The Dastard

Xanth 24 - The Dastard

PART 1: DRAGON

Draco Dragon oriented on his prey. He saw it fleeing across the plain, having foolishly exposed itself by daylight here in dragon country. Foolishness had but a single reward: to become food for a moderately hungry predator.

He angled his wings, banked, and sailed downward. There was a small cloud between him and the prey, and he maneuvered to keep it in the line of sight as long as feasible, so that the prey would not realize that it was in danger. But such cover was only temporary; soon he was in the final lap, and had to depend on sheer velocity. He folded his wings halfway and dived, making fantastic speed.

Now the prey spied him. It screamed and dived sideways into a pool, surprising him, so that he missed his first pass. Disgusted, he nosed up, made a looping turn, and came in for the second pass. The pool was hardly more than a puddle, too shallow to provide much protection. He could still nab the meat.

But the creature dived under the surface of the water, barely escaping Draco's reaching talons. He missed again, losing track in the stirred muck. Disgusted, he let fly a belch of fire, vaporizing a gout of water ahead of him. Then he banked again and came in for a landing. He would pull the creature out from under and eat it right there.

He landed with a splash, holding his wings high to avoid getting them dirty. The water felt good on his legs, cooling them, and a pleasant drop landed on his tongue. This was a tasty pond.

He settled in place and waited silently. The creature would have to come up for air soon. Then there would be a surprise.

The prey popped up. It was a young human woman, very nicely fleshed; she would be delicious, once he toasted her and burned off her clothes. He took a breath as he met her frightened gaze. There was a shimmer, and suddenly she looked twice as good, but in a different way.

Then something amazing happened that entirely took away his appetite for food.

Only after he dragged himself away from the pond, exhausted, did Draco figure out exactly what had occurred. He had blundered into a love spring. His intended prey had become his love object. Oh, the shame of it! He would never live it down if the other dragons heard about it.

PART 2: DEAL

Anomy was eighteen, and the last thing he wanted to do was settle down on the farm and work for a living. But not much else seemed to offer. Only if he made a good living would any of the village maidens be interested in marrying him, and what would that lead to anyway? Storks and babies and more work.

He wished he could go somewhere interesting and be someone exciting. But he couldn't, because his magic talent was having stupid ideas. Anything he thought of was stupid, no matter how smart it seemed at the time. For example, he had once seen a lovely young woman on a beach, and had the idea to embrace her. But she had turned out to be a sand wench, trying to lure him into a sandy grave. He had barely escaped. Another time he had found an interesting pot, and thought to clean it up and give it to a pretty maiden, thereby winning her favor. But it had turned out to be a crack pot, that had not only had a bad crack on its side, it had made things around it really weird. The maiden had not been favorably impressed.

“I detest my stupid life!” he exclaimed angrily.

There was a flicker before him. A cloud of smoke puffed out, and a face formed in it. “You called?” it inquired.

Anomy halted just outside his tracks. “What are you, smoke-face?”

The smoke extended downward, forming a vaguely manlike figure. “I am the Demon Test,” he said. “Did you not speak my name?”

“Listen, jerk-cloud, I have problems enough without being bugged by demons,” Anomy said politely. “So why don't you go suck your foot up your nose and leave me alone?”

The demon solidified, barring his way. “There is something about you that appeals somewhat to me,” he said. “You seem to have the attitude of a demon.”

“And you have the attitude of a person,” Anomy said. “Now that we've exchanged insults, how about getting out of my way, you bag of dirty smoke?”

“Not until we settle with each other,” the demon said. “You summoned me, and so we have to deal.”

“How did I summon you, you waft of foul air?”

“You spoke my name. D. Test. So I was duly conjured here, and now we must deal. Name your terms.”

Anomy was not much of a human being, but neither was he entirely stupid. “I want a really good magic talent.”

“Fair enough. I want a grungy soul.”

Anomy had not gotten much use from his soul, so he figured he could live without it. “So let's trade. What kind of talent do you offer?”

D. Test considered. “In my wanderings I have scavenged a few things. Let's see if I have any good talents in here.” He formed a large bag and opened it. He pulled out a small object in the shape of the letter P. When he squeezed it a thin yellow stream jetted out. “Yes! How about this Pee nut, that can make a person--”

“Forget it; I already have a stupid talent like that.”

Test reached in again. “Here is the talent of time travel.” He pulled out something that looked vaguely like an invisible hourglass.

“Time travel? You mean I can go to the future?”

“No, this is more limited. You can go to the past, and change things. So it's really the talent of unhappening. But there's a catch.”

“A catch?” Anomy asked suspiciously. His whole life seemed to have been a series of catches.

“You can go back only as far as right now.”

“Right now? But this is the present. That's not time travel.”

“It gets better. Tomorrow you can come back to now. Next year you can come back to now. You just can't go back to before you got this talent.”

Anomy thought about that. “So I could come back to now. What could I do with now?”

“I told you. You could unhappen events. You could change something to suit yourself better.”

They talked about it, and finally Anomy was satisfied. He handed over his soul and took the talent, and the deal was done. Neither of them thought about the possible long-term consequences.

PART 3: RULE OF TEN

The ancient old wizened little man pored over his huge tome, searching for an Answer. “There has to be a way!” he muttered grumpily.

A woman appeared in the doorway, locating it by memory and touch. “What is it, Magician?” she inquired.

The Magician looked up. Ordinarily he hated company, but his son's wife had a benign effect on him. “Come in, Wira,” he said, already feeling slightly less grumpy.

She entered the dusky chamber, touching a wall lightly. The lack of sufficient light did not bother her. “Is everything in order?”

“There is a crisis coming, which will require the cooperative effort of a number of people. The effort must be kept secret, which means no more than ten people may know of it. This is the Rule of Ten.”

“That sounds sensible,” Wira said.

“It is sensible. But in order to handle this crisis, eleven people and a bird will have to know. That means it won't be tight, and the opposition will have a chance to discover it and interfere, so the outcome is by no means certain.”

“One of them can't be excluded?” Wira asked.

“No. All are necessary. I have gone over the list repeatedly, and all must know. I have tried to find a way to extend the coverage to eleven or twelve, but the magic won't stretch. The Rule of Ten is inviolate.”

“That's too bad, Magician. What will you do?”

“I will try to find some other way to handle it. There is an element that relates to a small flying dragon. It is peripheral, but if it should fall into place, the day may yet be saved.”

“But Magician, suppose it doesn't fall into place?”

“Then I will sweat,” he said grimly.

Wira shuddered. The Good Magician had never sweated in the time she had known him. She hoped he would find a better way, so they wouldn't have to fumigate the castle.

There was a ding. The ding bat was signaling an event. “Oh, someone is coming,” Wira said. “I should have been more alert.”

It was true, but the Magician was never in a mood to blame her. “Show her in.”

Wira departed, and he turned pages in his tome, which was the Book of Answers, reviewing what he would tell the querent. Giving Answers was such a bore, but it was a service he was more or less committed to, so he acceded grumpily. According to his research, this one was a girl, fourteen years old, who wanted to know her Purpose. The purpose of any girl was to settle down after a few more years and make some unworthy man moderately happy for a time. To provide a decent home for the surplus babies the storks had to deliver somewhere. The girls might see it somewhat differently, of course, but the Book of Answers wasn't asking them.

Yet the Book had a question mark by her name. Her destiny had not yet been decided, oddly. What was the problem? Was he going to have to find a special purpose for her? This promised to be more work than her payment of a year of service would be worth.

The Magician sighed. What use could he make of an innocent girl without a Purpose? He already had someone to wash the dishes and to pick up dirty socks. In any event, this girl was a crossbreed, half-dragon, and would require considerably more challenge. A bored girl could be mischief, a bored dragon could be worse. The combination could be dangerous; the castle furnishings were flammable. What did he have for her to do that would be sufficiently challenging and, preferably, away from the castle? It was bad enough trying to fathom the manner a small flying dragon related to the coming crisis of Xanth, without having to guide a dragon girl.

Dragon--dragon girl. Suddenly a bulb flashed, illuminating the dingy study for an instant. She could be the connection!

He heard footsteps on the winding stair. Wira was bringing her in.

Feverishly he turned pages of the tome, finding the place. Yes--she was the daughter of Draco Dragon and an anonymous nymph or maybe human girl caught at a love spring. And she could be the key to the solution of the crisis, if properly placed. It was no sure thing, but it improved the chances of success by a significant fraction. Maybe enough to overcome the liability of the Rule of Ten.

Wira and the girl entered. The Magician looked up from the tome. “Yes?” he inquired grumpily. He wasn't actually feeling grumpy at the moment, but the forms had to be followed.

“Good Magician, this is Becka,” Wira said. “She has navigated the Challenges and has a Question for you to Answer. She understands that she will be required to give a year's service.”

The girl stood shyly, not speaking. She was cute, with blonde hair and brown eyes.

“Let's see your natural form.”

Her human aspect became a front; the rear was the body of a dragon with bright green scales, with purplish tinges at the ends. There were large folded batlike wings. Overall, handsome enough, and definitely reminiscent of Draco.

“Out with it,” Humfrey said, pretending indifference.

“Please, Good Magician--what is my purpose?”

And now he had an Answer. “To effect the welfare of Xanth.”

Her human front looked perplexed. “But how can I affect it?”

“Effect, not affect,” the Magician snapped. “Now, for your Service, you must go in girl form to the monument commemorating the Sea Hag's life story, and wait there until a man passes. You will accompany him and try to help him in whatever legitimate way he wishes. In this manner, in due course, you may thus effect Xanth's welfare, and your Service will be done.”

The girl was not entirely innocent of the ways of men. “But suppose he tries to--?”

“Then turn dragon and chomp him.”

“Okay,” she said, faintly reassured.

“Take this.” He lifted a little globe.

She took it from his gnarled old fingers. As she touched it, it puffed into a little ball of vapor and dissipated. “What is it?”

“Awareness. You'll need it.”

She nodded, though evidently perplexed. “Thank you so much, Magician.”

But the Good Magician was already looking through the Book of Answers for the next situation, which would involve three little princesses and a bird. Wira guided Becka out.

The Dastard walked through the forest, looking for mischief. It had taken him a while to get the hang of living without a soul, and to learn to use his talent effectively, but now it had been four years since his deal with the demon, and he was ready to make more of an impression on the Land of Xanth. He had cast off his old nothing-name of Anomy and perfected his new one, for the dastardly deeds he was doing. So he was emerging from his secluded neck of the woods and searching for greater challenges.

He was well equipped to search, because an aspect of his talent was to have a sense of place/time. He could tell where and when there was something significant, and so could go there to discover what it was. His sense informed him that something interesting was headed toward him on this path. All he had to do was keep going the way he was going.

He encountered a little girl walking the opposite way. “Hi, mister,” she called. “Is this the way to the Good Magician's castle?”

One thing the Dastard had discovered in the course of his restricted practicing was that significant mischief could come from seemingly minor situations. He had also learned that lies were precious and vulnerable; it was best not to use one where the truth would do. That way he could save his lies for the best opportunities. So he told the truth: “No, this is not. But I can show you the correct route.”

She squealed in girlish fashion and clapped her hands. “Oh, thank you so much, mister! Where is it?”

“First we have to go this way,” he said, indicating the way he was going. “For I am just now emerging from the hinterlands, where there is nothing interesting.” That was in part because he had abolished anything interesting in that region, but he didn't feel the need to clarify that aspect. Now he needed to find out what was significant about this dull child. “Who are you, and why do you want to find the Good Magician's castle?”

“My name is Melody Irene Human, and I'm from Mundania,” she said proudly. “I was named after a princess and her grandmother, I think. I want to ask the Good Magician how I can stay in Xanth.”

“You think you are named after a princess? Don't you know?”

“Well, you see, I'm older than Princess Melody, so I'm not sure I was named after her. But maybe she was named after me.”

“That makes sense,” the Dastard agreed. That wasn't even a lie; the princess could conceivably have been named after a Mundane girl. There were three little princesses, four years old, named Melody, Harmony, and Rhythm. Their parents might have had trouble coming up with three names at once. “If you are Mundane, why do you want to stay in Xanth?”

“I've always loved Xanth,” Melody said. “I've always wanted to be here. But my parents don't believe in it. So I'm going to ask the Good Magician, and even if he says I can't stay, I'll still have to remain here a year to finish the service for my Answer. That's a lot better than nothing.”

This didn't seem to have much potential for mischief, but his sense of significance was seldom wrong, so he gave it another try. “How did you get here?”

The child launched into her story. “My folks were coming to Florida to visit Disney World. We were driving south from Virginia. We stopped to eat in Georgia, and there must have been something wrong with the food my big sister had, because suddenly she was ready to burst with indigestion and had to get out of the car before she exploded. Dad didn't want to stop, 'cause we were on Interstate seventy-five you know, and there was no rest stop near. But my sister wasn't fooling, and Mom said if he didn't want it to happen in the car he'd better pull off in a hurry. I thought it might be sort of fun to have it happen in the car, you know, having a really big stink, but I guess Mom wouldn't have seen the humor. So we were passing this section where the north and south lanes separated, and there were trees growing between them. In fact, there was a whole little forest there. Dad saw a little trail going in, so he braked and slowed the car to the left and got onto that trail, into the forest, and out of sight of the highway. Then he stopped, and Mom pretty much dragged Sis out and they disappeared into the ferns. So I got out and looked around, and you know, it was different. In fact, it looked sort of magical. I really liked it. But then Mom and Sis were done and we had to get back in the car, and Dad turned it around and we drove back out toward the highway. But we couldn't find it. I said 'Hey, maybe it's a magic forest, and soon we'll find a house made of candy, and a nice old woman saying ' ”Come in, the oven's hot.“ ' I thought it was funny, but nobody laughed. Adults don't have much of a sense of humor, and Sis wasn't feeling all that good at the moment. I learned about the adult deficiency in humor the time I joked that if Mom had a phantom pregnancy, she'd give birth to a ghost. Not only did she not laugh, she sent me to my room without dessert. Can you believe it? But when Dad still couldn't find the Interstate, Mom started yelling at him for making a stupid wrong turn, and he said he hadn't, he was just coming straight back the way we had come. Then I saw what sure looked like a tangle tree and I said 'Hey, this must be Xanth!' But they didn't know what I meant, because I'm the only one in my family who reads the Xanth books. The others are just sort of back in the stone age when it comes to reading. Dad drove right by that tangle tree. But I kept telling them 'We're in Xanth! We're in Xanth!' and finally Mom said that if I could show them something truly magical, then they would believe me. The trail kept on, in fact it became a trollway, but Dad thought the sign was a joke. Then I spotted a centaur, and I yelled 'Stop the car! Look out the window to the left!' Dad and Mom and Sis looked out, sort of sneeringly, but then they saw it, and their mouths dropped open. The centaur saw the car and spooked; I guess he never saw a car before. He ran off. But now my folks had their minds halfway open, for a change. Then we came to the Gap Chasm and had to stop. I told them to turn in the direction of the bridge and Castle Roogna, and when we crossed the Gap they really believed, 'cause it was so wide and deep. So we got there and I wanted to see the king and queen so maybe we could get a house to live in, but my folks just wanted to find the way back to dreary Mundania. But nobody's figured out how to return yet, so while they're thinking about it, I'm on my way to see the Good Magician, to find out how I can stay here. I mean, I may never get another chance, 'cause I don't think we'd ever find that one trail that led into Xanth again.”

The Dastard considered. A whole Mundane family stranded in Xanth, and the youngest member eager to stay. The Good Magician would probably find a way for her, too, and she would surely be endlessly happy, having lucked into her dream. This did seem like a worthy project.

The Dastard didn't say another word. He slid into limbo and traveled back in time two days. As he did, he guided himself toward the north, looking for the area where the Mundanes had entered Xanth.

It took a while, but it didn't matter, because he remained in limbo during his excursions in place/time and it didn't affect his real life. He slid back and forth between one and two days ago, and canvassed the general region. His sense of significance got a bit fuzzy in limbo, but he knew he would get it straight eventually. He finally saw the family enter, passing through a glitch in the magic boundary without knowing it. Good; he had it spotted.

He slid to the time one hour before their arrival. Then he emerged into real existence at the boundary. He dragged fallen branches to the trail and formed a pile that blocked it off. He laced the branches with brush to make it look entirely impassable.

He finished just in time. The odd Mundane vehicle was just arriving. It would have to stop outside Xanth, and would never know what it had missed.

He relaxed, and the place/time vortex pulled him back to the present. He emerged in the precise place and time he had left it, on the path he had been walking with the girl. But now there was no girl. Melody Irene Human had never entered Xanth.

The Dastard rubbed his hands together in glee. He had just performed another dastardly deed. He had deprived the family of its phenomenal experience, and the girl of the accomplishment of her dream. That made him feel good.

He continued in the direction he had been going, where his sense informed him that there was more significance ahead. Soon another traveler appeared. This was an old woman. “Pardon me, young man,” she said. “Could you tell me what this year is?”

“It is the year eleven hundred,” the Dastard replied, finding no good reason to deceive her. The woman looked old enough to have misplaced a few years, which was probably why she was uncertain.

“Eleven hundred!” she exclaimed, surprised. “Is Castle Roogna still in existence?”

For some reason, this question struck him as odd. But there still seemed to be no harm in the truth. “Yes.”

“That's good. I was afraid it might have fallen or been deserted in eight hundred and fifty years.”

This seemed even odder. “If I may ask,” he said politely, for politeness was always best until he knew enough to make rudeness really count. “Who are you?”

“I am Sorceress Tapis. I make magic tapestries. Because of a complicated situation that I need not bore you with, my body became a magic seed, and it recently sprouted, returning me to my former state. Now I shall do my best to make do in the Land of Xanth as it is presently constituted. I trust there remains a market for magic tapestries.”

The Dastard remembered the Sorceress Tapis from his centaur-school history lessons. They would certainly be glad to see her at Castle Roogna. One of her magic tapestries still hung in the children's room there. It showed all of Xanth geography and history, and was a prime source of entertainment and amusement. There would surely be a rich market for more tapestries. The Sorceress would be highly successful and renowned.

So the Dastard re-entered place/time. He quested until he found the time and spot where the Sorceress had sprouted from the seed. A heavy rain had wet it, making it come to life. He moved to one hour before that. He picked up the dry seed and put it in the dry hollow of an acorn tree. He sealed the hollow with a fragment of wood, so that no water could get in. It would not get rained on, and would not sprout this day, or for many, many days to come. In fact, maybe never.

He relaxed, and was drawn back to his place/time in the present. He resumed walking along the path. The Sorceress Tapis was gone; indeed, she had never been there. He had performed another gratifyingly dastardly deed. He felt great.

This path had been worked out, but his sense informed him that there was another significant nexus not far away, along a side path. He took that route, and continued until he encountered another female. She was twelve years old, and suddenly appeared before him on the path. “Who are you?” he inquired.

“I am Surprise, the child of Grundy Golem and Rapunzel. I have many talents, but can use each one only once. Then it is gone. I just discovered that eventually my used talents will replenish, so I can use them again, if I just have enough patience. Isn't that wonderful?”

“That should make you very happy,” the Dastard said. “How did you discover it?”

“I was sitting by a pleasant pool, looking at my reflection in the clear water, and I remembered how I had once made a ball of water. Before I thought about it, I did it again. Then I remembered that I couldn't use a talent a second time. I was amazed. So I tried another old talent, and a third one. I discovered that my oldest talents had recovered, but the ones I had used recently were still gone. So I figured it out. I'm really, really pleased. I just had to tell someone, and you're the first person I've seen since it happened. Well, farewell.” She spread her arms and flew away without wings.

The Dastard went back into place/time travel. He explored until he found the clear pool where the girl had seen her reflection and made her discovery. He went to the time just a few minutes before her arrival there. He scooped up handfuls of mud and stirred them into the water until it was impossible to see any reflection. It would be hours before it cleared. The girl would not see her reflection, and not think the thoughts that had led to her discovery. She would not know what she missed.

He returned to the present. Another dastardly deed accomplished. This was turning out to be a great day.

But it was not over. If he hurried, he could nab yet another significant nexus. They were thick and fast, out here in unmolested Xanth. He ran back along the path to the main one, found another side path, and followed that. He encountered a man, an adult of moderate age, and handsome. “Who are you?” he inquired.

“I am Ho,” the man replied. “I am traveling to see the Princess Ida, hoping she will find my talent useful. I think she will. I might even marry her, if she likes me well enough. Maybe we'll have a child named Idaho who will have a talent with potatoes.”

Princess Ida was Princess Ivy's twin sister. Her talent was the Idea, and she had whole worlds of ideas. She could make any idea come true. But it had to originate with someone else, who did not know of Ida's talent; Ida could not make her own ideas come true. That was the one limit on an otherwise extraordinary talent.

“What is your talent?” the Dastard asked Ho.

“It is selective amnesia. I can make a person forget any particular thing he or she wants to. This would enable Princess Ida to forget the nature of her talent, and it would thus become far more useful to her. I think she should be very pleased.”

The Dastard nodded. This could make an enormous difference. Probably Ida and Ho would like each other, and would marry, and be happy forever after, and do much good with their new ideas. A wonderful future awaited them. How dastardly it would be to deny them that.

But as yet he wasn't sure how to do it. Ho was already on his way, and had a clear notion what he wanted; it seemed to be too late to change that. But there had to be a way. Sometimes the intellectual quest was more difficult than the physical one. “What gave you the notion of doing this?” he asked.

Ho, like most innocent upright decent folk, was glad to answer openly. “It was sheer coincidence. Last month I was walking along the path from my village when I happened to stumble on a stone I didn't see. I didn't fall, but its sharp ridge caught my shoelace and broke it. So I had to replace the lace. So I turned around and went back to the village for a new shoelace from Lacey, the woman who makes them. This time her new husband was there, a man I hadn't met before. So we chatted, and he turned out to be descended from Ghost King Warren, whose talent after he died he said was making ghosts. He inquired about my talent, and I told him, and he said that might be useful for Princess Ida. I had never thought about that, but the more I considered it, the more intriguing it seemed, until finally I decided to do something about it. So here I am, on my way--all because of a broken shoelace.”