Vale of the Vole (14 page)

"The winged monsters?" Chex considered, finding this alternative more interesting now that her major hope had been dashed. "Well, certainly I could go to my sire and ask. But he lives closer to central Xanth; we shall have to return to Castle Roogna first, and I can compare notes with Esk and Volney. Perhaps one of them has already found help."

"Urn," Ivy agreed, glancing at her expectantly.

Chex waited, and Ivy waited. Finally Chex surrendered and said

"Yes," in correction, and Ivy said it with her, then laughed. The odd thing was that this made Chex feel better.

Horace led them into the jungle, following another trail that showed signs of disuse. Chex realized that other creatures tended to avoid the paths used by zombies. Prior to this experience, she would have avoided it too. But after her rebuff by the living centaurs, she found the zombie centaur better company. The zombies were providing what help they could, and indeed, had enabled her to cut many hours off her trip south.

When the trail passed through looser forest, she drew up abreast of him. "May I ask you a question, Horace?"

"Yesh."

"How did you come to be a zombie?"

"I zdied."

Evidently he wasn't much for detail! "How did you die?"

"Peopleschooz."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Parzon?"

Not much for social niceties, either. But these could hardly be expected of those whose brains were rotten. "How did you die?" she repeated.

"Zome call it horschschooz."

"I don't understand."

"I think he said horse—" Ivy started.

"Don't say that word!"

"Manure," Ivy finished contritely. "A princess doesn't even know the other word."

"Let's hope not! But how could anything like that account for his death."

"I'm sure he can explain it, if I ask him," Ivy said confidently. "Here,

let me ride him."

"I really don't think—"

"Oh, he can hold my weight all right. I talked to him while we were waiting for you. He's nice enough, for a zombie." She leaned across, and Chex had to move close to facilitate the transfer, lest the girl fall between them.

Ivy scrambled across and settled on Horace's back. "Horace, you're pretty strong," she said, and indeed, the zombie seemed to be in better physical condition than before. "You can talk well, too, I just know it."

"Zthank you," Horace said, and his voice did sound better. It was the child's magic, enhancing him.

"How did you die?" Ivy asked.

"People zhooz."

"People shoes!" Ivy exclaimed. "What they call horseshoes in Mun-danial Where you throw these metal shoes."

"Yez." The pronunciation was less slushy, but still not perfect. There was only so much Enhancement could do, when lips were decayed and teeth missing.

"But how did a game kill you, Horace?" Ivy asked.

"Hit by a boot."

"Oh, an accident!" Chex exclaimed. "One of those hard metal shoes hit you on the head!"

"Yez. A heavy people zboot, with hob nailz."

"And then the Zombie Master revived you as a zombie."

"Yez."

"How do you feel, being a zombie?"

"It'z not zbad. But my oldz friendz won't play with me."

"I'm afraid the living aren't too fond of the undead," Chex said. "They're prejudiced." She had just had a good lesson in prejudice.

"Yez."

"But Zora Zombie's nice," Ivy said, transferring back to Chex. "She's almost alive."

"Zora is a friend of yours?"

"Yes. She helped Mom learn about zombies. Then she married Xa-vier."

"Xavier!" Chex exclaimed. "I know him! He rides Xap!"

"Yes. Xap's great. He's a hippogryph."

"I know. He's my sire."

"Oh!" Ivy squealed with delight. "I didn't realize! That's how you got your wings!"

"That's how," Chex agreed. "I know Xavier because he's been with Xap, but I didn't know he was married. He never mentioned it."

"I guess that's less important to males than to females," Ivy said.

"Unless he was ashamed of having a zombie wife."

"I don't think so," Ivy said. "He always seemed real—really proud of her, when he was with her."

"Then perhaps he was afraid that others would have the wrong picture of her, if they learned she was a zombie without meeting her."

"Maybe. You'd hardly know she's a zombie. That's how I know zombies aren't bad, 'cause she's baby-sitted me and she's great."

Horace veered to the side. "Gourd," he announced.

There was another of the huge variety that grew in dragon dung. Horace plunged into its peephole, and Chex followed.

Inside it seemed exactly the same as it had been on then1 prior entry. Chex had thought they would be in the region of imaginary numbers that they had left, but they were in the first stage, with the zombie vegetation.

They negotiated the region of knives the same way as before. **I wonder what's beyond those knives?" Ivy asked.

"Perhaps nothing," Chex said. "It may be only a ritual, where a particular action is required to change the setting of the maze. An intruder not knowledgeable about this matter might take the wrong direction."

They came to the buried trap door. "I'd sure like to see what's down there!" Ivy said.

Chex was getting quite curious too; the steps seemed very inviting. But she was sure it was a trap; if she deviated from the route of their guide, she would perhaps be trapped within the gourd.

They reached the numbers, and again lay down and slept—and woke not far beyond Castle Zombie. There was no giant gourd here, just as there had not been at the southern beach; they had emerged by some other mechanism.

Now night was approaching. They had been to the verge of Centaur Isle and back in a single day, a journey that would otherwise have taken three. Chex faced the prospect of returning to Castle Roogna two days early. That would be fine if Esk and Volney were back early, but not good if they were not.

She considered as the castle came into view, then made her decision. "Ivy, if Millie and the Zombie Master are willing, how would it be if we stayed here for two days?"

"Ooo, goody!" Ivy exclaimed, clapping her hands. "I can play with Zomonster all I want!"

So it was decided that simply. Castle Zombie seemed positively attractive, now.

Chapter 7. Gateway

risk brought out the pill somewhat doubtfully. Ivy had brought three of them from the Castle Roogna armory, telling him that there were plenty of them and that she used them all the time when she was in a hurry. He had hardly wanted to suggest that the child was not telling the truth, so he had accepted them. But now that Chex had trotted off south with Ivy, and Volney was tunneling to his mission, he was worried. Suppose they didn't work?

Well, in that case he would have to proceed the old-fashioned way, hoping he could make it in time. He had slogged by foot from home to Castle Roogna; he could slog down to Lake Ogre-Chobee. But he hoped the pills worked!

He put one in his mouth and swallowed it. Nothing changed. It was supposed to enable him to travel almost masslessly, so that he could cover a great distance without impediment or fatigue. But maybe its enhancement only worked on the child whose talent was Enhancement.

He took a step—and shot through a tree. He had paused on the path that started out toward the lake. It curved, so a tree was ahead of him some distance ahead. Now it was behind.

Could his step have taken him through the tree? He reached slowly back and touched the trunk and met only slight resistance. The tree seemed to have become an illusion.

Which was the way the pill was supposed to work. The tree was as solid as ever; it was Esk himself who had become very much like an illusion. His mass had been nulled out, though he looked and felt the same as before. Ivy had told him true.

If Chex had pills like these, she would be able to fly! But of course she wanted to fly regularly, not just during the span of one dose.

He faced southeast and started walking. His feet touched the ground and sank into it slightly, giving him necessary traction. His body zoomed along as if it weighed no more than a feather. Obviously that was the

case, though he felt the same. His leg muscles, primed to propel his full mass, had only a tiny fraction of it to move now, so had a great deal of extra strength. He tended to leap when he intended only to push off, and to sail through the air far further than he could normally have jumped. He had trouble keeping his balance, because what he thought were trifling corrections became powerful shoves. He careered through trees with impromptu abandon, lunging through a seeming forest of phantoms.

Soon he got it under control, however, and concentrated on rapid forward progress. It hardly mattered whether he stayed on the path; he could pass through brush and other obstacles with almost equal ease. When he tried to go through a hill he slowed, though, because the resistance of the ground against his body was greater than that against his feet. He had to go into a swimming motion, and this was less efficient. So he stayed above, and avoided trees when he conveniently could, so that they would not drag against him.

He admired the whizzing scenery. The nearer trees were passing so rapidly that they blurred, while distant ones were slower, and far mountains hardly changed at all. He tended to plow into hills, then to sail when descending their far slopes. He saw wild creatures, who were unable to move out of the way before he was upon them, but he was beyond them before they decided what to do. He spied a snoozing griffin and kicked at its nose without effect; the creature shifted its head, startled, as he left it behind. This was fun!

He was traveling rapidly, but he did have a good distance to go, so it was near nightfall before he came to the broad shore of Lake Ogre-Chobee. At last the pill was wearing off, and his normal mass was returning. Now he wished he had been less wasteful in the expenditure of his energy; his foot and leg muscles were tired in unusual ways because he had not been walking in the normal manner. The more the pill wore off, the less comfortable he became; he was good and sore!

He set about eating and making camp for the night, not too close to the water, because he didn't like the look of the green reptilian creatures in it. He was lonely now; he had gotten used to company, and decided that he preferred it. He finally settled in a tree for sleep; it wasn't comfortable, but it was relatively safe. He could tell any creature no, but he had to be awake to do it. He should be able to hear anything that tried to climb the tree in the night, or anything that landed in its foliage.

In the morning, cramped, he took care of routine needs, then addressed the problem of entry into Gateway Castle. The problem was that it was under the water. The only surface entrance was via a great whirl-

pool, and he didn't trust that. He could take another pill and become less dense than the water, and walk down through it and the castle wall—but then he would be inside in no state to talk with the inhabitants, and when the pill wore off they might not appreciate the manner of his intrusion. It would be better to apply at the front gate and be admitted legitimately. But where was the front gate?

Well, there must be a route for supplies. The curse fiends were said to be insular, caring little for outsiders, but they had to go out for food, wood, and other necessities. He would locate that supply route, and intercept someone on it, and explain his mission. Since he was related to these people, it should be possible to get some attention.

He walked along the shore, looking carefully for signs of activity. But the lake was huge, and the walk was long. The chobees came out, scrambling toward him on fat green legs. Their teeth were plentiful, and he didn't trust them, so he retreated into the forest until they did not follow.

Eventually he did discover evidence of activity. There was a region with cultivated trees, and that meant that someone was cultivating them. There were blue trees, and red trees, and orange trees, their fruits ripening nicely; there were yellow, green, and blue berry bushes. There were many different kinds of pie trees, and blanket trees, and all the other agricultural staples that a community of human beings required. He was definitely in the right region!

Sure enough, before long he heard voices, and came across young women harvesting an assortment of slippers from a grove of shoe trees. They wore simple blouses and skirts, evidently harvested from other trees at other times, in an assortment of pastel colors. Matching kerchiefs bound their tresses fetchingly.

He approached them. "Excuse me," he called. "I am looking for Gateway Castle."

"Eeeek! A man!" they cried with flattering alarm. Then they began counting: "One, two—"

"No!" he exclaimed, realizing what they were up to. The curse fiends, unlike other creatures, shared a common talent: that of cursing. A massed curse could be devastating; even his mother's tantrums, which were related, were bad enough. He did not want to be hit by a several-girl curse.

His "no," of course, stifled that; they lost their count and did not try to curse him. Still, they backed away from him distrustfully. "Don't hurt us, sir; we are only working girls," they exclaimed.