Yon Ill Wind (34 page)

“Exactly where did you bite me?” the husband asked in his falsetto.  “You should know better than to bite a milkmaid in the heaving bosom.”

“I didn't bite your bosom, I bit your neck!” the vampire screamed.  “Do you think I don't know where to bite a helpless damsel?  Anyway, it wasn't heaving.” Then he realized the significance of that.  “Hey!  This isn't a real woman—it's a stupid dummy!”

“Fancy that,” the husband said, abandoning the falsetto, which was becoming a strain anyway.  “I guess it takes one to bite one.”

The vampire tried to pull away, but the arrow-grass hair had caught his head, and the tentacle skirt had grabbed his legs.  In addition, the sticky sap had glued his face to the dummy's neck.  “Help!” he cried.  “All I wanted to do was have a nice snack of blood, and now I'm stuck.”

“And in a moment you'll be a roast, you sap,” the husband said gleefully.  “Just as soon as I light a fire under you.” And he proceeded to do just that.

“You fool!” the vampire cried out of the side of his stuck face.  “You can't kill me!  I'm immortal!”

“Oh, I'm sure that's an exaggeration,” the husband said, warming his hands as the fire blazed up.

“Not much of one,” the vampire clarified.  “You'll see, you fool.  I'll be back to taste your blood yet.”

“If so, you'll have to do it as ashes, because that's what you'll soon be.  Maybe you'll find a nice piece of ash to bite.  Maybe I'll bury your ashes in a hole, making you an ash hole.” The man laughed at his wit, which was just as well, because the vampire didn't find it very funny.

However, the husband should have taken the threat more seriously, because the vampire really was immortal in his fashion.  As he burned to ashes, each ash became a mosquito.  The mosquito knew only one thing, and that was to suck blood.  Like cri-tics, they swarmed all over anything that lived, and sucked.  The husband was their very first victim, but for some reason he didn't feel honored.  He fled, swatting himself unmercifully.

“And ever since then, the vampire mosquitoes have plagued Xanth,” the Pawpaw Wizard concluded.  “And Mundania too, where it seems as if they have been forever, but that's only because of the itching.  But that is of little concern to you.  The point is that the vampire didn't die until shortly before the Reverse Magician did, and he lived in the same general region.  In fact, they were friends of a sort.  The one did not try to suck the blood of the other, and the other did not reverse the one into a blood-spitting image.  So if you go there and then, you are bound to encounter him.  And you probably wouldn't care to.”

Chlorine shuddered.  “Thank you for the warning.  We shall do our best to avoid the vampire.  At least we won't have to worry about mosquitoes.”

“And some believe that the story thread Joshua lost may be in the possession of the vampire.”

Chlorine looked at Nimby, evidently hoping for a negation, but Nimby nodded.  “Oh, no,” she groaned.

Now Tweeter understood why Nimby had not felt this would be an easy mission.  But they had no choice; they had to go after that thread.

So they moved on, after thanking the Pawpaw Wizard for the information and the sandwiches.  Nimby knew where to find the forces of nature, who, as fortune would have it, were not far distant.

They came to a region of ashes.  Chlorine looked around in alarm, but Nimby was unconcerned, so she relaxed.  In its center was a burning circle, and in the circle stood an attractive young or seemingly young woman whose long hair was the color of flame and whose short skirt was the color of smoke.  She was evidently enjoying herself, doing a dance, her bare feet unhurt by the hot coals.

Chlorine read Nimby's note.  “ 'Fira, force of fire, we are on a mission to save Xanth from destruction.  Will you give us a pass to travel two hundred years into the past?' “

Fira paused, and her fire and smoke paused with her.

She eyed Chlorine as if resenting her beauty.  “What's in it for me?” she demanded.

“If Xanth gets blown away, there will be nothing left to burn,” Chlorine explained.  “Your flames will expire for lack of fuel.”

“Um,” Fira said, impressed.  “Very well, I will give you a quarter pass.  But you may not find my sisters so amendable.” She extended a flaming fragment of paper.

Chlorine hesitated to take it, as did Tweeter, but Nimby took it in his hand.  The fire died down, though the paper continued to glow.

“Thank you,” Chlorine said.  “We are burning with gratitude.”

They hurried on.  Soon they came to a small lake.  In the center of it stood a woman whose gown and headdress flowed liquidly across her frame, which seemed to be as completely supple as water.

Chlorine read another note.  “ 'Mareen, lady of water, will you help us to save Xanth from dehydration?' “

It was clear that a key word had been uttered.  “Please don't utter blasphemy in my presence,” Mareen said.

“I apologize,” Chlorine said quickly.  “I meant that Xanth faces a severe loss of water, and will be all washed up, if we don't go to the past to—”

“Of course I'll help you,” Mareen said.  “Here is a quarter pass.” She produced a blue square of water, which turned out to be an aqua-colored card when Chlorine took it.

“Thank you so much.  We are overflowing with gratitude.”

They went on until they came to a gray rock statue of a woman in a plant green robe decorated with red strawberries.  She carried a cornucopia from which a wheat shrouded pumpkin was about to emerge, and her other hand was extended with a handful of seeds.

“ 'Alanda, lady of land, will you help us to save the Land of Xanth from being utterly despoiled?'” Chlorine read from Nimby's note.  Tweeter was coming to appreciate the finesse of language employed.

The statue came to life.  “How's that again?” Alanda asked sharply.

“Xanth will be blown into nothing but windblown mounds of garbage, hardly better than the spoils of war that harpies so love, if we don't travel to the past to—”

“Here is a quarter pass,” Alanda said, presenting a cob of corn she culled from the cornucopia.  The cob became yellow paper as Chlorine accepted it.

 “Thank you most copiously,” Chlorine said.

They continued, until they came to a windy glade.  Here there floated a woman with waist-length windblown hair and a long windblown cape, and a big hawk on her arm.

Tweeter was somewhat wary of the hawk, but Nimby did not seem concerned.  Indeed, Nimby indicated that Tweeter should address the bird.

Tweeter gulped and made his best effort.  “Oh mighty hawk,” he said in bird talk, “will your companion Windona hear our plea?”

“Get to the point, hummingbird,” the hawk snapped.

Tweeter decided to ignore the slight, as it was probably deliberate.  “Hurricane Happy Bottom is going to blow Xanth away, if we don't stop her by fetching a story thread from the past.  So we need a pass to—”

“Why should we care about that?” the hawk asked.

“We are creatures of wind.”

Tweeter thought fast.  “If the storm blows away all the trees, there will be no place for nests, and no prey species left.  And Happy Bottom will be the most powerful entity of air, blowing Windona into has-been status.  She—”

“Here is your pass,” Windona said abruptly.  Tweeter was startled; he hadn't realized that she understood bird talk.

“Thank you most breezily,” Tweeter said, taking the pass in his beak.  It resembled a feather, becoming feathery paper.

They continued on until they came to a private glade.

There was a table in the center.  It turned out to be made entirely of salt.  “Table salt,” Chlorine said, pleased.  “Just what we need.” She spread out the cards they had received from the four forces of nature.

Then they assembled the four passes.  One was a quarter pass one, and the next was a quarter pass two, and quarter pass three, and quarter pass four.  Together they formed a complete license to go against nature one time.

Chlorine filled in the time Nimby indicated:  Apull 19, 900.  Then she sat on Nimby dragon, and Tweeter perched on her hair, and she invoked the crime against nature.  “Let us pass to the past,” she said.

Suddenly they were in a different glade, or maybe the same one a hundred and ninety-six years before, clothed by different trees.  They would have four quarters of an hour to complete their mission before the past passed and they reverted to the present, ready or not.

“And I hope we don't encounter the vampire,” Chlorine said with another shudder.  Tweeter agreed.  “Maybe we can find the thread in his lair while he's out sucking up elsewhere.”

Nimby wrote a note.  Chlorine read it, and paled.  “He wears the thread,” she said.  “He has a balky button on his cape, and the thread reverses the button's nature and makes it amenable.  So it's always with him.  How can we possibly get that thread without getting sucked?”

Nimby looked at Tweeter.  Oh, no!  Tweeter felt his stiff little legs turn to jelly.  He should have known that he hadn't been invited along just for the ride.

But there was more.  Nimby was writing again.  Chlorine read the new note.  “ 'I can take you to the Vampire Gestalt.  But it will not be easy to take the thread, because he values it.' “ Chlorine looked up, causing Tweeter to adjust his perch on her hair.  “I can fix that, I think; I can stand before the vampire, and stun him by showing him my panties—” She paused, seeing Nimby's head shake.  She looked back down at the note she hadn't finished reading.

Tweeter readjusted.  “Oh.  'Panties don't freak out vampires.  Only lush, pulsing, sanguine necks.' “ She looked up again, and Tweeter rode with it.  “Well, then, I'll bare my lush pulsing sanguine neck, and—” Another shake made her look back at the note.  “Oh.  'We're not allowed to hurt the vampire, because that would change Xanth history in unpredictable ways.  He must meet his destined fate as described.' “ She looked up, and Tweeter shifted again.

“But that means that Xanth will be plagued by hungry mosquitoes!  Can't we eliminate them?” Another shake sent her back to the note.  “ 'A number of special creatures came to prey on those mosquitoes, such as a fine type of netting, and several repellents—' “ She looked up.  “I met a repellent once.  It was a disgusting creature.  But I suppose nets are useful.” She resumed reading.  “ 'And their elimination would mess up Xanth in other unpredictable ways.

It might even interfere with the story line we are in, eliminating us as characters.' “ She gulped and looked up again.  Tweeter was beginning to feel motion sick.  “Suddenly I see the point! This is all in the past, so any change can affect us.  And we don't want that, because we might cause ourselves never to exist, and our great adventure would be erased before it started.  So what must we do?”

She looked back at the note.  “ 'We must try to get the thread without Gestalt noticing.' “ She looked up once more.  Tweeter hoped that was the last one.  “And that's it.

We can't hurt him, or make too much of a fuss, lest we imperil our own very existence.  This scares me.”

Tweeter agreed emphatically.  He wasn't a creature of Xanth, but he was affected by Xanth, because what would happen if the Baldwin family blundered into it, and there was no Chlorine to help them get through it?  No Nimby to know the spot answers?  They could be in much worse trouble, and Xanth itself might be doomed without their help.  He had never seen Nimby nervous before; now he understood how justified the dragon's attitude was.

And he.  Tweeter, had somehow to get that thread.  Without doing any harm.  Or getting caught.  So he could help save Xanth from the resurgent -ill wind.  It seemed to be altogether too tall an order for one little bird.

He realized that Chlorine and Nimby were looking at him.  Well, Nimby was; the woman's eyes were trying to see him, but he remained perched on top of her head, so her gaze was missing him by about a wingspan.  But she was trying.  They wanted to know his reaction.

What else was there to do?  “Cheep!” he said boldly.

“Well, I'm glad you have confidence,” Chlorine said.

“You're the one who needs it most.”

For sure.  Tweeter tried to control his unconfident shivering.

“But I'll help all I can,” she continued.  “Maybe I will show him my panties, because that should distract him somewhat without actually freaking him out—which is what we want.  But I'm not going to let him near my tender neck.”

Tweeter appreciated that.

“So I guess we'd better go find the vampire,” Chlorine said halfway briskly.  “And I guess we'd better play damsel and dragon, so as to be as distracting as possible.  While Tweeter goes after the thread.”

Nimby assumed his dragon form, and Chlorine got on him.  Nimby knew exactly where to go, as always, so in only a moment and an instant, or perhaps two instants and a trace, they arrived at the lair of the dread vampire.

Tweeter was halfway disappointed.  It wasn't a big spooky old ancient castle, but merely a hut formed of bloodroot roots, all tangly and red, with a thatch of bloodroot leaves.  The sagging door was closed.  The hut was in deep shade, because vampires weren't especially keen on sunshine.

“He must be asleep,” Chlorine said.  “I understand they sleep a lot in the daytime.” Nimby nodded his donkey head.  “So I'll just call him out,” she decided.

She paused, as if hoping someone would tell her no, but no one did.  So she adjusted her blouse and skirt to show just so much and no more, while Tweeter flew to a nearby tree, hoping to be able to approach the vampire from behind.

“But I wonder whether you couldn't just fly in and get it while he's asleep,” she said, suffering a moderate afterthought.

But Nimby shook his head no.

So Chlorine completed her adjustments, which really weren't necessary, as she was equally lovely regardless, and lifted her chin and her voice.  “Oo-oo, Vampire Gestalt,” she called without a lot of volume.  “Are you in there?”

In a moment the door opened, and a dark figure appeared.  “Who calls me?” it inquired in a sinister tone or two.

Now Tweeter saw why the sleep approach wouldn't have worked:  the cloak was just unkinking from a tight wrap, and the button on the side was just coming into sight.  It would have been inaccessible while the vampire slept.  Probably he slept in a closed coffin box anyway, making the chore even more difficult.  So it had to be while he was up, and preferably outside, for a more ready escape.