Up In A Heaval (27 page)

The cat doctor said he was probably born with it like that, and he did not get it hurt badly when he was very young as I had thought. I was very happy to learn that because I did not like to think about an innocent little baby cat being in so much pain. Neither Misha nor Fellini has any magic, but Misha is affectionate and Fellini is entertaining, so that is talent enough for me. I love them both very much.

Our friend Meatron came to our house today for a visit with my husband Jehial and me. We ate scones and drank juice of apple fruit, much like you had tea and crumples with Millie, only I made the scones with ground wheat, sugarcane, and other things we grow. That is, of course, when the weather is good for growing. Here we call that summer, and the temperature is what some people claim is too hot but what I find quite comfortable. Right now we are having winter, when our part of the world is turned away from our sun. It is freezing outside right now so I stay in the house cozy and protected for most of the time until it warms up again when winter is finished. I saw on our talking box called television or TV that today in Xanth the temperature was eighty degrees. That is the way I like it and how it will be here again in a few months' time. I am really looking forward to it. I do not like winter at all.

I have really enjoyed writing to you, Jenny. I hope to do so again, only I do not know if it is allowed. I am not sure of the laws and rules of Xanth. If it does not show in my visions, then I just do not know. I hope this letter does not get you into trouble, because I really do not want that. You are too nice an elf person, and I like you.

Your friend, Arjayess

Claire Voyant observed how Sammy reacted to the mention of his name. He thought himself the center of the universe, which was of course correct; any cat was. He had surely had a good effect on Jenny Elf. But now he did have a new home.

Umlaut saw that there were only two letters remaining after the one to Jenny Elf. That was a relief in one sense, because it meant that their job was nearly done. But they still had not found the way to abate the hurtling Red Spot. Suppose they delivered the last letter and didn't find the solution?

A ball of smoke formed. “So how was your fig?” it inquired.

“My what?”

“Bother,” the cloud muttered. “I think I got the wrong fruit. Assignation, appointment, rendezvous, clandestine meeting, tryst—”

“Date?”

“Whatever,” it agreed crossly. “How did you make out with Gwenny Goblin?”

“I had no appointment with her. The letter was for Nada Naga, and I gave it to her.”

“Don't give me that,” the cloud said, forming into the Demoness Metria. Somehow Umlaut was not surprised. “I told Gwenny that was just your pretext to come to her. She was waiting for you.”

Confirmation! But he kept his tone level. “And why did you do that?”

“Oh, bleep! I let the pussy out of the pot.” She started to fade. Both cats glared, not appreciating the figure of speech.

But Umlaut had a different concern. “Metria, you can't fade out of all your problems. Why are you trying to stop us from delivering the letters?”

The fading became a sigh. The demoness re-formed and sat down opposite him in the boat. This time her clothing was completely decorous. She wasn't trying to vamp him. That made him uneasy. “I suppose you'll wedge it out of me anyway. Maybe the truth will change your mind,”

“About what?”

“About delivering those letters. I can't let you do that, and it's already pretty far gone.”

“But we need to deliver the letters in order to find out how to stop Demon Jupiter's Red Spot from destroying Xanth. How can you be opposed to that?”

“I'm not opposed, exactly. But I have to stop you.”

“This must make some kind of sense only you could appreciate.”

“Exactly. Demoness Fornax told me to stop those deliveries, or she'd take my son Ted's soul. He has only a quarter soul, but she'll take it, making him a soulless crossbreed. I wouldn't care, except that I have a quarter soul myself, so I do care. I couldn't stand to have that happen to him.”

Umlaut found that her answer merely brought forth a larger question. “Who is Fornax? What's her role in this?”

“She is the Demon who governs the distant galaxy of Fornax. She had quite a contest with the local demons last year. The locals finally won, but it seems she hasn't given up. I don't know what their wager is this time, but it's usually something obscure, such as whether some mortal will say certain words before or after he catches on to their significance. I guess this time it is whether all those letters will be delivered. So she wants to stop them, so she can win. And I have to help her, because I love my son. I just have to,” She lifted the hem of her dress and dabbed at her face.

Umlaut was surprised to see real tears there. Of course she could surely conjure tears as readily as clothing, but he had the distinct impression that she was not doing so. He glanced at Claire, who nodded: The tears were genuine. So probably her story was true. “So you have been causing all this mischief in order to save Demon Ted?”

She nodded. “He's a little crazy, but he gets along well with DeMonica, and some distant day they'll grow up and marry. It would be a shame to ruin all that.”

“But what you are doing may ruin all Xanth.”

“I can't help that. I'm just a demoness. She's a Demoness. I have to do her bidding to save Ted's soul.”

“Maybe we could find some other way to save it.”

“Against a Demoness? It is to laugh, if I could evoke a laugh at the moment.”

Umlaut shook his head. “If Xanth is destroyed, I'll lose Surprise. I can't let that happen.”

“Maybe I miscalculated on that. I thought if I set you up with her, you'd stay there and stop delivering letters.”

“I suppose I do owe you that. Without you, I might not have met her. Now I just want to be with her, when this is over.”

“And that ruined my other diversions, like Gwenny Goblin. I definitely outsmarted myself that time.”

“Maybe you did. I just want to get this job done, save Xanth, and return to Surprise.”

“Too bad. But I've still got to stop you.”

“I suppose you do. But you haven't been able to so far.”

“The game is not over.” She faded.

“What do you make of it?” Umlaut asked Claire.

She meant it, but she was limited, the cat responded in Feline. She couldn't snatch his letters and destroy them, and she couldn't do him any physical harm. In fact she couldn't directly touch any of their party. She could only try to distract him directly, or interfere with him indirectly. The rules of the game were specific. He had to be alert for further tricks.

“I'm glad you're along, Claire. Your information really helps.”

He glanced at the others. “So does your talent of finding, Sammy. And yours of emulation and threat, Sesame. And you have really helped us travel, Para.”

Sesame was slightly embarrassed, so she changed the subject. It was getting late. They should find a safe campsite.

This way, Sammy indicated, pointing with a paw.

They headed that way, and Sammy and Claire caught up the others on their activities searching for the cure for Sesame's curse: It had been a fair adventure, with fair mischief resulting.

Dusk intensified, trying to catch them out, but they beat it to a nice campsite by a protected path. There was a small pond so Para could soak his feet and a comfortable tree house for the others. They harvested pillows and meat pies and settled for the night.

There came a loud crashing in the forest. Startled, they piled out of the house to investigate. It was a great brightly winged creature with impressive antlers, fleeing half a passel of goblin hunters. Umlaut knew the word passel because he had heard Demon Professor Grossclout use it once.

Claire was annoyed. That was a rare and protected species, she said. It was not supposed to be hunted anymore, despite the appeal of its horns and elaborate wings.

“Then let's see if we can stop this,” Umlaut said. He went into ogre emulation, while Sesame went into dragon mode.

This way for safety, Sammy told the desperate mothalope. It looked uncertainly at him but didn't have much choice; it was worn out from the cruel chase.

Meanwhile Umlaut intercepted the goblins while Sesame quietly circled behind them. “Goblins flee, or deal with mee,” he said, beating his chest with his ham-fists to make a wonderful booming sound.

But goblins were not noticeably timid, and there were a number here, armed with spears and clubs. “Oh, yeah, bonehead?” their leader demanded.

Umlaut reacted as an ogre would, pleased by the recognition of his dullness. Ogres were of course justly proud of their stupidity. But he also saw fit to remind them of what normally happened when goblins tangled with an ogre: Some got their heads rammed through knotholes in trees, others wound up in orbit around the moon, and the rest were less fortunate.

The goblin subchief considered this truth. “But some also get away,” he pointed out. “And those can get that mothalope.”

“But it's not supposed to be hunted,” Umlaut protested.

The subchief stared at him. “Say, you're no ogre! You're a fake. Now we'll ram your head through a knothole.” And the whole half passel advanced on him.

There was a hissing roar behind them. They turned to see a dragon closing in.

Goblins weren't cowards, but neither were they fools. They scattered and fled. But Sesame pounced, catching one by the britches and lifting him into the air. He screamed, but for some obscure reason his companions did not come to his rescue.

Umlaut reverted to human, as his ruse had been penetrated anyway. He questioned the goblin. “What made you think you should hunt a protected creature?” he demanded.

“Why should I tell you, faker?” the goblin demanded.

Sesame shook him. “Because you don't want the dragon to eat you,” Umlaut said.

“Oh, that,” the goblin agreed, seeing the logic. “It's okay to hunt helpless innocent rare beautiful creatures now, because the word's out: No more bad dreams. We can't be punished by night for what we do by day.”

Suddenly Umlaut appreciated the mischief being done by the Day Stallion. The goblins were held in check only by fear of nocturnal reprisal, and now that was gone. The lady goblins seemed to be lovely and nice, but the male goblins were typically brutes. It gave him some sympathy with Gwenny Goblin's quest to find a decent prince to marry; why should she want a goblin chief? He was sorry to have messed up her wish, but of course he had never qualified for that. Still, if he had qualified, and not been committed to Surprise, it could have been nice with a creature like Gwenny. Those legs . ..

But there was an immediate job to do here. “Well, you're not getting this mothalope, regardless. Now you have a choice: Go home and tell your henchmen that, or stay and get eaten by the dragon.”

The goblin considered, and after giving it due thought, concluded that he would prefer to go home. Sesame tossed him into the brush, and he scrambled away.

“I think the demoness Metria has indeed worked some extra mischief,” Umlaut said. “Not only did she separate me from Claire so I couldn't be warned about what Gwenny Goblin had in mind, she got the two cats into the dream realm where more things are going wrong. She is working overtime.”

Sesame supposed that if she had a little serpent to protect, she would work hard too.

“I suppose,” Umlaut agreed. “But I am not at ease with this. Xanth seems to be getting into some real trouble. All because of some stupid Demon bet.”

All they could do was try to deliver the remaining letters, she responded. And hope that saved Xanth.

“And hope,” he agreed.

They returned to the camp. The cats rejoined them. There was no more nearby mischief that night, but Umlaut did not rest easy. He was delivering the letters, but how much trouble was he generating in the process?

In the morning they resumed travel and in due course reached the coast. They followed it past the various alphabetical signs. When the WORK FOR WO sign appeared they settled down to wait for the one they wanted: the Isle of Wolves. It was several hours before it appeared, but Sammy knew it when it did. It was evening again.

Para forged across. Then they headed inland to reach the palace. Somehow Jenny Elf knew when they got there. She dashed out to hug Sammy. “Sammy! You're back!” She was about three quarters Umlaut's height—small for human, large for elf—and she wore spectacles. She also, Umlaut noticed with surprise, had pointed ears and only four fingers on each hand. She had evidently not originated in Xanth.

There followed introductions and explanations. Jenny's husband Prince Jeremy was affable in human form. Jenny was happy to meet Claire Voyant but sad to learn that Sammy was moving to the Isle of Cats.

Umlaut gave Jenny the letter. She was thrilled to receive it. It was evident that she did not think of herself as a princess so much as a person who loved animals, especially wolves and cats.

They spent a nice night but had to resume their mission in the morning. The next letter was addressed to GOOD MAGICIAN HUMFREY. Had he realized that that one was in the pile, he could have delivered it when he was at the Good Magician's Castle before. But of course then he hadn't known that he would be delivering the letters. Umlaut hesitated, then decided not to make an exception; after all, the key letter had to be one of the final two, and Humfrey certainly had much power to make mischief if sufficiently annoyed. He read it as Para carried them across land and water back to Xanth proper.

Dear Humfrey,

I daresay you have never had a question via snail mail before. You may choose to ignore this altogether due to the fact that I have not had the three challenges to face and simply see no way of performing a year's service in payment.

However, I have a serious problem there seems to be no solution for here in Mundania. I have in my home a magnificent ancient clock that was bequeathed to me. No one seems to know its history and even the so-called antique experts can tell me nothing about its origin. There has never been a problem with the timepiece in all the time I have had it. Last night, though, something strange occurred. At midnight the clock struck the hour and chimed the usual melodious twelve notes. Yet five minutes later, it marked the hour again, this time with a deep, resonant Bong. It then continued and sounded 1 ... 2 ...3...4 ...5 ...6 ...7 ...8 ...9 ...10... 11 ... 12, and after a tiny flicker of a pause, 13. Thirteen? Could I have dozed off and miscounted? No, I was still up, alert and working. Besides, what of the change in tone? I became uneasy in the certainty that this happening would gravely, perhaps dangerously, affect me—I could feel it in my bones. The stillness became expectant, with the entire building holding its breath. The air in the room pressed against me like a straitjacket, forming a question. “All right, Arjayess, what are you going to do about it?”

“Me? Nothing why should I probably just wound it too tight or something it just needs repairing that is all,” I mindlessly babbled. But my feeble attempt to reassure myself fell flat. Deep within me I knew it was not simply a matter of malfunction.

Now every quarter hour when it strikes—always with the chilling basso pitch—I feel it drawing me forward, compelling me to enter within. I cannot even remove it from the house. When I try to touch it, tiny jolts of electricity spark out from the case.

Humfrey, I am pleading with you to understand my dilemma and help in any way you can. Please help me, I am so frightened and becoming desperate!

Arjayees

Umlaut considered. “She has a problem, but not one that will destroy Xanth,” he concluded. “Maybe the Good Magician can help her.”

In Mundania? Sesame asked.

“There's something funny about that stopwatch.”

“About that what?” Umlaut asked before he thought. He was forever doing that.

“Timepiece, alarm, chronometer, pendulum—”

“Clock?”