Up In A Heaval (30 page)

“How about a magic mirror? So we could talk to each other?”

“That would take two mirrors, and ordinary folk like us can't get even one.”

He sighed. “I guess it was one of my usual stupid ideas. Maybe your folks will let me visit you in Euphoria.”

“I like your stupid ideas; they're always nice. Now I have to go, before my ectoplasm dissipates. Lie still and I'll kiss you slightly. Don't move.”

He lay still and felt a faint, light, soft touch on his lips. She had touched him with her ectoplasm. Then she was gone; he could feel her absence.

He just had to find a way to be with her more often and longer. But he couldn't think of it.

In the morning they resumed travel. Their journey was uneventful, and that made Umlaut uneasy. This was the last letter delivery, and Demoness Metria would be determined to stop it. What would she try next? Would she manifest as a horrendous monster, or try to plant a detour sign to lead them astray, or make another attempt to seduce him away from his mission? He was sure there would be something, and he wanted to see it, identify it, and nullify it, rather than be uncertain about it. But there was nothing.

Sammy showed them to Castle Maidragon. It was hidden in deep jungle, with the path to it barely showing; obviously few folk visited it. Umlaut seemed not to be the only person who hadn't heard of it. It was thoroughly obscure, which of course made it an excellent place for an errant magic mirror, or aspect of one, to hide.

In the afternoon they reached it. The castle was beautiful, with towers and turrets galore, and multiple levels with stairways and walls. It would be possible to get lost in such a castle. In fact it looked like fun. There was a faint aroma of chocolate in its vicinity.

Then they saw the dragon. It was racing around the castle on a well-worn track. There was no moat, but that hardly seemed to be necessary, considering the dragon. It had bright green scales tinged purple at the tips and folded wings. So it seemed to be a flying dragon that preferred to run on land to guard the castle, somewhat the way a moat monster confined itself to the limited water of a moat.

Para halted, and Sesame slithered forward to meet the dragon, who paused for the encounter. They sniffed noses and wriggled.

Then Sesame returned to explain: The dragon was Becka, daughter of Draco Dragon and a nymph. The castle belonged to the three little princesses, and Becka was caretaking it for them. She normally did not let strangers into the castle, but she knew Sammy Cat so would admit them on his authority.

Para approached the dragon, and it changed into a girl of his own age. She was cute, with blonde hair and brown eyes, and her dress was of green scales with purple tinges. “Why, hello,” she said, spying Umlaut.

He got out of the boat. “I, uh, am Umlaut. I have to deliver a letter to Rorrim.”

“No one by that name lives here,” Becka said.

“He's a, uh, magic mirror, or an aspect of one. We think he came here to avoid receiving this letter.”

“Why would anyone want to avoid a letter?”

“It's not a nice letter. Someone is looking for him and will find him when the letter is delivered. He doesn't want to be found.”

“Then why deliver it?”

“Because that's my job. Uh, the Good Magician told me to deliver all the letters and I would find out how to save Xanth from the Red Spot, and this is the last one.”

Becka blinked. “I'm not sure I understand all of that. But maybe I don't need to. It does sound important. Come in; the magic mirror's on the wall of the office chamber.”

“Uh, thank you.” They followed her inside the castle.

Becka turned to Umlaut. “I like you. Are you taken?”

“Uh, yes,” he said, disconcerted. There was that odd appeal of his again. Klutzy as he was, girls still liked him.

“Too bad. Who is the lucky girl?”

“Surprise Golem.”

“Her? I didn't know she was old enough.”

“Uh, she's not, uh, yet. But we'll wait. I love her.”

“Para, let me show you where our pool is,” Becka said to the boat. “Your feet must be tired.” She glanced at the others. “I'll be back in a moment to show you to the communications room.”

She was embarrassed, Claire indicated. So she had to get away from Umlaut to compose herself.

They waited in the main receiving chamber. This castle seemed to be very well appointed, considering that it was hidden in the middle of nowhere. The cats found a couch to lie down on, concluding that Umlaut would rather let Becka show him to the mirror. Actually if it wasn't for Surprise, he would have been quite interested. But of course she was a dragon girl, which complicated things. He wasn't sure he would want to keep company with a girl who could change forms and chomp him at any time. But of course that could be one of Surprise's talents too; it didn't matter that she could not repeat, once would be more than enough. So he took a chair and waited.

Sesame had serpentine curiosity, so she slithered around the room, then explored the adjacent chamber. In almost a moment she hissed: Come here.

Umlaut went to her. There on the wall was the mirror. He had had no idea it was so close; it had sounded as if it was more complicated to find.

“Hello, Rorrim,” he said, bringing out the letter.

HELLO UMLAUT the mirror printed, much in the manner of Com Pewter.

“I think you can't flee anymore, so now I'll deliver the letter to you. Sorry about that.”

YOU HAVE CAUGHT ME FOUL AND CUBED. GIVE ME THE MISSILE.

“The what?”

NOTE, MESSAGE, STATEMENT, COMMUNICATION, EPISTLE—

“Missive?”

WHATEVER, the mirror printed crossly.

“Hello, Metria. I wondered when you would show up again.”

CURSES! FOILED AGAIN. The mirror dissolved into smoke.

“It almost worked this time. If I had given you the letter, I guess you would have taken it away, never to be seen again, and so the final delivery would not have been made.”

The smoke formed into the shapely demoness. “Something like that,” she agreed. “And I would have saved my little boy.”

That made him feel guilty. She had been little but trouble for him, but he understood her devotion to her son. And really, Demon Ted was not all that bad. “I've got to try to save Xanth,” he said somewhat lamely.

“You're a decent guy. That's your problem.”

Becka appeared in the doorway. “Oh, there you are, Umlaut. And D. Metria, what are you doing here?”

“It's a complicated story,” Metria said, fading sadly out.

Becka led them through devious winding passages to the real mirror. “I hardly ever use this,” she said. “Mainly when Princess Ivy buzzes me to let me know the three little princesses are coming. It's their castle, and they like to play here. It's amazing what they can do with their magic.”

“They made this in play?”

“They did make this castle, but when they were older.”

That didn't make much sense to Umlaut, but he didn't want to admit that he had missed something, so he didn't. “That's nice.”

“First they made it in chocolate. Then they made it in stone, larger.”

This hardly made more sense. “I smelled the chocolate.”

“And here's the mirror.” She indicated it on the wall.

Umlaut, Sesame, and the two cats drew up before the mirror. “Hello, Rorrim,” Umlaut said.

The glass flickered, but no print appeared.

Claire stepped forward. This was the real mirror, she indicated. She understood his situation. Rorrim wanted to bargain with him.

“I just want to deliver the letter and be done with it.”

Rorrim says that he is prepared to offer you his services, if you do not deliver the letter to him.

“Why should I want his services?”

“This is an interesting dialogue,” Becka said.

Rorrim says he can show you your future of one year hence. That is what he is tuned to. Only his former master, Glassco, can tune him to any other range of time. But a year is good enough to enable you to have the best possible life.

“I don't understand. What's going to happen is going to happen. What good would it be to see a year ahead?”

The future is not fixed, it is mutable. What you do now can change it significantly. Rorrim can show you the result of your present actions, so that you can select the very best future for yourself. Because it continues to be mutable, he can continue to guide you in this manner, so that you will never need to make a bad mistake.

Umlaut had not anticipated such a dialogue, but it was becoming interesting, as Becka said. He made mistakes all the time and felt stupid about it. It would be nice to be able to avoid that. Still, he had a job to do. “No thanks.”

He wants to show you a sample, Claire continued.

Umlaut shrugged. He did want to be fair. “All right.”

You can do one of two things right now. You can give him the letter, and he will soon be captured and reduced to servile status. Or you can decline to give him the letter, and he will enable you to have your best futures. Here is your scene a year hence, if you accept his offer.

A scene appeared in the mirror. It showed Umlaut walking with Surprise. They were holding hands, and a little cloud of floating hearts surrounded them.

“I like that,” Umlaut admitted.

Here is your scene if you decline his offer.

The image shrank to fill one third of the mirror. The rest of it was blank.

“I don't understand,” Umlaut said, disturbed.

Neither does Rorrim, exactly, Claire indicated. Usually his images are clear. It seems that if you decline, you will soon face another choice, and that leads to three futures, two of which are blank. It may be that you will cease to exist.

That gave Umlaut a pang. He had faced that specter before. “I will likely be killed?”

That is not clear. If you die, your grave should show, and it doesn't. Maybe you are transported far away, beyond Xanth, where you cannot be tracked. It is odd; Rorrim has not seen this kind of ambiguity before. As far as he can tell, you will make some kind of decision that will lead to one of the two blanks, but someone else will try to act to give you the third. It will not be under your control. He needs to be closer to the “now” to tune properly to “then”—a year thereafter. But all that risk can be avoided if you accept his deal now.

Umlaut thought about being certain to have Surprise with him a year down the path. He certainly wanted that! But what, then, of Xanth? The other choice must be the one that showed how to save Xanth. Maybe it was only a third of a chance, but still, Xanth needed to be saved. How could not delivering the letter save Xanth? So he suspected that Rorrim was faking that.

“What about the others?” he demanded. “Sesame, Para, Sammy, Claire? Where are they a year from now?”

The mirror clouded, then showed another split screen. In half was swirling chaos; in the other half were two views of Sesame. In one she was frolicking in a moat with Soufflé; in the other she was still confined to the Castle Zombie dungeon.

This is beyond my fathoming, Claire indicated. Apparently your present decision can throw Sesame into chaos or into another choice between good and bad. She cannot affect this herself; it depends on you.

This was confusing, and not comfortable. “Try Sammy.”

Again the split screen, with chaos on one side, two views of Sammy on the other. In one he was twining tails with Claire; in the other, he was alone, looking bored and unhappy.

This too is outside my range, Claire indicated. I think he meets me in only one future. That is, he has met me in one and never met me in the other. Which is odd, since he has already met me. How can the future change the past?

“I don't know,” Umlaut said.

Rorrim says you don't need to gamble. Make the agreement with him, and he will enable you to track the futures of your friends also, so that they will go neither to chaos nor loneliness.

That really tempted Umlaut. But it didn't answer how Xanth could be saved if he did not deliver the letter. “I am here because Xanth is threatened by Jupiter's giant hurled Red Spot, and delivering these letters will somehow show how to solve that problem. You show no problem if I deal with you. How can that be?”

Rorrim says he does not know. He just sees the future, and there is no problem unless you don't make the deal. So you should make it.

Umlaut's head was spinning. He turned to Becka. “What do you think? Can I believe this mirror?”

“I don't think so,” Becka answered. “Rorrim wants to save his own hide, or glass, or whatever, so he's bound to tell you that his way is best.”

Rorrim says he is telling the truth, Claire indicated. He can't fake images of the future; he must show only what is there. He doesn't think there is a threat to Xanth, at least not by the Red Spot.

“But he could be lying about his inability to fake images.”

Claire shook her head. He is not lying, nor is he misinformed. The truth is merely too complicated for him to grasp, and for us too. There is something here that is larger than we are.

That set Umlaut back in another way. “There's been something funny about me all along. I can't remember my past life, and Dawn and Eve said I wasn't alive or dead. Sometimes I wonder whether I really exist.”

There was a soundless, sightless looming. Something horrendous was on the verge of happening.

“Maybe you had just better do the right thing,” Becka suggested. “Whatever it is.”

Umlaut nodded. “If there is something wrong about me, at least I can do what I set out to do. And that is to deliver the letter.” He held it out. “Rorrim, here is your letter. Take it.” He touched the envelope to the surface of the mirror.

Then everything changed.

Umlaut stood in the center of a large stage. Before him were three scintillating entities and a beautiful woman. Offstage was a huge and empty auditorium with space for hundreds of people. He had no idea how he had come here or what this was all about.

“It has been decided,” the lovely woman said. “The icon delivered all the letters before confirming his nonexistence. Demoness Fornax does not acquire the Land of Xanth, and her contraterrene equivalent is transferred to our possession. Demon Jupiter's motivating mock threat of the Red Spot is withdrawn. We have only details to conclude at this point.”

This was utterly weird. “Who are you?” Umlaut asked. “What's going on here?”

Demoness Fornax formed into the aspect of D. Metria. “How cute, it talks.”

“Abolish it,” Demon Jupiter said. “Its usefulness is done.”

“Spoken like a Demon without a conscience,” the woman said. She turned to Umlaut. “I am Chlorine, speaking for Nimby, otherwise known as the Demon Xanth.” A second scintillation formed into a donkey-headed dragon. “Demon Jupiter made a wager with Demoness Fornax, and you were crafted to decide it. Had you failed to deliver all the letters, or had you verified your own nonexistence before completing that chore, Demoness Fornax would have won, and the Land of Xanth would have been turned over to her for vivisection. I believe that answers your two questions. Have you anything else to say before being dissolved?”

“Dissolved?” he asked numbly.

“You do not exist. You are merely a construct with certain characteristics put into play for the purpose of deciding the issue. Your name signals that: It means a mark used to show that a vowel has a different sound. You look like a person, but you have a different reality. You are more apparent than real.”

Suddenly his worst fear had been confirmed. He had no memory of his past because he had no past. The two princesses had not been able to classify him because he had no classification. He did not truly exist.

Yet he was here, for the moment. “What about the others?”

“You are the only one.”

“I mean my friends, and the people I, uh, interacted with. What happens to them now?”

“Why, they go about their business as usual. Unlike you, they exist.”

Umlaut was having trouble organizing his case, but he was used to that. He plowed on. “But I affected them. I changed their lives, maybe only in little ways, but they have those experiences and memories. What happens if I disappear?”

Chlorine turned to Nimby. “He has a point. How can his associates deal with his nonexistence?”

The dragon wiggled a donkey ear. “Very well,” Chlorine said. She turned back to Umlaut. “You may decide. Either those experiences can be subtracted, so that the others never interacted with you, and you will have retroactive nonexistence. Or they can be confirmed, so that the others do remember and their lives remain changed, only without your presence. Which do you prefer?”

Either way, he was gone. He remained too numbed to be completely surprised or dismayed. But he did care about his friends and wanted them to have a fair say in the matter. “They should decide. It's their lives.”

Chlorine glanced at Nimby again. He wiggled the other ear. “Very well,” she said. “They shall decide.”

Suddenly the auditorium was filled with folk. Many of them were familiar to Umlaut, but most were not. Most of them looked somewhat surprised; they must have been minding their own businesses and suddenly found themselves here. “I didn't, uh, interact with all these.”

“Chain reaction,” Chlorine explained. “The ones you knew personally then affected others in an expanding ripple effect. By the time it runs its course, a significant portion of the population of the Land of Xanth is affected.”

“I, uh, see.” Now he spied Sesame Serpent in the front row, and Sammy Cat next to Claire Voyant, and Para Boat. They gazed at him encouragingly, now understanding his nature.

Chlorine faced the audience. “This person, Umlaut, was crafted to represent the Demon Jupiter in a contest with Demoness Fornax. That contest has now been concluded in Jupiter's favor. Umlaut exists only for the moment, having no past and no future. You are here to decide the extent of your interactions with him. How do all of you feel? Do you prefer to retain your direct or indirect experience with this nonexistent man, or to have it deleted so that you are unchanged from your former state, in this respect? You will indicate your preferences by turning green for keeping it, or red for deleting it.”

The people considered. Umlaut recognized tall Cory and short Tessa, whom he had kissed, and Breanna of the Black Wave, and Princesses Dawn and Eve. There were the little half demons Ted and Monica, with their parents, and Tristan Troll, seated uncomfortably between Terian and Tacy. There were six brutish bullies and six eager girls. There were the three little princesses beside Becka the dragon girl. There were Wira, and Caitlin, and Anathe Ma. Everybody with whom he had interacted, and many more. They all consulted among themselves, and soon a consensus developed: They wanted to retain their experiences. First a few turned green, then more, and finally a green wave spread across the audience. Only his four friends in the front row remained uncolored, but they would have to go with the majority.

“That can't be right,” Umlaut said, troubled. “There were significant changes made because of me. What about the loss of bad dreams?”

“You mean you were responsible for that?” a voice cried from the audience. It was Mela Merwoman, wearing legs. “All those mean goblins jumping in the water and trying to grab my tail, because they know they won't be punished in their sleep?”

“Well, uh—”

“So it's your fault my wife has been so irritable recently,” a man who must have been Prince Naldo Naga said. “You should be abolished!”

“But I was just trying to do my job.”

“What job?”

“The one that Good Magician Humfrey—”

“So is he here too?” Naldo demanded.

“Yes,” Magician Humfrey answered from another section of the audience.

“So there you are!” another man exclaimed, forging toward the Good Magician. “I hereby arrest you for obstructing justice.”

Umlaut stared and so did half the audience. “You are Detective Patrick,” Humfrey said, as he tended to know such things. “You did not get your Answer because you refused to give a year's service.”

“I didn't owe you any year!” the detective protested. “I was investigating a crime. You made me go through three stupid challenges, and then you wanted to charge me for the Answer.” He closed on Humfrey.

“You can't arrest the Good Magician,” a veiled woman cried.

“Who the bleep are you?” the detective demanded.

“I am his wife, the Gorgon.” She touched her veil. “Take one step more and I will remove my veil and look at you.”

Now there was riotous chaos in the auditorium. Most folk knew that the Gorgon's direct stare stoned whatever she looked at. “Don't do it!” Umlaut cried. “There are too many others here to make it safe.”

Several rabbits appeared, jumping in every direction. “What's this?” the Gorgon asked.

“The thought of you lifting your veil is a hare-raising event,” Humfrey explained.

Another man stepped forward. He was young, with blond-tipped brown hair and hazel eyes. “Let me handle it,” he said, unlimbering a thin club.

“And who the bleep are you?” the detective demanded as before.

“I am Beau. I don't think you should be such a bad loser. The Good Magician doesn't have to do your job for you.”

“You can't intimidate me,” the detective said. “I represent the law!” He reached for Humfrey.

Beau touched the detective with the club. Suddenly the man tore off his own clothing.

“What are you doing?” a woman demanded, shrinking away from the detective. Umlaut recognized her as Mouse Terian, Com Passion's beautiful mouse in human form, whom he had noticed before. “This is indecent exposure.”

But in the process of retreating, she brushed against Beau's club. Then she tore off her own clothing. This drew considerable additional attention. Terian changed into her mouse form and scurried away under the chairs. Dozens of girls and women screamed vigorously, projecting healthy eeeeeks. There was more jostling as others tried both to move away and to get a better view. Then more of them were removing their clothing.

“The club!” someone cried. “What's the club?”

“It is a strip club,” Beau said. “It makes people strip. That's why it is so effective as a way to break up aggression.”

“This is all up in a, uh, heaval,” Umlaut said, turning to Chlorine. “Can you—?”

Chlorine glanced at Nimby, who wiggled an ear.

Then the audience was as it had been a few minutes before, with every person in place. The detective was wearing a gag.

“This all started with the loss of bad dreams,” Umlaut said. “Maybe, uh—”

Nimby wiggled an ear. “The bad dreams have been restored,” Chlorine said.

“Then there's the mixed-up talents—”

Chlorine's eyes almost (but not quite) rolled. “There has hardly been time for such a problem to appear. Talents don't manifest until children are old enough to use them.”

“But we have ways of knowing,” a woman cried from the audience. “There are seers who can tell.”

“Is anyone complaining?”

“Me mad! Me had,” an ogress exclaimed. It turned out that her just-delivered ogret had been given the talent of accommodation, so that he would be able to find peaceful ways to help himself, such as using a stink horn as a defense. The problem was that ogres were supposed to be very strong and stupid, so they preferred to solve problems with ham-fists. A talent of accommodation would be an embarrassment to an ogre. It was definitely awkward.

Then a demoness gave her objection: Her half-mortal child had been given the talent of exorcising demons. How would she ever be able to take care of him when he reached brat age? How would he ever get along with his demon relatives?

A goblin was furious: His son had the talent of unknowingly helping those in need. What kind of a disgustingly nice pantywaist would he grow up to be?

A mermaid called out from her tank of water. “All my family have the talent of lovely, seductive singing,” she said. “But yesterday the stork delivered my daughter with the talent of summoning any kind of cheese.”

“So your fishy brat got the talent my cub should have had,” a mouse/woman crossbreed cried. “What's mine going to do with lovely singing?”

“And what about mine?” a lovely creature said. She was a voluptuous woman from the front but hollow from behind. “She'll be a woodwife, like me, destined to seduce unwary men. She got the talent of making herself and others sneeze. I have had to name her Gazun Tite. She'll never make it!”

Umlaut tried to picture a seductive forest creature tempting a man who sneezed violently every time he tried to approach her. He tried not to laugh, knowing it was a serious matter to the woodwife.

Soon the audience was back up in a heaval. Nimby had to wiggle his ear again, and revert it, and see to the reassignment of talents. But he looked as though he were becoming impatient. Umlaut felt even more guilty than usual; all this had happened because of events he had set in motion.

“So are we satisfied now?” Chlorine inquired of the audience.

The people did not seem completely satisfied, but they decided that things were now tolerable. Greenness spread.

Then a new spot of redness showed. “I have a question,” Tessa said.

“Stand up,” Chlorine said.

“I am standing.”

There was a murmur of mirth. That bothered Umlaut. “How short or tall a person is shouldn't be cause for humor,” he said. “She has something to say.”

The murmur subsided. “What is your concern?” Chlorine asked.

“You said something about a contraterrene equivalent to Xanth. I just wondered whether that could be where we sidestep.”

The faces of the audience were generally blank, but Umlaut remembered how Cory and Tessa had led them through an alternate realm. Could their magic be addressing the land Fornax had had?

Chlorine glanced at Fornax.

“Yes,” the Demoness said. “Two of your creatures possess magic to provide access without instant destruction. You will want to employ them in that capacity now that it is yours to colonize.”

Umlaut looked at Tessa. “I think the two of you will have a very important job soon.”

Nimby wiggled an ear. “That is true,” Chlorine said.

Both Cory and Tessa flushed, looking forward to it.

“Very well,” Chlorine said. She turned back to Umlaut. “Have you any concluding statement to make before the decision is implemented?”

“I, uh—” But he found himself at a loss for words, as was usual when there was anything significant to say.

“Now just half a moment!” It was an exclamation from the audience. One person stood apart, flaring red. Umlaut saw with a flare of joy that it was Surprise. Of course she was here too!

“Surprise Golem, you have an exception to note,” Chlorine said.

“Yes! I'm in love with Umlaut. How can you just—just dissolve him? You will make me a widow, and we haven't even been married yet. Where does that leave me?” She dabbed at her face with a hank of her hair.

“You do have the individual option of deleting your experience with him,” Chlorine pointed out. “That way you will not suffer.”

“While everyone else remembers?” Surprise demanded tearfully. “They'll tell me, and then I'll know what I never had. How can you do that to me?”

Now Sesame turned red, and so did Claire. They agreed with Surprise. Several other members of the audience went from green to normal, changing their minds.

Chlorine looked at Nimby. “We shouldn't balk love,” she told him. “Remember how it was with us?”

“This is getting complicated,” Demoness Fornax protested. “Secondary characters can't make decisions for the primary one.”

“Then let the primary one decide,” Demon Jupiter said, focusing his Red Spot on Umlaut. Umlaut realized belatedly that this explained another mystery: Rorrim had shown no threat to Xanth if Umlaut agreed to withhold the letter. That was because the threat, like Umlaut himself, had never been real. It had been there merely to motivate him to do his best. And delivery of the letters, or failure to deliver, would have settled the issue. That was how the letters related. So that assignment solved the problem. But if he hadn't delivered the letters, that would have given the victory to Fornax, and all Xanth would have suffered. There would have been chaos, or maybe that blank future. Unless Rorrim had a way to nullify that. Yet—