Knot Gneiss (9 page)

“I will show you for one instant,” Ida said. “I know you will keep my secret.” Then the magic flared again as she flashed as herself for exactly one instant.

“It is you!” the otterbees cried, coming out of the marsh to cluster around her. “What are you doing hiding as a crone?”

“I am on a Quest,” Ida explained. “I can’t tell you more, lest it be compromised. But I can tell you that I have a comfortable life at Castle Roogna.”

“What was that ball beside your head?”

Ida smiled. “That is Ptero, a world where every character exists who has ever been in Xanth, or will be, or might be imagined. It orbits my head, at least in appearance, serving as an access to other realms.”

“You must have found your talent!”

“My talent is the Idea. Ptero relates, as most of its inhabitants are just ideas here on Xanth.”

“Are you married?” they asked.

“No. I simply never found the right man.”

“Maybe some day,” the otterbees said hopefully. “Every princess needs a prince.”

“I’m sure that will be the case,” Ida agreed.

Wenda kept her face straight. It was evident that the otterbees did not know the rest of Ida’s talent of the Idea, so their suggestion could be confirmed. They had just allowed Princess Ida to finally find that right man. Whoever he might be.

“That reminds us,” the otterbees said. “We have another visitor.”

“This really isn’t a social call,” Ida said. “We must move on to our Quest.”

“That’s so sad,” the otterbees said, looking unhappy. “We wish you would stay longer.”

Wenda could see that Ida was moved. She did not want to disappoint her old friends. “Maybe we could meet their other visitor,” Wenda said. “Before we go.”

“Well, if it’s all right with you,” Ida said.

The otterbees hastily ushered their other visitor to the scene. Wenda was not the only one whose jaw descended. It was a young handsome prince!

“This is Prince Hilarion,” the otterbees said. “He has a special Quest of his own.” Then, to him: “This is our old friend Haggai.” Wenda heard it as outsiders did, because of the masquerade spell.

“I am moderately pleased to meet you, Hag,” Hilarion said politely. Obviously the politeness was an effort. Few people were truly pleased to meet an ugly old crone—which was, of course, the point of the masquerade. No one would ever suspect her of being a Princess.

“I think we need to be on our way,” Wenda said. But then she saw the cloud. “Oops—I fear Fracto has spied us.”

“He sees our gathering,” the otterbees said. “He thinks it’s a parade. Naturally he has to rain on it.”

“Naturally,” Jumper agreed. He was surely remembering how Fracto had chased them when he and Wenda were on their cable-repairing mission. Wenda was also remembering how Fracto had tried to ambush her more recently by the Gap Chasm.

“We have a shelter,” the otterbees said. “We made it when we tried to help with a problem. Trolls were catching fish in a nearby lake, but their nets were harming doll-fins, a subspecies of water nymph. We couldn’t make them stop; trolls don’t listen well. But then a troll and a lovely doll-fin fell in love, and that motivated the troll, and he found a way to catch fish without harming the doll-fins. So that problem was solved, and we seldom use this shelter.”

Wenda glanced again at the sky. The cloud was roiling horrendously. They would have an awful time trying to get out of the swamp with that drenching them. “Thank you,” Wenda said for all of them.

Thus they found themselves under the spreading canopy formed by the tightly linked branches of a cluster of wicker trees. Wenda had to admire their intricacy; this was excellent woodworking.

The storm came splashing down, trying to wash them out, but the shelter was secure. They had merely to wait it out. Wenda felt guilty for appreciating the closeness of the prince. His sheer handsomeness was stirring her despite her determination not to be stirred. She suspected that the other women were experiencing similar emotions.

This is the way a man feels in the presence of a pretty girl,
Jumper thought.

And if the prince got wet and disrobed, would Wenda and Meryl freak out? She couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t.

There was most of an awkward silence. Wenda stepped in to relieve the discomfort. “Where are you a prince, Hilarion? I mean no offense, but I never heard of you.”

The young man smiled, becoming even more excruciatingly handsome. Wenda’s heart gave an illicit flutter; it couldn’t help it. “Naturally not, woodwife,” he agreed easily. “I am from an island kingdom named Adamant that connects only occasionally to the Land of Xanth. Nobody knows me here.”

This evidently stirred Ida’s curiosity. “We know of the islands,” she said. “Jenny Elf married a werewolf prince of one. But why are you traveling alone out here? Surely you would be more comfortable in your own castle, with all the royal comforts.”

“Surely I would,” he agreed with another devastating smile. “But I am missing something vitally important.”

“A woman,” Dipper said.

“You talk!” Hilarion said, startled.

“I have the gift of tongues. It helps.”

He nodded. “You are correct. I am missing a woman.”

“Aren’t there princesses on your island?” Meryl asked.

“No. Just my father the King, my mother the Queen, a few relatives, and me. It’s a small kingdom.”

“A serving girl?” Meryl asked half mischievously.

“None I would care to marry. Anyway, my love is elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” Wenda inquired, sensing an interesting story. “Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe you had better just tell us your story,” Jumper suggested.

“True. Perhaps one of you will be able to help.” Hilarion paused, gathering his wits for the narration. “When I was two years old, my parents took action to see that I would have a princess to marry when I came of age. There was a ceremony of betrothal to a worthy girl just one year old. They agreed that she would come to our island when she was twenty-one to marry me. But when the time came, she did not appear. Apparently she had forgotten. So I set out to find her, to bring her back to our kingdom and marry her, so she could be queen after my mother retired. Unfortunately I had a brush with a forget whorl, and forgot her name. But I am sure I will know her, and she will remember me, if I kiss her. So I am traveling around kissing suitable girls, in case any have brushed similarly with forget whorls and forgotten they are princesses. That is my Quest.”

“Fascinating,” Meryl said, intrigued. “Could she be a crossbreed?”

“She might,” he agreed. “I don’t remember.”

“Maybe we should kiss, then.”

“Very well.” He went to her and kissed her. She seemed to float. But when the kiss ended, she shook her head. “I don’t remember ever being a princess, unfortunately.”

“I do not know you, either,” he said. “I’m sure you’re a worthy person, just not my betrothee.”

“Not your betrothee,” she agreed sadly.

Hilarion looked at Wenda. “You? You look to be of the age.”

But she balked, not being the single maiden he took her for. “I am married elsewhere. But I would not qualify anyway; I have existed as a woman only a year. Before that I was a woodwife: only the front half of me existed.”

“While I have nothing against woodwives,” the prince said carefully, “I’m sure my betrothee would have been a whole baby. Still, we could kiss, if you wish, just to be sure.”

Wenda was obscenely tempted, because he was so handsome. But she was sure she shouldn’t. “My husband would not understand.” It still made her feel odd to hear herself not say “wood knot.”

“Who is your husband?”

“Prince Charming.” Then she tried to bite her tongue, but it was too late: she had just surrendered her anonymity.

“Prince Charming!” Hilarion exclaimed. “I know of him. Then your companion must be the Little Mermaid.”

They all had to smile at his understandable confusion. “Not so,” Meryl said. “I never had the luck to rescue a prince. Besides, I’m not a regular mermaid; I’m a winged mermaid.”

“Why so you are,” he said, surprised. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You didn’t notice?” she asked, frowning.

“Your beautiful front side distracted me from any consideration of your backside. It’s all I can do to stop from freaking out. I apologize.”

She glanced down at her bare front. “No apology necessary,” she said, pleased.

He returned his attention to Wenda. “So you are a princess.”

“Technically, yes,” Wenda agreed uncomfortably. “But I’m trying to travel anonymously.”

“Why would you want to do that?” he asked reasonably. “Unless you are on a Quest of your own.”

Worse yet, it was not in Wenda to tell an outright lie. “I am. But it’s private.”

“Of course. I did not mean to pry. I was merely inquiring whether you would like to kiss me, just in case.”

Wenda suffered a siege of sudden resolution. “Yes!” she agreed giddily.

But now he balked. “Still, Prince Charming might not understand. Especially if you turned out to be the one.”

“I can’t be the one,” she argued. “So it’s all right. Kiss me.” At the same time she was aware that she wasn’t making a lot of sense. If men freaked out at the sight of women’s whatever, so did women lose their common sense in the presence of a truly handsome man. But she held on to her equilibrium, somehow.

Hilarion did not seem inclined to argue the case. “Very well.” He approached her, took her in his arms, and kissed her.

Now
she freaked out. She found herself sitting on a stump where he had set her, little hearts spinning around her head. Some time must have passed: half an instant, or half a century.

“You are not she,” Hilarion concluded. “Though you are marvelously rounded and supple. Prince Charming is a lucky man.”

“Thank you,” she murmured somewhat breathlessly.

The storm was abating. But before they could organize to move on, an otterbee splashed up to the shelter. “The trolls are raiding the Faun & Nymph Retreat!” he cried.

“Oh!” Ida exclaimed. “We must try to help them.” Naturally she remained fond of her friends of childhood.

“I’ll help,” Prince Hilarion said bravely, putting his hand on his sword.

They scrambled out of the shelter and followed the otterbee. The Retreat was not far distant, and soon they came upon the scene. It was grim. Four huge ugly trolls were chasing after the fauns and nymphs, holding big bags to stuff them into. Both fauns and nymphs were fleet runners, being bare and healthy, but it was obvious that before long the trolls would succeed in catching one or more fauns or nymphs, and that would be the end of them. Trolls were notorious man-eaters.

“What a sight,” Hilarion said, his eyeballs threatening to crystallize as they fixed on the bouncing nymphs. Wenda realized that nymphs would have that effect on normal human men, princes included.

“I can stop one,” Jumper said, assuming his giant-spider form. “But I’m not sure what to do with him when I catch him. If he were a bug, I’d bite his head off, but I’d really rather not do that to a troll.”

“They surely taste awful,” Wenda agreed with half a fleeting smile.

“Well, I don’t mind slaying a troll,” Hilarion said, drawing his sword.

“No bloodshed, please,” Ida pleaded.

“But madam,” he protested, politely not calling her an old hag or crone as she appeared to be to him, “trolls are not known for listening to reason. They won’t stop voluntarily, and the innocent fauns and nymphs will suffer grievously.”

It was Dipper who got the key idea. “The humidor!” he exclaimed. “If we can put them through it.”

Meryl had to laugh. “And make the trolls have to fight through all those dreadful puns. And if they get through it, they still won’t land back here among the fauns and nymphs.”

It did seem like the ideal solution. No bloodshed, no fuss nor muss, and they would be safely rid of the trolls and save the helpless fauns and nymphs.

Then Ida sobered them with a question. “How do we get them through the Door?”

How, indeed? They had no time to ponder; the chased fauns and nymphs were barely escaping their pursuers now.

“I’ll do it,” Wenda said. “Ida, set up the humidor. Jumper, run and rescue whichever faun or nymph is about to get caught. Meryl, Dipper, fly overhead and attract attention to me. I will lead the trolls to the Door.”

Jumper bounded off on his eight long legs. Meryl and Dipper sailed into the air.

“What of me?” Hilarion asked, evidently feeling left out.

“You can’t help me; you’ll freak out,” Wenda said, stripping off her clothing. “But you can discourage any fauns or nymphs from following me; we don’t want
them
to go to Comic.”

“Excellent point,” he agreed, sheathing his sword.

Wenda, bare, ran out to join the nymphs, knowing that she now looked just like one. That wasn’t surprising; she was really a forest nymph at heart.

“Hey trolls, look at this one!” Dipper cried. “Fat and slow. You can catch her easy.”

That was the idea, though Wenda would have preferred a modified description.

“Over here, trolls!” Meryl called. “Catch this succulent nymph!”

That wasn’t much better. But it did the job; the four trolls oriented on her. Trolls were not known for intelligence, fortunately, and did not question why any bird or flying mermaid should try to help them catch their prey. They lumbered in Wenda’s direction.

Meanwhile Ida had set up shop. Her box was open, and she held the vial and tube in her hands. She wasn’t concerned about being chased, as she looked to the trolls like a shriveled old bag of a crone with no tasty meat on her rickety bones. They didn’t care what she did.

Wenda looped around and ran toward Ida, all four trolls pursuing her. Fortunately she could run as fleetly as a nymph, by no coincidence, and managed to stay ahead of them.

But now several nymphs were joining her, thinking this was some new game, and several fauns were chasing them, intent on the type of celebrating, as they termed it, they normally did. Hilarion stepped in, intercepting them. “No, no,” he cried. “Go the other way!” He ran in a new direction, showing them how.