Up In A Heaval (28 page)

“Whatever,” a wisp of smoke agreed crossly.

“Hello, Metria. How is Ted?”

“I brought him along.” A second wisp of smoke formed and developed into a six-year-old boy.

“Hi, folk,” he said, looking tousle-headedly mischievous. “Wow! Who's the big snake?”

“That's Sesame Serpent, honey. I'm sure she'll be glad to play with you. She does emulations.”

Sesame seemed less sure but cooperated by emulating a dragon. That thrilled the boy.

“What's that other wisp?” Umlaut asked, not completely trusting this.

“DeMonica. D. Vore and Nada Naga's girl. They like to play together. It's my turn to baby-sit. Form, Monica.”

The second wisp formed into a cutely rebellious six-year-old girl. “Sammy Cat!” she exclaimed, spying him immediately.

Metria faded quietly out. Umlaut realized that their boatful had been co-opted as assistant baby-sitters. Still, it was a diversion while Para moved on toward the Good Magician's Castle.

“Where are we going?” Demon Ted asked.

“To the Good Magician's Castle.”

“But there are ogres and trolls on the way there,” DeMonica protested.

“We'll try to avoid them.”

“But they're fun,” Ted said.

Maybe to a little demon. “We have enough challenges with rivers and forests,” Umlaut said firmly.

The two children burst into song. “Ogre the river and troll the woods, to the Magician's Castle we go!”

Umlaut sighed. This might be a long trip.

Then there was a heavy flapping sound. Umlaut looked and saw a harpy flying toward them. Oh, no!

“Don't wince, Umlaut,” the harpy called. “It's me.”

That was a familiar voice. “Surprise!” he said gladly. Indeed, now he saw that it was her face on the bird. Most harpies were dirty of body and fowl of mouth, or maybe it was the other way around, but she was clean.

She came to perch on the gunwale. “I can't visit you the same way twice,” she reminded him. “And I can't stay long. It took a while to fly here, and I don't want Mom to miss me.”

“I'm glad you came,” he said. Then his gaze dropped from her face to her bare breasts, and he felt himself blushing.

“This is the way harpies are,” Surprise reminded him. “They don't wear clothing, just feathers.”

“Uh, yes.” But his blush continued. He wondered whether that part of her looked the same when she was in human form and suspected it did. He was getting a considerable peek at her. He hoped the children wouldn't notice.

“Wow! Look at those boobs!” Ted exclaimed, staring.

“Go wash your eyeballs off with soap,” Surprise snapped at him.

“Awwww.” But the boy heeded the voice of authority and looked away.

“It's wonderful to see you,” Umlaut said. “Uh, that is, that you're here.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He leaned across and kissed her on the mouth. “Oh, Surprise, I wish we could be together all the time!”

“Is that a proposal?”

His blush got twice as bad. “Uh—”

“In that case, I accept. We'll get married.”

He was thrilled and appalled. “Uh—”

“You proposed and I accepted. We have witnesses.”

He had to try to protest, though he didn't want to. “Your age—”

“A betrothal isn't a marriage, it's a promise. We can be betrothed until I'm of age, the way Justin and Breanna were.” She looked around the boat. “Isn't that right?”

“Right!” the children chorused, and the cats and serpent nodded.

How could he resist? “I guess that's, uh, right.”

“I'm glad that's settled. Come see me when you're done with the letters; I'll have my folks browbeaten into submission by then.”

“Don't you need a 'gagement ring?” DeMonica asked.

“That's right,” Surprise agreed. “Umlaut, give me a ring.”

“A ring,” he said, bemused.

A cloud formed. “What's going on here?”

“Oh, Metria, Umlaut and I just got plighted.”

“Got what?”

“Promised, affianced, pledged, betrothed, engaged—”

“Stuck?”

“Whatever,” Surprise agreed, trying to look cross. But in half an instant her joy burst out. “Isn't it wonderful?”

For once the demoness was serious. “Yes it is, girl. I'm glad for you. I will shed a tear at your wedding.”

“But I need a ring.”

“I'll look.” The demoness disappeared with a pop. In half a moment she was back with an extremely ornate ring. “This is the best I could find on short notice. It's from an old lost treasure chest. I think it's called the Ring of the Nibble Lung.”

“It's beautiful,” Surprise said. She glanced at Umlaut. “Put it on my toe. I'll transfer it when I revert.”

“But how do we know this ring is okay?” he asked. “Maybe it's magic.”

“Of course it's magic!” Metria said. “All these old lost treasures are. Maybe it summons demons.” She paused, startled. “Bite my tongue!” She chomped down on her tongue, and the tip of it dropped into the boat,

“But if it's dangerous—”

Metria grew a new tongue tip. “I wouldn't do that to you. Not for a betrothal. In fact I don't really want to do to you what I've been doing, but—” Her eyes flicked to Ted and away before the child could notice. Evidently she hadn't told him about that aspect. “I love weddings. I had my own, you know; that's where I got my half soul, which I then shared with Ted. Have you any idea how many times we had to signal the stork before we got its attention? A few more years of that could become wearing. Ted's one of a kind.” Then, reminded of the threat to him, she clouded up. Her body became a vertical column of fog and her head a thunderhead.

Umlaut concluded that the ring was probably safe; the demoness did seem sincere. He took the ring and slipped it on Surpise's bird claw. “With this ring I thee betroth.”

“That's so sweet! My folks will have two and a half fits when they see me wearing this! Well, I have to kiss and fly. I love you.”

“I love you,” he echoed gladly. This had been sudden but welcome.

She spread her wings and lurched toward him for a kiss. He met her halfway, but she was flying too high and his face collided with her breasts. They were remarkably soft. “Not there, dummy,” she chided him. “Yet. Wait for the wedding.” She slid down and managed to kiss him on the face. Then she was gone, flying for home, leaving him dazed. Had she been in fully human form, he would have freaked utterly out, but harpies weren't as freakable in that manner, any more than centaur fillies or nymphs.

“Bet she did that on purpose,” Ted said zestfully. “She smacked his face.”

But DeMonica was cannier. “On purpose, yes. Smack, no. She was making sure he wouldn't forget to marry her.”

“Of course,” Metria agreed, reforming. “She's young, but a woman.”

She certainly was. He was engaged to marry her, eventually. Umlaut's day did not let go of him for some time. He recovered awareness when day became night and it was time to camp. The children were gone; Metria must have taken them home.

He heard snoring, but it wasn't any of the others. So where was it coming from? He tried to stand up in the boat to look around better but discovered that his feet were asleep. They were doing the snoring. He should have known.

But with night came more mischief. There was the beat of hoofs on the ground, and two horses charged in, pursued by several human villagers with spears. Claire read the situation immediately: Those were Khan and Smuggler, new from Mundania. They came through the Region of Madness, and the men started hunting them. They didn't know what to do.

That snapped Umlaut the rest of the way back to reality. “The good dreams!” he exclaimed. “I mean, the loss of bad dreams. People are doing more bad things without fear of consequences. We have to stop them.”

He went into ogre emulation and Sesame into dragon mode. They intercepted the men and drove them off. Then Sesame emulated an equine and reassured the horses that they were safe for the night. But stay clear of humans, she warned them. They might have been the horses' friends in Mundania, but they weren't here.

They had alleviated this problem, but what of the rest of Xanth? Umlaut knew that people must be getting worse all over. All because his news had caused the Night Stallion to depart for a time. He hoped the stallion returned soon, lest everything be ruined even before the Red Spot struck.

Next day they reached the Good Magician's Castle. This time there were no challenges; they were, after all, already performing a task for the Good Magician. Para swam across the moat and waddled into the castle.

Wira met them at the gate. “Why, Para,” she said, “how nice to meet you again. And Claire Voyant.” She turned to Umlaut. “You have delivered the letters already?” She could not see them, but surely she recognized the sound of Para's duck feet on the ground. How she had known who was in the boat Umlaut could only guess. Probably a sighted person had seen them coming and told her.

“Almost,” Umlaut said. “I have one for the Good Magician himself.”

“Oh, that's nice. I'll see if he's available. Here is the Gorgon.” She disappeared into the gloom as they joined the Gorgon.

“It has been very busy here recently,” the tall veiled woman confided. “Things are going wrong all over.”

“I know,” Umlaut said. “The bad dreams have stopped, and people are doing bad things.”

“That is only part of it. Entirely inappropriate talents are being assigned to new babies.” The little snakes that served in lieu of her hair wriggled, intriguing Sesame.

“How can any talent be inappropriate?”

She laughed. “How about the talent of breaking things, for the child of a family of egg and crystal polishers? Of making big balls of gas for the child of a mining family that must avoid gas? Of making things heavy for a flying centaur? Of projecting videos for a blind baby?”

Umlaut saw her point. “I guess it takes time to break in a Magician of Talents.”

“But what about those children as they grow up with useless or dangerous talents? Can we afford to wait out that break-in process?”

“I don't, uh, know,” Umlaut said unhappily.

Wira reappeared. “Magician Humfrey will see you now.”

They followed her up the winding stairway to the gloomy, cramped den where the Good Magician sat hunched over his monstrous tome.

“Magician, Umlaut has a letter to deliver to you,” Wira said. Then, privately to Umlaut: “He's very grumpy today. Don't say anything to annoy him.”

The old gnomelike man glanced at her, and his sour features sweetened somewhat. “Give it here.”

“Yes, Magician.” Wira took the letter from Umlaut and handed it to the magician.

He paused to read it. “That woman has a problem.” He turned pages of the Book of Answers. He found the place and read the Answer. “The clock is correct; it is Arjayess who is wrong.”

Umlaut considered that Answer and wasn't satisfied. “Is a clock supposed to bong thirteen times in Mundania?”

“Of course not,” Humfrey said. “There's no magic there, and Mundanes lack imagination. In Xanth there can be any number, but twelve is the limit there.”

“But then what does the Answer mean?”

“It means she miscounted,” Humfrey said, on the verge of a grump.

Umlaut remained uncertain. “Claire, is that right?”

Claire shrugged. She could not fathom the reality of a situation that wasn't close to her.

“Please, don't annoy him,” Wira pleaded.

“But the letter,” Umlaut said. “You can verify that. If she's wrong, then her letter must be wrong too.”

Claire nodded and walked across the chamber. She jumped up onto the desk and sniffed the letter resting there.

“What is this?” Humfrey grouched.

But Claire had her answer: She did not miscount.

“She did not miscount,” Umlaut repeated. “But that suggests that the Book of Answers is wrong!”

Claire sniffed the book and nodded: It was wrong. Wira, picking up the emanations, winced. How would it be possible to head off a calamitous grump if this continued?

“Ridiculous, Cat!” Humfrey snapped, his annoyance threatening to pass beyond mere grumps. “The Book of Answers is the final authority on everything.”

But Umlaut trusted Claire's voyancy. “Ask it a Question to which you absolutely know the answer,” he suggested. “Such as who is the Magician of Information?”

Humfrey was plainly on the verge of a volcanic grump but perhaps realized that the fastest way to get rid of this nuisance was to oblige him. He turned the pages and read: “ 'Sorceress Iris.' ”

There it was. “Not Magician Humfrey?”

Humfrey cogitated. He was very old, and his thoughts were slow and somewhat ossified, like his grumps, but in time they got there. “That Answer is wrong.”

“So what you have there is a Book of Wrong Answers,” Umlaut said. “How did that happen?”

“It couldn't happen,” Humfrey grumped.

Yet obviously it had.

Claire had the answer: There was reverse wood under the book. “Reverse wood,” Umlaut said, translating for her.

Humfrey pondered for a long moment, or perhaps two short moments, then slowly closed the book. There, where the cover had covered it, was a sliver of wood. “Take this away.”

Wira came and picked up the sliver. Then she turned and walked into the wall. Oops, the wood had reversed her sense of direction, or her mental layout of the castle, and she had gone the wrong way. Of course.

“I can't find my way out,” Wira said.

“Maybe you can put it where it will reverse something that needs reversing,” Umlaut said. He looked at the shelves behind the Good Magician and saw a bottle labeled CONCENTRATED STINK HORN EXTRACT. That would surely be Xanth's worst smell. He fetched it down and took it to Wira. “In here.” He turned the cork in the bottle.

“Don't open that!” Wira cried.

She was too late. Concentrated utter stench oozed from the bottle and began to spread in an ugly little cloud. Umlaut quickly took the sliver of reverse wood and slid it into the bottle, then jammed the cork back in.

The label changed: BIFFUSE SWEET ROSE INTRACT. The wood had reversed the contents of the bottle. Umlaut set it back on the shelf.

But meanwhile the cloud of stench was diffusing and expanding. It smirched Umlaut's arm, making it look ogreish. Then it touched Wira's hair, making it look as if she had just worked two years in dragon manure without even thinking of washing. Then it reached their noses.