Faun and Games (31 page)

"I wouldn't know."

Uh-huh.
 
"Does it relate to yourself?"

"No."

"Does it relate to objects?"

'No."

"Does it relate to other people?"

"I wouldn't know."

Forrest paused.
 
"Does it relate to anything other than other people?"

"No.

He was definitely developing technique.
 
But he saw the sand running low

in the minute glass.
 
He needed to identify the talent readily. "Does it

affect other people?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Does it change their mood?"

'No.

"Does it change their appearance?"

Nigel hesitated.
 
"I'm not sure."

Now that was interesting.
 
A qualified response.
 
But the sand was

almost out, and he had to get it in the next couple of questions.
 
"Does

it change their nature?"

"Yes."

"Can it heal them?"

"No."

"Hurt them?"

"Maybe."

The last gasp of sand was going.
 
He had only one more chance. What

would change appearance without necessarily healing or hurting?
 
So he

took a halfway wild guess: "Can it change their age?"

"Yes!
 
I can rejuvenate others."

And there he had it, as the sand ran out.
 
It had been a close call.

"Hey, you cheated!" Contrary protested, looking at the minute glass.

"What are you talking about?"

"You got an extra minute."

Forrest looked at the glass.
 
It now had the number 4 on it.
 
Four

minutes.
 
How had that happened?

Imbri had the answer: "We moved west-toward the To.
 
So we got a little

older-and so did the minute glass.
 
So it's bigger."

The centaur nodded.
 
"Yeah, I guess so.
 
Maybe I got an extra minute

too.
 
Okay."

Forrest looked for another subject.
 
He needed to find one that would

stymie the centaur, because otherwise he would be stymied himself all

too soon.
 
He found a reasonably pretty young woman.
 
It was a foolish

notion, but maybe a woman would be trouble for Contrary, who was trying

to avoid meeting a filly centaur.
 
"This."

Contrary approached the woman.
 
"What is your name and heritage?"

"I am Scintilla.
 
My father is Crony and my mother is Vendetta.

They don't get along too well, so I'm not sure they'll ever get around

to signaling the stork to deliver me."

"Too bad," the centaur said without sympathy.
 
"Does your talent relate

to your name?"

'No.

The centaur continued to question her, establishing that her talent

affected herself rather than others, but not in any obvious way. Indeed,

it was not obvious to Contrary, who finally ran out of time without

establishing her talent.

Unfortunately Forrest was no better.
 
"Does your talent help you or

others?"

"Not usually."

"Does it hurt anyone?"

"Sometimes."

"Does it annoy you or anyone else?"

"Sometimes."

"Does it do anything physical?"

"Not really."

"Mental?"

"Possibly."

"Emotional?"

"Perhaps."

These indefinite answers were balking Forrest just as they had balked

Contrary.
 
He was unable to center on any particular talent, and time

ran out for him too.

The worst of it was, they couldn't even admit defeat and ask for the

correct answer, just to satisfy their curiosity.
 
They were left to

their infuriating ignorance.

"Whose turn is it to pick the next?" Forrest asked.

"You picked the last; now it's my turn." He scouted around, looking for

a winner for him.
 
"This."

It was a rather hairy old man.
 
Forrest wondered about the variation in

age among the folk of limbo, as they were all merely potential beings;

shouldn't they be ageless?
 
But maybe they could be any age they chose,

until they reached their territories, when they could control their age

by moving around.

Forrest approached him as Imbri set down the timer.
 
"Who are YOU and

what is your parentage?"

"I am Hugh Mongus, son of Scab and Svelte."

"Does your talent affect others?"

"In a manner."

"Does it affect you?"

"That depends."

This promised to be another frustrating interview.
 
Forrest soon

established that the talent didn't affect anything physical, but might

affect something mental.
 
"How do others feel about it?"

"That depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On how they feel about it."

Forrest suppressed his annoyance, because he didn't have time for

emotion; his glass was sifting sand.
 
But no matter how he tried, he

could never pin Mongus down, and finally he ran out of time.

Contrary, aware that he could win the contest by getting this one, did

his best, but the subject was just as balky for him.
 
"Does your talent

affect inanimate things?"

"That depends."

"Depends on what?" the centaur asked, in much the tone Forrest had found

himself using.

"On your definition of inanimate."

"You don't know what the word means?"

"I know what it means."

"Then give me your definition."

"Anything that isn't living or moving."

"Very well.
 
Does your talent affect anything that isn't living or

moving?"

"That depends."

"Depends on what?!"

"On how you see it."

"I see it the way you do!
 
Does it affect anything that isn't living?"

Hugh considered.
 
"Yes, I think it does."

"Good!
 
Does it affect any living thing?"

"That depends."

"Confound it!
 
Can't you say anything else?"

"Not if you don't ask a more relevant question."

The centaur seemed about to swell up to adult size, but then his time

ran out.
 
This candidate, too, had defeated both of them.

Now it was Forrest's turn to choose, again.
 
He spied a gnome woman. Did

gnomes have talents?
 
"This."

Contrary approached her as Imbri set down the timer.
 
"What is your name

and ancestry?"

"I am Miss Gnomer, of respectable but anonymous gnome stock."

"Miss No More?"

I'No."

"Miss Gnome?"

I'No."

The centaur looked a bit nettled, understandably.
 
"Well, whatever your

name is, do you have a magic talent?"

'Yes."

"Does it affect you?"

'Yes."

"Does it affect others?"

I'Yes." I

"Does it affect things?"

I'No."

"Does it help anyone?"

'No.

"Does it hurt anyone?"

'No.

Contrary paused.
 
"It is indifferent to the welfare of anyone?"

I'Yes."

"Is it under your conscious control?"

"No."

"Is it apparent to others?"

"Sometimes."

"When?"

"I can't answer that."

"Is it like a spot on the wall?"

?
 
"No."

The centaur paused again.
 
His time was running out and he was getting

nowhere.
 
Forrest was stumped too.

"Does it please anyone?"

.
 
"No.

"Does it displease anyone?"

"No."

"Confound it, woman, it has to be one or the other!"

"Does it?"

Contrary scratched his head, trying to think of a definitive question.

"Time," Imbri announced, showing the exhausted minute glass.

"Dam!" the centaur swore.
 
He had lost another, giving Forrest another

chance to win.

Forrest tackled the subject as Imbri turned over the glass.
 
Since he

had no idea how to proceed, he tackled a minor irritation.
 
"Exactly

what is your name?"

"Miss Gnomer."