Roc And A Hard Place (26 page)

She took him in her hand and floated -up high enough to get a better view of the chasm.  Then she took the token in her free hand and heeded its tug.  She zoomed along in the correct direction.

Soon enough she spied the Gap Dragon whomping along.

Stanley was now full grown, a long, sinuous, slightly winged green dragon with six legs.  The legs were too short for real velocity, which was why he whomped:  lifting up his foresection, hurling it forward, landing it, and bringing the rest of his body along in a following arc.  It looked awkward, but it got him where he was going in a hurry.  Hardly any animal caught in the Gap escaped, once the dragon went after it.

Those that were just out of reach of the teeth could still be brought down by a searing jet of steam.  The Gap Dragon was one of the most feared creatures in Xanth.

Except for certain folk.  Metria was one, because she was a demoness.  Prince Dolph was another, because he could assume dragon form if he chose, and because he had known Stanley Steamer since childhood and they were friends.

So she glided down.  “Ho, Stanley!” she called.

The dragon paused, lifting his snoot.  There was a puff of steam.

“Now, don't get steamed,” she said.  “It's me, Metria. And Prince Dolph.” She opened her hand, and Dolph assumed his human form and dropped to the ground.

Stanley recognized him.  Dolph threw his arms around the dragon.  They rolled, wrestling and tickling.  It was an embrace almost nobody else in Xanth would have risked.  But they had been young together, for all that it was Stanley's second childhood.  He had been youthened more or less by accident over three decades ago in a slight mishap.  Stanley had become Princess Ivy's pet, until it was time for him to resume his job guarding the Gap.

There were three basic types of dragons in Xanth:  fire breathers, smokers, and steamers.  The fire dragons were the most feared, but actually the smokers were more dangerous, because their smoke could blind and suffocate others, especially in closed places.  The steamers were the least common, but were to be respected in their regions.

When the two settled down, Metria held out the token.  “I have a summons for you, Stanley,” she said.  “You are to be a Juror in the trial of Roxanne Roc.”

The dragon's ears perked up, startled.  One ear was slightly shorter than the other; that dated from the time that Smash Ogre had chewed it off, and even the rejuvenation hadn't repaired it entirely.  His snout assumed a perplexed aspect.

Dolph took the form of a small dragon and growled at him.  Metria wasn't strong on dragon talk, but knew that Dolph was explaining the situation in greater detail.

Stanley growled back.  Then Dolph resumed man form.

“He says he'll have to ask his family.”

She couldn't say no to that.  “So let's go ask.”

Stanley led them to a deep side shoot of the main chasm.

There was another grown dragon, and a baby dragon.  Metria had known nothing of this.  She felt slightly jealous.  Even dragons could get the attention of the stork, while she couldn't.  But the baby was cute.

“His mate Stella Steamer, and their son Steven Steamer,” Dolph said, chucking the baby under the chin.  Steven puffed out a bit of warm vapor that couldn't be rated as steam, but showed promise for the future.

“Stanley is on my summonsing list, but I don't know that the whole family would be welcome in the Nameless Castle,” Metria said doubtfully.

“Stella says someone has to patrol the Gap,” Dolph said.

“They take turns, with the off-duty one taking care of Steven.  If Stanley goes to the trial, he'll have to take Steven along, because Stella can't both whomp and baby-sit.”

Metria considered.  “Let me see the tyke,” she said.

Dolph picked up the little dragon and handed him to her.

She held him, and the little snoot caressed her neck with warm vapor.  Suddenly she lost control.  “Oh, you little darling!” she cried, and hugged Steven close.  She so missed the baby of her own she had not been able to get.

“I think Steven will get along okay at the trial,” Dolph remarked.  “If your reaction is typical.”

“I guess he will,” she agreed, kissing Steven on the cute snoot.  “There's nothing much cuter than a baby dragon. When can they go?”

Dolph consulted.  They decided to bring Stanley and Steven just before the trial date, so as to minimize disruption.

Metria set down the little dragon with reluctance.  “I still have more to summons,” she said, noting that dusk was beginning to think about arriving.  “It's a real scramble.”

“Who are they?” Dolph asked.

She checked the five remaining tokens.  “Marrow Bones and Sherlock Black next, I think.”

“They're both family men.  You'd better go after them tomorrow.”

“I suppose you're right.  I do have several days remaining before the trial.”

“Then if you don't mind, I'll fly home to my wife,” he said.

“See you tomorrow,” she agreed.

He became the roc, spread his wings, and stroked up toward the band of daylight above the Chasm.

Metria waved farewell to the steamer family, and popped back home.  She didn't need any rest, but it would be good to relax anyway.

This job didn't seem so bad after all.  Tomorrow she would complete her summonsing, well ahead of schedule.

In the morning she took care of routine details, stoked her husband up for another day's worth of bliss, and checked her tokens.

She paused with surprise.  She had thought there were five left, but she hadn't been counting carefully.  There were four, for the walking skeleton, the black man, and the Simurgh herself.  Plus the mysterious unmarked one.  But now that fourth one was marked.  It said MPD.  And on the other side, WITNESS.

So the blank token was finally identifying itself!  Well, she had better attend to that immediately, because she had no idea who MPD was, which meant that he or she or it might be hard to find.

She held up the token to see which way it tugged.  There seemed to be a firm direction, north, so she put it away and popped over to Castle Roogna to fetch Prince Dolph.

He was rubbing sleep from his eyes.  “Last day, huh?” he asked blearily.  “I'll be glad of that.”

“So will I,” she agreed.  “This has been an interesting experience, but I'll be glad to have it done.”

“I forget,” he said.  “Did you ever tell me why you're doing this?  I mean, sure, for your Service to the Good Magician. But what was your Question?”

“How to get the stork's attention,” she said.  “I know the motions, but the stork has been ignoring me.”

“Oh,” he said, looking reasonably embarrassed.  He was twenty-one, and married, and a father, but retained a certain fetching naiveté.  “Well, let's go get Sherlock and Marrow.”

“Something's come up,” she said.  “I had a blank disk. Now it has a name.  MPD, a Witness.  To the north.”

“Who's MPD?”

“I have no idea.  But the token should lead us to him.”

“Then let's go.” He became the hummingbird, and she took him, and popped north.

She landed safely north of the Void—and now the token tugged south.  Hmm—that could be bad news.  Nothing left the Void except night mares.  She was a demoness, but even she didn't dare risk passing the Void's event horizon, because then she would have to give half a soul to a mare to carry her out, and half a soul was all she had.  She was not about to give it up.

But as she approached that dreadful line, the token tugged down.  Down toward a gourd.  That was almost as bad.  Normal folk entered the gourd realm by looking in a peephole, and though their bodies remained outside, their souls 'were locked inside for as long as the eye contact remained—and they could not break it themselves.  So anyone visiting the dream realm needed a friend to put a finger over the peephole at an agreed time, freeing the visitor.  But this didn't work for demons, who had no permanent physical bodies; their whole selves entered, and they could not leave without the permission of the Night Stallion.  Trojan, that Horse of Another Color, was not particularly partial to demons.  So what was she to do?

Well, she was on business for the Simurgh, so she would just have to tell the horse that'.  Meanwhile, it would be interesting exploring the dream realm.

“Dolph, it seems I have to enter the gourd,” she said.

“So maybe you had better go home, and I'll return for you when this is done.”

“I don't know,” he said, assuming his human form.  “The gourd's a pretty tricky place, even for demons.  Maybe I better go in with you.”

“But your body would be left out here,” she reminded him.  “And you would be unable to break contact.”

“Actually, I have a pass for the gourd; the Stallion lets me visit when I want to.  But it's true I don't want to leave my body exposed.” He looked around.  “But maybe if I assumed a safe form, it would be all right.”

“A safe form?”

“Some creature no one will bother.  Like maybe a snake.”

“A what?”

“Serpent, viper, reptile—”

“I know what a snake is!  But someone could step on you.”

“Not if I become the right kind of snake.  Like maybe a bushmaster.”

“Oh.  Yes, maybe so.”

“I'll change; you orient the gourd for me.” He became a bush with reptilian scales and poisonous foliage.  No one would bother him in that state.

She turned the gourd around until its peephole faced one of the bush's eyes.  When the bush went rigid she knew it had taken.  Then she turned vapory and carefully insinuated herself through the peephole, careful not to interfere with Dolph's line of sight.

It was dark and wet inside.  She couldn't see anything, so she formed a light bulb on the end of her nose.  The bulb absorbed darkness, leaving the light behind, so that the scene became dimly visible.

She was floating in some deep brine green sea.  There might be a surface somewhere far above, but it seemed too  distant to bother with.  There was no sign of Dolph, but since he could change form here as well as in normal life, he might be a fish exploring ahead.  There did seem to be a sea floor, and on it was a large decorated vase.  She wasn't sure what it might contain, so she made a knuckle and rapped on it.

A head popped out.  “Eh?” it inquired.  “Who patted my urn?”

“Sorry,” Metria said.  “I didn't know it was a pat urn.”

He stared at her.  “What manner of creature are you?”

“I'm the Demoness Metria.”

He looked disappointed.  “Oh.  One of those.”

She bridled.  “What's the matter with me?”

“Nothing, except that you're only half what I wished for. But that's the way it always is.”

Her curiosity, never far beneath her surface, surged up.

“You always get half your wish?”

“Yes.  I'm Hal Halfling, a bit player for bad dreams.  It is my fate to get only half of what I wish for, no matter what it is.  This time I wished for decent company, and I got you.”

Metria nodded.  “I'm indecent company, for sure.  Not only am I not a real person, I have only half a soul, and I'm not staying.”

“Exactly.  I thought I could outsmart it by wishing for Xanth's most lovely and accommodating woman, figuring that I could settle for an ordinary one, but once again it halved it in such a way as to leave me no benefit.  I had such Xanticipation.” He, sighed.

“Well, this is your Xanthropology lesson,” she said.  “I could assume the form of Xanth's loveliest woman, but I don't care to.  I study men, but I try to please only one, and it isn't you.”

“Obviously.  I don't know why I keep making wishes, since they never work out well.”

“What was your first wish?”

“I wanted to be a wit.”

“That explains it.”

He looked sourly at her.  “I would wish you to depart, but—”

“But half of me might remain to pester you,” she finished.

“I see your problem.  Actually, I do plan to depart, once I locate my partner and figure out a way to travel conveniently in here.”

“Yeah, sure, leave me already,” Hal said, grimacing.

“Isn't that what you wanted?”

“No.  What I wanted was good companionship.” He reached up and tore out a hank of hair.  “Why can't I ever have what I want?”

“Maybe you should have wished for control over your emotions,” Metria suggested.

“I did.  I can control them only halfway.”

“Too bad you can't control the emotions of others.”

“I'd just get the wrong halves of their emotions.”

She paused, having a notion.  “Maybe you should make a wish for me.”

“You'd get only half of it,”

“I wonder.  Limited wishes may have their uses.  Wish for my ship to come in.”

He shrugged.  “Suit yourself.  I wish for your ship to come in.”

A light showed in the blurry distance.  It forged nearer.  It turned out to be a sort of ship, but it sailed well below the surface of the water.  “What is that?”' she asked.

A hatch opened.  “It's a yellow submarine,” Dolph said, in human form.  “I was in fish form, looking for a better way to travel, and I found this just lying where someone discarded it, so I brought it in.  We can travel in comfort in this.”

“See?” Hal said.  “That's a half ship.  Halfway sunk.”

“So it is,” Metria agreed, floating into the hatch.  “Say, how is it we can talk normally here underwater?”

“This is the dream realm,” Dolph reminded her.  “It doesn't follow regular rules.”

“That's right, I forgot.” She settled on the interior floor of the submarine, and Dolph closed the hatch.  It was miraculously dry here, and portals looked out on the sea around them.  The interior looked lived in, as if several not-quite housebroken entertainers had spent time here.  There was a picture of a beetle on one wall.

“Where does your summons token point?” Dolph asked.

She brought it out.  “That way,” she said, pointing.

He steered the submarine that way.  It accelerated, forging through the sea.

Then the sea dried.  It didn't end, it just thinned into air.

The submarine didn't care; it floated on through the air.

“This is a pretty nice machine,” Dolph remarked.  “I can't think why anyone would have thrown it away.”

“There's a man out there,” Metria said.  “Don't run him down.”

The airship slowed, but the man became a dragon and snapped at it.  “Oh—a were-dragon,” Dolph said.  He opened the portal.  “Hey, don't snap at us!  We're just passing through.”

The man reappeared.  “Ooops, sorry about that.  I thought this was an invader from Mundania.”

“That's okay,” Dolph said.  “I'm Prince Dolph of Xanth. Who are you and what do you do?”

“I'm Jay.  My father was human, my mother a firedrake.

I wasn't quite comfortable in either society, so I got a job supporting bad dreams.  I listen to the instructions in my human phase, then perform in my dragon phase.  It's a living.”

“Do you know anyone here named MPD?”

Jay scratched his head.  “There are some pretty strange folk here, but I don't recognize that one.  Maybe the cyborg would know.”

“Cyborg?”

“He's part animal, part machine.  Really weird.  I think he's reducing flowers today.  Just keep on going the way you are, and you'll find his dung pile soon enough.”

“Thanks.” The submarine floated on.

They came to a sign:  HUNG DEEP.

“Better turn aside,” Metria advised.  “I don't think we want that.”

The submarine veered to the left.  There was another sign:

ROWING GONG.

Metria looked around, but saw no gong.  “This doesn't seem right either.”

So the submarine moved to the right instead.  This time it encountered a sign saying ROT NIGHT.

“I told you this was an odd place,” Dolph said.  “We'd better ask again.”

They saw a woman painting a sign.  Dolph opened the hatch.  “Hello—I'm Prince Dolph, from Xanth.  I think we're lost.  Can you help us?”

“I'm Miss Pell,” she replied.  “Of course I can help you. Why should I?”

“Because the sooner we find what we're looking for, the sooner we'll be out of here.”

Miss Pell nodded appreciatively.  “That does seem worthwhile, Drince Polf.  Simply correct my signs, and you should be successful.”

“Drince Polf?” he echoed blankly.

“Miss Pell!” Metria exclaimed.  “Misspell!  That's what's wrong with the signs!”

He brightened.  “Oh, okay!” He closed the hatch, and guided the submarine back the way they had come.

“NOT RIGHT,” Metria read, correcting the third one.

“GOING WRONG,” as she saw the second.  “And DUNG HEAP.  This is where we were going!”

Sure enough, there was a machine man with a piece of wood, surrounded by beetles.  He was touching them with it, and they were in turn turning flowers into dung.  There were not many flowers remaining, and the pile of dung was quite large.

Dolph opened the hatch.  “You must be the cyborg,” he said.  “But why are you destroying those flowers?”

“They were part of the last set,” the cyborg explained.

“Several dreamers were pushing up daisies.  Now we need to recycle them, so I'm using reverse wood to enable the dung beetles to turn them back into dung.”

“That must make sense, for dreams,” Metria said.  “But I think I see one of a different species.” She floated out and picked up a bug.  “I'll bug his ear,” she said to Dolph.  Then she put the bug in the cyborg's ear and whispered something.

“Why, of course!” the cyborg said.  “Right that way.” He pointed.

Dolph set the submarine in motion.  “What did you do?”

“I dropped a hint,” she explained.  “That was a hint bug I found.  Once I bugged his ear, he had to tell me the truth.”

They moved on.  The landscape faded into a sort of fuzzy nothingness with colored ribbons curling through.  The tug of the token got stronger.

At last they came to a man sitting on a loop of ribbon, surrounded by music.  He had a huge shock of hair swept back from his forehead, and wore a suit that trailed almost to the ground behind him.  He had no instrument, and his mouth was closed, yet the music was clearly governed by his will, because he was nodding to its beat and moving his hands as if to accent some aspects while smoothing down others.  When Metria approached him, he looked up, and it faded.  “Yes?”

“Are you MPD?” she asked.

“I am No One.” Somewhat wary violin music sounded.

“I think you are MPD, because this summons token is nudging right toward you.  You must appear as a Witness at the trial of Roxanne Roc.”

The music rumbled, with drums ascendant.  “Where is this trial?” No One asked.

“In the Nameless Castle, in Xanth proper.  We're here to take you there.”

A bassoon made a dirty noise.  “I can't leave the dream realm.  I can't go.”

“But this summons says you have to,” she said, holding out the token.

No One brushed it away.  “Forget it, Demoness.” The woodwinds whistled as he dropped off his loop of ribbon and fell into the depths below.

She dived down after him, but the bands of ribbon became numerous and convoluted, obscuring her view and her way.

MPD had disappeared.

“So it's going to be that type of a serving,” she muttered.

“Well, I won't be balked.” She held up the token and heeded its tug.

She threaded her way through the ribbons, and they became thin bands of candy, then thickened into flavored, colored cotton.  The cotton formed into threads, and then into fabrics, and the fabrics wound their way into items of clothing.  And there, amidst the hanging suits and dresses, sat a young woman with fair hair, pressing sections of cloth to each other.  They adhered where they touched, and she twisted the free sections around and pressed them together again, and they stuck together again, forming the configurations of clothing.