Man From Mundania (18 page)

her folks. Indeed, they well might be watching her on the

Tapestry. No, the Tapestry didn't reach into the dream

realm, she remembered now. That increased her guilt. So

she knew she would have to get through before too long,

because Queen Irene would not brook too much foolish-

ness on the way.

But if she had brought out the mirror on the mountain,

and Grey had seen it operate and realized that its magic

really did work, his whole philosophy might have been so

severely shaken that he might have done something fool-

ish. So she had waited until she could be alone.

Now she was alone. She brought out the mirror.

"Mother," she murmured.

Queen Irene's face appeared in the mirror. "Well, it's

about time, Ivy!" she said severely. "Have you any idea

how we worried when you dropped off the Tapestry? Why

didn't you call in before?"

Ivy smiled, seeing right through Irene's severity. "I was

in Mundania, as you surely realized. Mother. I couldn't

call; the mirror was dead there. But I came back as soon

as I could."

"And where are you calling from? That can't be your

own room behind you!"

"We're in the gourd. Mother. In a mock Castle Roogna.

It took us two days to climb the Enchanted Mountain, and

only now could I—"

"We? Who are you with, Ivy?"

Ivy could see that her mother was not in an understand-

ing mood. "A Mundane. He—"

Man from Mundania
        
81

"You spent two days and one night on that infernal

mountain with a Mundane!" Irene snapped. "Have you

any idea—!"

"I needed his help to get to the gourd access," Ivy

explained. "Then he wanted to see Xanth, so I'm showing

him. There really wasn't much other way I could repay

him for his help."

Irene glanced closely at her. "Obviously not. Does he

realize that he'll be a misfit in Xanth, and that there's little

chance he will be able to return to his prior situation?"

"I tried to tell him, but he doesn't believe in magic."

"Doesn't believe in—!" Incredulity and outrage rippled

across Irene's expressive face.

"Mundanes are like that," Ivy reminded her. "It's been

a bit awkward here in the gourd, so I haven't pushed it.

I'd like to get into Xanth proper first."

Irene sighed, somewhat grimly. "You should never have

brought him this far. It's like pulling a live fish from water

and not throwing it back. He's apt to be miserable."

"I know," Ivy said sadly.

"We shall arrange with the Night Stallion to move you

out in the morning," Irene said. "Bring the Mundane out

on the north turret then; we can't leave him in the gourd."

"I'll bring him," Ivy agreed. She felt so guilty, know-

ing how awkward it would be for Grey, stuck in a land

where practically every person except himself could do

magic. But it would have been worse leaving him in drear

Mundania! From his description. Freshman English was

just about as bad as the lake of castor oil. She really hadn't

had a good choice to make, so she had gone with the lesser

of evils—she hoped.

"Good night, dear," Irene said with motherly resig-

nation.

"Good night. Mother," Ivy replied with daughterly

guilt.

The mirror became blank, then showed her own face.

It was somewhat drawn. Embarrassed by her unwanted

maturity, she forced a sunny smile, making herself look

younger.

Then she put the mirror away, and got herself ready for

82

Man from Mundania

Man from Mundoma

83

the night. It took her some time to sleep, despite the seem-

ing familiarity of her room.

She woke hungry as the morning sunlight beamed into

her room. Her room was on the west side of the castle,

but it didn't matter; this was the gourd, and it followed its

own rules. Probably the ship/mountain had made a turn

in the landscape/river, turning the castle around. She got

up, washed, and concentrated on her dress, enhancing it

into a fresher and cleaner state. It was Mundane clothing,

but here it was subject to her magic.

She stepped out and walked down the hall to Grey's

room. His door was closed, so she knocked. There was

no answer.

She did not want to be late for the connection on the

turret, so she knocked again, harder. "Grey! Grey! Are

you up?" Still there was no response.

Worried, she opened the door. The room was empty.

Grey was not a heavy sleeper, so he might have gotten up

earlier and gone elsewhere in the castle. Not down to the

kitchen, because he had promised not to, but—

"Oh, no!" she breathed. She hurried out and down the

hall to the extra door. She had forgotten to make him

promise not to go there, and if his curiosity had caused

him to open it, they could be in real trouble.

The door was closed. Had he opened it and gone

through, or had he left it alone?

She checked the rest of the castle, just to make sure.

He was nowhere. So he must have used that extra door.

"Damn!" she said, using a villainous Mundane curse.

There was no help for it. She would have to go after

him, and right away. She only hoped he hadn't gotten him-

self into more trouble than she could get him out of.

She packed her knapsack and put her hand to the knob.

The door opened immediately.

As she expected, there was no sharp mountain drop

beyond. There was a lovely green landscape; a rocky

slope, with bushes growing in clumps and trees in the

distance. A faint path led from the door over the nearest

ridge.

She stepped forward, so as to see beyond the portal that

hid much of the view. Now she could see a wider section.

And there, sitting on a rock, was Grey. "Grey!" she

called.

He looked up. "Ivy! Don't close the—"

Too late. The door slammed shut behind her—and sud-

denly it and the portal vanished, leaving her standing on

the path. That path went on down the slope beyond the

region where the door had been, and to a section of forest.

It was of course a magical portal, similar to the pictures

into which they had stepped. Only those who had the right

magic could use that door from this side. She had fallen

into the trap exactly as Grey had.

Grey ran up to join her. "I was only going to look!"

he exclaimed. "But I couldn't see much from the door, so

I just took one step, and—"

"I know. It's a one-way door."

"A what?"

"Some doors, like some paths, are one-way. You can

go forward on them, but not back. They don't exist in that

direction."

"But that's nonsensical!" he protested.

"No, it's magical."

He looked down the path, evidently trying to see the

vanished door. "One-way glass, maybe," he said. "You

can see through it from one side but not the other. If only

I could get my hand on it!"

He still refused to believe! And his foolishness had got-

ten them both stranded here on a magic route, so that they

could not go to the turret on time and be transported di-

rectly to Xanth proper. "You idiot!" she cried, abruptly

furious.

Grey hung his head. "Yeah, I sort of knew that," he

agreed. "I shouldn't've come through. So I just sat and

waited for you to find me. Only—"

"Only I was an idiot too," she said, her anger cooling

as quickly as it had developed. "Well, nothing for it ex-

cept to follow this path."

"I thought maybe you would be able to—-"

"My magic is Enchancement, not portal making. But

84

Man from Mundania

Man from Mundania

85

it's not a complete disaster. This path must go some-

where." She realized that she could use the mirror to get

back in contact with her mother, but she was with Grey

again and preferred to wait. Maybe there would be some

other way to reach Xanth, without having to make her

error too obvious.

They followed the path up the slope and over the ndge.

It went down across a shallow indentation, then over an-

other ridge, then down into a small valley. There, masked

by bushes and trees, wound a small river.

They came to the river, and stopped, startled. The water

was bright red!

Grey squatted and dipped his finger into it. "Ouch, it's

hot!" he exclaimed. "And thick, like—"

Ivy took his finger and sniffed it. "Blood," she con-

cluded.

"Blood," he agreed. "A river of hot blood!"

"Yes."

"But how can such a thing be? I mean—"

"This is the realm of bad dreams," she reminded him.

"Blood frightens most folk, especially when it splatters.

This must be the source of the blood used in the most

violent dreams."

"But that's—"

"Nonsensical? Magical?"

"Horrible," he said.

"There's no bridge, but the path continues beyond it,"

she said. "How should we cross it?"