Currant Events (39 page)

 “As you wish,” she agreed,
feeling thoroughly clumsy. What was the matter with her? He was such a decent
man, and a phenomenal Magician. Any of her sisters would have been glad to
marry him.

 Sherlock and Drusie went to the door.
“Can I come too?” Ciriana asked, running to join him.

 “Welcome.” He took her hand.

 Clio was alone with Drew. “I'm not
sure it's my life that needs saving,” she said. “I've got a problem,
and I don't know what it is.”

 “You mean if we could solve your
problem, it would be like saving your life?”

 She smiled. “Yes.” But she
knew there was nothing the dragons could do. Apparently she had lived alone so
long she had lost the ability to love. That was her tragedy.

 Drusie appeared, flying in through the
window. Drew flew up to meet her, then on out.

 “Sherlock has reconsidered,”
Drusie said. “He wants you to marry him.”

 Clio was thrilled. “Then we'll do
it! I'm so glad.”

 There was a scream. Clio launched
herself out of the suite, horrified by what she might find. It was Ciriana,
standing on a knoll, her little hands covering her face. There was no sign of
Sherlock. “What happened?” Clio demanded.

 “The big snake!” the child
cried. “Suddenly it was there. One gulp!”

 The Python had ambushed Sherlock! It
had gotten him before he could invoke his magic. Now Clio screamed. She ran
down the slope, too horrified to think straight. “Sherlock! Sherlock! I
love you! I love you! Come back to me!”

 The scene changed. There were Sherlock
and Ciriana, walking along the path as if nothing had happened. “You said
it!” Sherlock exclaimed.

 Clio stopped running. “Where's the
Python?” she asked stupidly.

 “No Python here,” Sherlock
said.

 She must have wound back the scene and
saved him, though she hadn't been conscious of that. It hardly mattered.
“Yes, I said it. I love you! When I thought you were dead-”

 A calculating look crossed his face.
“Drew! Drusie!” he said. “Is this your doing?”

 The two dragons appeared in the
pockets, where they had always been. “Yes,” Drew said. “We did
it.”

 “You told me Clio had said the
words, and Drusie told Clio I was ready to marry her,” Sherlock said.
“But what made her scream?”

 “We made a scene,” Drew said.
“So she would think you had died.”

 “You tricked us!” Clio said
indignantly. Now she realized that she should have caught on when she saw them
flying: that had to be illusion, not reality, here in the no-fly zone.

 “We made you say the words,”
Drusie said. “So you could marry Sherlock and adopt Ciriana and live
happily ever after, and our job would be done.”

 There was a pause. Then Sherlock
nodded. “They did do that. Can you say them now that you know I'm not
dead?”

 The words came out with no hesitation.
“I love you.”

 He took her in his arms and kissed her.
“Then I will marry you, and we'll adopt Ciriana as our daughter.”

 “Goody!” the child exclaimed,
clapping her hands ineffectively. “At last! Now I have a mommy as well as
a daddy.”

 “Our work here is done,” Drew
said.

 “But we don't need to depart if we
don't want to,” Drusie said.

 “But we can't fly here.”

 “That's right. But we don't really
need to if we stay in pockets. Let's remain with these nice people for a
while.”

 They returned to the suite. Clio looked
at the end of the volume. “And they lived happily ever after,” she
read.

 Clio thought about it, vaguely
unsatisfied. She glanced at her wrist, and saw the compass still there, the
blue arrow meandering aimlessly. What was she missing?

 She remembered something: the Good
Magician had given her the compass, which had sent her on a wild and sometimes
dangerous tour of Xanth. He had been evasive about his reason for subjecting
her to the indignity of the Challenges, and requiring a Service of her for her
Answer. Despite his well-earned reputation for grumpiness, he was not a
mean-spirited man, and he did not forget his friends. So why had he done it? He
never did anything without reason.

 She believed she knew the answer: there
was a Demon bet relating to her participation. Probably something like whether
she would follow the blue arrow to the end no matter how crazy the route got,
or quit in disgust along the way, or get herself killed. That bet had surely
been decided by now. The stakes could be as big as worlds; the Demons had no
humane limits. Magician Humfrey had had to go along with it, lest calamity
befall Xanth. Hence his mysterious behavior.

 Demons,she thought. I need the
information for my record. Please, if you care to tell: who won ?

 I did,the Demoness Venus replied.

 What were the stakes?

 One kiss- that I don't have to give.

 Clio had gone through all that-for one
kiss. So much for worlds at stake! Venus had bet on the woman, and won. Thank
you, Demoness.

 The compass faded out. Its mission was
done at last.

 Clio took firm hold of the final page
and ripped it out of the volume.

 Sherlock, Ciriana, and the dragons
stared.

 “I thought we had an
understanding,” the little girl said tearfully. “You were going to be
my mommy.”

 “I still am, for a while,”
Clio said. “Just not the way it is described.”

 “If you prefer not to marry-”
Sherlock began.

 “All of you have been catering to
me,” Clio said. “And I really appreciate it. You helped me get
through my very own personal adventure. Now it's done, and you're willing to
stay here with me on Mount Parnassus. But think about it: this is really a big
garden, supervised by the Simurgh. There's no danger here, not for legitimate
residents. Not even the prospect of aging and dying. There's no challenge.
There's no flying, and I don't mean just with wings. Before long you'll all be
desperate for anything to relieve your overwhelming boredom. You don't have
histories to write. You'll be twiddling your thumbs. It will be death in life,
eternally. As it was for me, before I went back out into Xanth.”

 They gazed at her, not arguing. What
she said was true.

 “And what about me?” she
continued. “So now I'll have everything I had before, plus a husband,
daughter, and maybe a nice dragon or two. And I'll be almost as bored as the
rest of you. What kind of life is that?”

 “We thought that was what you
wanted,” Sherlock said meekly.

 “A really sappy romance,”
Ciriana agreed.

 “So did I. But now that I actually
face the prospect, I know better. I have had more than a century of this
secure, detached, ultimately sterile life. I don't need another century of that
scripted existence. When I went out into Xanth, my life resumed, and my curses.
I lost my curves, I faced danger every day, and I knew that I was destined to
die young. But at least I lived. And I found great friends, and a
family. And I'll bedamned if I'll destroy you by locking you into this
living coffin.” The suite shook with the force of her expletive, which had
forced itself through without getting bleeped out despite the presence of the
child. This particular child could handle it. “Had that been my object, we
might as well have stayed aboard the Acquaintance Ship and let our souls be
slowly leeched away.”

 They watched her, expressionless.

 “So you won't be joining me here
in the garden,” she concluded. “I'll be joining you there in Xanth. I
may not live long, but I'll be complete for the time I have left. I regret that
I can't promise you a lifetime of me, but I'll give you everything I have in
whatever time there is. When I'm gone, maybe Sherlock can reverse a maenad and
make her the perfect companion. I hope that's a sufficient bargain. It's all I
can offer.”

 Ciriana ran in and hugged her. Sherlock
stepped forward and touched her. “You may have forgotten something.”

 “Whatever it is, you are welcome
to it. There had to be some worthwhile point to this adventure. Not just a
stupid Demon wager. You won't have to live for me anymore; I'm going to live
for you. Isn't that what love is all about?”

 Then she felt odd. Her body was
changing. Oh, no! Was she dying already? That hardly seemed fair.

 “You forgot my power,”
Sherlock said. “I can reverse curses too. I have reversed yours. You have
your curves back, and you will face some special joy every day of your life,
and you will not die young, you will live old. As long as you are with me. I
can't guarantee the reversal beyond my immediate sphere of influence.”

 Clio looked at her body. Indeed, she
had curves. She felt the relief of her curses, and knew it was true: he had
reversed them all. Only a powerful Magician could do that-but of course, he was
one. They would have a long time together, out in Xanth. Suddenly they had it
all.

 “I'll still have to keep up with
my volumes of history,” she said. “But I think I can make notes for
them as we travel, and return here just briefly every so often to write them
up.”

 “We can bear with brief visits
here,” Sherlock agreed. Then he kissed her. She floated, as it were.

 Clio looked around. “But before we
go-Ciriana-my daughter-”

 “Oh, I know,” the child said.
“Come on, dragons. We have to leave them alone while they make with the
mushy stuff. Let's go talk with the Simurgh about that no-fly zone.”

 When they were outside, Ciriana's
surprised voice came back. “Look! Storks!” As if she didn't know what
was alerting them.

 This is the first novel in the second
Xanth magic trilogy, which of course is three cubed. That is, the twenty-eighth
Xanth volume, as duly recorded by Clio, the Muse of History. Whether Xanth will
reach the fifty-fourth volume, completing the trilogy, depends on the state of
the market and whether I live to age ninety-four without suffering more than
the requisite brain rot.

 Two Xanth novels ago I intended to
change from Windows to the Linux operating system. I didn't make it then;
despite what open source fans may claim, it's not an easy change. But one Xanth
novel ago I was using it. For this one I changed again, to a more advanced
Linux system with parallel hard drives and the next generation of my StarOffice
word processor: OpenOffice. I like it very well, but it still was not easy. You
see, I'm an ornery independent nut-it's the way ogres are-and I don't use the
standard KWERTY keyboard, I use Dvorak. Most computer systems have it, and so
does this one-but mine is the original, not the flawed version the computer
folk put on. So I need to change it to mine, and therein lies the hassle. This
system had the wrong Dvorak, and resisted my modifications. So I started this
novel on my old Linux system and did the first five chapters. Then when I
finally got the keyboard right I changed to StarOffice on this new system,
dubbed MoNsTeR, and did chapter 6. Then I got OpenOffice and did chapters 7-18
in it. OpenOffice is nice; it is file oriented, has beautiful clear font
display, and saves files to half the size of MS Word files, effectively
doubling my storage space. So if you notice some change of type or quality at
these points, that's why, though I suspect it's all in your marvelous
imagination.

 I try to discourage readers from
sending in notions, but they persist, and I try to be selective and use only
the best ideas and worst puns. There are about two hundred this time, but I'm
really trying to stifle it down to fewer. The dreadful secret is that I have
more than enough warped imagination of my own, and it would be easier to write
my novels without any ideas from readers. But I don't want to get in any ruts,
and figure reader input will help prevent that.

 The sheer number of reader notions can
be difficult to handle, but there are other problems. Critics claim that Xanth
is nothing but egregious puns, but that's because they lack the wit to pick up
on the subtler humor. Readers also send in characters, and story ideas. Some
are really good, but I can't give all of them full play; there isn't room
enough in the novel. So many get only peripheral mention, when they could be
significant themes. I feel guilty about that. On occasion a reader is hurt
because I haven't made larger use of a notion, or given a larger credit for it;
I regret that, but my credits are already voluminous. I prefer that the notions
be appreciated in the story, rather than contributed for the sake of credits.
Some minor notions get significant play, because they happen to come in when
there's room for them to grow. An example is Ciriana, suggested as the name for
a child, that I merged with another suggestion; she might have appeared and
gone, but remained to become a significant minor character. Was it the best
name or the best talent? Not necessarily; she just happened to be in the right
place. Some ideas morph when processed, becoming not exactly what the
suggestors may have intended. Writing is a creative process, and a story does
not necessarily play out as expected. I do the best I can, and hope for the
best.

 Some reader notions I reserved for
future novels, because they fit there better. Several are for Air Apparent,
and others are for Stork Naked. Naturally the next one scheduled is
neither, making the ideas wait a long time; it's Pet Peeve, about an
irritable bird. There are whole pages of reader puns lying in ambush for that
one; they have been festering for two or three novels while I try to get up the
gumption to tackle them.

 Sometimes there are significant stories
behind minor characters. Here, from perhaps imperfect memory, is an example. A
correspondent in Thailand told me how he taught a course there on motorcycling.
One of his students was a woman in her late twenties, the single mother of two
children, small and comely in the manner of women of that area, with black hair
to her waist. She joined his class, and made mistakes at first, but persevered
until she became his star pupil. But she wanted to get it perfect, and
prevailed on him for a practice run just before the final examination. She rode
out in traffic, and he followed at a reasonable distance behind, observing. She
had it down just right; she handled her motorcycle well, obeyed the traffic
rules, and rode in a safe manner. They stopped for a meal, then commenced the
return cycle, she leading again. Then a truck barged out from a side road, ran
her over, and rolled on without stopping. She was alive but fading, her legs
crushed. She expressed her love for her children, and asked for a kiss, and
died. I thought about that, and had to do something, though the woman had not
been a reader of mine, and probably had never heard of Xanth. I decided to put
her into Xanth. Thus came to be the incidental character Noi. Perhaps it's a
meaningless gesture. We can rail at the unfairness of fate, when innocent folk
die while guilty ones go unpunished, but there's not a lot we can do about it.
Except remember, in our fashion. This was my fashion.

 Another example is Dragon World. I
participated in the story line and geographic details of an online role-playing
game, Dragon Empires. Some of you may have played it. The first thing I
did was work out the dragons-only to learn that those had already been done,
and mine weren't needed. So I put them into this novel instead, as you have
seen here. So you might say that these dragons migrated from the game to Xanth.
I hope they weren't disappointed in the new locale.

 My time is always crowded. I'm a
workaholic, and there are more things remaining to do than I'm likely to have
time for in this life. I'm a Senior Citizen now, and writers my age are booting
the KICK ME bucket in the Void with increasing abandon. So I am conscious of
priorities; what gets postponed to next decade may not be accomplished.
Nevertheless I maintain a healthy correspondence with my readers, who are
generally worthy folk. It is currently running a generous hundred paper letters
a month, and about four hundred E-mails, and sometimes a given correspondent
shifts from one to the other. I refer to a physical address as a snaddy: snail
addy. It sounds vaguely obscene, especially when directed at a member of the
female persuasion: “Show me your snaddy.” But E-mail really is
easier, faster, and cheaper. Those who just have to contact me can find me atwww.hipiers.com:
my E-mail address is there along with my ornery bimonthly column, Xanth
database, and ongoing survey of Internet publishers maintained for aspiring
writers.

 Now for the credits, presented in the
approximate order of appearance of the first one a given reader suggested. Some
names are partial because that's all that was provided in the E-mails. Clio's
blank volume-Chuck Scholz, whose idea got somewhat garbled by the time I
completed the novel. Running water, fig mints-Gregory Danner. Cayla-Cayla
Tamburello. Baseball diamond-get out-Ray. Talent of knitting anything-Kelly
Humphrey. Harold the Handyman-Ori Har-ish. W who doubles you-Gary Bushman.
Gravis, increasing or decreasing gravity-Timothy Bruening. Rorrim-Rhonda
Singer, who also wrote the letters in Up in a Heaval. How Cynthia
Centaur learned lightening-CoolMommyChick. Morphing-Chris Ireland. Bortre the
Intimidator-Ulman Smiy. Toney Harper-Tony Harper. Traveler from Xanth's
future-Brendan Moore. Nail biting, finger painting, Pebbl Roc, hyperlink-Andrew
Hibschman. The agony of D. Feat, Salt Peter, Afro Disiac, Anomie uses reverse
wood to get good ideas, Plane World__Gary Henderson. Attention span-Wayne
Moore. Psi-clone William Bradley. Puncheon cask for unruly puns-David Kaplan.
Centaur of attention-Richard Van Fossan. Demons are a girl's best
friend-Richard Bradley. Gallop poll-Randy Schultz. Eileen-

 Mike Mazureke. Squash blossoms-Carole
Farrell. Prof. Anity- Everett Tourjee. Field day, field trip-Britton Centamore.
Poop deck-S. M. Arney. Lemon aid, Mount Pin-a-Fore, Com Pewter's screen
freezes, sewer side-Becky. Cuticle-Michelle Travis. Kwew-tickle-Natasha Rio.
Gulli Bull, bear icade, impro vise-Valli Pata-balla and Sammy Katta. Gross-ery
store-Lev Asimow. Co-bra, may-pull tree, seed-her tree, Ana Conda-Ray. Dill
pickles people- Robin Dill. Corn-post- Michael McCarthy. Search engine-Toby
Hudon. Underpants- Brian Turner. Poe tree-Jessica Barr. Boxing box-Jared Cole.
Sneeze cake-Donna Schutza. Tree frog-Alex Bowler. Talent of oversight-Deirdre
Cooney. Talent of shifting blame or credit-Michele Rocco. Car-burr-ator-Jake
Shearer. Harang-u-tan-Kyle Kelley. Brown E-Becky and Randi. Retro specs, two
tors, tor mentors, Thesis-Red Plana. Peep show- Robert Andrews. Couch potato,
doorbell-Tanya. Coughee beans-Allison Moore. Credit onion-Bill Sellers. Loyal
tree, royal tree-Jamie Gordon. Lon Leigh, Luv Leigh, Re Joyce-Rebekah Joyce
Vidal. Inertia-Jesse Brown. Stephanie-Charlie Mizer. Angel Horse- Krystle
Lawrence. Have a Black Wave Magician-Jeffrey Gordon. Getaway Golem-Oliver
Sudden. Dragondrop-Carol Grubaugh. Bluebonnet plague-Roger Vazquez. Arch
enemy-Diana Gibson. Bay-o-nets, Bash-ful Ogre, Black Mail, Ann Gina, pun-kin
bread, pun-kin seeds, A's ancestors of B's-Ginger and Richard Kern. The deaf
community-Phil Giles. Steel toad boots-Stuart Funay. D. Zaster- Mordechai. D. Stroy,
D. Viate, D. Mise, D. Mean, twins who manipulate bodies or minds-Ray Fleming.
D. Lirious-Alexandra Fu. Demon Waves-Denise Harvey. Nissa Elf-Nissa McCormack.
Luna-tick- Stephen Brisbois. Ice fishing-Tiffany Sille. Iri Sistible-Bill
Fitzgerald. Mermaids in healing spring-Black Wolph.

 Meggie the nymph of a maple tree,
Emell, Fern, Dagger-Matthew Linde. Boarding school-SPC Robert Snow. Bored
board-Ann Marie. Motherboard, fatherboard-James Newman. Princess draws a
blank-Bryan Weber. Elderly person enters Xanth, Russian three-headed dragon,
Russian immigrant-Eugine Lev. Noi, girl with duran fruit, Fanta Sea exists in
Mundania (actually Thailand, near Phu Ket)-

 Somchai Chantananad. Tie Land and
related puns-George Sanders. Dream man-Jon Zoric. Things break out of the
gourd-Katdragon. Panthers and panthis-Kimo. Mare Juana-Stephen English.
Woolgathering-Misty Zaebst. Com Panion-Morrigan, who is half Mundane, half
succubus. Anna Sthesia, Auntie Septic-Becky Blair. Yeta Mermaid-Helen Grubb.
Mate-Rix-Jason Merchant. Auntie Biotic__ Celeste Gregory. Chele Centaur-Chele
Furley. Danielle Girl/Unicorn- Danielle von Krebs-Cintorino. Running
shoes-Padraig Newman. Arnolde Centaur's aisle explained-Henry Wyckoff. Demon
Earth makes deal with David-Michael J. Rohrmeier, Daniel Goldstein. Data Base,
clever bug-Jason Jack. Panty hoes-Anna Bryant. Opaque Ogre-Jae de Bird.
Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, Thyme-Lori Marateck. Feelup, talent of opposite
future, Currant Sea-Kenneth Adams. Digit Alice-Bill Fuller. Demon Construction
puns-Janet Yuill. Talent of seeing ourselves as others see us-Crystal
Frederickson. Little girl's immunity to Adult Conspiracy-Penny McKeever.
Ciriana (the name)-William Clocksin. Unlimited variants for Surprise-Azag.
Talent of always being in the way-Kat Eller. Talent of never getting in the
way, first-aid kit-Kat Eller, Kevin Eller, Joe Nadeau. Mister E, Miss Elem N.
Tery-Meg A. Brinkley. Darron, endowing inanimate objects-Darron Huskey. Tuning
fork, Bill, discord-ants-Lahoma Lemanski. Car-nation, the G's-Donald A. Probst.

 Maiden Taiwan's sisters China, Japan,
Mexico-Cathy Cook. Cricket, music by rubbing hands-Bryan Manning. Randi, girl
instead of boy-Randi C. Morris. Tran, Tran's sister, Tran's parent, Tran's Lou
Cent-Ray Fleming. Wynde Tchill-Daria Middlebrook. Embri-Anna-Marya Miller.
Talent of restoring zombies, Zaven-Karen Rucker, Kia Grooms. Magician in Brain
Coral's pool for Princess Ida-Michael J. Rohrmeier. Princess Ida's children
will have moons- Michele Rocco. Annie Mae-Herbert Lee. Ringing bell bottom
trousers-Ben Lofgren. Armored Dillo, rumpled steel skin--David Seltzer. School
for lightbulbs-Marcus Mebes. Dye-it-Lindsay Lovstrom. Talent of age not
changing geographically on Ptero- Andrew Hibschman. Step ladder-Spencer Pilz.
Talent of making rain-Kia Grooms. Borealis as the man for Aurora-Matthew
Bostelaar. Man from green goo world-Amie Adkins. Satori girl-cat- Elizabeth
Grace Ogletree. Demon Litho, origin of the voles-Jim Adolf. Talent of reversing
the characteristics of demons-Caleb. Book of Answers lost-Mike Waters. Currant
River, currant berries, sham pain, powerhouse with electric E's and L's,
lightbulb puns-Nancy Hill. Ems-Laura E. Bray. Berry bombs-G & R Kern.
Cherrie's explosive pies-Robin Dill. Cellulight-Courtney.

 And that's it, for this time. More is in
the pipeline. That's not a promise, it's a threat.