Isle Of View (9 page)

The thing disappeared beyond the hole, as if it had never existed. But Metria was right: they didn't want any more such things coming through.

“How do we plug the hole?” he asked.

“I wouldn't know.”

“But you brought me here for this! What was the point, if you can't tell me what to do about it?”

“I brought you here because you're interesting in your assorted naiveté’s and idiocies, and it amuses me to watch you tackle things you know nothing about,” she said. “I'll be as satisfied to show you the way of stork summoning, because I know you'll make fumbles and blunders never before dreamt of in your kind's philosophy, and that will be more entertaining than anything else I could think of at the moment. But you don't want to play, so this is next best. I don't much care which problem you care to tackle first.”

She was baiting him again. The question was, how much was true and how much false? Was this really a hole in Xanth or just some odd natural effect she was using to confuse him?

“Maybe I should go on over to the With-a-Cookee River and help rescue Che,” he said, hoping he could learn something from her response.

“Yes, that might be best,” she agreed. “I understand it's getting pretty messy there, and your Betrothees are headed right into trouble.”

“Nada and 'Lectra?” he asked, alarmed.

“Who else?” she said carelessly. “They went and asked the Good Magician where Che was, and he—” She broke into a chuckle.

“What's so funny about that? I think it made sense to ask him, in case the rest of us didn't find the foal.”

“But he thought they were going to ask a different Question,” she said, still jiggling with the mirth of it.

“What Question?” he demanded, knowing that if she responded, he wouldn't like the answer.

“How to resolve the problem of your betrothals.”

He stared at her. Of course Grey would think that! Why else would the two young women come to him a week before Electra's eighteenth birthday? This business with Che's foal-knapping had come up so suddenly that Grey Murphy had probably been working on something else and never heard about it. The real Good Magician, Humfrey, would not have been caught unawares like that, but Grey lacked age and experience. Also, he had Ivy pestering him all the time; that would drive anyone crazy. Dolph knew that from long experience as her brother.

“So how did he answer, then?”

“He got an indentured ghost to check around and spy the foal,” Metria said. “But he couldn't tell them exactly, just approximately. So they're probably going to get captured by the goblins too. That's a bad region, you know; that's where the Goblinate of the Golden Horde hangs out.”

Dolph knew. The Horde liked to torture and cook captives. He and Ivy had once had a run-in with them. If they caught Nada and Electra...

“I'll get right over there!”

“Aren't you forgetting something, Prince?” the demoness inquired.

“Yes, the hole in Xanth! But you're probably lying about that.”

“How do you know I'm not lying about your Betrothees?”

That brought him up short. It was impossible to tell when she spoke truth. “If you are, I'll—”

“You'll what?” she asked, interested.

That was a problem. She was a demoness. He could not touch her unless she wanted to be touched, and he could not even insult her unless she chose to be insulted. What could be threaten her with that would make her take note?

The only thing he could think of seemed too dumb to work. So he tried it. “I'll refuse to play your game any more,” he said. "I'll tune you out, so that nothing you can do or say will have any effect. You'll expire of absolute boredom.”

“Ha! You threatened that before. You can't do it.”

“The stakes were not as high before. Now I can do it.” He hoped he could—and hoped that if he could, she would capitulate. He was really worried about Nada and Electra, but worried about the hole in Xanth too. If one of her statements was correct, he needed to know which one, in a hurry, so he could do something about it. He knew that if he guessed, he would guess wrong; he always did. So he stood there and concentrated on ignoring her, knowing that it was his only chance, and not much of a chance at that.

“Suppose I do this?” she asked. She solidified into her most lusciously luscious shape and approached him.

He reminded himself that it was Nada he loved, and that Nada's shape was just as good as this one, and a lot more honest. He put his hand to his mouth and yawned.

“Suppose I do this?” she asked, embracing him and kissing him on the mouth. It was disgustingly pleasant; she could kiss as well as Nada could.

He stood there, not reacting. He was amazed that he could do it, but he reminded himself that this was not Nada but a mere pesky demoness, who would laugh at him if he fell for it.

“Or this?” Then it was the image and form and feel of Nada embracing him.

She's only the demoness*, he thought through blast, and somehow managed to not react.

“Well, then, I think I'll just strip down to my panties,” she remarked, stepping slightly away.

He hung on, knowing that she was bluffing; she didn't want to violate the Adult Conspiracy. Somehow he managed to lock his eyes in place and not look.

“In Nada's form, yet,” she said. “I wonder what color her panties are?”

That almost got him! But he clung to the fading belief that Metria didn't actually know what color Nada's panties were, so could not duplicate them. He felt as if his eyes were yanking themselves out of his head, being so eager to look, just in case the demoness wasn't bluffing. If he lost this contest, the real Nada might be in deadly danger. That kept him firm.

There was a pause. “Very well, Dolph, you win,” she said after a bit. “Stop ignoring me, and I'll tell you the truth, this one time. Demon's honor.”

Was that to be trusted? He suspected that if it wasn't, (then nothing about her was. He gambled. “Okay. Which is the true threat?”

“They both are. But the hole is more immediate and worse. Your Betrothees are threatened with being cooked in maybe a few hours, but if a monster comes through that hole, all Xanth will be threatened with worse.”

“But a monster might not come through that hole,” he argued. “Then I'd be better off going to the girls right now.”

“I suspect that this is a significant trial of conscience for you, Dolph,” she said. “I am always interested in observing such things, having no conscience myself. You know you should marry Electra, but probably won't; you know you should do what is good for Xanth, but probably will go seek your girls instead. With luck you might time it so that the goblins have captured them but not yet eaten them; they might be in the process of stripping them down for the pot, and you could see Nada's panties just before you rescued her.”

“You're tormenting me again!” he accused her.

“You promised to react, if I told you the truth. Well, this is the truth, isn't it?”

He had to admit it was. He knew that his secret motives were unbecoming, but they were there. “So what should I do? ” he asked lamely.

“You should plug the hole.”

“But then if I did the right thing and married Electra, I might never get to see Nada's panties!”

“True, Prince.”

“Oh, fudge!” he exclaimed, wishing he knew a fouler word. But somehow all the centaur education he had received had not added anything to his childhood vocabulary in certain respects. Some men could turn the air blue with their language, and a harpy could make a painted surface blister with a single fowl-mouthed expletive, but the best he could do was bring the trace of a smile to a lady's lips. He couldn't even get rid of a curse burr without changing to a form with scales that the burrs couldn't cling to.

“You're so cute when you struggle with right and wrong,” Metria remarked. “Would it help you to do the right thing and remain here to plug the hole if I assumed Nada's likeness and donned panties?”

“Hey, yes!”

“Forget it, Prince! I'd rather see you struggle.”

Somehow he had known she would say that. She would not help him at all, except to encourage him to do something he would regret, whatever that might be. She delighted in seeing his dilemma.

But maybe there was a way out of it. There was no obvious way to plug the hole, so maybe he couldn't do much here anyway. He could assume roc form, fly to the Good Magician's castle, and tell them about the hole. Then he could fly to the With-a-Cookee River and rescue the girls. That way he could do the right thing and still maybe catch a glimpse of—

Something showed at the hole. It looked like a cross between a man and a demon, but worse than either. Its arms looked like tentacles, and its three huge eyes glared out with such malevolence that Dolph was terrified. The demoness had not been fooling: this was a monster that could wreak havoc in Xanth!

“Maybe you're right,” Metria said. “It's time to get out of here!”

“No way,” Dolph said, walking toward the monster.

“But you could get hurt here—and, worse, so could I. That thing is part demon.”

“Then get out of here and stop distracting me,” Dolph gritted. What form would be best to tackle this thing? Maybe an ogre.

“I don't understand you,” Metria said. “Suddenly, without thinking at all, you're doing the right thing.”

“Of course you don't understand: you're not human. Are you going to help me deal with this thing?”

“Yes. Not because it's the right thing to do, but because I might learn more about the mysterious workings of the feeble human mind.” She became a grotesque horned demon with outsized claws and came at the monster from another side.

The monster swiveled one eye to orient on her, while the other two focused on Dolph. Metria froze in place, while Dolph felt a huge and awful chill. The monster was monstrous in mind as well as body and was mesmerizing them both!

Dolph couldn't move, but he could still change forms. He became a basilisk, whose very gaze was deadly to mortal creatures. That should set the monster back!

The two giant eyes blinked. Then a tentacle arm reached for Dolph. A toothy maw opened. The thing was going to eat the basilisk!

Metria, meanwhile, remained immobile. That third eye held her fixed where she was.

Dolph became a picklepuss, with pickly green puss and brine-moist eyes. Anything it touched would be pickled, and anything that tried to eat it would find it disgustingly bad tasting.

More tentacles came and wrapped around the picklepuss. The monster was going to eat it anyway! Maybe it even liked being pickled. Dolph was hauled in to the maw.

He became a sphinx, with the body of a lion and the head of a man. Sphinxes ordinarily were peaceful creatures, not much for combat, but they were very big. The monster's mouth closed on something that was many times its own size. The sphinx hide was too thick for the teeth to puncture; they got stuck, and the monster couldn't let go.

Dolph sat down. Since the monster's mouth was fastened to his backside, this meant that he sat on the monster's face. His bulk spread out to cover all three eyes.

“I'm free!” Metria exclaimed, moving at last. “You broke its eye contact!”

“Go fetch some tangle vines,” Dolph told her with his huge human mouth. “We'll tie it up and plug the hole with it.”

She vanished. Would she do it? She might decide that she had better folk to torment elsewhere. He could hold the monster as long as he sat on it, but he couldn't leave without freeing it. He didn't want to sit forever.

Then the demoness reappeared with a squirming mass of vines. She used them to wrap around the monster. Some she put over its eyes, their suckers fastening the eyes closed. Then she hammered the teeth that were embedded in Dolph’s posterior, so that he could get up.

He assumed ogre form, picked up the trussed monster, and jammed it into the hole. Then the two of them used more vines to anchor it there, so that it could neither enter nor exit Xanth. It had become the plug.

“That was very brave and smart of you, Prince,” Metria said. “I am amazed.”

“So am I,” he admitted.

“But how did you manage to be so manly, when you had been so boyly before?”

Dolph pondered. “I'm not sure. I guess I just did what had to be done.”

She shook her head. “You remain as much of a mystery as ever! Each time I think you are hopeless, you evince a modicum of amplitude.”

“Of what?”

“Dimension, magnitude, scope, largeness—” she said fretfully.

“Potential?”

“Whatever. I am disgusted.”

“You should be,” he said, obscurely satisfied.

“Now I suppose you feel free to go rescue your Betrothees and try to sneak a glimpse of someone's panties.”

“Right,” he said, and assumed the form of a swift hawk. He launched into the air and headed west, toward the With-a-Cookee River. He was pleased to see that the demoness did not follow.

Chex was about to resume her circuit, when a ghost appeared. “Oh, hello, Ghorge,” she said, surprised. “What are you doing away from the Good Magician's castle?”

The ghost opened his mouth, but there was no sound. “He needs a sheet of paper,” Grundy said. “He's a ghost writer, remember.”

“Oh, that's right!” Chex hurried to fetch the paper. She set it on the table.

In a moment the handwriting appeared, in Ghorge's fancy script: The foal is at the With-a-Cookee River. Nada Naga and Electro are going there now.

“Oh, I must go there right away!” Chex exclaimed, vastly relieved.

But the ghost hadn't finished his message. More writing was appearing on the paper: Magician Grey believes there may be danger if you go. Che is the captive of goblins—

“And if the gobs see a winged centaur flying in,” Grundy said, faster than the ghost could write, “they'll know whose mother she is.”

“And if they are the goblins of the Golden Horde,” Chex concluded grimly, “they'll cook first and argue later.”

“Or dunk him in their hate spring,” Grundy agreed.

“They would find it very funny, if you rescued him and he hated you.”

“Very funny,” Chex echoed hollowly. Grey's warning was unfortunately well taken. She dared not show herself there until Che was out of their grubby hands. Certainly Nada and Electra would do their best; one could assume the form of a deadly serpent, and the other could shock anyone she touched.

“But we can tell the other searchers,” Grundy said. “At least we know that Che is all right and that help is on the way.”

“Yes,” she agreed, a sinking feeling in her heart. “Thank you, Ghorge, for your message.”

Welcome the ghost wrote, and was gone. There was one remaining note on the paper, in a corner, evidently a doodle: a crude sketch of a valley between mountains, and the word Cleavage! Maybe the ghost had been impressed by the Gap Chasm as he zipped over it.

Chex picked Grundy up, set him on her back, and trotted outside. She flicked herself so hard it stung, and launched into the air. She was going to make this one fast circuit! Then she was going to fly to Mount Rushmost, where Cheiron was at the winged monster convention, and tell him. He would certainly want to be advised, at this stage, and anyway, she needed the moral support.

The ogre was still crashing his way north. “The goblins do have him!” Chex called, hovering low, “somewhere near the With-a-Cookee River.”

“Me no mind; me find,” he replied cheerfully.

If he did, the goblins would surely forget about Che, because the oncoming ogre would be bad news for them. Chex flew on, somewhat reassured. Yet she wondered how the goblins could have the foal, when there had been no sign of that before. She was not about to question Grey's message; she just wondered. Maybe Che had fallen into their hands later. But in that case, who had abducted him? Disquieting questions remained.

She found the milkweed maids without trouble, but didn't urge them to go to the river; they were innocent girls who had no business near goblins.

Chex moved on around the circuit, advising the searchers, then cut north. Was Dolph still in the Elements? She hardly cared to go in there to tell him! He would just have to wait for the news until he emerged. None of them had really expected Che to be in there anyway.

Now she could head for Mount Rushmost. She turned and flew south. Her wings were tiring, because she had been flying a lot today, but she was determined to reach Cheiron. Only then could she relax, slightly.

There were some scattered white clouds in the sky. They were harmless, and even friendly in their fashion. Then she spied one black one, angling as if to cut her off. She hoped that wasn't—

“Fracto,” Grundy said. “Should have known! He must have seen the activity and wants to interfere.”

Cumulo Fracto Nimbus, the worst of clouds! The last thing she wanted to encounter at this stage. There was little doubt, now, that he had spied her, for he was swelling up like the gaseous toad he was and sending out ugly vapors. He might not know why she was flying south, but he intended to mess her up regardless. The worst thing was that she was tired; she doubted she had the strength to fly straight through him.

“Maybe go to ground and trot a while,” Grundy suggested. He didn't want to get blown out of the air any more than she did.

“That will take too long,” she replied fretfully. “It's deep jungle there, not even any magic paths. We could run afoul of ground monsters. If I don't dare fly because of the storm, they could be a real problem, as well as slowing us.”

“True,” he agreed. “I could ask the local plants for the best route, but it would still be slow.” He pondered a while. Fortunately he was small, so his pondering was short. “And just as bad trying to fly around Fracto,” he said.

“I'm afraid so. He can expand at a great rate. In fact, he's doing it now.”

“Then that leaves us only one route, if you're up to it.”

“I'm up to anything that will get us safely through!” she said. “What's your notion?”

“Fly over the cloud. He may not have much strength up where the air's thin.”

Chex glanced up, suddenly uncertain. “What about us, where the air's thin?”

“It doesn't get that thin, does it? Didn't you fly to the moon when you married Cheiron?”

“The honey side of it,” she agreed, remembering it with fondness. “But there's a channel there; the air clusters around the moon, especially when it's low in the sky.”

“Well, it's low now,” he said. Indeed, the day was late, and the moon was venturing out into daylight. “Even if you didn't make it too high for the cloud, you could land on the moon and rest for just long enough to get your wind back. Fracto won't hang around the moon much, because he knows he can't blow it out of the sky, and he doesn't like to look silly trying.”

“Could be.” Certainly no better prospect offered.

Chex flicked herself again, making her body so light that it just about floated up by itself, and pumped her wings strongly. She rose. She hoped it would not be necessary to fly as high as the moon. That route would be faster than the ground route, but it would be best if she could make it though without stopping.

Fracto saw her climbing. He swelled up even more rapidly, his cloud face forming eye patches and a frowning mouth region. He blew out a wet gale, trying to mess her up.

“Try that again, cabbage-breath!” Grundy called.

Oh, no! The golem just couldn't resist hurling a good insult. Grundy had battled Fracto before, and they had a long-standing feud. Now the cloud would try even harder!

Indeed Fracto did. Bubblelike excrescences formed on his surface, indicating the fury of his turbulence.

“Keep at it, toad-face!” Grundy called encouragingly. “You going to wet on somebody next?”

“Don't aggravate him!” Chex gasped as she tried desperately to climb out of reach.

“Aw, it's better to work him up,” Grundy said. “Then he loses what little wit he has and is even easier to outsmart.”

Fracto evidently heard that, because he sent out such a gust of sleet-speckled wind that Chex almost did a somersault.

“Is that your best shot, smog-rear?” Grundy demanded. “What made you think you could blow up anything more than a teakettle? Better go back for training—or training pants!"

“Grundy, I wish you wouldn't—” Chex started. But she was cut off by the cloud's furious blast of snow. For a moment she was blinded and wasn't sure which way was up.

Then her head emerged from it, and she discovered that she was higher than before. “It lifted us!” she exclaimed.

“That's the idea,” Grundy said. “Might as well use Fracto's energy instead of yours.” Then, to the cloud: “Is that what you call a squall? Even a dumb anvil head can do better than that!”

But Fracto was finally catching on. Instead of blowing again, he simply concentrated on building up his mass, higher and higher. The air was not thin, but Chex still couldn't get over the storm.

“What a view!” Grundy exclaimed.

Chex looked down. The panoply of Xanth lay beneath them, just like one of her dam's maps. Chem Centaur's magic talent was map projection, and she had explored most of Xanth in the course of perfecting her maps. Now the long coastal outline showed clearly, except where Fracto's grotesque burgeoning mass blotted it out and the nebulous region to the north where it was possible to cross into Mundania. Not that any sensible person would want to do a thing like that. The sea extended out, featureless except for the bits of cloud floating above it. Part of the great Gap Chasm showed, and it did resemble cleavage, just as the ghost writer had noted. The overall scene was beautiful. She should have done this before, just to enjoy the view. But of course she had remained mostly landbound, because Che couldn't yet fly. What an experience awaited him, when his wings formed well enough for the heights!

“I guess we'll have to stop at the moon,” Grundy said, sounding not too regretful. “Well, I've always wanted to visit the big cheese.”

Chex had had no intention of visiting the moon—not without Cheiron! But she seemed to be stuck for it. She was getting dangerously fatigued and had to rest; she doubted she could even get down to the ground without Fracto blowing her into the sea. So she angled to the side and flew straight toward it. Fortunately she was now higher than the moon, so the effort of reaching it was not great.

Fracto saw what she was doing and tried to stop her. But he couldn't grow fast enough to block both Mount Rushmost and the moon, and knew that she would zip past him and fly south if he gave her the chance. So he could only blow snow at her.

There was a crack of thunder. Then a lightning bolt zapped past her. Oops—Fracto had more than snow to hurl!

“You missed, sizzle-snoot!” the golem cried gleefully.

“Grundy!” Chex hissed.

“Don't worry, old diaper-bottom couldn't hit anything smaller than Xanth itself, and half the time he misses that too,” the golem said reassuringly.

Then a bolt zapped just past his head, singeing his hair. “Lucky shot, vapor-brain!” he yelled, but his confidence seemed slightly shaken. He kept quiet while Chex winged on toward the moon.

The moon was somewhat larger than it appeared from the ground, because of the special inanimate magic called perspective. Each object and part of the landscape liked to think it was larger than it was, so it pretended that everything else was smaller, and the farther away anything was, the smaller it could safely be considered. Thus some quite large objects were made to seem quite small by those far enough away to get away with such belittling. The moon was at a serious disadvantage in this respect, because it was far away from everything else, so had no supporters. It got even by pretending that the whole of Xanth was small. The moon was actually big enough to walk and run on, and a number of flying centaurs could camp on it—if there only had been more than two to do it. But in time there would be Che—

Chex had a horrible thought. When Che got old enough to mate, who would there be? Certainly he could not do it with a sister! Before Chex, there had been only Cheiron, and Chex herself derived from mixed ancestry. Well, maybe mere could be another mixed mating, to produce another winged centaur. But it seemed doubtful, because Chem had been unusually liberal for her kind, and perhaps no other centaur would consider crossbreeding. Unless one happened to run afoul of a love spring ...

“Watch it, mare!” Grundy cried.

Chex realized that she was about to land in a big dish of thoroughly moldy semiliquid cheese. The smell was terrible! She pumped her leaden wings and lurched up, but came down almost immediately in another dish of cheese. This one wasn't moldy, but the smell was if anything worse. It couldn't be helped; she landed squarely on all four hooves and slid to a gooky stop.

“Ugh!” Grundy said. “Did you have to pick Limburger?” He was right: she saw the slimy little limbs embedded in it.

Chex folded her wings and stepped ahead. Each foot came out with a slurp and a belch of awful odor. Those must have been zombie limbs used to prepare this batch! What a mess! She had had no idea that the near side of the moon was this bad. She wanted to hold her breath, but was still breathing hard from her exertion.

A horse appeared. It was midnight black and not glossy; it was hard to see at all. It trotted toward them purposefully.

Suddenly Chex was dreaming. In her dream a jet-black centaur mare appeared. “What are you doing here in my retreat?” she demanded.

Astonished, Chex could only answer “Who are you?”

“I am Mare Nectaris, and this is the Sea of Nectar, where I relax between deliveries. You are tracking it up!”

“You're a night mare!” Chex exclaimed.

“Of course. And you are out of your pasture, aren't you?”

“I'm Chex Centaur, and I was trying to fly to Mount Rushmost, but Fracto, the evil cloud, blocked my way, and I had to detour—”

“Fracto! No wonder! My cheese is all gooky from the last time he rained on it! And the moon is supposed to be dry. He has no respect at all.”

“That's right,” Chex agreed. “I have an urgent mission, and he—”

“Very well, I can see it's not your fault. Come over here to my fountain and wash off your hooves.”

Then Chex snapped awake, and saw the black mare leading the way to a much smaller disk, where water squirted up. Relieved, she followed.

The fountain was big enough so that Chex was able to stand in it and get her feet entirely clean. Beyond was a region where the cheese was dry and hard, probably sunbaked Cheddar, so she could walk on it without getting gunked. “Thank you so much, Mare Nectaris,” she said. “I really am sorry I landed in your cheese. I need to move on as quickly as I can.”

She looked up. One of the odd things about the moon was that it made Xanth seem up instead of down. Probably that was more of the magic of perspective. But there was Fracto, staying right between her and Mount Rushmost. He wasn't going to let her get through without a hassle.

The dream reappeared. “We don't like Fracto,” the black centaur lady said. “He tries to interfere with our delivery of bad dreams. He can't touch us physically, of course, but he fogs everything up so it's hard for us to see where we're going. That puts us behind schedule, so that the dreams may be delivered late in the night, and sometimes folk even wake up and remember them. That is bad form, and we get the blame.”