Up In A Heaval (14 page)

“Naldo?”

“My husband. Prince Naldo Naga. That makes me a princess. I love it. He's eleven years younger than I am, but princes are ageless. But I also love the sea, so I go out for a swim every so often. So I answered Para's call. Para's a really nice boat. His mother was a dream boat.”

“So he told me.” There: He had gotten out four words in a row.

“So you're not looking for a nice nymph to play with,” Mela continued. “Though I understand they play very well. So why are you going to the Faun & Nymph Retreat?”

That he could answer. “To deliver a letter to Snortimer.”

“Ivy's bed monster!” she exclaimed. “I didn't know he got letters.”

“It's from Mundania. We're delivering a number of them. I have to read them before I deliver them, because the one that went to Demon Jupiter made him hurl his Red Spot at us.”

“Those big Demons are touchy when mortals bother them. What does Snortimer's letter say?”

“I haven't read it yet.”

“Then let's read it together.”

“Uh, all right.” Her remarkable assets were covered but still almost nudging him; it was nigh impossible to turn her down. He opened the letter, and they read it.

Village Kaledon Otch Enau Kane Valley Sir Snortimer:

My residence is with the mundane human adult who has been posting articles of correspondence to Xanth. She is named Arjayess. My correct title is Sir Winslow Cromwell Wentworthy XV. The dratted woman calls me “a dust bunny.” Ludicrous expression regarding one of my aristocratic bearing, what? Quite demeaning I say, quite.

I am assuming your position of monster-under-the-bed has more dignity than that of what my life has been reduced to. At the very least your existence has been acknowledged. You are also awarded due respect and allowed to maintain your personal dignity. Here, my human weekly probes under the sleeping platform with a terribly violent machine that inhales everything within reach. Thus disturbing my repose, though “coward” is not in the Wentworthy vocabulary, I prudently retreat to the farthest corner. One must exercise caution about foreign contraptions, must we not? I am then ignored for another seven days.

This day I have become incensed to the point I find it necessary to advance upon the woman's writing machine. I feel I must state a formal note of grievance. The adults in this world are entirely daft. They deny magic exists. The very young of the species are aware of it; however, the grown-ups refuse to believe. The human here is so involved with growing flowers—I ask you!—that she wouldn't recognize a chimera if it stepped right before her. Likely say, “Oh, do excuse me please, you're treading on my aconites,” or some such rot.

Right. What I need is a key—a talisman, an amulet, or a charm of a sort that one could invoke so the woman would comprehend. My situation has now become serious; this foolish human is so blind that my very substance is under threat. Actually she is not altogether a bad sort, if a trifle single-minded. I am certain that if she were aware of my presence, and recognizing my status, we could develop an acceptable relationship.

Please do inform me if there is such an object that would be of assistance to myself in this dire plight. I remain Your humble servant, Sir Winslow Cromwell Wentworthy XV

Umlaut looked up from the letter. “What do you think? Is this letter dangerous?”

“That poor bunny!” Mela exclaimed sympathetically. "Stuck in a land where they don't believe in magic. He needs to come here to Xanth.”

Umlaut took that to be her agreement that the letter was safe. He folded it and returned it to its envelope.

The ride continued. Sesame, Sammy, and Claire were all gazing out at the colorful sand passing close beneath them, for it contained all manner of shells and plants and fish. The two cats' tails twitched when an especially delicious-looking fish passed, but they did not try to pounce on it. Being sandwiched wasn't so bad; they were traveling quite swiftly.

“How can we get to central Xanth by swimming south?” Umlaut asked Mela.

“We will curve around to the southern tip of the peninsula,” she explained. “Then we will use the River of Grass and finally go into the aqui-fur to reach the lake of the Faun & Nymph Retreat. It's all by water, you see; otherwise Cutbait couldn't go there. She's strictly water.”

“There's water under the land?”

“Indeed. Where would we merfolk be if there wasn't?” She twitched her nice tail again. “Not all of us can make legs, so we need water access to isolated lakes. Those of us who like fresh water.” She grimaced.

Fresh water. For some odd reason that reminded him that he was getting rather full of it, but there seemed to be nowhere to let it out. He fidgeted uncomfortably.

“There's a water closet,” Mela remarked, indicating a section that seemed to be opaque.

“A what?”

“Maybe you should go there and see.”

Rather than confess his confusion, he made his way there. He found a door, opened it, and entered a closet containing a toilet. Oh. That was just what he needed. What a remarkable coincidence that the merwoman should mention it just at this time. He used it, then returned to his place in the boat.

The sea became shallower. Suddenly Cutbait shied away from something, causing Umlaut to crash into Mela. Fortunately she was quite soft where he landed. “Uh, sorry,” he muttered, extricating himself.

“You mean you weren't overcome by desire?” she inquired.

“Uh, no, I, uh, that is, not, I mean—”

“You have such a clear manner of expressing yourself,” she said as he blushed. Then she laughed. “Don't be concerned. Cutbait was dodging fly fishing.”

“Fly fishing?”

“See, there's another,” she said, pointing.

He looked. There was a huge fly standing on the beach, holding a fishing pole. The submarine swerved to avoid the bait and hook.

“Why are we going so close to shore?” Umlaut asked. “We could avoid any such problems by going farther out.”

“Cutbait is looking for the river.” She leaned forward to peer ahead. “And there it is.”

Umlaut saw a dark torrent of something. It didn't look like water. The submarine turned into it, and they were surrounded by green flecks. What was it?

Mela reached through the sand witch's substance and snagged a fleck. She showed it to Umlaut. It was a blade of grass. “The River of Grass,” she said.

Umlaut decided not to ask for more information on that. He simply watched as they forged through the green current. It seemed endless, extending as far as he could see, though that wasn't far.

“It's part of the Ever Glades,” Mela continued, unasked. “They go on forever, especially if you get lost in them. But Cutbait knows the way, so we won't be lost. I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, I haven't been this way recently. Maybe the route has changed. We might get stuck together endlessly, with absolutely nothing to do.”

Umlaut wasn't reassured. He looked around, and Claire Cat caught his eye. She winked. The merwoman was teasing him. Now he was reassured.

“That cat is a spoilsport,” Mela muttered.

Cutbait dived. The flowing grass disappeared above, but what was below wasn't an improvement. It was brown and as thick as the grass.

“What—?” Umlaut asked ineffectively.

Mela reached out again. Apparently this didn't bother the sand witch. She fetched in a small clump of fur. “Now we're in the aqui-fur.”

“I thought it was water.”

“Watery fur.” She squeezed the fur between her fingers, and water dripped. “It is under all of Xanth.”

It was also all dark now; the fur blocked daylight from reaching down this far. Umlaut hoped Cutbait was competent to navigate in darkness. The only thing he could see was the merwoman's hair: It had a faint phosphorescent glow. At least he knew exactly where she was.

“Don't worry,” Mela said. “I can see reasonably well in water, and this is water. We're moving through the subterranean labyrinth.”

“Labyrinth?”

“Puzzle.”

“I knew that. I mean, what's something like that doing down here?”

“It's just the way the aqui-fur is. It's very devious.”

Umlaut realized that the region under Xanth must be as complicated and confusing as the rest of it. Perhaps it didn't have to make sense.

But then progress slowed. Claire Cat came to sit next to them; he could feel her alarm. That made Umlaut suddenly nervous. “What's the matter?”

“The route has changed,” Mela said. “Cutbait's lost. That's not good in the aqui-fur.”

He did not like this at all, but he had to ask. “Why isn't it good?”

“Because there's only so much air in the submarine. If we stay below too long, you'll run out.”

“We will? Not you?”

“I can breathe the water, of course. When I have visitors below, I make sure there is enough air to breathe. But this isn't my den.”

Suddenly Umlaut felt stifled. “What can we do?”

“We need to find an ox gen tent. That will restore our air.”

“An ox tent?” He was baffled again.

“Close enough. But I am not familiar with this region. Cutbait says she followed the sign that pointed the way to the Faun & Nymph Retreat, but this obviously isn't it. She can go back, but not in time to reach the surface for more air,”

Sammy Cat became agitated. “You can find one?” Umlaut asked.

“That's right,“ Mela said. ”Sammy can find anything. But he won't be able to run through the aqui-fur."

“Maybe he can show Cutbait the way. Can she see him?”

“I don't think so. Her eyes look out, not in, and it's pretty dark.”

Umlaut pondered, then came up with an idea. “Can she feel us? I mean, if we pointed?”

“I doubt it,” Mela said. “We really need to signal her from outside.”

“I think we can do that. We can have Sammy point the way, while you swim outside and show Cutbait.”

Mela nodded. “Now that's half a notion. But I wouldn't be able to see Sammy point from that distance. He's too small, and there's too much fur in the way.”

“Then he can show Sesame, and she can orient her body to point the right way. You should be able to see her, if she straightens out.”

“That might work.” Mela floated off the seat and swam through the submarine's hull and out into the furry water. Her hair drifted back behind, glowing slightly green, rippling as her tail cleft the water. Then she faded from view, because it was dark out there. He hoped she could see in, even if they couldn't see out.

“Go to it, Sammy,” Umlaut said. “Point the way.”

Sammy faced to the side. Evidently he was pointing with his nose. Sesame saw that and slithered out from the boat. She floated just above Para; it seemed that they were in water, despite being able to breathe. She oriented so that her body was straight, an arrow pointing the same direction as Sammy's nose.

Mela, outside, must have seen that. She should be swimming ahead of the submarine. Fissure Cutbait followed her; they could feel the motion. They were on their way. Maybe.

Sammy changed his direction. Sesame changed her orientation and wriggled in place to attract Mela's attention. Mela swam at an angle, and the submarine followed. They moved along a rocky passage.

This continued through several more changes, until it seemed that they had entirely turned around. Umlaut began to be concerned that the cat did not really know where to go. Then he realized that they were following a spiral going down. They couldn't go straight, because there was too much rock separating the channels. But he was gasping now; their air was running short.

Then he saw a light ahead. He peered at it, and as they approached it took better shape. It was a big glowing tent. “The ox tent!” he exclaimed.

Cutbait swam right into it. Immediately the air freshened; they were getting it restored so they could breathe.

Mela reappeared. “The ox gen tent really helps, doesn't it,” she said.

“It really does,” he agreed. All of them were breathing easier.

When the air was fully restored, Cutbait swam back to where she had seen the sign that pointed the way to the Faun & Nymph Retreat. It still pointed the way they had gone: the wrong way.

Claire gazed at the sign. She shook her head. Something was wrong.

In due course they had her information: The sign had been moved. Someone or something had changed it, so that they would get lost. Or worse.

Thereafter their journey was uneventful, Claire had known the way the sign was supposed to point, and it was a good route.

Umlaut took advantage of the time to do something he should have done before. “Sesame, I've been communicating better with the cats because I emulate Feline. But your talent matches mine, so we should be able to communicate even better. If we practice, we should be able to speak really well to each other, so as to be able to handle the next emergency without having to go into nineteen questions.”

Sesame nodded, and they worked on it. Soon he was able to interpret her Serpentine body and hiss language almost as if she were speaking. “This is much better,” he said.

I agree. She hadn't spoken in Human, of course, but she might as well have; he understood her perfectly.

“I really appreciate your helping me like this,” he told her. “I feel much safer with you along.”

Thank you. She kissed him on the ear.

They emerged in a warm lake surrounded by a beach, forest, and mountains. Around it ran half a myriad of fauns & nymphs, seemingly aimlessly. The fauns had little hoofs on their hind feet, and the nymphs were quite remarkably bare. “I think this is it,” Umlaut said.

“We have to go,” Mela said. “Cutbait and I are saltwater creatures; fresh water bothers our skin.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” Umlaut said as Para walked out of the opening crevice that was Fissure Cutbait's mouth.

She shrugged rather impressively. “Anytime, some other time. I hope you get all your letters delivered.” She returned to the crevice just before it closed again. “Farewell.” The submarine sank below the surface and soon disappeared.

“Now all we have to do is find Snortimer,” Umlaut said.

Sammy faced across the lake. He knew the way.

As they came closer to the beach, they got a better look at the scampering fauns & nymphs. “Oh, my,” Umlaut breathed. “What are they doing?”

Sammy and Claire exchanged a feline glance. Then Sammy faced Umlaut for more direct dialogue. The answer, when he achieved it, was not completely satisfactory: “Celebrating.”

“They certainly celebrate a lot,” Umlaut said, watching as a faun chased after a screaming nymph, caught her, threw her to the beach, and celebrated with her. Then they both washed themselves off in the lake and resumed chasing—with different partners. He couldn't quite see the whole of it, but it seemed to be mainly hugging and kissing, with a good deal of squealing and laughing on the side. Maybe they were tickling each other. He wondered if there was something Sammy had not deigned to tell him. He could appreciate the fun of a hug and kiss, and indeed had done both himself. But why did they roll on the ground while doing it?

They landed near a bed sitting on the beach. Nymphs were piling on it, poking their slender legs over the edge and screaming with delight. “What's going on?”

Claire let him know: This was the bed under which Snortimer Bed Monster resided. The nymphs were playing with him, letting him grab their lovely ankles.

“All day long?” he asked, amazed.

All day long.

“But don't they get bored with such repetition?”

Now Sammy and Claire merged forces in order to provide him the answer more efficiently: No, the fauns & nymphs would not get bored. They were simple creatures, satisfied with simple entertainments, which never became overfamiliar because they could not be remembered from one day to another, if even that long. Each day was thus a universe unto itself, with everything new.

“They can't remember?” Umlaut asked, finding it hard to believe.

Not only that, they were immortal, as long as they remained at the retreat. They never aged or changed. They spent their time chasing and celebrating. They lived in a perpetual present. It was an ideal existence.

“Ideal!” Umlaut exclaimed, appalled. “That's no life at all, without memories.”

The cats shrugged. To each his/her choice.

“And Snortimer, what use to give him a letter he won't remember?”

Snortimer, it turned out, was different. He was not a faun or nymph, not native to the retreat, so he remembered. Of course there wasn't much point in remembering ordinary days, as they were repetitive, but he could remember other things well enough. So he would be able to understand and remember the letter.

They went to the bed. The nymphs retreated, uncertain about these odd visitors. Snortimer couldn't come out from under it, or even show himself, because it was day, but he could hear them.

Umlaut considered and concluded that it was feasible to deliver the letter. But could the bed monster read it?

No, for Snortimer had no eyes. Umlaut would have to read the letter to him.

Very well. Umlaut settled down on the bed and opened the letter. “ 'Sir Snortimer,' ” he read.“ 'My residence is with the mundane human adult...' ” When he reached the mention of the dust bunny, Snortimer had a comment, which he indicated by poking the mattress from below.

Now Umlaut went into nineteen questions with the bed monster, answered by single pokes for yes and double pokes for no. It seemed that some of Snortimer's best friends were dust bunnies. They were little rabbits who constantly sneezed out dust; in fact, they even had sneezing contests to see which one could produce the most dust in the shortest time. Unfortunately they were in bad repute with housewives, who had been known to chase them out with brooms. Most of them had taken to hiding under beds, but they were still pursued relentlessly. Snortimer had a lot of sympathy for them.

“So do you know of a charm that will make this Mundane woman understand about this Mundane version of a dust bunny?” Umlaut asked.

Mundane! Snortimer hadn't picked up on that aspect. No, magic didn't work there. Neither dust bunnies nor bed monsters had any real power in that drear region. So he was sorry, but he couldn't help.

“Too bad,“ Umlaut said with regret. ”Well, I will leave the letter with you. We'll have to be moving on to deliver the next one."

They got into Para and paused. “We can't go back the way we came,” Umlaut said. “We can't swim through all that watery fur without Cutbait. We'll have to go overland.” He looked at the high mountains that ringed the retreat. “That may be a hard trek.”

Claire straightened up, looking across the lake. She was aware of something. But before Umlaut could inquire, there was a scream from that direction, followed by a thunk, as of someone colliding with a blank wall. Then there was a peal of cruel laughter.

“Something's wrong,” Umlaut said. He might not be the fastest fish in the creek, but he did get there in due course.

Para paddled rapidly toward the commotion. They could see that the routine celebrations of the fauns & nymphs had ceased in that area, as they stood about two fallen comrades. One was a faun, who lay unconscious, and the other was a nymph sitting on the ground with little stars and planets circling her head. What had happened?

“Maybe they ran into each other,” Umlaut suggested.

Claire shook her head. That wasn't it.

As they approached the shore, the unconscious faun was sitting up, and the nymph was comforting him. The other fauns & nymphs were resuming their normal activities, having lost interest.

Para waddled onto the beach, and they got out. “What happened?” Umlaut asked the nymph.

“We ran into a wall,” she said. “I glanced off it and fell, but he smacked right up against it and lay down.”

“A wall? Where?”

“Right there,” she said, gesturing.

“I don't see it.”

She walked across, her parts jiggling as she moved. Umlaut succeeded in not staring; because all the nymphs were bare and very similarly formed, this one was less remarkable than she might have been, even nude. She put out a hand. “Here,” Then she looked surprised.

“You mean it's invisible?”

“Yes.” She felt around in the air. “Well, it was here,”

Umlaut dutifully felt for it. There was no wall. “Are you sure you didn't imagine it?”

“Could I have done that? We naiads don't have much imagination.”

They also didn't leave much to the imagination, but he kept that information to himself. “Naiads? I thought you were nymphs.”

She laughed, and that really set off the jiggles. “You're a funny man! Do you want to celebrate?”

“Uh, no,” he said quickly, though he felt a strong illicit temptation. “I just don't know what a naiad is.”

She seemed delighted. “You mean I know something you don't? Wonderful! We have several species of nymphs & fauns here at the retreat. The dryads and dryfauns live and play in trees, the oreads and orefauns play in the mountains, and we naiads and naifauns play in the water or on the beach.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“But sometimes we celebrate with outsiders. They're so quaint, with their clothing.”

“No, thank you. I just was concerned that you were hurt.”

“We were, but we're all right now.” She turned to the faun, who was now standing. “Are you ready?”

“I think so,” he said.

She smiled. “Catch me if you can!” She flung her long hair around in a circle, leaped high and kicked her feet higher, screamed pleasantly, and ran away. The faun chased after her. She plunged into the water. He caught her, and they disappeared into a froth of tangled arms, giggles, and legs. They were evidently celebrating.

Sesame nudged him. Umlaut realized that he had temporarily freaked out after seeing the naiad's little dance. There was just something about the way she screamed, flung her hair about, and kicked up her feet. Especially the feet, or maybe the legs, or maybe the—

Sesame nudged him again. He realized that he had relapsed. “Uh, thanks. What were we doing?”

She indicated the nonexistent wall. That was right: If they had imagined it, despite having little imagination, how could it have knocked them both down? Yet there was obviously no wall here. “Well, we might as well be on our way.”

The others agreed. They turned to go to Para, who waited at the edge of the water—and walked smack into an invisible wall. “Oof!” Umlaut said. It was all he could think of at the moment, not having much imagination himself. As he clapped his hands to his bruised face, he heard cruel laughter.

After two little planets and a dwarf star cleared away from his head, he saw that the animals were investigating the wall. Sammy was sniffing its base, Claire was standing on its top, and Sesame was circling around its end. In this manner they approximately defined its size and shape. It was about as tall as a man and as wide as a man could reach, and thick enough for a cat to lie on.

He approached it and tested it with his hands. It was smooth and hard, like thick glass; it even clinked when he flicked a fingernail against it. It was solid enough to stop a man in full stride. But it hadn't been there before, because their tracks remained in the sand, going right under it. How had it appeared (so to speak) so suddenly?

Claire dropped to the ground, landing with feline precision. He thought she had jumped off but discovered that the wall had gone, abruptly removing her support. It had been a temporary wall.

“What's going on here?” he asked.

Claire clarified it for him: It had been a magic wall, generated by a mean young man. That was the one who had laughed. He liked to use his magic talent to make walls appear right before moving people and laugh when they smacked into them.

“What kind of person would do that?” Umlaut asked, annoyed.

A juvenile delinquent, she answered. An unsocial brute. In fact a bully. One who had escaped recently from the Brain Coral's Pool. One of six.

“Six bullies escaped?” he asked. “Why did they come here?”

Because it was a water route they had used, that comes out here. They had been able to breathe the water for a while, but as the effect of the pool wore off, they had to come out into air, and this was where they found themselves. So now they were entertaining themselves in their natural manner, by tormenting innocent folk.

Umlaut's slow mind came to a conclusion. “We can't let that happen. We must stop them.”

The others agreed. It wasn't right to let the supremely innocent fauns & nymphs be abused by bullies.

“But how can we stop someone who can put a wall in our way?” he asked.

They decided to hold a council of war, or if they couldn't manage that, at least of battle. They returned to Snortimer and had a thirty-eight-question dialogue. It was the bed monster's business to protect the Faun & Nymph Retreat from threats; his bed was athwart the only land entrance. He grabbed the ankles of any monster that tried to pass and tipped it into the adjacent pool, which was infested by loan sharks and allegories. The monsters had quickly learned to stay clear. But no one had invaded by water before, bypassing him. Snortimer wasn't sure how to handle that.

Fortunately Umlaut and his companions were here, so they could help. They formed a battle plan. They would locate and fetch the bullies, and Snortimer would tip them into the pool and prevent them from escaping. Once all of them had been captured and nullified, they would figure out what to do with them so they would never bother the fauns & nymphs again.

Now they got to work. “The wall bully,” Umlaut said, and Sammy dashed off around the lake. Claire, Sesame, and Umlaut followed. They passed fauns & nymphs engaging in every kind of fun, playing games of ball, of tag, of hide-and-seek, and frequent celebrations. These innocent creatures paid little or no attention to the various intruders; as long as someone wasn't bothering a faun or nymph personally, that faun or nymph had no concern. That meant that they were vulnerable to any predator that managed to get into the retreat, and would organize no systematic defense. Umlaut became aware that there were consequences of innocence and thought he wouldn't care for it himself.

Claire hissed at Sammy, and he stopped so suddenly that his four paws made skid marks in the sand. Sesame and Umlaut, following close behind, had to brake to avoid colliding with the stopped cats. “What—?!” Umlaut demanded, barely catching his balance.

“Haw haw haw!” someone laughed.

His fingers brushed something glassy solid, but he saw nothing there. Oh, an invisible wall. Claire, with her talent, had known despite being unable to see, hear, or smell it, and had halted them in time. She was turning out to be an excellent addition to their group.