Golem in the Gears (2 page)

Grundy had no idea how to proceed, so he did what anyone in that situation would do: he went to ask the Good Magician. He caught a ride with a passing thesaurus who was going that way. The thesaurus was a very ancient breed of reptile who had picked up an enormous vocab- ulary during its centuries of life; it made for an interesting dialogue while they traveled. However, it had the annoy- ing habit of never using a single term where several similar ones could be squeezed in. For example, when Grundy inquired where it was going, it swished its heavy tail and replied: "I am departing, leaving, removing, embarking, going, traveling for distant, remote, faraway, separated regions, zones, areas, territories, districts." By the time they reached the Good Magician's castle, Grundy was glad to bid it farewell, adieu, good-bye, and good rid- dance.

Now Grundy stood before the Good Magician's castle. Each time he had approached it over the years, it had looked different from the outside, but very little changed inside. This time it was suspiciously ordinary: a circular moat, gray stone walls, scattered motley turrets, and a general air of indifference to external things. Grundy knew this was illusory; Humfrey was the Magician of infor- mation, and though he was young now, he generally did know what was going on. He didn't like to be bothered about inconsequentials, so he established barriers to intrusions, on the theory that only folk with sufficiently important concerns would navigate them.

Well, Grundy had a concern and he knew he had to

get past three obstacles to win entry. What he didn't know was what they were or how to nullify them. He would simply have to move ahead and do what he had to.

He stepped up to the edge of the moat. The water lay there, rippling at him. Naturally there was no way for him to cross; the drawbridge was up. Well, he would simply have to swim.

Swim? First he had better check out the moat mon- sters!

"Hey, snootface!" he called. Moat monsters were always varieties of water serpents and vain about their appearance.

There was no response. Well, he could handle that. "Say, grass," he said to the verdant bank. "Where's the monster?"

"On vacation, ragbrain," the grass replied.

Grundy was surprised. "No moat monster on duty? You mean I can safely swim across?"

"Fat chance, stringfellow," the grass replied. "You'd get eaten up before you got five strokes."

"But if there's no monster—"

The grass rustled in the breeze. "Suit yourself, wood- nose."

Grundy didn't trust this. "How can I get eaten, if there's no monster?"

But the grass had been ruffled. "Find out for yourself, clayface." Obviously it had some notion of his origin, though he was no longer composed of string, rag, wood or clay. He didn't really appreciate its attitude, perhaps because it was so like his own.

Something was definitely amiss. He bent to poke a finger in the water, but an anticipatory rustle across the lawn alerted him. So he plucked a blade of grass, evoking

a strenuous protest from the bank, and poked it in the water.

In a moment it dissolved into sludge. This mote was filled with acid!

Some obstacle! If he had tried to swim in that...!

He scrounged for a small stick, and poked that in the moat. It dissolved more slowly, being dead and more solid. He located a pebble and tried that, and it didn't dissolve at all.

Now he knew that the acid only affected animate mate- rial. Unfortunately, he was animate. He would have to use some sort of boat to cross, to keep his flesh clear of the liquid.

He searched the premises, looking for a boat. Naturally there was none. He heard a popping noise and discovered a popcorn plant, but that didn't help. He took a kernel of the corn on general principles, however; one never could tell when something might be useful in some obscure way.

Then he found a giant snail shell. The snail had long since passed away, but its hollow shell was beautiful, gleaming iridescently. But what use was an empty snail shell?

Suddenly he had a notion. He took hold of the shell and dragged it toward the moat. This was a job, as it weighed more than he did; he could have crawled inside the thing! But that just might be what he needed.

He shoved it to the moat and nudged it in. It floated with the hollow aperture up, and it did not dissolve. He pressed down on it, but it contained a lot more volume of air than he could displace; he could not push it below the surface of the liquid. Good enough again!

Grundy hauled the shell back on shore, then made another tour, locating several long twigs of wood. He brought them back, set them inside the shell, and launched

it again. Then he climbed in himself, carefully. It sup- ported his weight. Now he was floating!

He took a twig and used it to pole off from the bank. He settled himself as comfortably as he could inside the shell and used a flattened twig to paddle the craft. He had

a snailboat!

Before long, his wooden paddle dissolved, and he had to use another. He had to paddle carefully, so as not to splash any of the acid on himself. Progress was slow, but the moat was not broad; he judged he would make it safely across if he didn't panic. Just as long as no monster appeared at this stage!

No monster appeared. Monsters didn't like acid any better than living golems did. An armored serpent might withstand the corrosion, but how would it protect its eyes

and mouth?

In due course he nudged his way to a landing inside the moat, and stepped carefully to shore. One hurdle down.

He stood and looked about. He was on a fairly narrow beach between the moat and the wall. The beach curved around the island that was the castle. The wall was ver- tical and fashioned of flat, polished stone; he could see his reflection in it, but he couldn't catch so much as a fingerhold for climbing. He would have to walk around until he came to a suitable entrance.

He walked—and soon encountered a large animal. It was a unicorn! There were very few of them in Xanth;

they seemed to prefer to range in other pastures. This one was a fairly disreputable-looking creature with a burr- tangled mane and a gnarled horn. It snorted as it spied him and pawed at the sand with a forehoof.

"Hi there, warp-horn," Grundy said in equine language with his usual politeness. "Why don't you clean up that stinking coat?"

"I'll clean up the sand with you, you midget blot," the unicorn replied with unprovoked bad humor.

Oops—this was evidently another obstacle. "I don't suppose you'd care to let -me pass, so I can go on into the castle," Grundy said.

"I don't suppose you'd care to take a bath in the moat," the unicorn replied in the same tone.

Grundy made as if to scoot under the creature, for there was no room to pass on the side. The unicorn made as if to spear anything that tried that route. It was obvious that he could not get by; the animal was set to prevent it.

The golem stood back and considered. How could he pass a creature who was determined to prevent it and had the ability to enforce the restriction? There had to be a way.

He had a notion. He turned and walked away. He could circle the castle in either direction, and reach the entrance either way. The unicorn did not pursue him, perhaps too stupid to realize what he was doing.

Grundy walked three-quarters of the way around the castle—and stopped. There was the unicorn, facing the other way, horn lowered wamingly. Obviously it had backed up to the entrance place, used that wider region to turn, and had come to block this route too. It wasn't stupid after all; it had known that it couldn't protect the entrance by chasing the golem around the castle.

Well, maybe he could trick it into letting down its guard. Or make it so mad it miscalculated. Grundy had a rare touch with insults, when he put his beady little mind to it. "Say, founderfoot, did they put you out here so you won't stink up the inside of the castle?"

"No, they put me out here so you wouldn't stink it up," the unicorn replied.

Hm. This might be more of a challenge than he had thought. But Grundy tried again. "Did you get that hom caught in a hole in the ground? No self-respecting creature

would carry a broken spear like that!"

"Did you get that body caught in a shrinking violet?" the unicorn responded. "No self-respecting midget would

use it."

"Listen, knot-mane, I'm a golem\" Grundy exclaimed.

"I'm supposed to be this size."

"I doubt it. That body is way too small for that mouth." Grundy swelled up to his full diminutive height, ready to spew forth a devastating torrent of abuse—and realized that the unicorn was winning the contest. It was the one

that was supposed to be getting mad!

He would have to try some other tack. Well, if he

couldn't beat it, maybe he could join it. "What do you

want most in all Xanth?" he inquired.

"To get rid of pesky golems so I can resume my snooze."

"Apart from that," Grundy said unevenly.

The unicorn considered. "Well, I do get hungry, and

meals are far apart. I'd sure like a nice snack of something

good."

That was more promising. But Grundy wasn't sure how

he could provide such a snack. "If you let me into the castle, maybe I could get you some nice hay or some- thing," he suggested.

"If I let you into the castle, maybe I'll get my hide

tanned before I'm ready to leave it," the unicorn said. "Maybe I could get you a snack without going in,"

Grundy said.

"I'd be glad to have a snack without you going in," the

creature agreed.

Somehow that didn't sound promising. Grundy stared

across the moat, where the grass was green and the brush

was leafy. Surely there was plenty there to distract the unicorn—but the unicorn couldn't cross to it, and Grundy himself would not be able to carry enough across in the snailboat to last for more than one mouthful at a time.

He spied a tall green plant that sported several tassles. That jogged his memory. Maybe there was a way!

"What kind of a plant are you?" he called in plant language. The unicorn couldn't understand that, of course, so it didn't know what he was doing.

"I am a popcorn plant," the plant replied proudly. "I have the best popcorn on the bank!"

Grundy turned to the unicorn. "Unicorns don't like popcorn, do they?"

"Of course they don't," the creature agreed, its mouth watering.

Aha! He remembered correctly. Unicorns liked all kinds of corns, because they were magically related.

He returned his attention to the popcorn. "You don't look like much to me," he sneered in plant language.

The plant huffed up and turned color. "I'm the top pop!" it proclaimed. "My kernels pop harder than any- one's!"

"They do not!" Grundy retorted. "I bet they fizzle!" "Fizzle!" the plant snapped, outraged. Its ears turned an angry red. "I'll pop off so hard you'll think it's an explosion!"

"I think it's a fake!" Grundy said. The plant's corns became so hot that the tassles browned and shriveled, and the leaves around its ears split apart. The kernels popped with the heat, first a few, then many, until it did indeed resemble an explosion. Popcorn puffs flew out in every direction, a number of them arcing over the moat and peppering the castle wall.

"Popcorn!" the unicorn exclaimed, eagerly snatching up the fallen pieces.

"But unicorns don't like popcorn," Grundy reminded

it.

"Get out of here, golem!" the creature cried angrily.

"As you wish." Grundy retreated to the unicorn's rear, toward the gate, and the creature was so distracted by the delicious popcorn puffs that it didn't notice. Grundy moved on up to the gate and through it without further opposition. He was inside the castle!

"Very clever, you little morsel," a voice growled.

Grundy looked, startled. He was in a moderately sized court with a dirt floor, and before him stood an ant lion. The monster could snap him up in a moment, if it wanted to.

"I'm just trying to get in to see the Good Magician on important business," the golem said nervously.

"Indeed." The ant lion yawned, showing its enormous feline teeth. It was playing cat-and-mouse with him, knowing that its six insect legs could overtake him any- time. "I doubt you are smart enough to rate any of his time."

"Sure I am!" Grundy retorted hotly. "I'm just not big enough to get by all you monsters."

"I will make you a deal," the ant lion said, stretching languorously. "Prove you are smart and I will let you pass."

It was up to something. But Grundy realized he had nothing to lose; he was already in its power. "How do I do that?"

"You play me three games of lines and boxes," the ant lion said. "If you can defeat me, I'll let you enter. If you lose, I'll consume you. That's very fair, isn't it?"

Grundy swallowed. He was not entirely pleased with the terms. "Suppose we tie?"

"Then I will let you enter anyway. I can be magnani- mous to an intellectual equal. To make it even easier for you, I will even grant you the first move each time."