The Dastard (9 page)

“Yes,” Harmony agreed reluctantly.

“Twelve,” Rhythm said gloomily. “The secret will get out.”

“Not necessarily,” Ida said. “The Rule of Ten indicates that a secret can be breached beyond ten, not that it will be. If everyone is circumspect, it may hold.”

The princesses hesitated, not knowing what “circumspect” meant, but pretty sure it did not describe them.

“Four of us will be away from here,” Sim peeped. “Does that bring the number down?”

“No, dear,” Ida said. “Because four other Selves will replace you. However, they will indeed be more circumspect, so it should help.”

“Well, let's do it,” Grey Murphy said. “We will notify the demons while you see to the transfer.”

“It will be interesting to see our children all grown up,” Ivy said.

“There is one other thing,” Ida said. “Such an exchange will be wearing on the fabric of reality, so we can achieve it for only one day.”

“One day!” Ivy said. “That's hardly enough for them to get their bearings, let alone accomplish anything.”

“I realize this makes it difficult, but I fear they will revert automatically thereafter.”

“Perhaps it is one day for each of us,” Sim peeped. “That would make four days in all, for the group.”

Princess Ida opened her mouth in a manner indicating an adult objection. But the three little princesses jumped in with a song and melody and beat. “A day each! A day each! Four days! Four days!”

Ida looked slightly bemused, but she nodded. “Yes, that must be it. You have made it so. Four days, then.”

“Their merged talent can at times prove useful,” Grey Murphy said with five-eighths of a smile. “Let's hope four days will be enough.”

Ida nodded, and they departed. Then Ida turned to the princesses and Sim. “You may find this process odd, but not uncomfortable. Each of you must focus intently on my moon, Ptero. You will find yourselves floating, but do not be concerned. You will meet your other Selves, take their hands, turn with them, then let go and continue toward Ptero, which will seem larger.” She glanced at Sim. “You will touch wing-tips for the same maneuver. You will not be flying.” She returned to the princesses. “That is all there is to it. This contact will be your exchange of bodies; your spirits will go on, while your other Selves will take over your bodies and cause them to expand to adult size. But you need not be concerned about the mechanics of the transfer. In effect you will be traveling to Ptero, passing your Selves along the way. Try to stay together. Once you are there, be sure to get the advice of those who live there. When your older Selves are finished here, you will feel a signal, and know it is time to exchange back. Are you ready?”

The three princesses exchanged six glances, because now Sim was included. The magic of numbers somehow made the necessary glances increase faster than the people did. They had never quite figured that out. None of them felt ready, but all of them knew they had to do it. In any event it was what the adults called a rhetorical question, which was a fancy way of saying it needed no answer.

They stood in a line before Princess Ida. Her moon swung around in front of her head. It was the size of a little ball, and was normally friendly, because it knew them. When strangers were present, it would hide behind Ida's head. It reflected Ida's moods. When she was happy, it shone brightly; when she was unhappy, clouds covered its surface and it went dark. This time it was different. It wavered and seemed to grow.

They stood fascinated by it. The tiny ball became a small ball, and then a medium ball, and then a large ball. Then it started looking like a planet. Instead of seeming to float above them, it began to seem to rise below them, as though they were flying toward it. It was a wonderful and scary experience.

Four dots appeared against the globe, and the dots expanded into floating figures. Three were grown princesses, looking lovely, and the fourth was a beautiful grown bird who was not flying. These were their adult Selves.

The four other Selves came to hover before them. One princess wore a green gown; the second wore brown; the third wore red. The bird wore nothing but feathers. He was far larger than the others, being the size of a roc. But he was no roc; his feathers shone iridescently with twice the colors of the rainbow. This was Sim's older Self; there could be no other like him. He was destined to succeed his mother, becoming the oldest and wisest creature in the universe. But that would not occur for some time--probably a few million years, or whatever. Meanwhile he was learning, and was a good companion.

They reached out with hands or wings to touch their Selves. The grips of the Selves were light but firm. They turned, as in a dance, and let go. They turned around and sank down toward the huge planet below.

Soon they saw seas and continents, rivers, mountains, and plains. As they fell closer, they saw jungles and lakes, dotted by cute little houses. They were moving toward one particular house, which grew to become a building, and then a castle. In fact it was Castle Roogna, not identical to the one they knew in Xanth, but close enough to be recognizable.

They floated right to the roof of a turret, and through it, and came to rest in a chamber on an upper floor. They recognized it: This was Princess Ida's room. And there was Aunt Ida herself. Except that she looked much older.

They were safely on Ptero. But they needed to be sure. “Hello,” Melody said shyly.

“You look like Aunt Ida,” Harmony said.

“But you're too old,” Rhythm finished.

The woman smiled. “Hello, Princesses and Sim. Yes, I am Princess Ida. I am seventeen years older than the version of me you know on Xanth. Everyone is older, here.”

“Every person on the planet?” Sim peeped.

“No. Every person here in Castle Roogna at this location. We all got older when we moved the castle to this site.”

“This site?”

“Time is geography. The farther west we go, the older we become; the farther east, the younger. Your other selves needed to be twenty-one for this special mission, so we brought the castle here for the duration. Once they return, perhaps we'll move it again. We enjoy living at different ages.”

The three princesses and Sim found this too confusing to digest at the moment. “But we're the same age we were,” Melody said.

“Which is four,” Harmony added.

“And Sim is five,” Rhythm finished.

“Yes. That is the point. You exchanged with your older Selves, and now they are in Xanth at age twenty-one, and Sim is twenty-two. They are of age to handle the Adult Conspiracy, among other things. But you do not need to remain your present ages.”

They stared at her, just not getting it. “Maybe we need time to assimilate it,” Sim peeped.

“I think you need actual experience with it,” Ida said. “Your little sister has volunteered to show you around Ptero.”

“Little sister?” Melody asked.

“We don't have a little sister,” Harmony added.

“Or even a brother,” Rhythm finished.

“You have several other siblings here on Ptero,” Ida said. “This is where every person who might exist does exist. Not all of us reach Xanth, but we have full lives here.” She walked to the magic mirror and spoke to it. “Please ask Green Murphy to come to my room now.”

“Who?” Melody asked.

Before the others could add their bits, the door opened and a young woman of nineteen entered. She had dark green hair and bright red eyes.

“Green Murphy, here are your elder sisters Melody, Harmony, and Rhythm,” Ida said. “And their friend Sim. They don't understand about time geography. Perhaps you can show them.”

“Sure, Aunt Ida,” Green Murphy said. She turned to the triplets. “Hi, big sisters. Hi, Sim. Let's take a walk outside.” She gestured to the doorway.

Big sisters? This girl was adult! Even Sim had a perplexed curve to his beak.

“It's all right,” Ida said. “All your confusion will soon fade.”

Bemused, they followed Green Murphy out.

The Dastard walked toward his next nexus, pondering what had passed. That Ann Arky woman had been a strange one, coming from Mundania, claiming to be a princess, coming on to him so suddenly--it was as though she had become a different person. He did not trust what he did not understand, and she had been beyond understanding. So he had abolished her entry to Xanth, and that had fixed that. But he had more than a tinge of regret, because of her marvelous peep-hole bosom. A normal girl with that configuration could have been a lot of fun. So he did not feel as good about that particular unhappening as usual. If she had changed less suddenly, been less pushy, he well might have had a fine time with her. Maybe he had made a mistake, but it was too late to change it back. Sometimes he wished he could unhappen an unhappening.

Fortunately there was another nexus not far away. Maybe that one would make up for the last. What he really wanted was a lovely princess to marry, but that was bound to be complicated. Princesses were in much demand. If he unhappened her meeting with whoever else she might marry, she might just meet someone else, so he would gain nothing. He could unhappen that meeting too, but unless it was quite recent, there would only be yet another other man. Still, he would be willing to make the effort, if he found a suitable princess.

Meanwhile the girl, Becka, walked beside him. She had turned taciturn since her fall, not saying much of a word. That was all right; he needed to be rid of her anyway, unless he found a way to get around her dragon-enforced No with regard to showing anything interesting. He still didn't understand why the Good Magician had sent her to him, and he wanted to figure that out before he ditched her.

They came to a centaur village. The feeling of nexus was stronger; it must be here. Would he get to unhappen a centaur event? That would be a pleasure. They thought they were such superior creatures, when they were really only crossbreeds.

He followed his awareness into the village. There were stalls and storage bins and shelters. Centaurs were getting their hooves shod, and practicing their archery, and studying books. They wore no clothing other than quiver harnesses or head kerchiefs, and the females were spectacular, being generally better endowed than straight human women. But there was something different about these centaurs.

He paused to watch several of them playing a game with a ball and an elevated basket. The object seemed to be to throw the ball through the basket. It would be easier to do if they just set the basket down within easy reach, and wasted less time bouncing it on the ground and getting in each other's way. Maybe they hadn't realized that.

“They're all black,” Becka said.

That was it. They were Blackwave centaurs, dark as the Blackwave humans in their human sections, and with vertical black stripes across their equine sections. Well, why not? They could have any colors or patterns they wanted to. Centaurs came in all types; he just hadn't encountered this particular variety before. Meanwhile it was really interesting watching some of the females playing their game; they bounced almost as much as the ball did.

But this wasn't his nexus. He managed to pull his eyes away from the female players; the eyeballs made slight sucking sounds as they came free. He walked on. Becka accompanied him without comment. Her kind didn't approve of centaur apparel.

They came to a wall. It was blank, except for a single spot. A centaur stood looking at the spot with a magnifying glass.

“What are you doing?” the Dastard inquired.

The centaur looked at him. As he did so, the spot on the wall faded out, leaving the surface blank. “How do you do?” he asked.

Centaurs tended to be unduly polite. “Fine. Who are you?”

“I am Kress. And you?”

“I am the Dastard. What's with that wall?”

“My talent is to make a spot on the wall. Until this morning I thought it was worthless. But I happened to be carrying this magnifying glass that I found yesterday, and looked at the spot with it, and discovered that it's really a tiny picture. So I am studying it.”

This was slightly more interesting. “Let me see it.”

Kress gave him the magnifying glass, and formed a new spot on the wall. The Dastard oriented on the spot. Lo, it was indeed a tiny picture. It showed a disreputable-looking man meeting a lovely green-haired princess wearing a green gown.

Becka peered over his shoulder. “Why that's you, Dastard. But I don't recognize the princess. Which is odd, because I know them all, being one myself.”

“What?” the Dastard asked, startled.

“Nothing. I misspoke.”

“What do you see?” Kress asked.

“It's me--and a lovely princess,” the Dastard said, amazed. “But I never met her.”

“My pictures today have all been of me,” Kress said. “With my friends.”

“Take a look,” the Dastard said, returning the magnifying glass.

The centaur looked. “Why you are correct. This is you, and a human princess. But she is too old or too young.”

“Old?”

“The green dress and green hair and blue eyes. Princess Ivy is like that. But she is thirty-one years old, while this girl looks a decade younger. So it might be her daughter, Princess Melody--except that she is only four years old. So this must be someone else.”

“That's my conclusion,” Becka said. “That is not Ivy. But it could be Melody--as she will be in seventeen years.”

“How can you possibly tell something like that?” the Dastard asked her.

Immediately the girl withdrew. “I'm guessing, of course. The facial lines--maybe I am mistaken.”

“I wonder,” Kress said. “I was unable to understand these pictures before, but now it occurs to me that they are not pictures of the past or present--but of the future. I will be with my friends--and perhaps you will be with that mysterious princess.”

“In seventeen years? I can't wait that long!”

“Actually, you seem to be your present age, in the picture,” Kress said. “So there must be some other princess who is that age now, whom you will encounter. Soon, I should think.”

This notion fascinated the Dastard. He would soon meet a beautiful princess? This was what he longed for!

“This is amazing,” Kress said. “Until this morning I thought my talent was useless. Now I discover that not only is it a picture rather than a spot, it's a picture of the near future of the person closest to the wall when I make it. Instead of being pointless, my talent is actually extremely powerful. Imagine being able to see the near future! To anticipate bad events and avoid them. The prospects are mind boggling.”

The Dastard had to agree. Not only was this a suitable nexus that could yield him great satisfaction, he could eliminate the knowledge of others that he was about to meet a princess. He could keep his future private until it happened.

Becka looked at him cannily. “You're going to do it, aren't you,” she said.

“Yes, of course.” The Dastard slid into limbo and traveled back to the day before. He tracked the centaur as he trotted outside the village. He saw Kress spy a flash beside the path, and pause to pick up the magnifying glass. He slid back to a short time before that, and slid into full reality. He picked up the magnifying glass, set it on a rock, and smashed it to tiny sparkles with a stone. It was gone beyond recovery.

He returned to the present, gratified. Becka and Kress were there, looking at a spot on the wall. “Too bad you couldn't have had a decent talent,” she said sympathetically to the centaur.

“A foolish dream,” he agreed. “Almost I thought--but that was a mere idle fancy. A spot is a spot, and nothing else.”

They walked on. “You did it, you rogue,” Becka said. “You unhappened the glass. Now he may never know.”

“Precisely. You don't object?”

“Why should I object? It's a truly dastardly deed.”

Was she trying to fool him? The girl had agreed not to interfere, but her disapproval had been almost tangible before. Now she seemed to relish it. That was odd, and oddly dismaying. He thought he had her safely pegged, and now she was changing, almost the way Ann Arky had.

Well, maybe she was coming to appreciate his talent, and was warming to him. He thought of asking her again to show him her panties, but they were still in the centaur village, and he didn't want the resulting spectacle. She would either turn dragon or Show her nether clothing, and neither would be worthwhile in public. But later, when he got her alone, he would ask, just in case she wasn't bluffing or teasing.

They came to an older centaur standing by a river, gazing into the water. This one wasn't black, so he must be visiting. “Who are you?” the Dastard asked.

“I am Chet Centaur. I am on the way to visit my sister Chem, and stopped by here to see if my grandfilly is keeping pace.”

“Your granddaughter? Why would she be in the water?”

“It's a moderately complicated story.”

“We like stories,” Becka said. “Especially if they concern water.”

Chet glanced at them both. “May I inquire who the two of you are?”

“I am the Dastard. I do dastardly deeds.”

“I am the Sea-an innocent girl named Becka.”

“Well, if you are really interested, I will tell you. Some time ago I brought shame upon my species by encountering a sea cow at a love spring. It was an unusual coincidence. I was walking alone, and the question occurred to me: How do centaurs breathe? Now you might think this is a pointless question, since I am of the centaur persuasion myself. But it caught me by surprise, and in a moment I was gasping for breath. I couldn't figure out how I breathed. Was it in the human way, with human lungs in the chest? In that case, what sustained my much greater equine mass? Or was it in the equine way, with larger lungs in the barrel of the body? In that case, what was the function of the human portion? Did I have two sets of lungs, one to breathe with and the other to talk with? That seems inefficient, and centaurs are hardly noted for their inefficiency. So it was a difficult riddle.”

The Dastard was getting bored with this, but Becka seemed interested, and he was interested in her interest: Was she becoming more than a shallow child? If so, what accounted for the transformation? Maybe he would learn something useful by observing her reactions.

“Fascinating,” Becka said. “Do go on, my pet.”

“That riddle quickly led to others,” the centaur continued readily enough. He seemed to like having someone listen. “How do centaurs eat? We seem to eat mostly human food, in human amounts, but how can that relative trifle sustain the much greater mass of our bodies? It seems that magic must be involved, but many centaurs do not believe in magic as it relates to our own kind. Some even call it obscene. My dam Cherie is one such; she hardly cares to hear of any magic talent associated with any centaurs, though in truth my sibling Chem and I both have talents. Mine is to reduce stones to pebbles called calx, which are useful in calculating. In fact, the mathematical term calculus, a special system of algebraic notations that greatly facilitate complex computations, derives from that term for pebble. Naturally I am an excellent mathematician; my talent with stones greatly facilitates this.”

The centaur paused, as if expecting an expression of disinterest. The Dastard was more than ready to express it, but the stupid girl said “Do go on, Chet. This is a most interesting discussion.” As if she had half the wit to understand even a calculated fraction of what Chet was saying. The Dastard himself certainly didn't. Who cared about pebbles and calculations?

Gratified, the centaur continued. “So I freely confess I do possess magic, as does my sister. She has done well in life, incidentally; she had a liaison with a hippogriff and bore Chex, one of the first winged centaurs. She in turn married Cheiron, and bore Che, who became the friend of princesses and the tutor of Sim, the chick of the Simurgh, the oldest and wisest bird in all creation.”

The dope was name--dropping like mad. But there might after be something here. The Dastard was becoming less bored.

“Yes, the Simurgh is a rare bird,” Becka agreed. “I have made many enemies, but have been careful never to cross her. She has too much knowledge and power.”

The girl's talk was getting crazier. She was only fourteen years old.

How could she have had any experience with the Simurgh? But the centaur was talking again.

“But my history is less glamorous, though perhaps not without interest. Because I was pondering questions like these, I was not paying sufficient attention to where I was going. My right fore-hoof splashed into a small puddle. I didn't realize that it had been made by a colony of love bugs, and was a temporary love spring. It caused me to fall in love with the first female I spied thereafter. This happened to be a fat sea cow in a neighboring lake. Ordinarily I would not have given her a second glance. But suddenly I had to possess her. I galloped to the lake, plunged in, and proceeded to summon the stork with her. She seemed somewhat surprised, but flattered by the attention. Soon my passion abated--it was after all a very small love puddle--and  emerged from the lake and went home, somewhat ashamed for my lapse from centaurly standards. After all, all other species are naturally inferior, and we normally breed only with our own kind. But what was done was done, and I did not try to conceal it. My sister was very understanding; in fact she later had her own out-of-species liaison. My dam disowned me. That was painful, but I understand her sentiment.”

“Forbidden love,” Becka breathed raptly.

“The result was Cencow, a healthy centaur/sea cow crossbreed who had a human head, a sea cow tail, and six limbs adapted for swimming and manipulating objects. I visited the shore often to tutor him in centaurly matters, and I must say he was clever enough. I admit to having some pride in him, though I did not go out of my way to call attention to him. He grew up to breeding age, but found no females of his particular crossbreed type. So he frequented the region where the love bugs clustered, and in due course his patience was rewarded: a female griffin took an unwitting drink from one of their love puddles. She glanced up--and there was Cencow. She immediately flew across to join him. Their liaison was awkward, because she could not submerge and he could not leave the water, but love found a way, and they managed.”