Question Quest (19 page)

Humfrey stood in the middle of their bed chamber, which had a priceless antique thick carpet on its wide wooden floor. The fireplace was lit with fireweed, and the air was fragrant with incense. "We can be very happy here, my wife,” Humfrey said.

Rose was sure of it.

They settled into married life. Humfrey, nagged by the things he had not yet learned, embarked on his most ambitious project yet: he was compiling a Book of Answers. In it would be the Answer to every possible Question anyone might ask. He started by listing everything he had learned in his early survey of talents, which was considerable, and added whatever he could learn from the texts in the Castle Roogna library, which the castle allowed him to check out one at a time. He supplemented this with field trips, making copious notes. He kept himself so busy that some days Rose hardly saw him at all. But she wasn't concerned; she had lived alone for so long that it was not much of a burden, and she could contact him at any time by using a magic mirror, and he would always come immediately when she asked him.

In fact there was a certain delight to these brief separations, because every time she saw him again Rose experienced the intense jolt of feelings that seeing him always gave her. Love made him handsome to her, though she knew that this was not an objective judgment. She heightened the effect by dressing him well. She would send him out one day with shades of blue in his shirt, trousers, and cloak, complemented by sandy tan desert boots. Another day it would be shades of brown or gray. He always carried a battered bulging sack full of books, tomes, and spells over his shoulder; she could not do much about that, but she did tie matching ribbons to it. Sometimes he got caught out in the rain, and silvery rain drops sparkled like gems in his hair and on his driftwood staff. Then she would take him in and dry him off and comfort him with kisses, restoring his humor.

Meanwhile, she set the castle in order, eliminating the last vestiges of zombie occupancy. She started the rose garden; how could she endure without roses! She kept the kitchen filled with homemade soup and love. Sometimes she accompanied Humfrey on his field trips, delighting in the carpet rides and the picnic lunches.

But soon she had to stop this and stay home, because she was expecting the stork and it just wouldn't do to be away when it arrived. She had a horror of arriving home and discovering the baby deposited in the fireplace or somewhere, all dirty. Storks were notorious about their schedules; if the mother was not waiting for the stork's arrival, it dropped the baby off anyway, ready or not.

Fortunately she was present and alert when their daughter arrived, and after that she had little time for anything else. Roy did her best to live up to her masculine nickname from the start—Rose wondered in those harried moments she could squeeze in for thinking whether they would have been better advised to choose another name—and constantly made the stones of the floor and bricks of the fireplaces come to life and squirm vigorously. Fortunately they remained animate only while the baby focused on them, and Roy's attention span was brief. But it was hectic.

Humfrey's tome of Answers and Roy grew apace. Then, somehow, it seemed, in a few days Roy was grown into pretty childhood, and thence to girlhood, and thence to maidenhood, and suddenly she was marrying the son of a local forester named Stone, becoming Rosetta Stone, and moving away to start her own family. “But she's just a child!” Rose wailed through her tears of joy at her daughter's fortune. Stone was good at interpreting things and making sense of them, and that was bound to help their marriage.

“She's twenty-one,” Humfrey pointed out gruffly. “Older than your physical age when you married me. That's old enough.”

“But yesterday she was eleven!” Rose cried.

“And only one, the day before,” he agreed. “Where's my soup?”

Rose might have been tempted to make a remark about insensitivity had she been less good-natured, but she was too princessly to deign. She fetched him his soup. She would not of course admit it, but he had grown twenty years older and grumpier in the past two decades, and looked more like a gnome than ever. It was a good thing she loved him.

But that was the thing about love in Xanth. When it was true, it was forever. In drear Mundania, she understood, love lasted only for a few years, and then marriages started breaking up. Humfrey had almost loved Mare Ann, and that feeling had remained until he did love Rose. He had not loved Dana Demoness or Maiden Taiwan, though he had treated them courteously. It had been his misfortune to lack true love in his early life, but once they had found it together, they would keep it as long as they both should live.

That was good, because things were very quiet now with Roy gone. Rosetta and Stone had discovered that they could animate stones and make them tell what they knew, interpreting their confusing remarks, and sometimes they knew interesting or useful things. But that was there; things were dull here. Rose took a more active interest in her husband's work, and in the next six years his great Book of Answers progressed rapidly. Humfrey was excellent at discovering things, but not at classifying them or putting them in proper order. He couldn't even find his socks without help! Rose did that organizing of facts and cross-referenced them, so that it was possible to locate almost anything in the voluminous collection.

Little did she know that this would lead to considerable mischief. She had assumed that if she minded her own business and helped her husband loyally and was courteous to others, everything would be all right. It had never occurred to her that she could be the victim of outright deception and malice. That naiveté was to cost her dearly.

It started innocently enough. Humfrey was cataloging seeshells, so she was gathering more of them while he was doing the paperwork. She would return later and properly index and cross-reference his notes, but he had to do the actual definitions. Peggy, the flying horse, had returned after a snit when Humfrey first got married and used the magic carpet; Rose had explained about things, and Peggy decided to forgive the transgression. Then Humfrey had used the carpet again, and the horse had got her feathers in an uproar. By the time Rose smoothed those feathers down, Peggy decided that she would give Rose rides instead of the fickle Magician. The two had been friends ever since. Humfrey, a typical man, had never noticed.

So today Peggy carried Rose to the Gold Coast of southeastern Xanth, where the sands and many of the plants were golden. It had been some time since Rose had been here. She had visited the region once as a child and played in the sand, and had retained a certain taste-for the pretty stuff. Now she was dismayed to see a new development: there was a tower being built from ivory just offshore. Apparently it was to be a light house, and white ivory was lighter than gold. Rose would have preferred to leave the shore pristine, but realized that she could not stand in the way of progress. Perhaps if she ignored it, it would go away.

She told Peggy to go and graze where she wished, and the horse walked into the jungle, looking for tasty leaves and grass. Rose walked along the shore, picking up new varieties of gold seeshells. Their eyes were bright orange yellow, and some were very pretty. Humfrey didn't care much about that; to him an ugly shell was as good as a pretty one. But Rose preferred beauty without actually disparaging other conditions. It wasn't as if she would be beautiful forever; she was now forty-eight years old, in away-from-Castle-Roogna time. She had worked to keep her body in reasonable shape, and she still brushed out her hair each day to keep it luxurious, but on occasion a mirror was unkind enough to show a wrinkle. Rose had lost her taste for mirrors, coincidentally, and no longer carried one with her.

She came to a village of fishmen and fishwives. They had the heads of fish and human legs. Their village was in the water, but they came ashore to forage for food. Rose saw them using their upper fins to hold long poles from which descended lines, and on the ends of the lines were hooks which snagged on things of the beach. Sometimes small animals bit at the bits of candy around the hooks, and the hooks caught in their mouths, and the fishmen hauled them in by the lines and poles until they were dragged down into the water. It seemed like a cruel way to make a living to Rose, but she was cautious about criticizing the ways of other folk.

Then she saw a decrepit old woman hobbling along. The fishmen goggled at her and retreated into the water, evidently detesting her company. This disturbed Rose, who never liked to see any person excluded from things. She went to the woman, who was hunched over, carrying a heavy bag. “May I help you?” Rose inquired.

The woman gazed up at her. Her aspect was even more frightful from close up, and she smelled of something other than roses. Her clothing consisted of whatever rags and tatters she had picked up from trash heaps. “Well yes, lady,” she wheezed. “If you would carry my heavy burden to my home, that would help me a lot.”

“I shall be glad to,” Rose said. She took the bag, which she was surprised to discover was filled with ivory horns and tusks. The woman evidently collected ivory! “If I may inquire, what is your name? My name is Rose.”

The beady eyes flicked at her. “My given name is Peril, but the fishfaces call me the Sea Hag.”

Rose was properly appalled. “How unkind of them! I shall certainly call you Pearl.”

“That's Peril, rose-hips!” the woman corrected her snappishly. Perhaps Rose might have had a hint about her nature then, had she not been so trusting.

Rose apologized for her error. It was very embarrassing to get a person's name wrong, for names were important indications to character. Everyone knew that.

The old woman set off at a brisk hobble, and Rose was constrained to keep abreast of her, because the odor behind her was barely to be endured. They proceeded downbeach to a spot directly opposite the half-completed ivory tower. “Oh, they have ruined my house again!” she exclaimed, her voice suggestive of a harpy's screech.

Rose saw a pile of driftwood, flotsam, jetsam, and seeweed. It was hard to imagine that this could ever have been a house. But of course it would be impolite to question the word of her companion. “Do you have any other place to stay?”

“There is one the fishfaces can't reach,” Peril said. She hobbled to the edge of the forest. There was a huge dead tree trunk, rising above the height of Rose's head. Peril scrambled up it, remarkably agile for one in her condition, and squeezed into a hole in it. She disappeared inside the trunk. Then her face reappeared. “Well, come on, stupid!” she screeched imperiously.

Rose struggled to climb the trunk with the heavy bag of ivory. She was not good at this, because princesses were not supposed to climb trees, but somehow she managed. She wedged into the hole and hauled the bag after her.

She found herself squeezing down inside the tree, the bag pressing her down from above. Her nice dress was getting severely mussed. Then her feet lost purchase entirely, and she fell, screaming in an embarrassingly unladylike fashion.

She splashed into water. The bag splashed beside her. She flailed, and in a moment her feet found a sloping rock. She scrambled up it, out of the water. She was in absolute darkness.

Her first thought was for the old woman. “Peril!” she cried. “Are you all right?”

She was answered by a resounding cackle. “I'm horrible, but I will be much better soon,” the voice of the hag came from above.

“Soon?” Rose asked, bewildered.

“Soon as I kill myself.”

“I don't understand!”

There was another awful cackle. “Who cares! Rest easy, fool, until I come for you.” Then the voice faded.

Rose looked up. Far above she saw a disk of light. It blinked out for a moment, then reappeared. She realized that it was the hole in the tree trunk. Peril had climbed back up and squeezed out of it, and was gone.

Rose realized that she was in trouble. It seemed to be a most unkind notion, and one she hesitated to entertain, but it almost seemed that the old woman had intended to trap her in here. There was no way she could climb up inside that trunk and escape; there was no purchase for her hands, and in any event she lacked the strength for such an effort. She was trapped in this awful dark pit.

She knew what to do: she had to call Humfrey, who would immediately come on the carpet and rescue her. Except that she no longer carried her magic mirror. What a problem her foolish vanity had made for her!

She heard a neigh. Peggy! The winged horse had found her! “Peggy!” she cried. “Get me out of here!” But even as she called, she knew it was impossible. The horse could not get in here and could not do anything to help from outside. So she did the next best thing. “Peggy, go fetch Humfrey! Bring him here! Quickly!”

The horse neighed acknowledgment. Rose heard the beat of her great wings. She would fly to wherever Humfrey was and alert him to Rose's problem. He could then use a mirror of his own and investigate, and he would take care of it immediately.

Then she remembered that she hadn't told Peggy where Humfrey was. He was checking references in the Castle Roogna library and would not be back until evening. Peggy would not be able to find him until then, for she could not go to Castle Roogna because of the aversion spell. Rose was stuck here for the full day.

She hunched herself with her back to the edge of this cave. There seemed to be just the pool and the sloping edge and the wall. The water was brine, so must connect to the sea, but Rose could not escape that way either. She was not that good a swimmer, and for all she knew it was too far for her to hold her breath. This place was some distance in from the shore, and any tunnel would have to connect under the surface of the sea. At least she had not been hurt in the fall; how lucky that there had been water there!

She thought about Peril. Now she realized the significance of the name. The woman was a peril to anyone who tried to befriend her! No wonder the fishfolk didn't like her. But why had she sought to snare Rose here? What could she gain by doing this to one who meant her no harm?