?”

“Ivy. I’m King Dor’s child.”

The yak’s mouth curved into a tolerant smile. “Ah, royalty! You will surely have royal tastes!” He was humoring her, not believing her parentage. “What do you like?”

Ivy considered. It was not that it took her any great cogitation to come to a conclusion, but that she enjoyed this particular type of consideration. “Chocolate cake.”

“I never would have guessed! As it happens, there’s a chocolate moose in the vicinity, but it doesn’t like getting nibbled. Once a bunch of ducks started nibbling, and it said—”

“I don’t want to hurt anything,” Ivy said, sad for the moose. “Now I don’t know what to eat.”

“Then we’ll just have to explore. There’s lots of succulent grass in this glade; do you like that?” By way of illustration, the yak took a mouthful of it.

Ivy bent down and took a similar mouthful of grass. She chewed a moment, then spat it out. “No. It’s too much like spinach.”

“There are also leaves,” the yak said, reaching up to pull down a leafy branch. Ivy took a leaf and chewed it. “No. Too much like cabbage.”

“You are hard to please!” the yak lamented cheerfully. “Let’s look around more widely.”

They walked back the way Ivy had come. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the metallic plant with the pickle smell that had refused to identify itself before.

“Why, that’s an armor-dillo,” the yak said. “It grows the best armor, but it stinks of the brine used to store it. Some creatures like the odor, though.”

Ivy wrinkled her cute little nose. “Ugh. They must be dillies.”

“They are indeed! They get pickled every night.”

They moved on to a plant whose huge limbs terminated in delicate human hands, each finger manicured and with bright polish on the nail. “What’s that?”

“A lady-fingers plant, naturally,” the Yak said. “You have hands; you can shake hands in the typical human fashion if you wish.”

Ivy tried it, extending her right hand toward the nearest branch. She could tell her right hand from her left because her hands lined up the same way her feet did, and her shoes were marked
R
and L. The nearest lady-fingers grasped her hand immediately. But then all the other hands clamored for attention by snapping their fingers, and she had to shake them all.

At length she drew away, resolving to be more careful thereafter. She started toward a somewhat vague bush. “What’s that?”

“Don’t go near that one!” the yak warned. “That’s a trance plant. It doesn’t belong here at all.”

“Why not?”

“It grows elsewhere. Probably someone carried it here and set it on the ground and it rooted. Anyone who gets too close to it gets dazed.”

Ivy considered. She was a pretty smart little girl when she tried to be, especially when she thought she was. Her father’s friend Smash the Ogre had said she might have had an Eye Queue vine fall on her head; Smash knew about jungle vines. But that was their secret. Smash took her for walks sometimes, and he had been quick to discover that she was smarter than she seemed, sometimes, because he was that way himself, but he had promised not to tell her folks so she wouldn’t get in trouble. In fact, it was because of Smash that she wanted to explore the jungle; he had told her how fascinating it was. Now she had her chance! “How did they carry the trance plant?”

The yak paused. “Why, I never thought of that! Anyone carrying it would have gone into a trance. Yet I happen to know that all trance plants grow elsewhere, and are moved to new locations. It seems to be their lifestyle. They must have some additional magic to enable them to travel.” He looked ahead. “Ah, there’s a foot-ball.”

As he spoke, the foot-ball rolled into view. It was a sphere formed of feet. Every kind of extremity showed in it—dragon talons, bird claws, griffin paws, human feet, centaur hooves, insect legs, and so on. The feet tramped down a path wherever it rolled, so that it was easy to tell where the ball had been, but not where it was going. With so many feet, it was able to travel quite swiftly and was soon out of sight.

However, the path it left made their route easier, since there were no brambles or pitfalls in it. It didn’t matter to Ivy where it led, as long as there were interesting things along it.

Ivy spotted a glittering glassy ball the size of her two fists, not round but carved with many small, flat facets. She strayed from the path long enough to pick it up. Beams of light coruscated from it as she held it in a stray shaft of sunlight. “What is this?”

“That is a very precious stone, one of the gems distributed by Jewel the Nymph,” the yak said. “Crystallized carbon in spherical form: a very hard ball. Specifically, a baseball diamond.”

“What’s it for? It’s pretty.”

“People play stupid games with it. I understand the main game is very tedious—a bunch of players spread themselves out around the diamond and simply wait, and someone else throws the ball, and another stands with a stick resting on his shoulder and watches the ball go by him three or four times, and then either he gets mad and quits trying, or he runs around the diamond. Then they start over.”

Ivy’s smooth little brow furrowed in a fair emulation of her mother’s expression at times like this. “That’s no fun! Who does that?”

“Mundanes, mostly. They are strange creatures and, I suspect, not too bright. Otherwise they would take more of an interest in magic, instead of pretending it doesn’t exist. What can you say about a person who refuses to believe in magic?”

“That he deserves his own dullness.”

“That’s a most astute remark!” The yak glanced ahead, hearing something. “Hark! I think I hear a game now!”

They walked on toward the sound. Two centaurs were doing something. “No, that’s not a baseball diamond they’re throwing. It must be some other game.”

Indeed it was. Two wooden stakes had been pounded into the ground, and the centaurs were taking turns hurling shoes from a nearby shoe tree at them. They were the type of shoes human folk used, with shoelaces and all. One shoe would land leaning up against a stake, but the next one would knock it away. Finally one centaur managed to hang a shoe up on the stake, whereupon he clapped his hands and the other grimaced.

“Oh, that makes you look so sick you’ll need a new croggle-test!” the winner teased the loser.

“Equines need regular croggle-tests,” the yak explained privately to Ivy. “To make sure they haven’t been infected by magic. It is very bad to be croggled.”

Ivy felt a little croggled herself, though she was not an equine. Some of her best friends were magic-infected centaurs, but she knew that most centaurs rejected magic as determinedly as the Mundanes did. “What are you playing?” she called to the centaurs.

“People-shoes, of course,” one of them responded absently, then trotted off to pick up his collection.

The yak shrugged. “There’s no accounting for tastes,” he remarked. “Some folk like to talk, some like to throw shoes.”

Ivy agreed it was a strange world. She walked on.

The marvels of the Land of Xanth continued, and the little girl spent all afternoon exploring them, with the yak’s helpful commentary continuing incessantly. A passing milksnake gave her a bottle of milk to slake her thirst, and she plucked a lollypop from a pop-sickle plant. Her only bad moment came when a big B buzzed her and she stumbled off the footpath. The yak also stumbled, for it was a bumble B, causing creatures to become clumsy.

Ivy wound up at the base of a large tree, feeling terrible. “Oooh, ugh!” she exclaimed. “What hit me?”

The yak looked none too sanguine himself, but he peered about, seeking the answer. He found it. “The tree!” he exclaimed painfully. “It’s a torment pine! We must get away from it!”

Ivy hobbled away, and the farther from the tree she got, the less worse she felt. Finally she got back to the footpath she had bumbled from and felt well again. She would be alert for any more B’s, so she would not stumble into any more trees.

But night was nigh, and she was tired. Usually her mother Irene curbed her long before her explorative instincts were sated, so she got frustrated but not tired. This time it was the other way around. “I want to go to bed,” she said and paused in momentary shock, realizing she had spoken heresy. No child ever wanted to go to bed! So she qualified it. “I don’t want the monster under the bed to be lonely.”

“Then you should go home,” the yak pointed out.

“Home?” she asked, baffled. “What’s that?”

The yak looked at her in perplexity. “That would be the place where your mother lives. And your father, the—” Here the yak paused to smirk. “—the King of Xanth. Where you stay when you don’t have anything better to do. Where your bed is.”