Luck of the Draw (Xanth) (5 page)

“Neither do I, of course. Were you summoned by a Demon also?”

“No. I committed suicide.”

“You what?”

“Self-murder, hara-kiri, seppuku, suttee, croaking—”

“Metria, get out of here!” Mindy flared.

Now Bryce saw a small dark cloud pacing them. The verbally handicapped demoness had reappeared.

“You’re not in or near Caprice now,” the cloud said. “You can’t repel me.”

“Bleep!”

“Oh, what you said! And you’re supposed to be a nice girl.”

“Look, this is not my business,” Bryce said. “Let’s change the subject.”

“We’d better,” Mindy said. “Look—here come Midrange and Erin. They often help with the punning. It makes it easier when there are supportive friends.”

“They’re boring,” the cloud said, and faded out.

Bryce saw the two cats. One was a large dark mongrel male, the other a lean tawny female. They came to greet Mindy and Bryce with a Meow and Mew.

“This is Bryce, from Mundania,” Mindy answered their evident query. “He will be helping with the puns, as long as he can stand it.”

Satisfied, the cats moved on.

“Midrange?” Bryce inquired. “That’s an odd name for a cat.”

“They were originally three pets in their family, Woofer, Tweeter, and Midrange. As in a mundane sound system.”

He laughed. “That does make sense.”

“Then Midrange met Erin, and split. The three remain close friends, however. Now maybe it’s Woofer’s turn.” She glanced across to where the two dogs were running side by side. Rachel was staying close to Bryce, but evidently did not mind Woofer’s company.

“You were telling me something,” Bryce reminded her. “But I have to say, you certainly don’t seem dead to me. Were you speaking figuratively?”

“Not exactly,” she said uncomfortably. “It’s that I died in Mundania, and am here only because of magic. So in that sense I’m not really real.”

“I was near the end of my life in Mundania,” he said. “I had only a year or so left to live. Maybe I did die there, pushing my feeble limits, so I’m really dead too. I don’t know.” He smiled. “I want you to know I have no prejudice against dead folk.”

“I’m not sure you understand. I am not what I seem.”

She seemed to have a certain nagging uncertainty or inferiority complex. His grandfatherly experience came into play. “Can we stop moving for a moment?”

“If you wish.” Her carpet slowed to a halt.

He braked his trike and got off. He walked across to Mindy. He put his arms about her shoulders as she sat on the carpet, and kissed her on the forehead. “You are who you are, Melinda, inside. I am satisfied with that, and you should be too. Okay?”

She looked stunned. “Okay,” she agreed faintly.

“Now let’s get on to the doubtlessly serious business of collecting puns.”

“Kiss me again.”

He paused. Had she misunderstood his gesture? “I have a granddaughter about your age. I was trying to reassure you as I did her on occasion. I forgot for the moment that I am now in a young body. I did not mean to offend or alarm you.”

“I understand. Kiss me again.”

This seemed odd, but if that was what she wanted, it was simple enough. He leaned down to kiss her forehead again, but this time she lifted her face and caught him with her lips. They kissed mouth to mouth.

He drew back, shaken by the sudden impact. That had been no granddaughterly kiss!

“Thank you,” she said. “Now I am reassured.”

“Uh, yes,” he agreed, disgruntled. She had to know he had not had any designs on her, because he was in love with the Princess Harmony. Why had she kissed him woman to man? How could that reassure her?

He concluded that she didn’t like to be patronized, so had sought to set him back. She had done it. He would not treat her like a child again.

He got back on his trike, and they resumed forward motion. Soon they came to a shallow valley surrounded by trees.

Rachel halted. “Umph,” she grunted, pointing with her nose.

“She is a pointer,” Bryce said, halting. “I’d better see what she has found.” He stopped and got off the trike.

The dog was pointing to a small path that wound into a section of bushes and spaces. When he set foot on the path, she moved along beside him.

“We will let you experience it yourself,” Mindy said, standing back with Woofer. “When you find a pun, stuff it in the pun bag and move on.”

“It is possible to handle puns physically?”

“They generally have physical components.”

Bryce shrugged and walked along the path. In barely a moment a twig fell on his shoulder. Rachel’s head turned to point to it. “It’s just a twig,” he said, brushing it off.

The twig landed on the path and righted itself. “Humph!” it said, and walked away.

“Walking stick,” Rachel said, pointing again at it with her nose. “Pun.”

Oh. Bryce reached down, caught the twig in his hand, and put it in the pun bag. One down.

Bryce walked on. A swarm of flat, round bugs flew up. Rachel pointed her nose at them. There had to be a pun. Then he saw one that looked like a small zipper. “Button flies!” he exclaimed, holding the pun bag open. Obediently they flew in, commanded by his identification. “Zipper fly.” And the zipper followed them in. Two down, maybe three.

He resumed his walk, and soon Rachel pointed again. It was a swarm of ants wielding hammers and saws, cutting wood to build a tiny village. “Carpenter ants,” he said, and put the bag down for them to enter.

“You’re catching on,” Mindy said.

“As puns go, these are nothing special,” he remarked. “I was never good with puns, but these are pretty obvious. Why do folk regard them as mind-rotting?”

Rachel shrugged. So did Mindy.

They walked on. Soon Rachel pointed again. It looked like a giant lima bean, the biggest he had ever seen. There were indents on the side that looked like steps rising to the top, where there was a pile of what looked like saddle blankets.

“This one I don’t get,” he said. “Is it a has-bean?”

“No,” Rachel said.

“Then what kind of a pun is it?”

“Don’t know.”

Mindy kept silent. Bryce had the feeling that she was waiting for him to run afoul of a really egregious pun.

“It wouldn’t fit in the bag anyway.” He tried to walk on by, but the bean blocked the path and there were brambles on either side blocking his progress. It seemed he had to fathom one pun before going on to another.

Bryce considered. “Well, let’s get to the top of this,” he decided. He put his toes in the indents and carefully mounted the steps. He discovered that he was being unnecessarily cautious; his young healthy body had no trouble handling this feat. Still, he was not about to become careless; body notwithstanding, his mind was old and experienced.

He got to the top and sat on the blankets, which roughly resembled a saddle and were comfortable. But he still didn’t see the pun.

“Come on up, the weather’s fine!” he called to Rachel.

She ran up the steps, scrambling, and made it to the top, joining him on the saddle blankets.

“Giddy up!” Bryce said.

The bean broke away from its vine, sprouted little rootlike legs, and started moving.

“Oh for pity’s sake,” Bryce said, finally getting it. “It’s a Carry-Bean! It must take root in a new spot once it has carried someone to where he wants to go.”

Rachel made a sound like upchucking something foul from her throat. They had encountered a really foul pun.

But how was he to get it into the pun bag? There had to be a way.

They passed a large plant that bore sunflower-like disks. No, they were baked pies! Curious whether they were actually edible, Bryce reached for one.

“No!” Rachel barked, nosing his hand away.

“No? What’s the matter with it?” But his left eye was warning him too.

Then the pie he had almost taken exploded. Rats flew out, landing on the bean. One nipped at Bryce’s left hand.

“No you don’t!” he cried, making a fist and knocking the rat off the bean. “That’s my wedding ring! What are you, a pirate, trying to steal gold?”

Then he groaned. “Oh, no! That’s sickening.”

Rachel looked at him.

“I got the confounded pun,” he said. “These aren’t pirates. They are pie rats, that lurk in pies until something worth stealing comes along.” He took a breath. “Pie Rats of the Carry Bean.”

Rachel gazed at him as if he had emitted a noxious stench.

But now the bean was shrinking, bearing them down to the ground. He quickly opened the pun bag. “In!” he commanded. “Pie Rats and Carry Bean.”

The bean and rats entered. Two more puns had been captured.

“I think this is enough for now,” Bryce said. “I have come to understand why pun collectors suffer burnout.”

They walked back along the path to rejoin the others, who had stood back. “I got a bellyful,” Bryce called to Mindy, heaving up the bag.

“We thought you might,” Mindy replied. “Do you want to quit now?”

“Quit? Now, we’ve barely started. There must be dozens more puns in need of suppression.”

“Hundreds,” she agreed. “If you have the stomach for it.”

“Let’s find out.” Bryce did not care to admit how sickening that last pun had proved to be.

Now Mindy joined him, wading into the thicket of puns. But almost immediately she got caught up in vines that lifted her steadily upward and forward. “Escalate Her!” she cried, opening her bag. The vines crawled in and she landed back on the ground.

Meanwhile Bryce was attacked by a hedge that had sharp shears on its extremities. “Hedge-clippers,” he said, and packed it in.

Woofer dug in the ground. “Woof!”

Mindy went over and looked. “I recognize that,” she said. “I knew a girl once who could make stone out of sand. One of her creations must have wound up here. Sand Stone.” She packed it into her bag.

Rachel abruptly retreated in fear. Bryce checked. It was an old bottle of shampoo. Then he got it. “Flee Shampoo.” He put it in his bag, and Rachel relaxed. Naturally, as a dog, she had been terrified of it.

Bryce approached a large-trunked tree. It did not seem to be made of wood, and it also seemed to be chewing something. What could it be?

“Gum Tree,” Mindy called.

Oh. A tree made of gum that chewed things. What else? He opened his bag, and the tree shrank and went in.

Then Mindy found a translucent jacket. She tried it on, and it accommodated to the contours of her body. “Cool,” she said. Then she frowned. “Uh-oh. It’s a Water Jacket.” And the water lost its cohesion and soaked her. Bryce politely refrained from looking. But she commanded it into the bag, and she was dry again. She had after all had some experience collecting puns.

Bryce approached what looked like a huge onion. It had to be a pun. He peeled off a thin layer, and discovered a plaque on its side saying
TERMS OF LOANS
. That gave him the clue. “It’s a Credit Onion!” It condensed to normal onion size and entered his bag.

“Ouch!” Mindy exclaimed. “Something bit me!”

“I hope it’s not poisonous,” Bryce said, approaching her.

“What gives you the right to have an opinion?” she demanded sharply.

That gave him the clue. “It’s a Heretic. It makes you question another person’s point of view.”

They got it in the bag, and Mindy’s bad attitude faded.

Woofer found a pair of human shoes. Bryce tried them on, cautiously, and was immediately ready to embark on a spiritual journey. “Souls!” he said. “Their souls are heeled!”

Rachel pointed. There was a mossy stone rolling down a slope. Or rather the slope was moving up, because no matter how much the stone rolled, it did not reach the bottom.

“That’s an illusion, all right,” Mindy said. “Because a rolling stone gathers no moss, and this one is entirely mossy. But is it a pun?”

They considered, and concluded that it wasn’t. “So not absolutely everything in Xanth is a pun,” Bryce said.

“Right. Some is merely crude humor.”

Now they came to a pumpkin patch. No, they weren’t exactly pumpkins; they had stupid smiley faces with eyes that winked. “Punkins,” Bryce said. But they did not fade, so evidently he did not have the whole of it.

Then something else entered the patch. It looked like a chicken, but it was translucent. It was a chicken spirit, the ghost of a chicken. It moved through the patch, pecking at punkins, which flinched but weren’t actually damaged because the chicken wasn’t real. It flapped its wings and made a clucking sound.

Then Bryce caught on. “It’s a poultrygeist! A noisy mischievous chicken spirit.”

Mindy groaned. She was evidently getting close to her limit for the day.

At that point he was able to bag both chicken and punkins.

The path led to an ocean shore. Rachel pointed. There on the beach lay a saw. Bryce picked it up. It seemed ordinary. Where was the pun?

Then he got an idea. He took the saw to the water and started sawing. Sure enough, it cut through the water as if it were wood, and in due course he was able to lift out a wedge of water, leaving a hole in the sea. “Sea-saw,” he explained, putting it in his bag.

Mindy and both dogs were looking faintly ill, but Bryce was enjoying this. He seemed after all to have a talent for identifying puns, not a magical one, just a mental one. Maybe this was another aspect of his entry into this weird world.

Rachel, seeing his determination to continue, pointed to another pun. This was a small house and garden, fenced, with a sign saying
KEEP OUT—THIS MEANS YOU.

“That’s clear enough,” Bryce said. “But what’s the pun?”

The dog shrugged. She did not know what the pun was, just that there was one there.

Bryce walked along the fence, which he discovered was barbed wire. Embedded in it at intervals were fruits, such as red cherries and green pineapples. He reached for a cherry.

“No!” Rachel exclaimed. “Bad!”

“Poisonous?”

“No.” But she didn’t know exactly what was bad.

Mindy came over. “Oh, don’t touch that,” she said. “It’s a cherry. And next to it is a pineapple.”

“So I noticed. What’s so bad about such fruits?”

“In Xanth, they’re explosive,” she explained.

Oh. Cherry bombs and grenades. The proprietor
really
didn’t want company. He moved on.