Question Quest (2 page)

She poured it on. NOW ONE DAY RYVER WAS SITTING BY THE BANK OF THE MOAT, WATCHING THE FISH, WHEN A STRANGE CREATURE CAME BY. IT WAS A DRAGON LOOKING FOR A TASTY FLESH MORSEL TO FRY. “HA!” SAID THE DRAGON. “I SEE YOU ARE JUST THE KIND OF PERSON I NEED. COME WITH ME AND I WILL GIVE YOU AN EXPERIENCE LIKE NONE OTHER.”

“Kuh-uh!” The live (or water-formed) Ryver grunted. “You won't fry me, you vicious animal!” He was evidently getting into it. Lacuna heated up the

Script. “OH, IS THAT SO?” THE DRAGON SNORTED, HIS BREATH SCORCHING THE PLANTS BY THE BANK. “I'LL HUFF AND I'LL PUFF AND I'LL FRY YOUR HEAD OFF!”

“Yeah, fire-brain? I'd like to see you try it!” the real Ryver said.

SO THE DRAGON HUFFED AND IT PUFFED AND IT BLASTED OUT SUCH A BLAST OF FLAME THAT THE GROUND TURNED BLACK AND SPARKS FLEW FROM THE STONES AND STEAM ROSE FROM THE MOAT. BUT IT COULDN'T FRY RYVER, BECAUSE HE WAS MADE OF WATER. THEN RYVER MADE THE WATER RISE UP AND SMACK THE DRAGON RIGHT IN THE FACE.

“I guess that doused your furnace, soggy-snoot!” the boy cried happily.

WELL, THAT MADE THE DRAGON ANGRY. SO IT OPENED ITS JAWS AND CHARGED. IT CHOMPED RYVER RIGHT THROUGH THE CENTER, BUT ITS TEETH HAD NO EFFECT, BECAUSE THEY COULDN'T CHEW WATER. AND RYVER SQUIRTED JETS OF WATER IN ITS EYES AND EARS. THE DRAGON HATED THAT, BECAUSE NOBODY LIKES TO HAVE HIS EARS WASHED.

The text continued, and the boy kept reading avidly. He didn't even notice that Lacuna had crossed over the drawbridge. That was all right; she had left enough text in the queue to hold him for half an hour. She hadn't known how long it would take for him to be completely distracted, so had put in plenty. Anyway, she was pleased that someone really liked her writing. She had learned to tell stories to children when she was babysitting, and rather enjoyed it. Ryver was a perfect audience.

Now she was across the moat but still outside the castle wall. There was a door right before her. She walked up and turned the handle. But it didn't work; the door was locked, and she didn't have the key. Obviously she had to find the key; this was the third challenge.

She looked around. There was a fairly narrow path that circled the castle just inside the moat. It was lined by bushes that resembled shelves; their stems were vertical and their branches horizontal, with the leaves filling in to complete the pattern. They had squared-off large berries that looked rather like books on the shelves.

A boy was sitting on the bank, picking the berries and eating them. He looked a lot like Ryver.

“Who are you?” she inquired, not really expecting an answer.

“I am Torrent, Ryver's twin brother.”

Could she believe that? Well, maybe for now.

“What sort of plants are these?” she asked.

“They are library bushes,” he responded. “They have endless information, which I get by eating the fruit.”

This was almost too good to be true, so she knew it probably wasn't true. But she would find out. “Then you must know where the key to that door is.”

“Sure. Here it is.” He handed her a large wooden key.

She tried the key in the lock. It wouldn't fit. It was the wrong one.

She returned to the boy. “It's not the right key. Where is the right one?”

“On the other side of the castle.”

She doubted it, but proceeded on around. There was a small metal key lying on the path. She picked it up and walked back around to the door. It didn't fit.

She looked at the boy, who was still eating berries. Twice he had directed her to the wrong key. He was obviously not telling the truth. How could she make him tell the truth?

She decided to experiment. “Torrent, are you part of this challenge for me?”

“Yes.”

"So you are supposed to misdirect me, and prevent me from finding the key.''

“No.”

“And you do that by lying to me.”

He hesitated, and she knew why. If he lied, she would know it, which would make the lie worthless, but if he told the truth he wouldn't be misdirecting her. “No.”

Which meant that he did. “So you lied about your identity, too. You are Ryver.”

“No.”

“Then where is Ryver? He's not out there reading the print on the moat.”

He looked back there, and winced. He must have had to tear himself away from it with the story unfinished. He didn't answer, which was answer enough.

“And you're not supposed to be part of this challenge,” she said, remembering that he had answered yes to that question before, so it was a lie.

“I can be if I want to be!” he said defensively.

“And now you're telling the truth.”

He hung his head. “You trapped me into it. Anyway, it doesn't matter, because it's only about the challenge that I really had to lie.”

“Why not just refuse to tell me anything about the keys?”

“Because—” He stopped. “I can't tell you.”

“Because lying has something to do with the solution!” she said, catching on.

“No.”

"Which means yes. And the berries—do they have anything to do with it too?''

“No.”

“So they do. Exactly what kind of berries are they?”

“Poison.”

“Hardly. You've been eating them.” Then a light flickered. “You were a truthful boy. Now you're an untruthful one. You've been eating the berries. You said they are libraries, but I think they are lie berries. They make you lie!”

“No!”

“And if I ate one, it would make me lie.”

“No.”

“But it's hard to lie, if you don't know the truth. So maybe the berries do have a lot of information, so they know how to lie about it. So the person who eats them knows the truth, which he won't tell.”

“No.”

She picked a berry and popped it into her mouth. It was sickly sweet. Then she spoke: “The key is—” Information coursed through her mind. “Over there.” She pointed to what she knew was the wrong key, under a bush.

But now she knew where the right key was. It was under the water at the edge of the moat, hidden by mud. She went there, reached down, and fished it out. It was made of delicate stone. Then she took it to the door. It fit, and in a moment the door was unlocked.

She looked back at Ryver, who was staring sadly after her. Information sifted through her mind as she continued to feel the effect of the berry. Now she knew why he had come to join this challenge, changing places with the gnome who was supposed to be eating the berries and doing the lying. He was lonely. He really did want to be part of a family, and she, as a passing human being, was a step closer to the illusion of that than being alone was. He was taking the opportunity to be closer to her, to interact with her, even though it had to be negative. She felt sorry for him.

She didn't say anything, because she would be forced to lie until the effect of the berry wore off. She turned and opened the door. She had made it through the challenges, and it had been interesting, but she was not completely pleased. She saw now that she was not the only one whose life was blah.

Ivy was just inside the doorway, waiting for her. “I knew you would make it through, Lacuna!” she exclaimed, stepping in for a hug. In the old days she had been one of the children Lacuna had baby-sat, and they had always gotten along well. Ivy was now an attractive young woman of twenty-one, and evidently happy in her relationship with Grey Murphy.

“Well, I'm not glad to see you,” Lacuna said, then paused, dismayed. “Oops, that lie berry I didn't eat—”

“Oh, that's all right; the effect wears off quickly if you don't eat many.”

“I ate bushels.”

“Which means you ate only one, because if you had eaten bushels, you would say the opposite. Come on, I think Grey is ready for you. He doesn't look satisfied; you must have an awkward Question.”

Lacuna shrugged, so that no lie would come from her mouth. She followed Ivy to the central chamber of the castle where the Good Magician awaited them.

Grey was now a nondescript young man of twenty-two. He was the son of Evil Magician Murphy, who dated from eight or nine centuries before, but like the Zombie Master and Millie the Ghost, he had come to the present period of Xanth's history. The senior Murphy was no longer evil, of course; he had renounced that as a condition of being allowed to settle in this time. He seldom used his power of cursing things so that they would go wrong in any way they could, and only did it for beneficial effect. That might seem contradictory, but it wasn't; if he cursed something evil, then that evil person or thing went wrong and couldn't accomplish its malign purpose. Grey had never been evil, of course. But he had the liability of having to serve Com-Pewter, because of the deal his parents had made long ago, thinking it would never take effect. His father couldn't curse the evil machine directly, because he had made his deal with it to get out of Xanth in the old days, but had been able to curse the evil plot. That had helped save Grey—until Good Magician Humfrey returned.

Grey stepped forward to shake Lacuna's hand. That was one of the quaint Mundane ways he retained. It meant that he was greeting her in a friendly but not assuming way, and expected the same attitude from her. “I don't suppose I can talk you out of asking your Question?” he inquired plaintively.

“Magician, my life is blah. All I want to know is where in my dreary life I went wrong.”

“You mean that's it?” Ivy asked.

“Yes. Then maybe I'll know what to do about it.”

Ivy turned to Grey. “That seems simple enough.”

“It isn't,” he said. He glanced again at Lacuna. “I would really rather you didn't ask it.”

“Well, I don't want to cause you distress, but it seems little enough for me to ask, considering that I made my way through your challenges and am prepared to offer a significant service.”

Grey frowned. “I am not yet completely proficient in the magic of information. The Good Magician Humfrey would know how to handle this much better than I do. But there have been rumblings, and they suggest that your Question is a lot more complicated for us both than it seems. In fact, they indicated that if I Answer it, the situation of Xanth may change significantly. I don't want to take the chance. So, with no malice toward you, I must decline to Answer.”

“Grey!” Ivy said, appalled. “I've known Lacuna all my life! She's a good person. She has such a simple Question. How can you do this?”

“I know just enough of Humfrey's magic now to know that this is best,” he said unhappily. “Now if she cares to ask some other Question—”

“No, only this one,” Lacuna said firmly.

“Then I'm sorry, but—”

She fixed him with an Adult Stare. He was not yet so long beyond childhood as to be immune to its effect. He scuffled his feet. “I did not come here to take No for an Answer,” she said. She might be dull, but she knew her rights. “I insist: tell me Where Did I Go Wrong?”

Grey obviously felt properly miserable, but still he clung somehow to his position. “I won't—”

It was time for the carrot. She had learned how to wield stick and carrot; it was a necessary secondary talent of all baby-sitters. “I have in mind a rather special service, to repay you for your trouble.”

“Well, if I were to use your service, I'm sure you could confuse other applicants by putting misleading printed messages on the walls. But—”

“Magician, I can free you from your obligation to the evil machine. Even after Magician Humfrey returns.”

Both Grey and Ivy jumped. “You can do that?” Ivy breathed with sheer faint hope.

“I can go to Com-Pewter and change the print on its screen to say that Grey Murphy's obligation is no longer in force. Since what's on that screen changes reality to conform, that will be true. There will be no further obligation.”

Ivy turned to the Good Magician, her eyes shining. “Can she do that, Grey?”

Grey dived for a huge tome sitting on a table. He leafed rapidly through it, staring into the depths of its musty pages. He paused, then looked up. “Yes, it is here. She can do it. If she prints the right words on Pewter's screen. If she has the nerve to broach the evil machine in its evil den. There is one key word that must be used at the end or it won't be effective.”

“Key word?” Lacuna asked.

“ 'Compile.' ”

“You mean to assemble something?”

“Compile. It has a special meaning for Com-Pewter. It locks in whatever has just been printed on its evil screen. Com-Pewter can change anything except itself, and this changes Pewter itself. I understand about this, because of my experience with similar machines in Mundania.”

“Then—” Ivy started.

Grey raised his hands in surrender. “That is the one service I cannot refuse. I will have to Answer Lacuna's Question.”

Lacuna smiled, vastly relieved. The truth was she wanted to free Grey anyway, because she knew how happy that would make Ivy. But it was best to do it this way.

“Very well,” Grey said grimly, turning the pages of the Book of Answers again. “I shall have to Answer, and hope the consequences are not as bad as they could be.” He found his place, read the entry, and looked up, perplexed. “This is really of no practical use to you. Are you sure—?”

“I am sure.”

He sighed. “It says that you should have proposed to him.”

“That's no answer!” Ivy protested. “It doesn't say whom or when! I mean, of course it's all right for the girl to propose; I asked Grey to marry me, and he accepted. But—”

“It is enough,” Lacuna reassured her. “I know what it means. If only I had thought of it!”

“Who—?”

“It was twelve years ago, when I was Grey's age now. He was Veraon, and his talent was making others experience vertigo. Certainly he made me feel that way, but that was because I was infatuated with him. He was a handsome man and a decent one. I would have married him, but he never quite asked me. I think he was too shy. I mean, in those days I wasn't as dull as I am now. Later he married a mean woman, who told him he had better, if he knew what was good for him, but she certainly wasn't good for him. She made his life miserable. I think that was her talent. The stork never brought them any children, probably because it knew they would have been miserable in that house.” Lacuna shook her head sadly. “I can see it so clearly now, now that I have the Answer: that was indeed where I went wrong. He was humble, thinking his talent to be of no value. I know he would have accepted, had I only thought to ask him. But I didn't.”

“But what good does it do you to know that now, when it's twelve years too late?” Ivy asked.

“None, except the private satisfaction of knowing my mistake. The next time I meet a man I should marry, I'll ask him. Of course he probably won't accept, since I'm middle-aged now and not worth anyone's notice, let alone marriage. But at least—”

Ivy was troubled. “Grey, I know that's all she asked, but it just doesn't seem enough, considering the service she is going to do for us. She will free you from the bane of your life. Isn't there some way to free her from hers? Maybe to send her back, so she can do it right?”

“I really don't think—” he said.

“Look in the Book,” she insisted, with That Tone, which only members of the Female Conspiracy could mistress.

He shrugged and turned the pages again. He found his place and stared. “It—seems to be possible. But-”

“Possible?” Lacuna exclaimed. "For me to change that bad decision?''

“Yes. But the details are so technical I can't understand them at all. This book gets into programming language, and it will take me years to figure out even part of it. Only Humfrey, who had a century to learn the nuances, could fathom this Answer.”

“Then I must go ask Humfrey!” Lacuna said. “Right after I do my service for you.”

“But Humfrey is at an impossible address in the gourd,” Grey protested. “And he doesn't want to be disturbed. He must be doing something extremely important.”

“He will talk to me,” Lacuna said confidently. “I was at his wedding.”

“Actually, he's in the anteroom to Hell, the awfulest region of the dream realm. You would hardly care to go there.”

“Oh yes I would! If there's a way to change where I went wrong and make it right—why that would do for my life what I will do for yours! Magician, tell me how to reach Humfrey!”

“I really don't think—” But he didn't finish, because Ivy was fixing him with the Stare, another aspect of female magic.

“You don't need to,” Lacuna said. “I must do it. If I have to give another service for that Answer, then I'll gladly do it. Let me just go to Com-Pewter and take care of that; then I'll return here and—”

Grey sighed. “No, if you feel that strongly about it, I will help you visit Humfrey without further charge. I will do it now. Your service to me can wait.”

“Well, if you're sure—”

“I'm not sure. But it seems it was mused.”

“Fated,” Ivy murmured.

“I'm getting as bad as what's her name,” he said, flustered.

“Metria,” Ivy said.

“The Demoness Metria,” he agreed. “Getting the wrong word.” He looked at Lacuna. “Anyway, I'll send you to see Humfrey now. But I warn you, it's not a pleasant trip.”

“My life is not a pleasant trip! I could use some excitement.”

“Well, then, you can go to Hell.”

Lacuna was taken aback. “But—”

“In a handbasket,” he said. “That's where Humfrey is, and it's the only way to go there, if you don't belong.”

“Oh.” For a moment she had been on the verge of mistaking his meaning. Folk from Mundania could have some crude Mundanian manners clinging to them.

“But you can do that tomorrow,” Ivy said. “You will want to rest here tonight.”

“No, I don't think I do. I'd rather go straight on and get the second Answer from Magician Humfrey.”

“As you wish,” Grey said. He went to a locked cupboard, unlocked it, opened it, and brought out a seated jar. He unscrewed the lid and took out a tiny basket, like a thimble made of wickerwork, on a thread. He flipped the thread up toward the ceiling and let go of the basket. It hung there, suspended from nothing.

“This is the basket,” Ivy said. “It's one of the magic devices we found in Humfrey's collection. He evidently used it and sent it back. You will ride in it to Hell.”

“But I can't fit in that little thing!” Lacuna protested.

Grey smiled. “Your body will rest in a coffin, just as Humfrey's does. Only your soul goes to Hell. Don't worry, your body will be quite safe here, until you return to it.”

Ivy walked to a low solid bench. She lifted its top— and it came up, manifesting as the lid to a plushly lined coffin. “Lie down in here,” Ivy said.

Lacuna was beginning to have, if not exactly second thoughts, first-and-a-half thoughts. Sleep in a coffin? But if it was the way to go, then she had to do it.

She got into the coffin and lay on her back. Somehow this action made her feel even older and duller than she hoped she was. Grey put his finger behind the hanging tiny basket and pushed it toward her. “Get into this.”

Lacuna wanted to protest, but found herself floating up toward the basket, which was rapidly expanding. She caught its edge with her hands and climbed in. It was now quite ample in size; she could stand upright within it and peer over the edge and down.

She saw her huge body lying there in the coffin. It looked every bit as blah as she had feared.

She turned to face the other way. As she did so, the basket began to move. It was swinging along at the end of its rope, which was firmly knotted to the stout handle. The room, indeed the entire Good Magician's castle, seemed to have disappeared. She was on her way.

The basket tilted and moved down. Lacuna clutched the edge with both hands. She was passing through a region of shadows and clouds. Behind the clouds were vague flashes, as of lightning, making the outlines show momentarily. Some of the clouds resembled monstrous ugly faces, as if Cumulo Fracto Nimbus, the meanest of clouds, had posed for his portrait.

One of the clouds opened its big mouth, and the basket swung right into it. The scenery changed; now there were things floating, ranging from tiny acorns to huge acorn trees. This was evidently the dream realm, normally accessed through the peephole of a gourd. It seemed there were other ways to visit it. To Hell in a handbasket! Who would have expected it! At least it was interesting.

But some of the scenes through which she was passing were more than interesting. They were grotesque. There were human forms in various states of distress, and animals who seemed lost, and assorted objects that looked broken. The stuff of troubled dreams, spare props, perhaps hanging here in limbo, waiting to be fashioned into truly unpleasant episodes for those sleepers who deserved them. Lacuna had seldom suffered from bad dreams; that was part of the boredom of her being. How could a person rate bad dreams if a person never did anything of doubtful validity?

Then a vague face formed, neither interesting nor dull of itself. From its mouth poured numbers in scattered order. These numbers grew larger as they moved, becoming individual pictures. They were odd indeed! One was of a man walking along with two left feet, making him pretty awkward. Another was a blue or purple horse; actually she couldn't quite tell what color it was, because it seemed to keep changing, never being fixed. A third was of a man whose head was a pile of animal manure.