Castle Roogna (44 page)

       "What do you think?"

       Dor visualized the gorgon's body with historical perspective. "She's a knockout. If she wants you, you're sunk. She doesn't need a face to turn a man to stone. In a manner of speaking."

       The Good Magician nodded. "You have learned a new manner of speaking! The key concept is 'she wants.' Do you really think she does?"

       "Why else did she come here?" Dor demanded, perplexed.

       "Her original motive was based largely on ignorance. How do you think she might feel once she knows me well?"

       "Uh-" Dor searched for something diplomatic to say. The Good Magician had his points, but was no easy man to approach, or to get along with.

       "Therefore the kindest thing to do is to give her sufficient opportunity to know me-well enough," the Magician concluded.

       "The year!" Dor exclaimed. "That wait for her Answer! Not for you-for her! So she can change her mind, if-"

       "Precisely." Humfrey looked sad. "It has been a most enticing dream, however, even for an old gnome."

       Dor nodded, realizing that the Good Magician had not been proof against the attractions of the gorgon any more than the lonely Zombie Master had been proof against Millie. The two Magicians were similar in their fashion-and a similar tragedy loomed.

       "Now we must conclude your case," Humfrey said briskly, refusing to dwell further on the inevitable. "You owe me no further service, of course; the history book has provided it all, and I consider the investment well worthwhile. I have now fathomed many long-standing riddles, such as the origin of the forget spell on the Gap. So I may send you on your way, your account quit."

       "Thank you," Dor said. "I have brought back your magic carpet."

       "Oh, yes. But I shall not leave you stranded. I believe I have a conjuration spell stashed away somewhere; have the gorgon locate it for you as you leave. It will take you home in a flash."

       "Thank you." It was a relief not to have to contemplate another trek through the jungle. "Now I must go give the restorative elixir to Jonathan."

       The Good Magician frowned at him. "You have had an especially difficult decision there, Dor. I believe you have acted correctly. When you become King, the discipline of emotion and action you have learned in the course of this quest will serve you in excellent stead. It may be more of an asset to you than your magic talent. King Trent's hiatus in Mundania matured him similarly. It seems there are qualities that cannot be inculcated well in a secure, familiar environment. You are already more of a man than most people ever get to be."

       "Uh, thanks," Dor mumbled. He had yet to master the art of graciously receiving compliments. But the Magician had already returned to reading his tome. Dor moved toward the door. Just as he left the room, Humfrey remarked without looking up: "You rather remind me of your father." Suddenly Dor felt very good.

       Grundy and the gorgon were sharing a scream soda in the kitchen; Dor heard the noise from several rooms away. They were using straws; hers poked into her nothing face, where the soda disappeared. She had a face, all right; it just could not be seen. Dor wondered what it would be like to kiss her. In the dark she would seem entirely normal. Except for those little snakes.

       "I need the conjuration spell," Dor said. "The one that flashes."

       The screams faded as she left the soda. "I know exactly where it is. I have every spell classified and properly filed. First time there's been order in this castle in a century." She reached for an upper shelf, her figure elongating enticingly. What a woman she would be, if only she had a visible face! But no, that would be ruinous; her face petrified men, literally.

       "There," she said, bringing down an object that looked like a closed tube. It had a lens on one end, and a switch on the side. "You just push the switch forward, there, when you're ready."

       "I'm ready now. I want to go to the tapestry room in Castle Roogna. Are you coming, Grundy?"

       "One moment." The golem sucked in the last scream from the soda-no more than a whimper, actually-and crossed the room.

       "Do you really want to marry the Good Magician-now that you know him?" Dor asked the gorgon curiously.

       "What would he do for socks and spells, without me?" she retorted. "This castle needs a woman."

       "Uh, yes. All castles do. But-"

       "What kind of a man would give a pretty girl board and room for a year, never touching her, just to think it over, knowing she probably would change her mind in that period?"

       "A good man. A patient one. A serious one." Then Dor nodded, understanding the thrust of her question. "One worth marrying."

       "I thought I wanted him, when I came here. Now I am sure of it. Under all that grouch is a remarkably fine Magician, and a fine man, too."

       Almost exactly the words Humfrey had used to describe the Zombie Master! But it seemed that tragedy was about to bypass the gnome, after all. Parallels went only so far. "I wish you every happiness."

       "Would you believe there are three happiness spells on that shelf?" She winked. "And a potency spell too-but he won't need that, I suspect"

       Dor eyed her once again with the memory of his erstwhile Mundane barbarian body. "Right," he agreed.

       "Actually, all he needs for happiness is a good cheap historical adventure tome, like that one he's reading now, about ancient Xanth. I'm going to read it too, as soon as he finishes, I understand it has lots of sex and sorcery and a really stupid barbarian hero-"

       Hastily, Dor pushed the switch. The spell flashed-and he stood before the tapestry. "Savior of Xanth," he said, feeling foolish, and his vial of restorative elixir popped out from whatever invisible place it had lain for eight hundred years. He had to catch it before it could shatter on the floor, but he lacked the muscle and reflexes his Mundane body had had, and missed. The vial plummeted-And jerked short on an invisible thread, and swung there, undamaged. A silken dragline had been attached to it. "Not this time, Murphy!" Dor cried as he nabbed it. He looked for his friend Jumper, who had surely rescued him again in this fashion, but did not see him.

       Now, with the object of his quest in hand, he wondered: how could an object be spelled into a tapestry-within-a-tapestry-how could it emerge from the main tapestry? Or were the two tapestries the same? They had to be, because-yet they couldn't be, because-He seemed to be skirting paradox here, but couldn't quite grasp it. Anyway, he had the elixir. Best not to question to deeply; he might not like the answer.

       Yet he lingered, watching the tapestry. He saw Castle Roogna, with its returning personnel cleaning out the last of the debris of battle and doing preparatory work for the zombie graveyard beyond the moat-the graveyard those zombies still resided in today. They had protected the Castle well, all these centuries, but now it was in no danger, so they lay quietly out of sight. Except for Jonathan, the strange exception. It seemed there were personality differences among zombies, just as there were in people, "One in every crowd," he murmured.

       His eye focused on the spot he had vacated. He and Jumper had been trying to get as close to the place they had entered the Fourth Wave world as possible. They had cut into the jungle-and the jungle had tried to cut into them, when they encountered that saw grass-navigated the Gap with the use of silk lines for descent and ascent-fortunately the Gap dragon had been elsewhere at the time, perhaps suffering from the forget spell-and forged into northern Xanth. As they drew near the spot, their presence seemed to activate the spell, and it had reverted.

       There, near that place, was the Mundane giant. He had no huge spider now as companion. He had wandered to a stockaded hut, begging a place to stay the night. He faced the mistress of the hut, an attractive young woman. As Dor watched, the tiny figures animated.

       "What are they saying?" Dor asked Grundy.

       "I thought you said you needed no translation!"

       "Grundy-"

       The golem hastily translated: "I am a barbarian, recently disenchanted. I was transformed, or driven, into the body of a flea, while an alien shade governed my body."

       "The flea!" Dor exclaimed. "The one that hid in my hair and kept biting me! That was the Mundane!"

       "Shut up while I'm translating," Grundy said. "This lip reading is hard." He resumed: "That creature did its best to destroy me, yanking me across the Gap on a rope, throwing me among zombies, thrusting me single-handed against an army of monsters-"

       "Now that's a distortion!" Dor cried indignantly.

       "And that awful giant spider!" the translation continued. "I lived in daily fear it would discover my flea body and-" The barbarian shuddered. "Now at last I have fought free. But I am tired and hungry. May I stay the night?"

       The woman looked him over. "For a story like that you can stay three nights! Know any more?"

       "Many more," the barbarian said humbly.

       "Nobody who can lie like that can be all bad."

       "Right," he agreed abjectly.

       She smiled. "I am a widow. My husband was roasted by a dragon. I need a man to run the farm-a strong, patient man, not too bright, willing to settle for…" She spread her hands and half-turned, inhaling.

       The barbarian noted her inhalation. It was a good one, the kind barbarians normally paid attention to. He smiled. "Well, I'm not too patient."

       "That's close enough," the woman said.

       Dor turned away, satisfied. His erstwhile Mundane body would be as happy as he deserved to be.

       Something about this scenelet reminded Dor of Cedric the centaur. How was he making out with Celeste, the naughty filly? But Dor restrained himself from peeking; it really was not his business, any more.

       Something caught his eye. He focused on the corner of the tapestry. There was tiny Jumper, waving. There was another little spider beside him. "You've found a friend!" Dor exclaimed.

       "That's no friend, that's his mate," Grundy said. "She wants to know where he was, those five years he was gone. So when the popping-out of the elixir vial alerted him to your presence, he brought her out here to meet you."

       "Tell her it's true, all true," Dor said. Then: "Five years?"

       "Two weeks, your time. It only seemed like two weeks to him, too. But back at his home-"

       "Ah, I understand." Dor exchanged amenities with the skeptical Mrs. Jumper, bade his friend farewell again, promised to return next day-month or so, and strode from the room feeling better.

       "You move with a new assurance," Grundy remarked. He seemed sad. "You won't be needing me much longer."

       "Penalty of growing up," Dor said, "One year I'll get married, and you can bodyguard my son, exactly as you have me."

       "Gee," the golem said, flattered.

       They departed the Castle, going to Dor's cheese cottage. He felt increasing apprehension and nostalgia as he approached his home. His parents should still be away on their Mundane mission; only Millie would be there. Millie the maid, Millie the ghost, Millie the nurse. What had the Brain Coral animating his body said to her? What should he say to her now? Did she have any notion what he had been doing the past two weeks?

       Dor steeled himself and went inside. He didn't knock; it was his own cottage, after all. He was just the lad Millie took care of; she did not know-must never know-that he had been the Magician who looked like a Mundane warrior, way back when.

       "Say," Grundy inquired as they passed through the familiar-unfamiliar house toward the kitchen. "What name did you use, in the tapestry?"

       "My own name, of course. My name and talent-"

       Oh, no! The most certain identifiers of any person in the Land of Xanth were name and talent. He had thoughtlessly given himself away!

       "Is that you, Dor?" Millie called musically from the kitchen. Too late to escape!

       "Uh, yes." No help for it but to see if she recognized him. Oh, those twelve-year-old-boy mistakes!

       "Uh, just talking to a wall." He snapped his fingers at the nearest wall. "Say something, wall!"

       "Something," the wall said obligingly.

       She came to the kitchen doorway, and she was stunningly beautiful, twelve years older than she had been so recently, but almost regal in her abrupt maturity. Now she had poise, elegance, stature. She had aged, as it were overnight, more than a decade, while Dor had lost a similar amount. A gulf had opened between them, a gulf of age and time, huge as the Gap.

       He loved her yet

       "Why, you haven't talked to the walls in two weeks," Millie said. Dor knew this had to be true: the Coral had animated his body, but had lacked his special magical talent.

       "Is something wrong?" Millie asked. "Why are you staring at me?"

       Dor forced his fixed eyes down. "I-" What could he say? "I-seem to remember you from somewhere."

       She laughed with the echo of the sweetness and innocence he had known and loved in the tapestry maid. "From this morning, Dor, when I served you breakfast!"

       But now he would not be put off. The thing he most feared was recognition; he had to face it now. "Millie-when you were young-before you were a ghost-did you have friends?"

       She laughed again, and this time he noticed the fullness and rondure of her body as it laughed with her. "Of course I had friends!"

       "Who were they? You never told me." His heart was beating hard.

       She frowned. "You're serious, aren't you? But I can't tell you. There was a forget spell detonated in the vicinity, and as a ghost I was near it a long time. I don't remember my friends."

       The forget spell! It had made her forget…him. Yet he tried, perversely, driven by an urge he refused to define. "How-did you die?"