Currant Events (24 page)

 “I will remember that word,”
Drew said. “And never use it in your presence.”

 “Thank you.”

 She used her foot to push the door
open. A chill draft washed out, smelling faintly of something too-long dead.
She stepped into the dark hall. A ghost swept up. “Booo!” it cried.

 “Hello, Booo. I met your friend
outside, and turned him into a child's blanket.”

 The ghost's mouth opened in horror. It
faded out.

 “That was cruel of you. The ghost
was only doing its job, after all.”

 “I regret my intemperance
already,” she said with satisfaction.

 She found herself moving. The hall
floor was a level escalator that was carrying her on into the center of the
house. She tried to see where it was going, but the shadows were too thick.

 Then suddenly she was falling. The
escalator had dumped her into a hole, hi fact it was an oubliette, seemingly
bottomless. She fell for a long time before remembering she was supposed to
scream. She screamed. Only then did she land in a squishy puddle. Her feet
slipped out, and she sat down on the squish. She reached down to discover by
feel what it was.

 And recoiled. It was a bed of snakes!
“%%%%!!”

 The snakes recoiled, hurt. She felt
guilty. They, too, were only doing their job.

 “How did you learn such dangerous
words?” Drew asked.

 “I recorded them in prior volumes
of the history of Xanth. I tried to erase them from my mind, but it seems I
didn't succeed. I am appalled at myself.”

 She worked her way to her feet-and
suddenly was blinking in daylight. Sherlock had put his hand between her eye
and the peephole, interrupting the connection and reverting her to the physical
realm.

 “Five minutes, you said,” he
reminded her. “I suppose I could have waited a bit longer, if you
preferred.”

 “Thank you, no. I have ascertained
that this gourd is in normal working mode. Do you know what I was
experiencing?”

 “Yes, Drusie showed us the
pictures Drew had from your mind. The horror house.”

 “All quite in order. So we can
proceed to the next one.”

 They remounted and rode to the next
gourd, passing assorted stray spooks along the way. They stopped at the gourd.

 “My turn,” Sherlock said.
“The burden need not be yours alone.”

 She was touched. “There is no
need. I'm sure you aren't required to do what I can do myself.”

 “I might as well help,
however.” He lay down, propped up his head, and looked into the peephole.
He froze.

 A picture appeared above him, as Drusie
relayed what was in his mind. It was inside the city of the brassies,
Brassilia. Shining brass was everywhere. Ahead were straight long golden
streets, perfectly squared off, with cubic buildings along them. There were no
windows or doors, just blank brass surfaces.

 There was a brass button on a pedestal.
“Leave that alone,” Clio warned, but Sherlock didn't hear her. He
pushed the button.

 A klaxon alarm sounded. Suddenly the
city was in motion. The buildings slid on tracks from one block to another,
rapidly.

 A gleaming brass wall was sliding
toward him. Sherlock looked behind him, but saw only another wall, too high and
slick to scale. He ducked down into a cubic hole in the ground and let the wall
slide over him. It was the outside of a brass structure. Soon it set down brass
pegs and anchored itself.

 Sherlock climbed back out of the hole.
He was in a huge hollow building. It was filled with pedestals on which stood
brass statues of men, women, and children. That was all, except for another
brass button nearby. “Don't touch it,” Clio said, but he did.

 The statues came to life. They were the
brassies, in stasis until summoned to action. They spied Sherlock and closed in
around him. “Who are you?” a brassy man demanded, brandishing a brass
club. “What are you doing here?”

 “Well, nothing,” Sherlock
said. “I was just looking.”

 “Looking for what?” a brassie
woman asked. The females had the feminine spelling. “Company? I can be
very soft when I want to be.” Indeed she looked soft in all the right
places.

 “Sorry, my interest is
elsewhere.” Sherlock made as if to leave, but they grabbed him with brass
tongs.

 Clio put her hand between the man's eye
and the gourd peephole, breaking the connection. Sherlock blinked, recovering
his orientation. “That was an experience,” he said.

 “Brassies aren't necessarily
friendly,” Clio said. “But I think this gourd, also, is in proper
working order.”

 They went on to the next gourd. Clio
took this one, staring into its peephole.

 She was in a world of paper. A flat
yellow paper circle pinned to a paper blue wall was the sun, and clouds
fashioned of white crepe paper floated beneath it. Across the cardboard
landscape were houses of cards. Even the ponds were paper.

 That wasn't all. The animals were paper
too, origami constructs moving among the pasteboard plant life. Folded paper
bugs crawled through the green paper streamers of grass. Paper birds flew down,
scratching for pleated worms.

 Despite her prior knowledge of this
region, Clio was fascinated. She walked around, studying it.

 But a cardboard man spied her.
“Intruder!” he cried, his voice like a rattling paper horn.
“Destroy her!”

 Oops. She turned to go, but a paper
tiger sprang out of the brush to cut her off. She turned again, and was
peppered by paper balls fired from paper tanks.

 Then she was looking at a brown hand.
Sherlock had blocked off the peephole. “No sense in letting you get
attacked,” he said. “You have already verified it.”

 “This gourd, too, is functional,”
she agreed.

 They continued to the next gourd.
Before Sherlock could address it, a fierce harpy squeezed out of it. She
collided with his face, except that her body passed right through his head.
“Watch where you're going, blackhead!” she screeched. She whirled in
the air and dive-bombed him from the other side.

 Sherlock flipped a chip at her. The
harpy became a gentle lovebird. “Oh, what a dear man!” she said in a
dulcet tone, and kissed him on the forehead. Her lips passed through him, but
did no harm.

 “This must be the gourd,”
Clio said as the lovebird flew away. She got down to inspect it more closely.
Sure enough, it was rotten at the core. “What's the most effective way to
fix it?”

 “Reverse wood?” Sherlock
asked.

 “Just destroy it,” Mare Imbri's
dreamlet image said. “Animals eat gourds all the time, and they never
function well after that.”

 Sherlock lifted his foot and stomped
down on the gourd with his shoe. It squished flat, squirting goo to the sides.
A splotch of orange goo flew out and landed on Clio's wrist next to the
compass. She was about to wipe it off when she saw that the blue arrow was
pointing right toward it.

 Could it be? She fetched another bag
from her pocket and scooped the goo into it. She moved the bag around-and the
blue arrow followed it.

 She had found what she had come for,
weird as it might be. A pulped fragment of a defective hypnogourd.

 Where to now?" Sherlock inquired
as they came to a crossing of trails.

 Clio looked at the compass.
“East.”

 They took the eastward trail. Soon they
saw a giant snake going the other direction. Sherlock readied a chip, but Clio
cautioned him. “This is an enchanted path; anything on it should be
friendly.”

 Indeed, when the snake saw them, it
shifted, developing a head. “A greeting, travelers. I am Ana Conda Naga,
touring Xanth for fun and romance.”

 “Hello, Ana,” Clio said.
“I am Clio, and my friend is Sherlock. We're following an assigned
direction.”

 Ana eyed Sherlock. “Are you a
couple?”

 “Just friends,” Sherlock
said.

 Ana shifted to full human form. She had
no clothing, being unable to wear it with her other forms. Some shape shifters
had clothing included; some didn't. She had exactly the kind of curves Clio had
lost. “Would you be interested in a passing dalliance?”

 He laughed. “What would a healthy
young creature like you want with an aging black man?”

 “Variety. Older folk have more
character, and they expect less.”

 “I'm flattered. But I think my
heart is committed elsewhere.”

 “She must be quite
something.”

 “She is.”

 Ana shifted back to naga form.
“Then I'll be on my way.” She returned to full serpent form and
slithered rapidly onward.

 Clio felt a pang. She had understood
Sherlock was emotionally uncommitted. But maybe he had just said that to avoid
embarrassment with the naga wench. Still, Ana Conda had been right on target
about character and expectations.

 They went on. They passed an open area
where piles of fluffy stuff were scattered. Sherlock checked it. “Wool,
just lying around. Someone must have lost it.”

 “No, I've seen this before.
Someone was daydreaming, and this collected.”

 “Daydreaming?”

 “Woolgathering.”

 “Oh. My thinking seems woolly
today.” He was a good sport about missing the pun.

 They passed the wool and came to a
pleasant region with a cave opening by a river. “Why this is Com Passion's
cave,” Clio said. “I recognize it. I must have business with her.”

 “Maybe she has what you
seek.”

 “A currant? Then why wasn't I led
to her directly?”

 “You seek a current? In a river? I
thought we had had more than enough of that.”

 “Currant with an A. It's a red
berry. The Good Magician told me to find it. I have no idea why it should help
me.”

 He nodded. “Ah, now I remember;
you told me when the Demoness Metria was distracting me, and it slipped my
mind.”

 Clio smiled. “The demoness has
that effect, deliberately.”

 “I know it, yet can't prevent it.
My intellect knows better, but not my eyes.”

 “That conies with the state of
being male.” But she was heartened; it meant he might be freaked out by
certain sights, but was not completely governed by them. “Just as my
intellect can't seem to explain the reason for the currant.”

 “It certainly isn't obvious to me.
But if that's what you need, that's • what you need, and I'll help you find it
if I can. Let's talk to Com Passion.”

 “You are remarkably patient.”
She didn't add that he surely wanted to return to the woman he was committed
to. She was almost sure he had said he had no prospects, but maybe he loved a
woman who didn't love him.

 Confound it! She had to know. So she
didn't go into the cave. “Sherlock-it may not be my business, but my
feminine curiosity is tormenting me. You told the naga lady that your heart was
committed elsewhere. But I had understood that-”

 He held up a hand, smiling. “You
must have told the dragons to stay out of my mind.”

 “I did. It seemed inappropriate to
spy on your private thoughts.”

 “I appreciate that. Complications
remain, but the one I meant was you.”

 “Oh!” Surprise and relief
prevented her from saying more at the moment.

 “We could have told you,”
Drew said, “if you had let us. He really likes you.”

 “I regret embarrassing you,”
Sherlock said. “Maybe I shouldn't have said it.”

 “But my lost curves-how-?”

 “As the naga said, older folk have
more character. I like yours. You are the nicest and most mature woman I have
encountered. Curves are for the eyes; character is for the heart. But since I
have no right to presume, I assure you that I will not act in any untoward
manner. One advantage of age is that we have better emotional discipline.”

 That was true, yet she was thrilled.
“Next time you get the urge to presume, please do so.”

 He shook his head. “You are
kind.”

 “I am serious.”

 He paused, then seemed to make a
decision. “Now is not the time. But when the occasion seems appropriate,
then you may repeat what you said, and maybe we can come to a better
understanding.”

 “I agree.” At that time he
would surely set her straight about the distinction between intellectual
admiration and physical attraction. “Now we must brace the friendly
machine.” Without giving herself any more time to consider, she marched
into the cave. Sherlock followed.

 A screen lighted with pink script, greetings,
travelers.

 “And hello to you, Com
Passion,” Clio said. “I think you know me. My companion is Sherlock
of the Black Wave. We also have two small telepathic dragons from the moons of
Ida, Drew and Drusie.”

 Dragons. 'What a delight. Terian, come
see.

 A lovely young woman appeared.
“This is Mouse Terian, Com Passion's mouse,” Clio murmured to
Sherlock.

 “Glad to meet you,” Sherlock
said politely.

 Terian stepped into him and kissed him
on the cheek. That effectively silenced him. Then she looked at the little
dragon in his pocket. “Hello, Drusie.”

 “You're a mouse!” Drusie
exclaimed. “It's in your mind.”

 “Yes, I really am a mouse. But I
assume human form when meeting humans. I regret I don't have a dragon
form.”

 That can be arranged,the screen
scripted. Com Passion, like her friend Com Pewter, had the power to change
reality within her cave.

 “No need,” Drusie said.
“We can project as mouse forms if we need to.” She glanced across at
Drew. “But we don't need to.” She projected an impression of jealousy
for Terian's beauty. It was humor, as neither dragon nor mouse cared much for
the nuances of human appearance.

 find what Brings you here, Muse of
History?

 “A compass lent me by the Good
Magician. It pointed me here without explaining why.”

 I don't know why either. But perhaps it
was to do me a favor.

 “Perhaps,” Clio agreed
warily. The sapient machines could be extremely demanding.

 Panion, appear.

 A miniature version of Passion
appeared, looking shy.

 This is my daughter-system,Passion
explained. She is getting compli-catedenough to set up her own site, But Com
Pewter and I haven't found a suitable one in Xanth. Since you are going to
Counter Xanth, that may be a better place. Take Panion along.

 “Counter Xanth!” Clio
repeated, surprised. “How do you know that?”

 It's on the Outernet.

 “I'm really not sure-”

 Muse agrees.

 “I'm sure it's all right,”
Clio agreed. She knew her reality had been summarily changed, but it did seem
all right. The compass had led her here, after all.

 She picked up the tiny machine and put
her in her other pocket, along with the bagged piece of gourd and the durian
fruit.

 Muse gets immediately on her way.

 And thus they were on their way to
Counter Xanth. Com Passion had been somewhat overbearing, but it seemed that
this was what the blue arrow intended, for now it pointed a new direction.

 “What is Counter Xanth?”
Sherlock asked.

 “That's complicated to explain.
It's an alternate magic land that is now being settled. Things are reversed
there.”

 “Ah-like reverse wood. That
interests me.”

 “Not like reverse wood. You'll
have to see it to understand, I think.”

 “I'll be glad to.”

 A bell sounded, startling them both.
Then Clio realized it was from her pocket. She brought out the little machine.
“Was that you, Panion?”

 YES,the screen printed in neat little
slanted capitals. WHAT IS REVERSE WOOD?

 “You don't know that? Didn't
Passion share her database with you?”

 SHE SAID I SHOULD LEARN THINGS ON MY OWN,
SO AS NOT TO BE A PERFECT COPY OF HER,

 That seemed sensible. So Clio explained
reverse wood for the little machine's little database. And realized that this
was a child machine, subject to the Adult Conspiracy. That meant she would not
be able to discuss serious things with Sherlock while Panion was with them. She
sighed inwardly.

 They met a girl walking the opposite
way. “Don't get close to me,” the girl said.

 Clio was taken aback. “My dear, we
are not going to do you any mischief.”

 “It's not that. It's because my
name as Ann Gina, after my curse. If I touch anyone I make throats sore, and if
I get really close, I make hearts hurt. So stay away from me.”

 “We'll be glad to. Thank you for
warning us. But don't you get lonely?”

 Ann burst into tears. “Yes!”

 “Maybe I can help,” Sherlock
said. “Take this.” He proffered a chip of reverse wood. “It
should enable you to make throats feel better, and hearts too.”

 “Really? I don't understand.”

 “It's reverse wood. I can't
guarantee it will do that, but it seems worth the experiment. Touch me.”

 A bell sounded. Clio brought Panion
out. WHAT'S GOING ON ? “You don't need to print all the time,
dear.” "What's going on?

 “Sherlock is using reverse wood to
cure Ann Gina.” Tentatively, Ann touched Sherlock. “I feel
fine,” he said. “I suspect if I had a sore throat, it would be better
now. In fact I think my middle-aged heart is beating more strongly.”

 “Oh!” Ann exclaimed.
“Thank you so much!” She kissed him on the cheek and went running on
down the path. “I must tell my sister, Anna Sthesia!”

 “Let me guess,” Sherlock
said. “She makes folk numb.” “You are getting popular with the
girls,” Clio remarked teasingly. “I admit it's fun. Too bad I'm not a
generation younger.” “I think your age is fine.”

 He glanced sidelong at her. “Are
you bringing up the matter of presumption?”

 A bell rang. Clio brought Panion out
again. 'What does presumption mean?

 Clio defined the word as well as she
could, then added to Sherlock: “No. Not while we have underage
company.” 'What aren't you saying? Panion demanded.

 “Nothing, dear,” Clio said
with a smile. But then she had to explain the Adult Conspiracy.

 That's horrible,Panion scripted.

 “But it is nevertheless the way of
it in Xanth, and in much of Mun-dania too,” Clio said. “You must age
to maturity before you are allowed to know certain things.”

 I hate that.

 “Children do. Then they grow up
and join the Conspiracy themselves.”

 I'll never do that.

 Clio just smiled. She had encountered
that before. Children inevitably aged, despite their best intentions, and
joined the enemy.

 “Drusie and I can't get into
Panion's mind either,” Drew remarked. “It's frustrating.”

 “Well, she's a machine.”

 “Even machines are bound by the
Adult Conspiracy?”

 “So it seems. Perhaps they are
humoring us, as the demons and centaurs do. Passion surely would have told her
about this aspect of Xanthly culture, had she wanted her to know.”

 The day was warm, and they were walking
swiftly so as to get somewhere by nightfall. They came to a small river with
several stepping stones. “I'm tempted to take a dip, just to cool
off,” Sherlock said.

 “So am I. We have dipped before,
in less positive circumstances.”

 But before they could do anything about
it, a head appeared in the water. “Hello, humans!”

 “We didn't realize anyone was
swimming here,” Sherlock said, removing his hand from a button.

 “Well, it's not as if I could do
anything else.” A tail flipped out of the water behind the head.

 “A mermaid!”

 “Yeta Mermaid,” she agreed,
drawing her foresection out of the water to show exactly those curves Clio
lacked. She had dark short hair, but the rest of her was plainly female.

 “I am Sherlock, and this is Clio.
We also have two small dragons and a baby computer along.”