Stork Naked (21 page)

“Get busy, laggard. Do you think I have all day?”

The Stallion blinked, and the scene vanished. Now they were in a somber hall, just the two of them. An independent observer might somehow have gotten the impression that the horse of another color was angry. “Tell me about these children. Are they of this reality?”

“No. They're visitors, like me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“As if you don't know, fleabag.”

“I do not know the affairs of other realities,” the Stallion said evenly. Wisps of acrid vapor drifted in minor air currents. “In fact I was unaware that individuals could travel between them. How did you manage that?”

“The Stork works, dullard. That connects with all the realities. You didn't know?”

“I did not know the storks allowed children and birds to utilize their facilities.”

“It's a special case, hoofer.”

The Stallion nodded gravely. “So it seems. I suspect there is something larger here than meets the eye.”

“You do have bigger orbs than I do, horse-head. If you can't see it, why should I?”

The equine body glowed dangerously. “I may not be able to eject you from my realm, alien bird, but I can put you into dreams that will make you wish you had departed.”

“Listen, rump-rot, I've lived in Hell. What do you have that can match that?”

The Stallion considered. “You strike me as a creature almost without conscience. What interest do you have in finding children?”

“What business is it of yours, puke-tail?”

“If you want me to locate them for you, that becomes my business.”

The peeve searched for a way to refute that, but could not. “The Sorceress Morgan le Fey is holding the children hostage so as to force Surprise Golem to give up her baby for Morgan to use. We have to find those children so Surprise can keep her baby.”

“Surprise surely cares. Why do you?”

The peeve squirmed uncomfortably. “Is this relevant?”

“Motive is relevant. Before I help you, I need to be sure you are not planning to harm her or the children.”

“I wouldn't do that!”

“A creature without conscience would sell out anyone for personal benefit. Convince me you would not.”

The peeve saw no alternative but the truth. “The Golems gave me a good home. The baby likes me. I don't want to mess that up.”

“Suppose the Sorceress Morgan offers you a mountain of divine birdseed?” The Stallion flickered, and the mountain appeared, formed of every kind of seed, common, rare, and exotic. There were even the seeds of Doubt, Dissension, and War, which were guaranteed to give a bellyful in short order.

The peeve licked its beak, but held firm. “The harpy can eat it herself for all I care.”

“And if she offers you the Big Book of Insults for All Occasions?” The huge tome appeared, bound by two hefty leather straps, with wisps of smoke leaking out from between the pages.

The peeve hesitated half a flicker. “Including the filthiest ones?”

“Including ones that scorch foliage and make maidens swallow their teeth.”

But the peeve remembered nice Surprise Golem. How could her welfare be traded for a pot of puke? “No.”

“What about a perch over an abyss filled with beseeching faces?” The abyss appeared below them, filled with the features of humans, monsters, and crossbreeds of every fantastic description, all staring up pleadingly.

The notion was dizzying. All those faces to poop on! “Well—”

“Or the combination,” the Stallion continued persuasively. “Birdseed to stoke your poop-tract, insults galore, and the faces of everyone who ever disliked you?” The three scenes superimposed in an artistic dream.

Even Hell had not offered such opportunity! There had been a time—a long time—when that would have been irresistible. But as of the past year the peeve had begun to experience life with a loving family, and as of the past hour had been the recipient of a single unfeigned smile. It would be ludicrous to trade seeds, insults, and faces for such pittances, yet the Golem family, including the new baby, had somehow lassoed the peeve's wizened heart and would not let go. “No,” it whispered regretfully.

“That is not a purely rational decision. How can any puny trace of emotion be allowed to interfere with unadulterated self-interest?”

“I know,” the peeve agreed, ashamed. “I'm just not the bird I was.”

“I will help you,” the Stallion said abruptly. The Temptation scene retreated to the background, restoring the somber hall. A monstrous megaphone appeared. “Now hear ye,” the horse said, his voice amplified beyond all reason by the instrument. “All children are to report to headquarters this moment for tallying. Any child hanging back will be denied candy for a week.”

There was an immediate scramble, and the hall filled with children.

There were humans, elves, goblins, trolls, ogrets, skeletons, demons, cubs, little dragons, small ghosts, puppy cats, kitty dogs, and more alien youngsters.

“Which are yours?” the Stallion asked.

The peeve eyed every child. “None of these,” it said sadly.

“Then they are not in the dream realm.”

“Then my job here is done. I wasn't able to help Surprise.”

“You have helped her by eliminating one sector,” the Stallion said. “That is the most you can do.”

“I wanted to do more.”

“That is the penalty of developing your soul, conscience, and empathy.”

“Now he tells me,” the peeve muttered. Then it remembered something. “There's a nice girl named Lydia who is looking for work. She can interpret dreams, but few folk remember them long enough. I wonder—”

“We can use her,” the Stallion said. “Next time she sleeps we will bring her here and present her with our uninterpreted dreams. We like to understand them perfectly before using them, so they can't go wrong, but some are awkward.”

“Tell her the pretty green bird arranged it.”

“I will.”

Meanwhile the children had discovered the objects in the background. “Seeds!” one exclaimed, and several dived into the mountain, throwing seeds at each other. “Insults!” another cried, trying to unfasten the containing straps. “Poop-deck faces!” a third said, looking down into the abyss.

“I had better get out of your way,” the peeve said.

The Stallion glanced back. The seeds became candy, the book a giant Fairy & Elf Tales volume, and the faces became a mural on the floor. “Awww,” the children groaned, disappointed.

“Just fly through the bull's-eye.”

The peeve found itself back in the cliffhanger horror sequence, which was being rerun. The Dark and Stormy Knight was charging the Desperate Maiden, who was dodging aside. Now it was evident that this event was carefully choreographed; the knight was not really trying to impale her, but to make it look like a very close call. The dreamer who received that bad dream would not know that, of course.

The bull was snorting, its armored eye glaring. The peeve flew right at the eye, passing between the slats of the armor and diving into the angry pupil.

It emerged from the gourd whose peephole it had entered. The standard dull Xanth scenery remained. It was good, in its fashion, to be back.

The peeve resumed its search of the remaining sector, but was sure the children weren't there. Maybe someone else would find them. At least it had done what it could.

And learned something about itself. Indeed, it was not the bird it had been.

Che Centaur flew across his sector, searching for traces of the children. His gaze was keen and so was his hearing; he was confident he could spot them if they were here. They tended to be noisy little rascals, always up to some mischief; that made them easier to spot.

He came to a large lake or small sea, half shrouded by fog. He realized he was thirsty, so he glided down for a drink. He landed on the bank, brought a cup from his arrow quiver, and dipped out some sparkling water.

Then he paused. Things were not the same in this reality as in his own. He was not necessarily married to Cynthia Centaur here, for one thing. What looked like good lake water could be a huge love elixir pond. He already had trouble enough with his illicit passion for Surprise Golem; he did not want any further complication.

A creature emerged from the fog. It looked like a small human woman, or a large elf, but not exactly. It was female, with cat ears and tail, and wings. A crossbreed of some sort.

The creature saw Che. “Well hail, centaur! What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”

“I am Che Centaur. I thought I would take a drink of this water, but I am uncertain of its nature.”

“And I am Chaska, half human, half demoness, and half whatever,” she replied, changing form to small winged centaur. “My talent is seeing through fog. Have no fear of this water. This is the Vitamin Sea, very healthy.”

This surprised Che. “How can you have a talent in addition to shape-shifting?”

“Why shouldn't I?”

“Folk are normally limited to one magic talent. Mine is flying. Any others I have to develop by serious practice, such as accurate archery.”

She glanced sidelong at him. “You're not from around here, are you?”

“I am from far away, yes.”

“So you don't know that there is no limit on magic talents in Xanth. Not that I have more than one; it's my demon ancestry that enables me to shape-shift.” She became a fully human bare girl with wings.

“I did not know that,” Che agreed. “Thank you for your information about this water.” He lifted his cup and drank.

The water was dizzyingly healthy. He felt wonderful. And alarmed. Had she told him the truth? Suppose it was after all love elixir? She had for the moment assumed bare human form, which in that species was considered seductive. After his experience with Surprise Seven, who had tempted him far more than he cared to admit, he did not trust anything about this reality.

“You are welcome,” Chaska said. She walked back into the fog, and disappeared.

Che felt no passion for her. So she had not tricked him; the water was merely full of healthy vitamins. He was relieved.

Chaska reappeared. “I just thought: might you be looking for other winged centaurs?”

“Actually I was looking for three lost part-demon children. But I wouldn't mind meeting others of my kind.”

“I know where they are, through the fog. Catch my tail and follow me.” She returned to small winged centaur form and switched her tail toward him.

Was this wise? Yet winged centaurs might be willing to help him search for the children, or know where they might be. It seemed a fair thing to risk.

He caught the tip of her tail. She spread her wings and leaped into the air. He followed. She plunged into the bank of fog, and he followed. In a quarter of a moment he was lost in the thickness of it, having no idea where he was with respect to land or sea. He had to trust Chaska's direction and motive.

They popped back into clear air. There below was an open stall such as flying centaurs used. “I believe they are home now,” Chaska said. “Have a good visit.” She twitched her tail from his grasp and disappeared into the fog.

“Thank you,” he called after her.

He glided down to the stall. As he landed, two winged centaurs emerged, one male, the other female. “Hello,” he said. “I am Che Centaur. I am looking for three lost children.”

The male approached to shake hands. He had flame colored wings and a fiery coat. “I am Challenge Centaur, with the talent of the production of fire.”

The female approached. Her coat was brown with lightning streaks. “I am Chellony Were-Centaur, with the talent of the production and control of lightning.”

“Pardon my ignorance,” Che said. “Did you say were-centaur?”

“Yes. I have five forms. This one, straight centaur—” her wings disappeared. “Straight human, winged human—” She assumed those forms, the human woman sprouting wings. “And winged horse.” The horse appeared.

“I am amazed,” Che said. “I am from far away, where our only magic talent is flying.”

“As for the lost children—ours are not lost, as you see.” Chellony glanced back into the stall, and three small winged centaurs emerged.

“They are part-demon children,” Che said.

“Like Chaska!” one of the young centaurs exclaimed.

Chaska reappeared. “Are you ready to play in the fog?”

“Be back by nightfall,” Chellony called as the three leaped into the air to join Chaska.

“We will,” a child called back as they disappeared into the fog.

“We have not seen any part-demon children recently,” Challenge said. “Other than Filly Buster and De Flate.”

“Those are not the names, unless they somehow got changed,” Che said. “What are those children like?”

Chellony smiled. “Filly Buster is a cute girl, but she will talk your ear off. We find ears lying on the ground where she has been.”

“The only one who can shut her up is her friend De Flate,” Challenge said.

“The children I see are named Demon Ted, DeMonica, and Woe Betide,” Che said. “They lack those talents. So I think you have not seen them. Has there been anything else?”

“Just a large lost bird,” Chellony said.

Something about the way she said it alerted Che. “Would that bird be telepathic?”

“Indeed. And from very far away.”

“Another reality,” Challenge said.

“The Simurgh!”

“So you know of her,” Chellony said.

“Yes. I tutor her chick, Sim.”

Both centaurs paused with surprise. “That is indeed another reality,” Challenge said. “In this one, the Simurgh is male, and has no chick.”

“Many things are different,” Che agreed. “I find it confusing at times.”

“I am femalishly curious,” Chellony said. “You must have to know a great deal, to tutor one as smart as that chick must be. Has Sim ever asked a question you were unable to answer?”

“Many times,” Che agreed ruefully. “Then I have to research. For example, when I mentioned that the Demon Tallyho assigns talents to babies, Sim asked who assigned talents for adults who developed them later. I haven't yet learned the answer to that one.”

“I can appreciate why,” Challenge said. “I would never have thought of the question, let alone the answer.”

“Maybe you should make up a name, such as the Demoness Jessica,” Chellony suggested. “So as not to appear ignorant.”

Che was horrified. “I would never—”

Both centaurs burst out laughing. They were teasing him. No centaur would pretend knowledge he lacked.

“I believe the Simurgh has been waiting for you,” Chellony said. “She has not wished to interfere in the events of this reality, so has kept to herself. She contacted us only to be certain we did not object to her presence.”

“I must talk to her,” Che said.

“If she wishes.”

Che smiled. “I understand your meaning. No one can contact the
Simurgh without her agreement. But I believe she will talk with me.” He sent out a thought. Simurgh—Che Centaur is in this reality with friends.

Welcome, good centaur.

The two other centaurs nodded together. “She knows you,” Challenge said. “Go to her.”

“Thank you.” Che spread his wings and took off in the direction indicated by the Simurgh's powerful mind-signal. He was no longer concerned about the fog, knowing she would not mislead him.

He landed in a small crater. There was the Simurgh in a huge nest she had fashioned. “I am so glad to have found you,” he said. “Though at the moment I was looking for the children.”

It is a trying time, she agreed. Though it has allowed me opportunity for thought.

“You think?” he blurted before he thought. “I mean—”

I know what you mean, good centaur, she thought, amused. As it happens I know a great deal, but there are aspects of understanding that I lack. For example, there is the question of the soldiers Magician Trent brought with him when he returned to Xanth and became king. They were Mundanes, but in time Mundanes can develop magic talents, as the magic of Xanth slowly infuses them. The question is why this was not observed.

Che was surprised. “I never thought of that.”

You were busy with other matters, such as tutoring my chick. Now I believe I have made sense of that matter: the soldiers did develop talents, but they were so minor as to be unnoticed. Such as the ability of a man to change his eyes from one shade of blue to another, or altering the color of his nails, or the ability to speak to basilisks.

“But the sight of a basilisk will turn a person to stone!”

The Simurgh smiled mentally. Therefore there was never occasion to invoke that particular talent.

“I see that you keep yourself busy regardless of your situation.”

Another mental smile. Unfortunately I never found the lazy bone.

“What kind of bone?”

It is the cure for the WORK Ethic curse.

Oh. She was having a bit of fun with him. “How is it you are caught here?” He had a fair notion, but wanted to be sure.

The fissure between realities defined its two connections, she thought. When it terminated, they were no longer defined. I could leave this reality via the Stork Works, but not be sure of returning to the one I left without that definition. There are an infinite number of very similar realities.

“What about the one where you are missing?”

There are an infinite number of those, also. I have a foolish preference to return to my own, rather than a similar one.

“But if you can't be sure of the correct reality, how can we?”

You can not, she thought. You will have to discover a way to identify the correct one.

“But we lack expertise!”

True. It is a challenge. We depend on you.

A fluorescent bulb flickered over his head. “Does this have anything to do with my destiny?”

Everything, good centaur. You are destined to change the history of Xanth. You must endeavor to change it as little as possible.

“By locating the closest reality,” he said, awed. “Lest the land I know be rendered moot.”

True.

He moved on to the more immediate problem. “Surprise. Baby. Stork. Morgan le Fey. Children.” Each word he said oriented his mind so that the Simurgh could instantly pick up all that was relevant. In five instants she had it all.

I will help you to the extent I can. The three children are not in this sector as such. But if they were transformed, there is a chance. There are three blips I am unable to fathom fully.

“But you know everything in the universe,” Che protested.

In my reality. This is not that. The blips are very small, while my thoughts are large. We do not relate. But they do seem to be from a different reality.

“That could be the three children,” Che agreed. “How to I locate them?”

The blips are deep inside an anthill. You must enter it and verify them personally.

“I am too big to enter an anthill,” he said with a certain brief humor.

As it happens, another anthill owes me a favor. They have a drone

who got touched by a forget whorl and lost his mind. You can take over that body. That should suffice. The Simurgh sent him a detailed thought, clarifying the situation. Now Che understood.

It took a bit of practice for Che to get used to walking on six legs and communicating via antennae, but these things were natural to the host body and soon he had them down. He also learned to use the special sense the Simurgh bestowed on him: awareness of the direction and nearness of the alien presences. These might not be easy to verify; the pique ants never brought them out into the open. There was definitely a mystery there.

The hill was near a pond that was the size of a sea in ant terms: the agreeably pungent and pleasant Piquant Sea. It was somewhat higher than the water level, so was unlikely ever to flood. In fact the ants probably had to delve deep to reach the water level, if they wanted to be sure of plenty to drink. Overall, it seemed like a very nice site, but somewhat exposed; didn't ant-eating creatures regard it as an easy meal? Evidently not.

He spied some tasty-looking berries. Each one was larger than he was, in this form, but he was hungry. He went to puncture one to get some of its juice.

Do not, good centaur, the Simurgh's thought came. That is the notorious diary/diarrhea berry, unique I suspect to this reality. If a person eats one, he spews out his secrets in the manner of a diary. If he eats two, he has severe digestive difficulty. At your present size, one sip could inflict both curses on you together.

Che decided he wasn't that hungry after all. He moved on, in a new direction.

You are losing your way, the Simurgh's warning came.

How had he done that? Che turned about and resumed the path toward the anthill.

He was distracted by a bug traveling the other way. The bug had feelers, so Che touched them. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I am a beetle from Mundania,” the bug replied. “I thought coming here would solve my problem, but it only modified it.”

“What is your problem?”

“I am manic/depressive. I cycle through episodes of joy and misery. I
would gladly dispense with the one in order to avoid the other. But here in Xanth I cycle through episodes of magic and repression.”

“Can you clarify?” Che asked, interested.

“I am entering my magic phase now. But it manifests erratically.” The bug looked at a nearby blade of grass. It burst into flame. “Next time it may become a drop of water,” the bug said. “I wish I could control my effect.”

“I agree: you have exchanged one curse for another,” Che said sympathetically.

“I will move on now, before some effect harms you.”