Harpy Thyme (5 page)

“We hope you can help us, Gloha,” Chameleon said. “We seem to have lost our way.”

That was so obvious that it needed no restatement Then Gloha remembered the thing about Chameleon: she changed with the moon, becoming beautiful and stupid, then ugly and smart. So she couldn't be counted on to speak intelligently.

Something Trent had said registered. “You're going to see Esk's grandparents? Why, so are we! I'm with Tandy, who knows the way.”

“What a fortunate coincidence,” Queen Iris said. She sent a curiously significant side glance at Bink. “You and Tandy must join us and show us the route.”

“Oh, I'm sure we'll be glad to,” Gloha agreed. “Let me go tell Tandy!” She darted away before belatedly realizing that this might be impolite. After all, if she remembered her history lessons correctly, all of them had been kings of Xanth at one time or another. But it was too late to correct her lamentable little lapse, so she just flew on.

In a moment she found Tandy, who had continued walking. “There are four-they want to-same place we're going-it's a coincidence,” she said breathlessly or perhaps witlessly.

Tandy questioned her on the several pieces of her statement, and managed to fathom the general little gist. “That is a coincidence,” she agreed. “For such a party to get lost right where we were going-there must be magic involved.”

“Oh, yes, the Sorceress Iris is spreading illusion all around,” Gloha agreed.

They reached the mud slide. The cabin was back on top of it, hiding the three, but King Trent remained in his handsome younger form. “And to what do we owe the honor of your presence here in the wilderness?” he inquired of Tandy.

“Gloha is looking for the Good Magician's second son, and I thought my father Crombie might point out the direction,” Tandy replied.

“Oh, Humfrey is involved in this,” Trent said, as if that had great significance. “Well, if you will show us the route, we shall give you a ride on Swiftmud here.” He indicated the bank of mud on which his plate sat.

“I would rather ride than walk,” Tandy agreed. “And perhaps Gloha would rather ride than fly. We shall be happy to make the deal.”

So Trent set out two more plates, and Tandy managed to scramble up to one without getting too muddy, while Gloha flew to the other. Then the cabin expanded to enclose them all including Trent, and they were in what looked like a luxurious palace chamber.

“But don't stray from your plate,” Chameleon cautioned with a smile.

Gloha extended a cautious finger to the cushioned floor beside her, and felt mud. Everything was illusion except the mud and the plate. But it was pleasant in this seeming cabin. “If I may ask-” she started.

“We are not quite as young as we once were,” Trent said. “So now we prefer to travel in comfort. I transformed a mud grub into Swiftmud, and Iris provided plates from her kitchen. This seems to be an adequate mode of travel. Except that Swiftmud is not particularly bright, and strayed from the assigned route when we weren't watching, and now we aren't entirely sure where we are. But we suspected that there would be a fortunate coincidence, and now it has occurred. Show us the way, Tandy, and we shall slide there forthwith.”

Tandy looked around. “I think I'll need to be outside for that.”

Abruptly the cabin wall contracted, and Trent and Tandy were outside, while Gloha remained inside. In a moment Swiftmud started to move again, sliding smoothly and probably swiftly along. Yes-Gloha saw trees whizzing by outside the curtained porthole. They were on their way.

“Have some anthony and tell us your story,” Iris suggested, extending a smaller plate on which several brushes and combs were piled.

“Anthony?” Gloha asked blankly.

“Ant-honey,” Iris said more carefully. “Honey from ants. Sometimes in my age I slur out the hyphen. Some like it better than bee-honey or sea-honey.”

“Thank you.” Gloha took a honey comb from the plate and took a naughty little nibble. It was very good.

The others took honey brushes and chewed on them. Then Gloha explained about her quest to find a good winged goblin man for a husband, and the frustration of her visit to the Good Magician's castle.

“Yes, Humfrey is like that, now more than ever,” Iris said, licking spilled honey off her fingers. “Age hasn't sweetened him.”

“But he always has reason,” Bink said. “I remember when he said he couldn't fathom my talent.”

“What is your talent?” Gloha asked. “I mean, I know you're a Magician, because my centaur history book said so, but I don't think it said what your talent is.”

“Well, that's an odd thing,” Bink replied. “I think I have a notion of its nature, but every time I try to tell someone about it, somehow I don't.”

“I don't understand,” Gloha said.

Iris and Chameleon smiled and looked away.

Bink sighed. “I suppose I could make a demonstration.” He took a breath. “My talent is-”

The Swiftmud lurched to a halt, almost pitching them from their plates onto the icky surface of itself.

“Whose fault is that?” Trent's voice called from outside the cabin.

“Oh, it must be mine!” Gloha cried with a chaotic little chagrin.

“Nonsense,” Trent said. “This is bigger than all of us.”

The cabin vanished, so they could all see what was outside. Swiftmud perched at the edge of a huge cleft in the ground. Trent had halted it just in time to prevent them from plunging into the chasm and getting horribly muddied.

“It must be an extension of the Gap Chasm,” Tandy said. “But I don't remember any such fault in this region.”

“Probably the original forget spell hasn't yet worn off all the tributaries,” Trent said. “But I must admit it came as a surprise. I'm not sure how we'll get past it.”

“If we could identify it, we might know more about it,” Tandy said. “All the offshoots of the Gap Chasm have names.”

“Right,” Trent agreed. “So we must answer my question: whose fault is this?”

Gloha realized that he hadn't been accusing her before. Still, she felt somehow guilty. She struggled with her minor little memory of geography and managed to evoke a name. “Could it be San Andrea's Fault?” she asked. “The one that cracks on into Mundania?”

“Yes, it must be San Andrea's fault,” Iris agreed. “I never thought much of San Andrea anyway.”

“The question is,” Iris said tartly, “how are we going to proceed? This fault appears to extend right across our route. If we detour, after losing time by getting lost, we shall be late for our engagement. We don't want the others to fade out without us.”

“I can fly across,” Gloha said. “But I'm too small to carry anyone else. I might haul a rope across, though, if that would help.”

“I don't think we have time to make a rope bridge that would hold Swiftmud's weight,” Bink said. “I wish we had thought to get no-fault insurance. Then we wouldn't have encountered any fault.”

“We never think of what we're going to need ahead of time,” Chameleon said. “Otherwise you and I would never have adventured in the Gap Chasm the first time, Bink.”

Bink smiled. “You were almost as lovely then as you are now, dear.”

She returned the smile. “And lovelier than I will be next week.”

“Save those reminiscences for the fade-out party,” Iris snapped. “I'll make us all beautiful then. How do we get there in time?”

“We can proceed, but it may not be entirely comfortable,” Trent said. “Swiftmud is a fairly versatile creature; he can slide along any surface without losing his grip. But we might prefer to walk.”

“At our age?” Iris asked. “You forget you're ninety-six years old, and I'm not a great deal younger. If we try to walk any distance, we shall both fade out sooner than planned.”

“Then we had better ride,” Trent agreed. “But we shall need to use some of your magic glue.”

“Glue?”

“For our bottoms.”

“What are you thinking of!”

“So we won't fall off our plates when Swiftmud slides down the face of the fault.”

Iris considered. Then she dug into her purse and brought out a tube of glue she had evidently harvested from a glue plant.

They took turns applying it to their plates, having to stand on an extra plate Iris provided from somewhere while doing it. Then they sat down again, and their legs and posteriors fastened firmly to each plate. Gloha was nervous about it, and decided not to use the glue. “Maybe I can help find the way through the fault.”

“That seems sensible,” Chameleon agreed. Gloha felt a thankful little flash of gratitude; not only was the woman lovely, she was nice. Gloha had been afraid that someone would find fault with her suggestion about the fault. After all, it was the nature of faults to be found.

Trent gave a command, and Swiftmud started forward. He slid to the edge of the fault, and over it, making a square angle turn down. One by one the plates made that awesome turn. The others remained on their plates, but Gloha couldn't; she had to fly free.

She looped around and hovered near Swiftmud as he slid at an even pace straight down the wall of the fault. The five passengers remained firmly glued to their plates, but they did not look inordinately comfortable. Gloha suspected that under the illusion their hair and perhaps other parts of their bodies were sagging somewhat. Then the cabin reappeared, hiding them. That made Gloha feel better, at least.

She flew down to investigate the depths of the fault. It narrowed steadily, until it disappeared in a dark crevice too small for Swiftmud to enter. But it was also too wide for the creature to cross, she thought, unless it was capable of making a U-turn across nothing. What now?

She flew to one side, and then to the other. She found a section with a U-shaped connection of stone. That should do. In fact it looked ideal.

She flew back to Swiftmud. “Follow me,” she said.

Swiftmud obligingly followed her to the side. She landed on the U-stone. “Cross here,” she said.

Swiftmud did. Then it proceeded up the other wall. In due course it returned to the surface, and got level again.

The cabin vanished. “Very good,” Iris said. “Now we must go full speed ahead, to make up for lost time.”

“As soon as we get unstuck from our plates,” Chameleon said, trying to fidget without being able to move her shapely posterior.

“Of course.” Iris produced a tube of unglue, and they became unglued.

Gloha settled back to her plate as Swiftmud accelerated. Now the scenery fairly whizzed by. Gloha's hair flowed back in the wind, and so did Chameleon's. The others seemed unaffected, perhaps because their appearances were now illusory, confirming her prior suspicion. Gloha was glad of that, because in their natural states they did look stomach-irkingly aged. She had not realized that it was possible for a person to be older than fifty or so, but understood that some folk just didn't have much choice in the matter.

Soon they reached the great wide broad expanse of Lake Ogre-Chobee. “We had better pause for refreshment,” Iris said, “before getting into the labyrinth of the underworld.”

So Trent guided Swiftmud around the edge of the lake, looking for a campsite with pie trees and pillow bushes. Instead they found a village whose houses were all black. Sure enough, a sign said BLACK VILLAGE.

“I don't remember a village here,” Trent said.

“It must have formed within the decade since our last visit here,” Iris said. “I can clothe us with the illusion of invisibility if you wish.”

“Don't bother. Just make us young and anonymous for now. I'm sure the natives are friendly.” Indeed, there was a sign a bit farther along saying FRIENDLY NATIVES.

All six of them became young, except for Gloha, who didn't change. She was impressed by Iris' powers of illusion.

Swiftmud proceeded slowly down the center street. Soon a man came out. He looked ordinary, except that he was black. “What can I do for you tourists?” he inquired in friendly fashion. He wore a nameplate saying “SHER-LOCK: Safe-Courteous-Reliable.”

“We were just looking for refreshment,” Trent said. “We're on our way to the underworld.”

“You have come to the right place,” Sherlock-said. “We settled here last year and are promoting tourism. We have all manner of refreshments and entertainments, including regular presentations at the Curse Friend Playhouse. Or you can simply sun yourselves on the Ogre-Chobee beach and feed the tame ogres and chobees.”

“Tame ogres?" Iris asked dubiously.

“It happens,” Tandy reminded her.

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock agreed. “We have Okra the Ogre Tamer, who can make an ogre named Smithereen perform ogre feats of strength for just a smile. Nobody believes it until they see it. And the chobees will allow themselves to be petted, for just a few marsh mallows and maybe a toe or two.” He smiled. “A bit of safe, courteous, reliable humor there.”

“Just fetch us some fresh pies to take along,” Iris said.

Sherlock turned his head. “Pie assortment, to go,” he called. Then, to Trent: “And what do you have in trade?”

“Do you need any illusion?” Iris inquired.

“We prefer to have no illusions,” Sherlock said. “We like things here as they are.”

“Do you need to have any person or creature transformed to something else?” Trent asked.

Sherlock considered. “Actually there is someone we'd like to transform. But it's his nature that needs transforming, not his appearance.”

“What is his nature?”

“He's always trying to organize things into a state so he can run it. We have no need of this, but he just won't stop. His name's Nator. We even call the way he acts natorial. It's really bothersome.”

Trent pondered. “I seem to remember a type of creature that enjoys that sort of organization. There are a number of them, but none of them want to be the leader. So they are usually in a state of confusion or a state of frustration.”

“Nator would love to solve their problems,” Sherlock said. “But are they human?”

“Not really. Does it matter?”

Sherlock considered again. “Perhaps not.” He turned his head again. “Hey, Nator! Would you like to be a goober?”

Another man came out. “What's a goober?” .

“Creatures who exist in a state with no leader, because no one wants to do it.”