Harpy Thyme (3 page)

What would happen if she lifted out that huge Year seed? Since the thyme plant itself slowed her down, that would probably speed her up, and a year would pass in maybe an instant. That wouldn't do her much good. But if she took a Second, that would hardly be worth it, because even an ordinary second passed pretty quickly. Which kind of seed could she use, and how could she use it?

She decided that if she took some seeds and walked toward the thyme plant, they should cancel out the slow effect, and enable her to maintain her speed. So she could get through on something like a normal schedule. If the seeds worked the way she was guessing they did.

She returned to the SEC glass and picked up one seed. The chamber blinked, and the seed was gone. What had happened?

She thought about it, and decided that the blink had been time jumping forward one second. She was now one second ahead of herself, as it were.

She tried her purse-dropping trick again. But this time as she let it go, she scooped several secs from the cup.

There was a triple blink, and suddenly the purse was on the floor, much faster than it should have been. Now she was sure: to touch a seed of thyme was to feel its effect, which was opposite to that of the thyme plant.

But how could she use any of these seeds? She needed to get them to the slow vicinity of the plant before touching them. She couldn't keep dashing back to the cup for more. “Silly me!” she exclaimed as a dim bulb flashed just over her honeyed little head. She picked up the SEC cup itself. Seconds were all she cared to use; they were more manageable, and she could use them in handfuls if she had to.

She carried the seconds glass as far as she could before the slowdown was bothersome. Then she picked out one sec. This time there was no blink; instead she speeded up for an instant. The seed had canceled out a moment of the thyme's slowdown. It was working!

She moved ahead, dipping out more sees. Her progress was somewhat jerky, being either fast or slow, but that was to be expected. She had to use two seeds at a time as she got near the plant, and then three. When she was closest to it, she had a small handful of sees at a time. She didn't want to use them all up before she completed her journey across the chamber! But once she was beyond it she was able to get by with fewer sees, and finally she made it to the far hall, and she still had some sees left. That was a relief.

She set down the cup and started down the hall. She had made it through the third challenge!

But as she turned a corner, she came up to a broad desk set to block it. A woman sat behind the desk, writing on a pad of paper.

Gloha stopped, surprised. “Who are you?” she inquired.

“I am the SB,” the woman replied, pointing to a name-plate that said SB. “I'm here to handle the Sin Tax.”

“Syntax? you must be a writer.”

“Sin Tax,” the woman repeated. “S-I-N-T-A-X. You-must pay. I am the Sin Bursar. It's my business to see that you pay.”

“But I haven't sinned!” Gloha protested innocently.

“You were smoking, drinking, gamboling, and having secs,” SB said evenly. “Those are all taxable.”

“Smoking? But my shoes were burning up! And it was just one drink of water I took to cool off. And then I was so happy to be cool again that I did dance a little, but I never thought-” She paused. “What was that last?”

“You had most of the seconds available. You used them up. Now you have to pay the tax.”

Gloha realized that she was stuck for it. Ignorance was no excuse, whether a person stuck her finger in a beehive or used the contents of a seed cup. “How do I pay the tax?”

SB toted up the total on her pad. “That's four counts. You will have to perform four tasks. You will have to wash her, dry her, sock her, and box her.”

“Washer, dryer, soccer, and boxer?” Gloha repeated, baffled. “I don't-” But she stopped herself before saying “understand.” After all, she had to understand, in order to get through this challenge, which she now realized wasn't yet done. “Could you explain that a bit more?”

SB touched a button on her desk. A panel in the wall opened. Beyond it Gloha saw a strange yet rather nice creature. It had the head and front legs of a horse, and the hind section of a winged dragon. So it was a winged monster, and therefore a creature Gloha could relate to, as she was a winged monster herself.

“There is the Glyph. Clean her up and pack her for shipment,” SB said, and returned to her writing.

Gloha entered the Glyph's pen. Now she saw that the poor creature was quite dirty. Her wing feathers were soiled, her fur was grimy, her scales did not glisten, and her hooves were caked with mud. The poor creature needed attention. Gloha would have been glad to help her even if it wasn't to pay the Sin Tax.

There was a trough and bucket beside the stall, and brushes too. Gloha dipped the bucket full of water, and approached the Glyph. The creature shied nervously away from her. “Hey, take it easy, Glyph!” Gloha said soothingly. “You don't have to be afraid of me. See, I'm a winged monster too.” She spread her wings and pumped them a couple of times.

The Glyph settled down. Gloha washed her, getting the fur and scales and hooves clean so that they glistened and shone as they should. Then she brushed off the wings so that the feathers turned light and bright. She fetched towels and dried her. But she wasn't sure how to sock her. She wasn't about to hit this nice creature.

Then she saw a plant with odd dangly foliage. It looked like a blanket bush, only smaller. She brought it to the Glyph, and the plant immediately reached around the Glyph's feet and legs. Tendrils stretched material, in a moment and a half both legs had socks. The socks sank in, and seemed just like nice black fur decorating the legs from the knees down.

Now it was time to box her. Gloha saw wood panels to the side of the stall. She could use these to make a big enough box around the animal. She went to fetch the first panel. But as she put her hands on it, she paused. Something was nagging her.

She turned. The Glyph was looking at her. Their gazes met. She had reassured the animal, and now the Glyph trusted her. But Gloha didn't trust the situation.

She left the panel and returned to the hall. “Why does she need to be boxed?” she demanded.

SB looked up from her writing pad. “It's on the bill of lading. One boxed Glyph.”

“That's not good enough. Why does she have to be boxed, when she's tame? Why can't she just be led to where she's going? It's cruel to put an animal in a box.”

SB checked her pad. “She's going to be a sculpted figure on a fancy building. She has to be crated for shipping.”

“I don't understand,” Gloha said, using the word she had tried to avoid. But she was upset. It was too late to take it back anyway.

“Why don't you?”

“This Glyph is a fine sensitive animal. She's been badly treated before; she should never have been left so dirty. Boxing her will be more bad treatment. I will never understand why that should be.”

“What never?” SB asked.

“No, never!”

“What never?” SB repeated.

Gloha hesitated. She knew she was throwing away her chance to pass the third challenge and get in to see the Good Magician. But she liked the Glyph, and couldn't bear to see the creature mistreated. Who wanted to be stuck on a building, anyway? “No, never,” she said in a tone that was neither cut nor little.

“Then you must share her fate,” SB said. “Go mount her.”

“You mean ride her? I'm sure she's a fine steed. But what's the point, if she's not going anywhere?”

“Wherever she is going or not going, you will go or not go too. That's the rule. I'm here to enforce the rule.”

A realistic little realization came to Gloha. “You're doing your Service for the Good Magician!”

“Of course. That's the rule.”

“What was your Question, if I may ask?”

“I asked him how I could be a writer. He said I should work on my syntax. Only it turned out to be the Sin Tax. I'm confined to this desk for this boring job. But I must say it concentrates the imagination beautifully. I have written several chapters of my novel between taxes.”

“So you're getting to be a writer after all,” Gloha said. “While you're doing your Service.”

“Yes. I think I'll have a chapter about a crossbreed winged goblin girl and her friendship for a crossbreed winged animal. Do you think my readers will like that?”

“I hope so. It seems interesting to me.”

“Now go ride the Glyph.” It was evident that SB's affability did not extend to neglecting her duty.

Gloha didn't argue. She was satisfied to share the Glyph's fate, if she couldn't improve the animal's lot. She went to the stall and climbed on the Glyph's back, between the wings. “I'm sorry I couldn't save you,” she said, patting the neck under the now-beautiful mane. “But I just couldn't box you, no matter what.”

The ceiling disappeared. Open sky appeared. The Glyph spread her giant wings and launched into the air. She was through the hole in the roof and into the sky almost before Gloha knew it.

“But-but you're free!” Gloha said, amazed.

The Glyph neighed happily. Gloha could have let go and flown herself, but preferred to stay with her new friend. Where were they going?

A castle came into sight below. The Glyph angled down toward it. There was a nice solid flat roof with a pile of hay on it. The Glyph landed on this.

“But where are we?” Gloha asked, not yet over her amazement.

“The Good Magician's castle, of course,” a voice answered.

Gloha saw a pretty young woman standing by a stair leading up to the roof. “But I shouldn't be here,” she protested. “I messed up on the third challenge.”

“Oh, I don't think so,” the woman said, coming forward. “I am Wira, the Good Magician's daughter-in-law. I came here to lead you to him.”

“I'm Gloha,” Gloha said, disgruntled. “I-I told the SB woman I didn't understand, and it was a challenge of understanding, so she said I would share the Glyph's fate, and-” She broke off, realizing that something else was odd.

Wira was petting the Glyph. The Glyph was nuzzling her face. It was evident that the two knew each other. Wira brought out a sugar cube and the Glyph ate it. Then Wira petted the animal again and stepped away. “Come on in,” she said to Gloha.

“The challenge of understanding-it wasn't about riddles or directions,” Gloha said. “It was about decency.”

The girl smiled. “Of course.”

Gloha joined her, and they walked to the stairs. The Glyph began eating the hay, contentedly.

The interior of the castle was pleasant and surprisingly light, considering the thickness of its walls. Probably magic accounted for that; after all, Humfrey was the Magician of Information, so he would know how to have a nice residence.

Wira led her to the kitchen, where a woman was seated at a table, facing away from them. “Mother, put on your veil, if you haven't already,” Wira said.

“That's all right, dear; I heard you coming,” the woman said. She turned, and her face was covered by a full, thick veil. Tiny serpents framed the region of her face; they seemed to be in lieu of hair. The effect was fairly attractive; they were pretty little snakes.

“This is the Gorgon,” Wira said to Gloha. Then, to the other: “This is Gloha, who just passed the challenges. She has come to see Father.”

Gloha was amazed anew. She knew of the Gorgon, of course, but hadn't expected to meet her. The woman's mere glance could turn a person to stone; that was why she was veiled. She was Magician Humfrey's fifth but perhaps not quite final wife; it was a complicated situation.

But what was also confusing Gloha was an oddness about Wira. Suddenly she remembered: Wira was blind! She had moved around the castle with such assurance that Gloha hadn't been reminded. So Wira, alone of people, had no fear of the Gorgon's gaze, because it was mostly the sight of the Gorgon's face that petrified others. It was for Gloha's safety that Wira had reminded the Gorgon about the veil.

“So nice to meet you, dear,” the Gorgon said politely. “The Good Magician is ready to see you now.” She returned to her business, which seemed to be the slow petrifying of a wedge of cheese: Gorgonzola, of course. Gloha had heard that it was one of her specialties, because she merely had to stare at it long enough.

Now it occurred to Gloha that the cheese must be able to see, at least a little, in order to be affected by the Gorgon's stare. One never could tell what things could do. She knew that when King Dor was around, inanimate things were highly responsive. If a girl stepped over a stone, the stone might make a remark about her legs, and possibly even blab the color of her panties, to her great embarrassment. So maybe it did make sense that cheese could see.

Wira led the way to another winding stairway. It was so gloomy dark that Gloha hesitated for fear of misstepping.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Wira said contritely. “I forgot that you are sighted.” She moved a hand, and the walls glowed, showing the stairs.

“Thank you,” Gloha said. “I normally don't use stairs anyway; the harpy hive doesn't have them.”

“Oh, it must be fun to fly,” Wira said. “Of course I would never have been able to do it, even when I was young.”

“When you were young?” The woman was twice Gloha's height, because she was full human, but she looked no older than Gloha herself.

“When I was a child, I mean. I'm technically forty-one, but I've been awake for only nineteen years, so the Good Magician used youth elixir to youthen me back to my subjective age. So I think of myself as nineteen, and I am, physically, but my youth was a long time ago.”

“You slept for twenty-two years?” One amazement was piling on another.

“Yes. My family couldn't afford to keep me, because I wasn't very useful, so they had me put to sleep when I was sixteen. Then I met Hugo in the dream realm, and he was sixteen too, and we knew each other for ten years asleep. Then we all woke together, when Magician Humfrey returned here, and got our ages set and started living normally for the past three years. The Good Magician likes to keep his age at about a hundred, though he's really a hundred and sixty, the same as his half wife MareAnn.”

“She's physically a hundred, too?”

Wira laughed. “Oh, no, she prefers to be somewhat younger. She says that now that she's lost her innocence, she might as well be of an age to get some fun from life. It seems that old women aren't as appealing as old men, and of course they can't afford to get worn or dirty. She won't say how old she is now.”

“Life certainly seems complicated here,” Gloha said, not sure she would be able to keep all these ages straight, even if some weren't known.

“Oh, no; life is pleasantly simple here,” Wira demurred. “It's only the background that is complicated. Just forget it and you'll have no trouble.”

That seemed like good advice.

They reached a small chamber buried somewhere in the deep interior of the castle. It was filled to overflowing with books, scrolls, and stoppered little bottles. In the midst of it was an ancient gnomelike little man hardly larger than Gloha herself.

“Good Magician, here is Gloha,” Wira said. “To ask her Question.”

The gnome pulled his gaze from his tome with such difficulty that Gloha almost thought she heard a tearing sound. “Go see my second son,” he said grumpily. His gaze plopped back to the tome.

“But I haven't even asked my Question!” Gloha protested.

Wira nudged her. “It's better not to try to argue with him. He doesn't pay attention.”

“But I came all this way, and went through all those challenges, and I want to get what I came for.”

“Please, don't annoy him.” Wira guided her away with such concern that Gloha had to go with her. “He's already grumpy enough.”

But when they were safely away from the Magician, Gloha voiced her protest more firmly. “I don't think it's fair to make me go through all the challenges to get here and not even let me ask my Question. What's the matter with him?”

“The Good Magician always has good reason for whatever he does. We just don't always understand it. When Mela Merwoman, Okra Ogress, and Ida Human came two years ago with their Questions, he listened to them and refused to answer them. Mela was so annoyed she threatened to show him her panty and freak him out. But later they learned that their Answers would have been a lot less satisfying if he had given them then, because there were other things they had to do first.”

“I don't understand.”

“Well, for example, Mela wanted to know how to find a good husband. He told her to ask Nada Naga. That didn't make any sense to her, but when she asked Nada, Nada sent her to her brother Naldo, who was then Xanth's most eligible bachelor prince, and he married Mela. Because he saw her freak-out panties, which he wouldn't have seen if there hadn't been complications on the way.”

“So she might have lost him, if the Good Magician had told her to go after him,” Gloha said. “I see the point. And maybe my case is similar, because I'm looking for a good husband too. But my problem is worse, because I fear there is no male harpy-goblin crossbreed for me. Certainly the Magician's second son isn't one!” She paused, suffering another unpleasant thought. “In fact, he only has one son, doesn't he? Hugo, whom you married?”

Wira was surprised. “Oh! I hadn't thought of that. I'm sure he hasn't had any more children since Hugo. One of the wives would have mentioned it.” Then she brightened. “But he does have five and a half wives, and maybe some of them had children before he went to Hell. So Hugo may not be the first son.”

“Suppose he's the second?”

“Then you can ask him. I can quickly find him for you.”

“You can?”

“Like this.” Wira paused, then whispered, “Hugo, dear.”

There was a scrambling on the stairway. A disheveled young human man appeared. “You called, dear?”

“Isn't love wonderful?” Wira asked Gloha. “I'm so glad I met him.” Then, to Hugo: “Father told Gloha to see his second son. Is that you?”

“I don't think so,” Hugo said uncertainly. “Father had several children before me, I think. So I must be the third or fourth, but I'm not sure.”

“Do you know where I can find a good husband?” Gloha asked. “Preferably a flying goblin about my age.”

Hugo shook his head. “I don't think there are any other flying goblins. The goblins and harpies were at war for a thousand years or so before your parents got together, so I don't think any of them, you-know.” He had to stop, because he was starting to blush.

“He's so sweet,” Wira murmured. “Sometimes I wonder whether he ever really joined the Adult Conspiracy.” She winked, to indicate that she wasn't quite serious. Then, again to him: “Do you have any idea who would know about all Humfrey's sons?”

“Maybe Lacuna. She recorded his whole history.”

“Yes, that's a good idea,” Wira agreed, and Hugo smiled with pleasure at the compliment. Gloha had to agree: love was wonderful. If only she could find it for herself.

Meanwhile they went downstairs to see if the Gorgon knew. “I should think that would be the business of his prior wives,” she remarked. “They will all show up here, in due course.” She considered briefly, and a wisp of smoke rose from the spot on the cheese where her masked gaze rested too long. “I believe Dara had a son, however.”

“Who?” Hugo asked.

“Dara Demoness. His first wife.”

“Oh, you mean Dana Demoness,” Wira said.

“No, I mean Dara. Do you think I don't know her name, after meeting her in Hell?”

“But Humfrey calls her Dana.”

“Humfrey never did pay much attention to details. She never bothered to correct him, for fear he'd be grumpy. Names aren't as important to demons as they are to us.”

“I don't think I can wait five months to check with all the other wives,” Gloha said. “I'm getting constantly older, and my young little youth is fleeting.”

The Gorgon laughed. “Believe me, dear, your youth will last long enough if you keep your fine little figure.”

“Do you really think so?” Gloha asked, beginning to hope.

“Assuredly. You can keep your youth for several years merely by hiding your blasé little birthdays from men. All smart women know this.”

“And hide your intelligence, too,” Wira added.

“I never knew about such things,” Gloha said, impressed.

“Which is part of your charm, dear.”

“Maybe you should go home,” Wira suggested, “and I'll ask the wives as they appear. Then I'll send you a message when we learn who his second son was.”

“Thank you,” Gloha said gratefully. She realized that this was her best and only chance to pursue her quest.

The Gorgon served them a snack of funny punwheel cookies and candy-striped milk, to fortify Gloha for her flight home. The Gorgon seemed slightly uncomfortable; her ringlet snakes were panting. The castle was warm, and it looked hot under the thick veil.

“If I may ask-” Gloha inquired with a halting little hesitation.

“By all means, dear,” the Gorgon said, wiping her brow. “We aren't as fussy about questions as the Good Magician is.”

“Why don't you get some vanishing cream from the Good Magician to make your face invisible-”

“I did that once, but it was awkward going about faceless, so I still had to wear a veil.”

“And then mask it with the illusion of your face?” Gloha finished. “So that you would look just like you, snakelets and all, but wouldn't stone anyone.”

The Gorgon paused, her veil flexing into an attitude of astonishment. “Why, I believe that would do it, when I'm Xanthside,” she said. “Then I could have the spells nullified when I returned to my job as a horror actress in the dream realm. Thank you, dear; I shall see Humfrey about it immediately.” She got up and headed for the stairway.

“He's grumpy today,” Wira called warningly.

“He wouldn't dare grump at me,” the Gorgon replied. “Not until after he provides those spells.”

Wira giggled, and Gloha joined her. If there was one person who wasn't intimidated by the Good Magician, it was the Gorgon, and not merely because she was his wife.

They finished the cookies and milk. Then Wira opened a window, and Gloha bid her adieu, spread her wings, and took off. “Do visit again sometime,” Wira called after her. “There won't be any challenges if you don't come with a Question.”

“Maybe I will,” Gloha called back. It had been nice visiting with a young woman her own age.

Then she mounted up, up into the sky, flying for home. It was good to be airborne again!

But in a moment she suffered a change of mind. That was one of the privileges of being feminine. She had been for a while at the happy hive; it was time to visit her goblin relatives, which included her mother Glory Goblin. So she changed course and headed for the Gap Chasm where the Gap Goblins lived.

Soon she was there. That was just as well, because the day was getting tired and the sun seemed hardly able to keep itself in the sky; any moment it would singe the trees to the west and dunk itself in the ocean and go out, leaving Xanth in darkness. She glided over the gloomy deep chasm and down to the village perched at its brink. The goblins didn't worry about falling into the chasm; if one did, well, there were plenty more goblins who didn't. In a moment she was hugging her mother, who was still one of the prettiest of goblin women despite being an ancient thirty-seven years old.

Then Gloha explained about how she had gone to see the Good Magician Humfrey, and failed to get a good Answer to her Question. “But the Good Magician always knows what he's doing,” Glory said. “I remember when your Aunt Goldy met the ogre who was doing his Service for his Answer. That was a funny thing-the ogre was so stupid that he had forgotten the Question by the time he reached the castle, but he did the Service anyway. His Service was to protect the half nymph Tandy, and by the time he was done with that, he married her and was happy, and that was his Answer. And along the way Goldy got her magic wand and found a husband of her own, all because of her association with the ogre.”

“And she was the mother of Cousin Godiva Goblin,” Gloha agreed, having heard the story before. “And grandmother of Gwenny Goblin, who's only three years younger than me, and has already had adventures galore and become the first lady goblin chief, and I'm not even married yet!” she finished in a wail.

“Well, you're special, dear,” her mother reminded her.

“The only one of my land! How can I ever find a suitable man?”

“Maybe Humfrey's second son will know.”

“And maybe he won't! And maybe it will take five more months to find out who the second son is. And I'll be pushing t-twenty!” For now she was suffering a delicate little doubt about the efficacy of extending youth by hiding birthdays. Suppose it didn't work? She'd be sadly stuck.