Swell Foop (15 page)

But Garnishee opened the door before they could stop her. They collided with her, and all three fetched up in a heap before the open doorway.

There was the dread Random Factor, looking like a giant golem. He gestured toward them.

Then they were in a doorless chamber with sheer walls and a decorated floor. There was nothing else.

"That was fun," Becka said, climbing out of the pile.

"A terrific experience," Sim squawked, drawing his left foot out of the zombie's mouth.

"A real joy," Garnishee agreed, untwisting a tangled arm.

"I could do it a million times," Becka said.

"And die a thousand deaths of mortification," Sim agreed, shaking out his wing-feathers.

"For a billion years," the zombie said.

Becka glanced at the door, which was now closed. "Let's get out of here before our friend does us another favor."

"The Factor is very accommodating of individual needs," Sim squawked.

"Especially considering how well we are acquainted," Garnishee said.

There was something odd about their dialogue, but Sim couldn't quite place it. He looked around. "There is no obvious exit. This chamber is like a prison."

"Or like a playpen," Becka agreed.

"Like a disaster," the zombie screeched.

"Something is wrong," Becka said. "We are not acting normal. It's not just this chamber."

"The Random Factor put us here," Sim squawked. "He affected us somehow. I suspect we won't be able to escape until we figure out what it is and how to counter it."

"I just want to get out of this place," Becka said. "Maybe if somebody boosts me up, I can get a hand on the top and climb over the wall."

"Perhaps I can fly out," Sim squawked. He spread his wings and tried to fly, but the chamber turned out to be too small for him to take off. He crashed back to the floor, rumpling his feathers. "Apparently not."

Becka helped him get back to his feet. "That's all right. You tried. And I guess if you can't fly out, I wouldn't be able to do it in dragon form, either."

"I think we shall have to figure it out mentally," Sim squawked. "Then perhaps the physical aspect will abate."

"All we're doing is standing here talking," Becka said.

"This thing is out to get us," Garnishee screeched.

"It's balking our efforts to escape," Becka agreed.

"And it's going to keep after us until we stop it," Sim squawked. And felt another twinge or two. Why were they so busy agreeing with each other?

"It's a monster," the harpy screeched.

"A giant worm, with us in its stomach," Becka agreed.

"A malign god playing with us," Sim agreed. "I think it is affecting the way we speak."

"You think so, beak?" Garnishee screeched.

"This is interesting, rainbow feather," Becka agreed.

"Indeed, brown eyes," he squawked. Then a bulb flashed. "Synecdoche!"

Both others stared at him. "Would you translate that, please?" Becka requested.

"Gladly. I believe I have figured out the riddle of our dialogue. Synecdoche is a figure of speech, wherein one employs the part for the whole, the special for the general, or vice versa. All three of us just used it: Garnishee called me beak, you called me rainbow feather, and I called you brown eyes. These are all parts of us, but we understood them to mean our persons. We have been speaking in figures of speech—when one of us does it, the others do too."

"But you're not doing it now," Becka said.

"I will demonstrate. I will use another figure of speech, metonymy, wherein a thing is named for one of its attributes, or names of related things are exchanged. See if you can avoid doing similar, dragon."

"Why should I, genius?"

"Yes, why should she, iridescence?" Garnishee screeched.

Then both of them paused, their glances nearly colliding. "We did do it," Becka breathed.

"I will try another. This time an oxymoron, wherein opposites are paired. I'm a smart dummy."

"And I'm a clean harpy," Garnishee screeched.

"I'm an ugly cutie," Becka said.

There was another pause as they recognized the syndrome.

"When one of us uses a figure of speech, so do the others," Becka said. "We can't help it."

"That's why we've been talking funny," Garnishee screeched. "But how do we stop it?"

"I suspect identification of the syndrome is the first step," Sim squawked. "And refusal to use any figures of speech must be the second. Identifying and refusing them all may nullify the spell."

"But we don't know anything about figures of speech," Beck said.

"Fortunately I do," Sim squawked. He rolled back his eidetic memory. "When this sequence started, we all used irony, pretending this was fun. Irony is the expressed reversal of one's real feeling. Then we used hyperbole, which is a gross exaggeration. Then we used irony again, and then simile, which is an explicit comparison. All figures of speech."

"Then we tried to escape physically," Becka said, reeling back her own memory. "And couldn't. And Garnishee said this thing was out to get us. Was that a figure of speech?"

"Certainly. That was personification, attributing an animate motive to an inanimate thing."

"Then I said it was a monster," Garnishee screeched. "What was that?"

"That was metaphor—an implied comparison. Then we got into synecdoche, as I said."

Becka nodded. "And finally oxymorons. It's a good thing my friend Mistress Man isn't here; she makes them literal."

"That must be some sight!" Garnishee screeched appreciatively.

"It can be," Becka agreed. "She's a pretty ugly stupid genius. Oops!"

There followed another relaxed siege of oxymorons as the others trailed the preceding example.

"So how do we stop it?" Becka asked when it cleared.

"I'm not sure," Sim squawked. "But I suspect that if we refuse to use any more figures of speech, the effect will fade."

"So we should shut our mouths, like good little—" Garnishee stifled herself in mid-simile.

"Exactly," Sim agreed. "Perhaps it will suffice simply to be silent for a sufficient period."

They were silent. Slowly the walls of the chamber faded, and the castle hall reappeared. The spell was wearing off, because of disuse. They had vanquished it.

"What can the Random Factor do to us, worse than that?" Becka asked.

"Well, there's one way to find out," Sim squawked. He walked to the door.

"No!" Becka cried, but she was too late. Sim got a wing behind the knob and managed to twist it and draw the door open.

There was the Random Factor, gesturing.

Suddenly they were standing in a deep forest. Something stirred just ahead of them. It was huge and green. In fact, it was a big tangle tree.

"Get out of here!" Sim squawked. But like Becka, he was too late. Myriad tentacles flicked out and coiled around all three of them. They were hauled into the main foliage of the tree.

"Here's another fine mess you've gotten us into!" Garnishee screeched.

"I'll turn dragon and get us out," Becka said. She changed form—but the dragon was just as securely bound as the girl had been. She exhaled fire, but the tentacles wrapped around her snoot, closing it.

"I'll curse us out," Garnishee said. She let fly a torrent of expletives that browned the tentacles holding her. But then another flicked in and circled her head, holding her mouth shut.

Sim did not like pulling rank, but this was an emergency. "Have you any idea who I am?" he demanded of the tree in an outraged squawk. "My mother is—"

Then a tentacle whipped around his beak, closing it.

All three of them were caught and gagged. They could neither fight nor protest. Meanwhile, the tangle tree was opening its huge wooden maw, considering which of them to eat first.

It decided on Sim. It carried him inward. He tried to struggle, but succeeded only in jostling loose one feather. The wind caught it and blew it away. He tried to squawk in protest, but all that emerged was one muffled peep. The maw loomed hugely, dripping digestive sap.

Then it halted. Sim dangled just beyond the wooden teeth, unable to fathom the delay.

A huge hairy ham-hand appeared. It grabbed the twisted tentacles holding Sim and squeezed. They quickly became green pulp, and Sim dropped to the ground, the severed tentacles writhing off him like headless snakes.

Someone had rescued him! Sim turned to look at his benefactor—and saw an ogre.

But beside the ogre was a lovely young nymph, and she was holding a little boy. The boy had aspects of both ogre and nymph; they were evidently a family. But why had they intervened to save Sim?

Then he saw the feather in the little hand of the boy. Like all of Sim's feathers, it scintillated with twice the colors of the rainbow. Evidently it had blown their way, and the child had been intrigued by it. So they had come to see what was what.

"My, you are a pretty one," the nymph said somewhat shallowly, as was typical of her kind.

"I am Sim," he squawked. "I thank you for rescuing me from the tangle tree."

The ogre shrank into the form of a man. "I am Smash Ogre," he said. "This is Tandy Nymph, my wife, and Esk, our son."

Sim was for the moment squawkless. He knew this family—but the adults were in their late fifties, and the child was in his late thirties and married to a brassie woman. How could they be so young?

Unless

"What year is this?" Sim squawked.

"Why, it is the year Ten-sixty-six, of course," Smash said.

Sim's smart mind clicked through ancient dates. That was two years after Smash and Tandy had married, and one year before Magician Dor married Princess Irene. "We got displaced in time!" he squawked.

"Yes, Smash caught you just in time," Tandy agreed. "I thought it would be a shame to see such a beautiful bird eaten, so I asked him to do something about it."

And so, either by pure chance, or to spare future Xanth a paradox, the ogre family had come just in time to rescue him. But how had they traveled backward in time? Probably the Random Factor had simply fed them into a magical wormhole that popped them out in a random time. That was certainly an effective way to get rid of them.

Sim realized that they were still standing amidst the quivering tentacles of the tangle tree. "You can cow a tangler just by your presence?"

"Well, Smash is a real ogre when he gets worked up," she said. "And I can throw a mean tantrum when I get worked up. The tree knows that, so it leaves us alone. A cow wouldn't scare it, but an ogre family can. We wouldn't have interfered, except for the feather."

Little Esk waved the bright feather, liking it.

Sim realized that he had been uncommonly fortunate. The Random Factor had sent them back thirty-five years, to a time before any of them had existed. It could have been worse, if the ogre family had not seen the feather.

But the others were still tied up. "Would you do me a favor?" he squawked. "I have two companions who are also caught by the tree, and I would like to save them."

They considered. "Are they worth saving?" Tandy asked.

"Certainly. One is Becka Human, who—" He realized that it might not be expedient to identify the girl. The complications of Castle Maidragon and the Random Factor would be anachronistic at best. "The other is—" He stalled again. Since when was a harpy worth saving?

"Har-pee!" little Esk exclaimed, spying the dirty bird.

"Yes, that is a harpy," Smash said. "They can wilt foliage with their swearing."

"Gee!" the child said, smiling.

Sim tried to make the best of this. "They can also make a nymph blush. I'm sure she will be happy to demonstrate, if you wish."

Smash walked to where the harpy was hanging. "Give," he said, not loudly.

The tentacles let go. Garnishee dropped to the ground, bashing her tail. "XXXX!" she swore. Sure enough, Tandy blushed, and the grass wilted. Little Esk clapped his hands with delight.

"And my other companion is a nice young woman," Sim squawked.

Smash walked to where Becka hung bound. "Give."

But this time the tree balked. This was, after all, the most delectable of the three. It did not want to give up such a morsel. Instead it started swinging Becka toward its maw.

Smash swelled up into full ogre stature, but Tandy acted first. She nestled Esk in the crook of her left elbow, and made a throwing motion with her right arm. Sim didn't see anything leave her hand, but suddenly the tentacles around Becka straightened out as if electrified, and so did Becka's hair as she dropped to the ground. The tantrum had struck.

"Uh, thank you," Becka said, disheveled.

"The pretty bird asked," Tandy said.

"Maybe we can do you a favor in return," Becka said.

Smash shrugged as he returned to man form. "Probably not. The only thing we lack is knowledge of our son's magic talent."

Sim strained his copious memory, but apparently that bit of information had not yet been entered into his database. "We will try to figure it out," he squawked.

"Oh, thank you!" the nymph exclaimed, throwing him a kiss with her fingers. It smacked against his beak, sinking in pleasantly.

They walked to the ogre's den. By tacit agreement, none of the three time travelers spoke of their origins. Instead they focused on little Esk.

"It may not be a fancy talent," Beck said cautiously.

"That's all right," Smash said. "We're not fancy folk. We just want to know, whatever it is."

Tandy set Esk down in his playpen, where he tried to break out but lacked the strength. So obviously he wasn't much of an ogre in terms of strength. He was looking around brightly, so he wasn't much of an ogre intellectually, either; ogres had always been justifiably proud of their stupidity. He was a halfway-middling handsome lad, so wasn't suitably ugly, either.

So what could his talent be? He had to have one, because every person with any human component did. Some talents were so simple as to be hardly worth it, like forming a magical smudge on a wall or changing the color of one's own urine. Others were so powerful as to be scary, such as transforming others into other forms, as was the case with Magician Trent. Most were in the broad, dull, middle range, such as, well, Becka's ability to turn girl or dragon.