Air Apparent (10 page)

Well and good, to a degree. He was out of danger. But how was he going to get away from the dragon, who might merely be playing possum? The possum was a magical Mundane animal who could play dead, then come back to life unexpectedly. As the dragon might, the moment the Factor moved.

And of course he couldn’t move from this spot, because he was a plant with solid roots. He would have to change, and that might be what the cunning creature was waiting for.

He needed some way to distract the dragon without changing forms until he had at least a bit of distance. But what could a pot plant do?

He rattled his pots. They clanged together, raising a metallic ruckus. The fresh new ones clanged sharply, while the worn old ones thudded. It was an awful racket.

The dragon woke, annoyed. The noise continued, surely tingling the creature’s sensitive ears. It issued a blast of steam, but that didn’t stop the panning; it just got louder and less in tune. This was almost guaranteed to deliver a headache.

The dragon gave up and moved away, trying to shake the headache out of its noggin.

Now he could change. He became a tortoiseshell cat nine or ten years old named Mystery; it had a name tag on its collar.

The dragon sent a plume of steam that took live aim on the cat. The Factor leaped out of the way and bounded toward the nearest small tree. He jumped into its branches and hid behind its trunk.

But in a moment the dragon’s snoot nudged around the trunk. He leaped clear just as the next superheated jet of steam was loosed at point-blank range. And landed by sheer random coincidence on the dragon’s head.

Uh-oh. This was not the most secure place to be. But he couldn’t leap off without becoming an immediate target. So he clung where he was.

The dragon shook his head violently. The cat clung tightly. It was a standoff—for all of one and a third moments. Then the cat flew high and wide.

But already the dragon’s snoot was orienting, ready to send a spear of steam to catch the target in midair.

The Factor changed forms again. And became a pairing knife. The jet of steam struck it—and split in two. That was the knife’s talent: to make pairs of things.

The Factor fell safely between the pair of jets. But he couldn’t move out of range this way. If the dragon attacked him, he might make two of it, which would be twice as bad. He had to find a better random form.

He became a bone. It seemed to be the long bone of some creature’s arm or leg. It was bound to be magic in some way; all his changes were. But what good was it?

The dragon’s charging foot came down on the bone. And the dragon burst out laughing. He couldn’t stop; he laughed so hard he rolled on the ground.

Now the Factor realized what kind of bone it was: a humoris bone, that made anyone who touched it laugh uncontrollably. Well, that did eliminate the threat, for the moment. But he still couldn’t go anywhere, and he didn’t want to lie here forever. The dragon showed no sign of departing; it was too busy laughing. Striking a funny bone wasn’t really all that funny, but the magic didn’t care.

He had only one magic stunt left today. That one would have to be something useful, or he was stuck.

He changed—and became a cue card, in the shape of a Q. It seemed impossible to become anything that would be really useful! Printed on the card was advice on the right time to say and do things. So what did this one say? LIE LOW UNTIL THE STORM COMES.

What did that mean? The Factor was still trying to figure it out when there was a crack of thunder. Suddenly it was drenchpouring. The dragon was soaked, which rather quenched his humor, and the Q card floated on the surface of the flooding path. It was borne away from the dragon, carried along by the forming river.

And soon enough it was well clear of the danger. The Factor reverted safely to his natural form. The Q card advice had been accurate, though it had left him soaking wet. Well, that was one way to survive, but he hoped he would not have to do it again. He found a tree to hide in; he would have to finish the day and night here.

In the morning, recharged, gorged on freshly harvested pies—so much better than black bread!—he was ready for action. What now? This business of touring Xanth was turning out to be less fun than he had anticipated. He was tempted to return to the nymphs for another night, but random travel was unlikely to take him there. Still, travel seemed more promising than changing forms. He traveled.

He arrived in a village. It was eerily silent; no one was speaking a word. Was this where the deaf folk lived?

“Hello,” he said experimentally to the nearest man.

The man turned to him and held up a sign. HELLO STRANGER.

Surprised, the Factor spoke again. “Can’t you talk?”

The man held up another sign: WE BELIEVE IN SIGNS.

So it seemed. “What is there to do in town?”

The man held up another sign. YOU CAN GET A JOB PRINTING SIGNS.

To be sure. “I meant for entertainment.”

THAT IS ENTERTAINMENT.

“Not for me.”

YOU MUST LEAD A DULL LIFE.

The Factor concluded that he had had enough of this. He traveled again.

This time he found himself in a large enclosure, surrounded by cuddly young animals. They clustered eagerly around him.

“Oh, I didn’t see you,” a voice said. “You must have just come in.” It was a pretty girl.

“I did,” the Factor agreed, uncertain what was going on here. He must have exchanged with one of the animals. “I am—the Factor.” She looked as if she wouldn’t recognize the name, so he didn’t have to hide it.

“I’m Petting Sue,” she said brightly. “My talent is to attract young animals who like to be petted. Mostly children come. You look older.” She took a deep breath, emphasizing her charms. “Do you like petting?”

He considered half a moment. There was more than one meaning for the word, and he didn’t care much about cute animals. But if he petted them, he might get to pet her, later. “I may.”

“That’s good. The animals feel deprived if not constantly petted.” She paused. “You’re not a felon, are you?”

Actually some did consider him to be that. “Suppose I am?”

“I have a lamb you can ride. Being on the lamb is better than being punished.” She indicated the lamb.

Did she want him to ride the lamb? “I hesitate to put any weight on such a small creature. It might hurt it.”

“Oh, anyone can be on the lamb. Try it.”

Well, why not. He walked to the lamb and bestrode it. Surprisingly, his legs fit, and he was riding it. His weight didn’t seem to bother it at all. “I am on the lamb,” he said gravely.

She clapped her hands with girlish glee. “Oh, I’m so pleased. The lamb loves giving rides.”

But the other animals still wanted to be petted, so he had to dismount and pet them all. It was a chore, but Sue seemed suitably thrilled.

It was time to get closer to her. “How about you and I—” he started as he petted the last warm fuzzy creature, a miniature sphinx.

“Oh, there’s Gourd’n!” Sue exclaimed, and ran to embrace and kiss the man just arriving.

So much for that. She had a boyfriend. Most pretty girls did.

In half an instant Sue was introducing them. “Gourd’n, this is Factor, who has been petting everyone. Factor, this is Gourd’n G’rd’n’r, who grows all the vegetables and things my pets eat. I couldn’t get along without him.”

Now the Factor saw that the man had a wagonful of produce. Soon he was handing it out to the hungry animals. Indeed, Sue needed him to feed her animals.

It was time to move on. He had traveled magically twice; he had four more to go. He invoked his magic again.

And got nowhere. There was no magic. Something was wrong.

He walked away. Neither Sue nor Gourd’n noticed, though a baby dragon puffed a snort of smoke, sorry to see a good petter go.

When he was well outside the enclosure, he paused to consider. He tried to change form, but that didn’t work either. His magic was definitely gone. How could this have happened, after only two magic stunts?

Then it came to him. The limit was not six stunts. That was just the way it had been on his first day outside. The limit had to be random, because he was the Random Factor. He had been limiting himself to six when probably there were more than that on some days. Today there were fewer.

This was a problem. How could he proceed safely, if he never knew the limit? He might conjure himself into a nest of nickelpedes and not be able to conjure himself out, or to change form to protect himself. This made practicing his magic far more risky.

Yet what could he do? It might be useless to limit his stunts, because the limit might be low and he would be caught anyway. It might be better to use them freely, then fend for himself when they stopped, knowing he could no longer depend on them. At least he could always revert to his natural form. Still, it would be nervous business.

Meanwhile, he needed to find food and safety for the rest of the day and night. Maybe he had been depending too much on magic. He remained free and able to explore; those were worthwhile, regardless.

He set off walking again—and paused. Something else was wrong. Not magic, exactly. It was an—awareness. Someone was aware of him. He felt it. Someone was thinking about him. That could be mischief.

He walked to an old beerbarrel tree. Someone had installed a spigot in its trunk, with a mug. That was thoughtful. He took the mug, turned the spigot, and got himself a foaming mug of beer. Then he sat down and leaned his back against the tree as he drank it.

The beer quickly went to his head, making him reminisce. He was originally from the Factory, where factors were produced for export to Mundania, where mathematicians, logicians, physicists, teachers, and other obscure folk used them. It was a dull business, but that didn’t bother most of the factors because they had no imagination. They were proud of their mathematical magic. But the Random Factor was different. He was conscious and creative, and he hated being limited. He liked to find wild new ways to do things.

True, sometimes his innovations led to mischief. They still hadn’t fixed the randomness he had innocently introduced into quanta. But that was the price of original thinking. There was much more to be gained than lost from thinking outside the box that was the Factory.

Somehow they hadn’t seen it that way. So they had confined him in a cell in the dungeon of Castle Maidragon, guarded by the infinitely potent magic of the Three Princesses, where he couldn’t corrupt any other factors. All he could do was randomize anyone who opened his cell door. There was some little satisfaction in that, but not nearly enough. Most of the randomness he initiated that way got unrandomized all too rapidly.

But then his randomness had paid off. He had randomly inverted it, so that instead of making others travel or change form, he made himself do it. That was much better, because it brought him relative freedom. Yes, there were problems, but they were really challenges, and he loved tackling them. Already it had introduced him to a number of interesting people and situations, such as the nymphs.

Naturally the Factory wouldn’t be pleased. He knew it would set out to confine him again the moment it realized he had escaped. And it seemed it had, because that was surely who was thinking of him. The Factory would probably send out an agent to catch him.

Well, all he had to do was stay clear. But how? The Factory knew how to track him. Every time he did magic, the Factory would pick up on the signal and orient on it. That meant that someone or something would be stalking him. He did not like that. Sure, he could randomly flee the agent, who would take time to catch up again. But what fun would it be to be constantly chased? When would he ever be able to relax?

It would help if he knew who the Factory Agent was, and how he proposed to confine the randomness. But his magic wouldn’t tell him that. He needed help.

Well, that defined the problem and perhaps the solution. He needed to find someone who could fathom reality and tell him about the agent. Now was a good time to do it, while he was unable to perform his magic.

Too bad he didn’t have the talent of locating worthwhile folk. He would just have to do it the hard way, meeting and questioning people.

He found a reasonably innocuous path and followed it purposefully. Soon he encountered a gnome: a manlike creature about half his height who looked grumpy.

The Factor put on his most winning smile. “Hello, sir. Are you the one I seek?”

“No,” the gnome said, scowling, and sought to walk on past.

This did not bode well. “But how can I be sure such a handsome creature is not the one I seek?”

“You can just assume it. Nobody seeks me.”

“Why?”

“Because I am Gnome Atter. My talent is to make things unimportant. Such as this encounter.”

The gnome walked on, and this time the Factor did not try to engage him further. The little man was right: he was unimportant for this purpose.

The problem was that encountering folk randomly was apt to be tedious. But he had no choice, being who he was. He walked on.

The next creature he encountered was a large white-winged snake, twenty to thirty feet long, with green and orange scales and a cute smile. He let it fly on by, as it was unlikely to have the information he needed.

Then he met a boy and girl. They might be worth questioning. “Hello. I’m the Random Factor. Do you know how to fathom relevant information?”

“Not us,” the boy said. “We’re twins, named by our uncle. I’m Denephew, she’s Deniece. Our talent is telling horrible jokes. For example, a crow, a rabbit, and an ogre walked into a bar—”

“It was an ogress,” the girl said. “And they said to the bartender—”

“Very funny,” the Factor said, and walked on.

Next was a wise-looking old man who seemed vaguely plantlike. The Factor introduced himself, then asked, “Can you answer a question?”

“I am Herb Sage,” the man replied. “I impart wisdom. Your health will improve if you limit your diet to selected herbs.”

“Thank you. What I want to know is—”

“I do not give specifics, just generalities.”