Harpy Thyme (7 page)

“Never!” Crombie said with what might well pass for emphasis.

“What, never?”

“Of course never! The Good Magician is incapable of admitting to making any mistake ever in his long life.”

Gloha had a tiny little tinge of doubt. So she suppressed it before it could grow. “Well, we can test it. Nod your head.” Gloha hoped she was right. It would make halfway sense of half the confusion she had been experiencing.

“I don't have the strength.”

“Maybe I can help you sit up.” She leaned over him.

“All right! I'll nod! Then will you leave me alone?”

“Of course,” she said with sweet little sweetness.

She put her hands on his bony old shoulders and hauled, and he managed to lurch into sit-up position. Then he nodded his head once, and fell back exhausted.

There was a silence. Nothing happened. Gloha realized that she had misfigured it. “Well, I guess you're right,” she said. “I'll go away and let you be.”

“Thanks,” he breathed. He seemed almost disappointed.

She got up and went out of the doorway. Good Magician Humfrey met her there. “Are you through?” he inquired grumpily.

“Yes, I must be,” she agreed sadly. She went on by him, letting him go in alone.

Then she paused. Her mouth dropped into an open little O. The others laughed.

“You did it,” Trent said, looking even younger than before. The Sorceress of Illusion was overdoing it a bit, making him seem to be in his twenties. He now wore a bright shirt and trousers, with shiny boots and even a bold sword in its sheath. He looked utterly dashing. “I was hoping you would. I think I owe you a favor.”

“Oh, you don't have to-”

“Humfrey brought some Fountain of Youth elixir. He'll give some of it to Crombie so he can survive the postponement of the fade-away party, and he gave some to me. So now I am in shape to help you on your quest.”

Gloha looked at him again. “You mean-?”

“This isn't illusion any more. This is my physical age. Of course I'll take some more elixir, with reverse wood, to neutralize the effect after this is done. Then we ancients of Xanth can fade out in style."

“Oh!” Gloha said, feeling maidenly faint.

“However,” Iris said sharply, in that tone which suggested that there was a formidable caveat coming to the surface, “the rest of us should not be expected to twiddle our tired thumbs while you two enjoy yourselves gallivanting around the country, slaying dragons and such: What are we going to do-play tag with monsters?”

Trent considered for a good three quarters of a moment. “Maybe you could rest in the Brain Coral's pool.”

Chameleon laughed, but Jewel was serious. “Why not?” Jewel asked with nymphly innocence.

Iris answered her. “The Brain Coral likes to collect things in its pool, but it doesn't like to let them go. So unless we want to give up our freedom immediately, it is best to remain well clear of it.”

“That's not so,” Jewel protested. “I have been there many times on my errands, placing gemstones for mortals to find. Sometimes when I've been tired, the Brain Coral has let me rest in its pool, and then released me much refreshed. It honors any deal it makes.”

Trent reconsidered. “Perhaps my humor was ill advised maybe we misjudged the Brain Coral anyone does; he could say.”

“Did someone speak my name?” the Good Magician asked, appearing in the doorway. Beside him stood Crombie, looking about ten years younger and forty years happier. “My son and I could not help overhearing.”

“Your son?” Jewel asked, surprised.

“It's a long story,” Crombie said. “What's this about the Brain Coral?”

“Jewel says that the Brain Coral will honor a deal,” Bink said. “When I was young I regarded it as an enemy, but that was some time ago.”

“The Brain Coral does what it feels proper,” Humfrey said. “When you sought to free the Demon X (A/N)th and thereby bring on the Time of No Magic, it fought you, knowing better than you did. But when you are not bent on mortal folly, it is not your enemy.”

“So if we made a deal to rest in its pool until Trent returns for our fade-out party, it would let us go at the right time.”

“Assuredly,” Humfrey agreed. “But it would ask a price for such a service.”

Bink turned to the others. “Then maybe we do have something to do while we wait. I understand that a sleep in the Brain Coral's pool is like an instant; you go in and come out immediately, yet centuries may have passed.”

“That will do,” Iris agreed.

“But you can take time out from that sleep,” Jewel said. “You can be conscious if you want to, and talk with other folk there. There are some really interesting creatures in storage, with fascinating histories.”

“Then let's go and inquire,” Trent said. “See if we can make a deal.”

“You go,” Jewel said. “I want to learn this long story about who is whose son.”

“Gloha and I will go,” Trent said. “It's our mission.”

The others exchanged a shrug, not objecting. It did seem that the rapprochement between Magician Humfrey and Crombie had excited their greater interest.

“Now just where is the Brain Coral's pool?” Trent asked.

Crombie pointed a direction. It seemed to be downstream, so they went to Swiftmud, who was muddily snoozing on the dark underworld river.

“Sip the water there,” Humfrey said. “That will enable you to communicate with it.”

They set off through the caves. Now Gloha was able to admire the glowing colors of the walls and ceiling, and the convolutions of stone under the clear surface of the water. This was really a rather pretty place, in its somber way.

They came to a cavern that seemed to be half filled with water. But when Gloha peered down through the water she saw that it was much deeper than she had thought, so that she could not see the bottom. The sides were shallower, and there on slopes and ledges were all manner of things and creatures. All were still; none were swimming or showing signs of life. It was an eerie display.

“This must be the place,” Trent said brightly. Gloha had not yet gotten used to his youth and vigor; she would hardly have recognized him if she hadn't known about the youthening. He was a handsome and self-assured man, not at all doddering. Youth elixir was wonderful stuff.

They dipped their hands and brought sips of the water to their mouths. It tasted faintly of medicine.

What do you want of me, King Trent?

“I am about to start a quest with Gloha Goblin-Harpy, and my friends need a place to park for the duration.”

What do you offer in exchange?

Trent smiled. “What do you want?”

What is your quest?

“To find my ideal man,” Gloha said. Then she had a halfway bright notion. “I don't suppose you have a nice winged goblin male in storage?”

No. I have a winged centaur filly, however.

Gloha shook her head. “I can't marry her.”

But perhaps this is our avenue of exchange. I understand that there is now a winged centaur male.

“Che Centaur-Chex's foal,” Gloha said. “The only one of his kind. But he's still very young. Just eight years old.”

Cynthia is not too much older. It is time for her to emerge and learn the ways of contemporary Xanth. By the time she does, Che may be grown.

“Cynthia,” Trent said. “That name seems familiar.”

It should, Magician! You transformed her back in 1021.

“I did? I'm not sure I remember. I transformed so many in those wicked days. Was that about the time I transformed Justin Tree?”

About. She came to me, and has been here seventy-two years in suspension. Xanth has changed somewhat in that period. She will need time to adjust, and it will be better if another winged monster assists her, and if she is protected from harm until she is competent.

“I begin to get your gist,” Trent said. “You want us to see to that chore, in exchange for parking our friends here.”

“Oh, let's do it!” Gloha cried. “I'm sure she's a nice person.”

Trent glanced at her obliquely. “It would be better to verify that before making the commitment.”

She realized that it was barely possible that his extra seventy-five years or so of experience counted for something. “I suppose,” she agreed cautiously.

Then enter the pool and listen to Cynthia's story.

Trent looked at Gloha, and Gloha looked at Trent. This was safe? But if it wasn't, the Good Magician would come to see what had happened. So they shrugged, almost together, and prepared to enter the pool.

But there was a complication. Their clothing. It wouldn't be good to get it soaked, but it also wouldn't be good for the two of them to be unclothed in each other's presence. The Adult Conspiracy had firm things to say about that, even when no children were involved. Trent was a mature male man, and Gloha a fully formed (if petite) approximately human crossbreed woman. It would not be appropriate for him to see her panties.

Don't be silly. Leave your clothing on. Just jump in.

They exchanged another glance and shrug. Then they held their noses and jumped off either side of Swiftmud.

Gloha was afraid she would choke, but she had no trouble. She didn't seem to be breathing, but felt no discomfort. She just slowly sank down into the depth, which no longer seemed unpleasant. She saw Trent descending nearby.

“This is an interesting experience,” he remarked without opening his mouth.

“Very,” Gloha agreed without opening hers. In addition, her clothing didn't seem to be wet; it neither clung to her nor floated out from her. It remained about the same as it was in the air.

“I think we must be communicating in thoughts rather than sound,” Trent remarked. “But our ears think it is sound.”

“That sounds right to me,” she agreed with a small little smile.

They landed on a pleasant ledge set with pretty shells. There was a winged centaur filly, with brown hair and mane, white wings, and a blouse and jacket covering her human section of torso. That was unusual in a centaur, for that species was normally completely open about bodily appearance and function.

“Cynthia, I presume,” Trent said.

“You remember, Magician Trent!” the filly replied.

“It isn't often I transform such a lovely person.”

“You haven't changed at all! But I suppose some time has passed above.”

“Some has,” he agreed. “This is Gloha Goblin-Harpy, who would like to get to know you.”

Cynthia looked at Gloha for the first time. “Oh! You're a winged monster too!”

“Yes. And the only one of my kind, perhaps. I would like to know your story, if you care to tell it.”

“I'm happy to tell it, if you care to listen. Make yourself comfortable.”

They found nice boulders and sat on them. They were so light, down here under the pool, that even the rough stone was comfortable.

Cynthia began to talk. Gloha soon not only heard her voiceless voice, but saw her sightless scene, as the ambience of the Brain Coral's pool made the scene come alive.

Cynthia was in most respects a regular run-of-the-mill human maiden (though perhaps prettier than most, she was tempted to believe) whom the stork had delivered to a nice family in the North Village barely sixteen years before. Her magic talent was moderate but convenient: she interacted remarkably well with children. She used this magic to make others happy with her baby-sitting. When the children's parents were away, Cynthia was, as a centaur put it, “In Loco Parentis”; that was his way of saying that she was like a substitute parent. Or as the children put it, “Crazy see-see!” which was their way of saying that she was fun and apparent.

But all was not well in Xanth. The Storm King was not paying proper attention to the weather, so that on some days the local pillow bushes got so dry that their feather stuffing leaked out and floated away, while on other days it rained so heavily that the pillows got all sodden and squishy. Meanwhile there was news that Evil Magician Trent was making mischief, trying to shake up the current monarchy. Though Cynthia didn't care much for the way the Storm King was handling the kingdom, she was almost certain that a hostile takeover wasn't the way to improve things.

Cynthia went to the edge of a placid lake to admire her brown-haired and brown-eyed reflection, as was expected of pretty girls her age. She saw a grapevine growing near the water, so she approached it. Grapevines were gossipy plants, notorious for their news about things that shouldn't concern right-thinking folk, so naturally no one listened to them. But Cynthia happened to be alone, and no one would know, so she yielded to temptation and put her ear to a grape.

“The horrendous Evil Magician is nearing the North Village, terrifying the denizens,” it gushed, splattering purple prose on her delicate shell-pink ear. “Who can stop this monstrous incursion before it is Too Late?”

Oh, this was bad news indeed! She was firmly against the Evil Magician invading her peaceful village with his nasty transformations. She would have to try to stop him. Unfortunately she had not the least idea how to do it. All she could think of was to intercept him and try to persuade him to leave this village alone. She was a resourceful maiden with a talent for dealing with children; she would think of something to stop his childish behavior. She hoped.

One day while she was picking rambling roses she saw him approaching. She knew it was him, because she happened to see him change a butterfly into a pink elephant. The elephant seemed none too pleased with the transformation; it trumpeted a brassy melody and galumped off, flapping its ears like wings. That was definitely a sign of magic. So she moved to intercept the man before he could pass her by.

Suddenly she was face-to-face with him. She opened her mouth to utter a paragraph of remonstration as her eyes met his. And stopped, stunned.

Not by his magic. By his attractive face and general good looks. She had assumed he would be ugly, or at least somewhat crude and rough around the edges. Maybe stooped, with a limp and a sneer. Instead he was somewhere in the vicinity of divine, being tall and upright and even-featured.

“A greeting, pretty maid,” he said, accurately enough. “Have we met before?”

“I, uh, um, er, not exactly,” she said, luxuriating in the warmth of his handsome gaze. The roses fell from her flaccid fingers and rambled rapidly away, as was their nature. Her wits landed amidst them.