The Dastard (6 page)

Becka decided to gamble. “You're lying.”

He was unbothered. “You know, I could almost get to like you, if you showed me your--”

“No!”

He sighed. “If I tell you more of the truth, will you show me more of--”

“No!”

“Then you hardly seem worth my company.”

Becka realized that he didn't really want her company. He was trying to make her go away. But why should he bother to do that, when he could readily unhappen their entire association, remembering all of it himself? That would get rid of her most effectively. Yet he wasn't doing that. This didn't seem to make sense.

So she gambled. “Well, I'm not leaving. And I'm not showing you anything. So go ahead and unhappen our association.”

“What a mean spirited tart you are.”

“And I'll get meaner, if you don't get rid of me. So do it. Why wait? I'll only get in your way.”

“You think I won't?”

“Yes, I think you won't. Because I think you can't.”

“I don't want to get rid of you until I know exactly how you relate to the force against me. Obviously the Good Magician sent you to me for some devious reason. I need to know that reason, so I can foil it.”

“I can't tell you, because I don't know it myself. But I'll be glad to foil you, if I can. So you might as well get rid of me, or admit you can't.”

He considered again. “If I tell you the whole truth, will you be my servant without baiting me?”

That was a different offer. She didn't care to be his or anybody's servant, but she did want to fulfill her obligation to the Good Magician, and she was getting really curious about the Dastard's devious magic. “No. I'll help you with routine things, the way the Good Magician told me to, but that's all. I'm nobody's servant.” Saying that made her feel better.

“Then how about not interfering with me?”

“Interfering?” she asked blankly.

“Trying to mess up what I do.”

“How could I do that?”

“If I tell you, you'll try to foil me. So I can't tell you unless you agree not to.”

Oh. She thought about it, and realized that he had a point. The Good Magician hadn't told her to foil the Dastard, however much she might want to, but to help him. So maybe it was better to let that be. “Okay. If you promise not to try to look at my--”

“$$$$!” he swore. “You closed the loophole.”

Her ears were momentarily stunned by the bad word. She had never heard it before, but recognized its nature. She refused to let him think he could freak her out, so she concealed her disorientation. “Well?”

“Very well. But you had better be an excellent servant.”

“I'm not a servant. I'm just agreeing not to try to foil you or mess you up. I do have some pride.”

“All right. Here is the whole truth. Once I have unhappened something with a person, I can't unhappen it again, because that would be treading on my own trail, as it were. I can unhappen something else with that person, but I can't go back to the first unhappening. So the first time I unhappened you, at the time of the kiss, I lost the ability to wipe out the rest of the interaction, because that would unhappen the first unhappening.”

Becka found this too confusing to digest immediately, but she concluded that he was telling the truth. “Then why did you do it?”

“You caught me by surprise, the first time you turned dragon. I unhappened it automatically. I suspect the Good Magician knew it would be that way. So he stuck me with you.”

That did make sense. It was the kind of devious logic the Good Magician was reputed to have. His reason for sending her here was beginning to clarify. “What else?”

“I can unhappen things going back as far as four years ago, when I got my talent. And I can unhappen myself as far back as a day, if I haven't unhappened something else in that time.”

“Yourself? So you don't remember what you did?”

“No. I always remember. But sometimes I need to get out of a spot picklement.”

“I can't think why,” Becka said dryly.

He missed her sarcasm. “Last time it happened was when I kissed a pretty girl, and her brute of a father caught me.”

Becka almost laughed. “And you had to get out of there in a hurry!”

“Right. I unhappened the kiss. It remained just as real to me, but not to her.” He glanced at Becka. “So if you want to kiss me, I can unhappen it, and--”

“No!” She didn't want to kiss him, and also suspected that there could be a lot more to it, all conveniently unhappened so she couldn't prove a thing if she complained to anyone else. It would be their secret, and the Dastard was a liar, so wouldn't admit it. This also gave her more of a hint why the Dastard hadn't told her to go away at the outset: He wanted to get his hands on a cute girl, one way or another. If she weren't what she was--a dragon girl--she would have been in trouble. As the Good Magician must also have known. She was coming to better appreciate Humfrey's cleverness, though she wasn't at all sure she liked it.

Did she really have the whole truth now? Not quite. “You said you couldn't unhappen people, but I think you were lying. So can you?”

“I hate to waste lies,” he said evasively.

She was definitely on to something. “Our deal's no good if you don't tell the whole truth.”

He sighed. “Yes, sometimes I can unhappen people, when they're young enough, by preventing their parents from meeting. So I wasn't really using up a valuable lie. I can't unhappen you or anyone over four years old.”

Valuable lie? Becka decided not to follow that up, sure she would not appreciate the answer. “Okay.”

“And one other thing,” the Dastard said. “If I happen to be standing there when you turn over in your sleep, and you show something, that's not my fault.”

He never gave up! “That won't be a problem.”

The Dastard made a quarter smile. He thought he had reopened the loophole.

They reached the camping place. It was enchanted against dangerous creatures, and there were pie trees growing in fresh abundance. Caterpillars had left two large tents, and there were pillow and blanket bushes. There were even several litterbugs to clean up any litter they might leave. It was ideal.

That night the Dastard retired to one tent, and Becka to the other. She lay down, but didn't bother with a blanket. She knew the Dastard didn't value his given word, and would try to catch a forbidden glimpse of her underclothing as she slept. She wasn't concerned. She changed to dragon form, curled up with her tail across her nose, and slept.

In the morning the Dastard seemed ill of temper. Becka could guess why: He had tried to peek into the tent and see her panties, and spied only the dragon. She suppressed a smile; it served him right. One of the weird things about men was that they were always so eager to see what would freak them out. But nobody accused men of being sensible.

They cleaned up. She did so in dragon form, swimming in the nearby river, then changing back to girl form. She was fortunate in that her dragon scales became her girl clothing; she was never exposed while changing. In her natural form, her girl front was clothed, her dragon rear scaled. She could take off her clothing if she wanted to, but it was easier just to turn dragon, wash her scales, then turn girl with a new outfit.

They ate more pies. Then the Dastard spoke. “There's a nexus.”

“A what?”

“A meeting with significant potential. I will discover who it is, and maybe unhappen it, and you won't interfere.”

“I agreed not to,” she said. “Unlike some folk, I have a conscience. I keep my word.”

“I've kept my word with you.”

“What, you mean to say you never looked into my tent last night?”

“I mean to say I never saw anything you didn't want to show.”

Maybe that counted. The Dastard kept his word when he couldn't help it. “So what makes this encounter different from what I've already seen?”

“All you have seen so far is spot minor unhappenings. This will be a big one.”

“If you're going to unhappen it anyway, why bother? Why not just take a different path?”

“Because this is how I get my pleasure in life. By changing things to make other people worse off than I am.”

This took more than a passing effort of understanding. “You enjoy making others unhappy?”

“Yes! Because that makes me better off than they are.”

“But why don't you just use your talent to make yourself better off without hurting anyone else?”

“I would if I could. I'd like to marry a princess, and spend the rest of my life in useless indolence, much respected by all who meet me. But I haven't found a princess to marry, or even a girl to smooch along the way.” He glanced sidelong at Becka, but she turned dragon for just a moment, warning him off. “So it's easier to make others worse off.”

He did have a point, of a sort. But she was short on sympathy, knowing his nature. “Well then, maybe you should just find a princess to smooch, instead of messing with unimportant folk.”

“If I find one, I will certainly do my best to win her. Meanwhile, I'll continue to seek nexi.”

Becka wondered if she was supposed to help him find a princess. But she didn't know any princesses. “Okay, I'll just watch and not interfere.”

“Thank you,” he said insincerely. “This way.” He walked back along the path they had followed the day before.

“But we've already been there,” she protested.

“I have a sense about it. I go where there is a nexus. I don't care what direction it is.”

So they walked back toward the Sea Hag's statue. Becka would have preferred some other direction, because the statue was creepy, but had no choice.

After an hour they met a young woman walking the opposite way.

She was rather pretty, in a disheveled way, if a person liked that type. She had wild black hair and wild black eyes, and her clothing seemed to have been randomly assembled without regard to color or pattern. But beneath it all she had a somewhat too-prominent bosom that sported more than an eyeful of cleavage, thanks to inadequate buttoning. Naturally, the Dastard's eyeballs were heating. Becka was disgusted.

“Who are you?” the Dastard inquired in his crudely abrupt way.

The creature let out a laugh that was halfway between the squeak of a stuck door hinge and the squeal of a stuck road hog. “I'm Ann Arcky. My talent is absentmindedness.”

Obviously true: Her wardrobe and hairstyle suggested as much. But the Dastard's eyes were still glued to her bouncily heaving décolletage.

There was something else: As the woman spoke, a fuzzy balloon appeared over her head, then faded. She was an odd one, certainly.

Since the Dastard was for the moment distracted, Becka asked a question. “What is that bubble over your head?”

“Well, it's a medium-length story,” Ann said. “And sort of scattered, or maybe I should say scatterbrained.”

“Go ahead and tell it,” the Dastard said. “We're listen--”

But his voice cut off in midword, leaving the “ing” cut off and dropping to the ground, for Ann had just inhaled, popping loose a button. Becka didn't want to admit she was jealous of such ability, so she kept her mouth shut, in contrast to the Dastard, whose mouth was hanging open.

“I came from Mundania,” Ann said. “I was always sort of disorganized, always losing thoughts. Then I wandered into--what's this land called?”

“Xanth,” Becka said.

“Zanth,” Ann agreed. “I got here, I don't know how, I just sort of blundered, and couldn't find my way out, and so I decided to make the best of it and I kept going and didn't know where I was so I just found this path and I guess I'll wander forever and ever until maybe I get somewhere or maybe not, and--”

“Thank you,” Becka said, cutting her off. It was evident that she really was disorganized, and needed some help. “What about the bubble?”

“The bubble?” Ann glanced up, and saw another just fading out. “Oh, yes. I keep losing my thoughts, and in Mundania they really were lost beyond recovery, unless someone happened, to catch them and remind me, but that didn't always happen, and sometimes I could look for weeks and never find them again, and it was just so frustrating, and--”

“The bubble,” Becka said again.

“Oh, yes. When I got into this magic land, what's-its-name, Xanadu, my lost thoughts just started to pop out in these speech balloons, like a comic strip or something, and it's been really distracting, in fact I don't know what to make of it. So I just traipse along, hoping to get somewhere, and I'm not even sure where I should look.” She raised her hand to brush away a disorganized strand of hair. In the process, she interrupted the Dastard's line of sight to her bosom.

“Look,” he echoed blankly. Then his wits returned. “So you're not a princess.”

Ann burst out laughing. “Princess? You think I'm a princess? That's really weird, because I am a princess!”

Now Becka's jaw dropped. “You are?”

“Of course. A very disorganized one, of course. Maybe it doesn't count here in Xanthus, but back home where I'm lost from--you don't happen to know the way back, do you? I got lost, and I really don't know how to find my way anywhere.”

Ann had dropped her arm, exposing her cleavage again, and the Dastard's eyeballs were locking in again. If they had their way, they might pop out of his head and right into the woman's frontal valley and be lost amidst the mountains. “Let me help you with your buttons,” Becka said, and reached out to get the woman's shirt correctly fastened.

That restored the Dastard. Becka had been tempted to let him remain locked in, but realized that if she was supposed to help him, she had better do it. Besides, that constantly heaving cleavage annoyed her.

“What kind of thoughts do you lose?” the Dastard asked.

“Oh, anything,” Ann said. “My friends tell me I'd lose the--the--” But she had lost the thought.

However, a bubble had formed, and in it was a picture of a messy tub piled with dishes. “The kitchen sink?” Becka asked.

“Yes, that's it! I'd lose the kitchen sink if I could. And sometimes at home I almost did, because I never got the dishes done on time, and, and--”

This time her balloon showed a tall stack of dishes. As she floundered, the stack tilted, then fell over. The dishes crashed, breaking, sending fragments of broken china in all directions. Some shards flew right out of the balloon, landing with little plinks on the ground.