Currant Events (35 page)

 The house and Sorceress vanished,
leaving them standing in a glade surrounded by comic strip. They were on their
own.

 Clio knew they could simply let their
soul bodies dissolve and float back to Xanth; return was easier than traveling
out, because their souls remained connected and could readily find their
bodies. But she remained stunned by the awfulness of the trap they had fallen
into. The Danger of the Day had taken Sherlock from her. While she didn't quite
love him, she was close, and now that prospect was gone. He remained a decent,
worthy man-just not one who was in love with her. That was painful. She needed
time to adjust to the ugly new reality.

 Also, the blue arrow pointed through
the strip. That suggested that her business here on Ptero wasn't finished.

 “What's so bad about a comic
strip, really?” Zaven asked. “So it's crowded with puns. So are parts
of Xanth.”

 Clio was in no hurry to meet her next
engagement. She knew of no Litho, but evidently he was a formidable entity.
Morgan thought he would kill her. Well, did she really have much reason left to
live? She had fouled up her quest and her prospect for love. Maybe it was time
to let her destiny catch up with her. She didn't have to race to it. So she
made only a token effort to dissuade the man. “You don't have to face it.
The spancel has been returned; you and Thesis are free. Just let yourselves
dissolve and you'll be back in Xanth.”

 “No, I'm curious too,” Thesis
said. “It would be a shame to come here and not see the sights.”

 As if it were a honeymoon tour.
“It seems to be time for a demonstration,” Clio said. “Remember,
all you have to do is plow straight ahead, and you'll be out of it soon.”
She set the example by taking Ciri-ana's hand and stepping into the comic
strip. Let them find out for themselves.

 A young woman appeared before her.
“Hello. My name is Annie Mae, and I'll be your guide for this tour.”

 It was starting already. Anime, in an
animate strip.

 “Thank you,” Clio said.
“Be sure you introduce yourself to the others.”

 “They are new to comic
strips?”

 “Yes. They want to fully
appreciate this one.” Clio felt almost guilty.

 “I'll make sure they do,”
Annie Mae said with a somewhat predatory smile. She passed Clio by and went to
intercept the couple.

 There was the sound of bells. A man
walked by. The base of his trouser legs was quite wide. It was from them the
bells were ringing.

 “Bell-bottom trousers,” Annie
Mae explained.

 Clio stifled her groan. Zaven, behind
her, didn't quite manage to. He was learning.

 She plowed on-and almost banged into
another man. Thesis, following close behind her, did crash. It was a full
body-to-body collision, face-to-face. Thesis was shapely; this was bound to
give the man an idea.

 But he backed off. “Sorry, Miss-I
have no interest in the stork.”

 Flustered, Thesis asked, “Who are
you?”

 “Peter, Miss-Salt Peter.”

 “That's all right,” Thesis
said uncomfortably.

 “But my sister Afro is very
interested,” Peter said. “She's something else.”

 “Who?”

 “Afro Disiac. She makes anyone
interested.”

 “Oh.” Thesis was learning
too.

 A weird cylindrical creature in curved
metallic plates approached them. “Hello,” it said. “My name's
Dillo. Armored Dillo.” Then it tripped over a rock and dented its armor.
“Oh, my rumpled steel skin!” it moaned.

 This time Ciriana groaned. She too was
learning.

 Meanwhile Clio was moving on, still
holding Ciriana's hand. The far side couldn't be much farther. But she
encountered a swarm of buzzing insects. They formed a cloud around her head,
alarming her. “Get away, you bees!”

 A big one hovered before her face. It
was in a tiny royal robe, and wore a miniature crown: the queen. “We're
not B's,” she buzzed severely. “We're As, the superior ancestors of
B's.”

 “Ugh,” Sherlock said.

 “We're the very best of our
kind,” the queen continued. “The B's are second-rate descendants, and
if you do business with C's or D's or any of the lower grades, you'll really
get stung.”

 “We'll avoid them,” Clio
said.

 Still the A bee hovered before her.
“And be sure to mind your own bee's wax hereafter,” she admonished.

 “By all means,” Sherlock
said.

 The queen, satisfied, flew on to
address Zaven and Thesis.

 But they weren't through with the
letter bugs. A swarm of G's appeared, wearing stringlike clothing. “No
thanks,” Clio said.

 “But you need us,” a G
protested. “I am Biolo-G.”

 “And I'm Geolo-G,” another
said.

 Indeed, they were all different: Effi,
Ecolo, Chronolo, Proctolo, Apolo, and others. And all wearing their G-strings.

 “We certainly do need you,”
Sherlock said. “Congratulations on a fine job.”

 Satisfied, they buzzed on. Clio made a
mental note: Sherlock had a certain touch with Psycholo-G.

 “Groan,” Drew told her.

 Now there was a sign: slow-school zone.
The sign was in the shape of a lightbulb.

 Clio paused to let the others catch up.
“Do I have to go to school?” Ciriana asked, concerned.

 “No, dear. This is just another
pun of some sort.”

 “I don't get it,” Sherlock
said.

 Zaven and Thesis caught up. “We've
seen about enough,” he said. “We're ready to leave the strip
now.”

 Annie reappeared. “Oh, but you
must see this. It's a school for our brightest. This way.”

 There seemed to be no choice but to
follow her. She led them to a tall, thin, round building.

 “But that's a lighthouse,”
Thesis said.

 “Yes, it's our school for
lightbulbs,” Annie said.

 Clio suppressed her groan. “But a
lighthouse is supposed to be to warn ships in the sea.”

 “What sea?”

 And of course there was no sea.

 They came to the lighthouse, and saw
the children. They were all lightbulbs. “We have all the best and
brightest,” Annie said proudly. “They are very enlightened. When they
get light enough, they float off into the sky. They are real stars. You can see
them twinkling at night.”

 Sherlock did not quite manage to hold
his groan in.

 “And of course when you get a
bright idea, one of them is there to flash over your head,” Annie continued.

 “Thank you for that illuminating
information,” Sherlock said. Clio wanted to kick his ankle, but realized
that wasn't the most brilliant idea.

 “Oh!” Annie said, flattered.
She glanced halfway appraisingly at him.

 “Perhaps we'll meet again,”
Sherlock said.

 What was he doing? He had been
ensorcelled into love with Morgan le Fay. Was he trying to set up a little
something on the side? That hardly seemed like him, but there was no telling
how much the spancel had scrambled his feelings. Maybe he was simply trying to
charm Annie into getting them out of the strip faster.

 They moved wearily on. Clio had the
dubious satisfaction of knowing that the others were just as turned off as she
was. Of course they weren't lightbulbs.

 Clio saw the edge of the comic strip,
but there was one more thing in the way. It was a table with a small cake on
it, and a sign bite me. “No thanks,” she said, trying to go around
the table. But it extended to bar her way, and the cake slid toward her. It
seemed she couldn't avoid it.

 Then someone else blundered up, a fat
woman, evidently a tourist. “I'm hungry.” She took the cake and bit
into it.

 And turned green. Then red. Then blue.
Her clothes went baggy. “I'm dying!” the woman exclaimed.

 “No, you're dyeing,” Clio
said, catching on. “That's a dye-it, turning you different colors.”

 “And diet,” Thesis said.
“Making you thin.”

 “Groan!” the woman said, and
blundered on.

 Clio finally managed to get around the
table and lunged for the edge. But Ciriana tripped and fell, scratching her
arm, and causing Clio to fall too. “Owww!”

 A little cat ran up. It produced
medical instruments, cleaned off the scratch, bandaged it, and put away its
equipment. Then it scampered away. The child was satisfied; her arm no longer
hurt.

 “What was that?” Clio asked,
dazed.

 “A first-aid kit,” Sherlock
said, helping her up. “Annie told me.”

 Evidently he had spent a bit more time
with Annie Mae. Clio realized she had no business feeling jealous; his love was
no longer hers anyway.

 They crossed the border and the puns
were gone. So was the bandage on Ciriana's arm; it was mere pun stuff. In
another moment Zaven and Thesis emerged, looking disgusted. “Point
made,” Zaven said. “Stay out of comic strips.”

 “Dear, let's go home now,”
Thesis said. “We have seen more than enough here.”

 “Well, actually-”

 She stepped into him and kissed him
ardently. Little hearts orbited them. “And there's a child present. Let's
get alone.” Some of the hearts bore an odd resemblance to storks.

 “Oh. Of course.”

 They embraced and dissolved into vapor.
It expanded rapidly, diffusing through the area, and faded out.

 All that, simply because each had
passed through the spancel. As had Sherlock, unfortunately.

 A young man approached. “You folk
look as if you got caught in a comic strip,” he said.

 “We did,” Clio said. “We'll
recover.”

 “Do you need to go anywhere? I can
guide you.”

 “But if we wanted to go east,
you'd soon get too young,” Clio said.

 “No, my talent is immunity to the
time change. I can go anywhere on Ptero. That's why I'm a guide.”

 That did make sense. “It was a
good idea.”

 “Yes. Prince Anomie thought of it.
His talent is bad ideas, but he got some reverse wood, and now he gets good
ideas.”

 “Anomie,” Clio said,
remembering. “The one who married Princess Melody, after he stopped being
the Dastard?”

 “Melody's only eight years
old!” Sherlock protested.

 “Not here,” she told him.
“She's any age she wants to be, and surely adult. Remember, time is
geography.”

 “I would like to meet them,”
Clio said. “But as it happens, I'm on a special mission.”

 “That's all right. Where are you
going?”

 Clio looked at the compass.
“West.”

 “That's toward Castle Roogna,
about fifteen years.”

 “Thank you.”

 The man moved on, and they walked west.
But Sherlock paused. “I realize that geography is time, but isn't fifteen
years a pretty far distance?”

 Clio halted. “Yes, it is. We don't
want to have to walk it.”

 “Maybe I can arrange
something.” He walked back to the comic strip.

 “What are you thinking of?”
Clio demanded.

 “Annie may be willing to
help.” He stood at the edge and put his arm across the line.
“Annie!”

 Annie Mae appeared. “You want me
to strip?” She put her hand to her dress. “This is a comic strip, of
course, but you'll have to come inside.”

 “I must be candid,” he said.
“Much as I might like to see you strip, my love belongs to another. But
I'm willing to trade for help.”

 Her eyes narrowed with calculation. She
evidently had a notion how to compete for love. “Trade what for what
help?”

 “We need to go to Castle
Roogna.”

 “That's fifteen years To.”

 Clio remembered that To was their way
of saying the future; the past was From.

 “Yes. So we need help getting
there efficiently. If you can tell us how to do it, I'll give you a kiss.”

 Could this possibly work? Clio wondered
if Sherlock's common sense had been altered along with his love.

 “Three kisses. There are three of
you.”

 She was going for it!

 “A kiss and a hug. One's a
child.”

 “A kiss, a hug, and a
caress.”

 “Done.”

 They stood at the edge of the comic
strip, and he reached inside, she outside, for the hug. Their faces came
together for the kiss. Her hand squeezed his rear.

 “That's not a caress,”
Ciriana said. “That's a feel.”

 Oops-the child's immunity to the Adult
Conspiracy was manifesting again. Clio realized that it was like Zaven's
zombie-restoring effect: it lasted only in his vicinity. Sherlock had reversed
the child's immunity with reverse wood, but when she got too far from him, it
came back. This was an unfortunate complication; how were they ever going to
find a suitable home for her?

 The two completed the hug, kiss, and
whatever, and separated. Annie seemed dazed; it seemed she really liked
Sherlock's attention. Clio could appreciate that. Then Annie disappeared.