Swell Foop (2 page)

Surely the Challenge could not be merely a matter of getting through filth. There must be a way to avoid it. But how? The ceiling of the chamber was not high; that was why the harpies were footing instead of flying. Cynthia could not fly through it, assuming her wings were working now. She had to walk. Her very hooves curled inward at the thought.

So how could she pass through this noisome chamber without tracking putrid gook? How could she breathe? The stuff would surely get on her wings, even when tightly folded, making them reek. The very notion was nauseating. She wanted no part of this foul ball.

Foul ball. Could this be a pun? Puns were the bane of Xanthly existence. They were everywhere, like poisonous toadstools, and of course even the toads did not muck about in their stools. Puns were the lowest form of humor in much the way buns were the lowest form of bread, and even buns had naughty connotations to make boys snicker. Puns brought worse reactions than snickering. So it was conceivable that an obscene dance might be called a foul ball. But puns were also the main avenue for changing things.

Suppose she thought of another meaning for ball? She concentrated—and in a moment the dancers rolled into one feculent mass, a huge sphere that squeezed the limits of the chamber. But there was no way to pass it; the ball blocked the way. So that was evidently not the answer. She relaxed her focus, and the ball dissolved back into dancing harpies, who seemed not to have noticed their brief transformation.

Then a dim bulb flashed just over her head. The other word—foul. That could also be fowl. This could be a fowl ball. Harpies resembled fowl, which were barnyard birds—chickens, ducks, turkeys, pheasants, and the like. But by a further extension, all winged monsters could be said to have an affinity, because of their wings. Even winged centaurs.

She concentrated, and the harpies became winged centaurs engaged in mannerly dancing, their hooves keeping the cadence. The stench became odor, and the odor became smell, and the smell became healthy centaur musk. Now the chamber was bearable.

She moved on in and joined the dance. It was the Centaur Stomp, and she loved it. In a moment a centaur stallion came to join her. The Stomp did not require partners, but there could be couples if they wanted to be. "May I join you?" he inquired politely. "I am Center Centaur."

"Join me to what?" she inquired in return, with a smile as she matched his hoofbeats.

He laughed. "I knew you were clever and nice," he said.

"Oh? How?"

"It is my talent. Insight. I can see inside a person and know what is wrong."

"Being clever and nice is what's wrong with me?"

"Yes, because these are nasty challenges that make you feel uncomfortable. You could handle them better if you had a trifle more meanness of spirit."

It was her turn to laugh. "That is a flattering liability."

"True. I regret that you are emotionally committed to another stallion. I will let you go now."

"Thank you." He was evidently not a challenge in himself, just a bit player who perhaps was not allowed to help her, but felt no need to be unpleasant. She appreciated that.

Then she got a sudden headache. That was weird; she hadn't had one of those in a long time. Was it part of the Challenge?

A filly caught her eye. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "It's my talent: causing random headaches within a set radius. I can't control it, but fortunately it is intermittent. Let me get clear of you, and you will be all right."

"Thank you," Cynthia said weakly as the filly stomped away. Sure enough, her headache eased. She appreciated the filly's consideration. It was interesting how the thoughtless messy harpies had been replaced by thoughtful centaurs with obvious character; they weren't mere illusion. The Good Magician set up his Challenges in style.

She stomped steadily across the hall, until she reached the far door. Then she exited, and closed the door on the dancers. Let them have their fun; she was through the second hurdle. She had figured out the pun and morphed it to her own design.

She was in a short hall. In alcoves to either side were young human men. She recognized them by their forms, though she could as readily have done so by their action: both were looking fixedly at her breasts. They were young men, all right. She could simply trot between them and be through.

Or could she? This was likely to be the third Challenge, which meant that there would be something to challenge her progress. She had better discover its nature, rather than suffer it by surprise. Sometimes the worst threats were the least obvious ones.

First she tried the direct approach. "Hello, men. Shall we exchange introductions?"

"If you want to," the one on the right replied, not removing his eyes from her torso. Young men did tend to stare, but these ones were becoming downright obvious.

There was a pause, and she realized that it would be up to her to initiate the exchange. "I am Cynthia Centaur, coming to ask a Question of the Good Magician."

"We are the human twins Metros and Chronos," he replied. "We are here to serve as your third Challenge." His eyeballs seemed to be expanding.

Cynthia had schooled herself to be a true centaur, and to ignore incidental human crudities. But there were limits. The way these men were staring disrupted her aplomb. "May I inquire as to the nature of this Challenge?"

"You may." Both of them licked their lips. They were actually slavering.

There was another pause. They were answering, but not volunteering. "What is the nature of this Challenge?"

"You must pass by us." They were breathing hard. This was becoming embarrassingly obvious. Had they never before seen a maidenly chest?

But she maintained her dignity, with an effort. "Is there some reason this is not as simple as it seems?"

"That depends on how simple it seems to you." Never once had they looked away. The man on the left was locked on her left side, the one on the right on her right.

Cynthia sighed inwardly. These characters were bound to make it other than simple. But how? "Will you tell me your talents?" Then, before they could complete the routine of agreement and silence, she continued: "Please do so."

Metros nodded. "My talent is to make any object I touch larger or smaller, by four-fold." His right hand twitched, as if eager to make something on her right side four times as large.

"And mine is to make it older or younger, by a similar margin," Chronos said. His left hand twitched, as if ready to make something on her left side a quarter its present age.

Cynthia managed not to wince. "And if I try to walk past you, you will make me larger or smaller, or younger or older—four-fold?"

"Yes. You may choose which, by taking our right hands, which make larger or older, or our left hands, which make smaller or younger. Or one of each, so as to become larger and younger, or smaller and older."

"Four-fold," Cynthia said soberly. She had already gathered which hand did which; it was elementary logic. "So I will become a monstrous centaur, too big to squeeze through this passage, or a little one, readily balked. Or I will become sixty-four years old, or four years old—too old or young to accomplish those things I wish to."

"Precisely. You may be able to avoid one of us, but not both of us. If you do not touch us, we will touch you. So you must choose, or be chosen. Or retreat."

This did seem to be a sufficient Challenge. So competent that there needed to be no surprise element. So deadly that she could not afford to choose any of the alternatives. So certain that she could not avoid it. She
had
to figure it out, and nullify it.

But how? She was sure the twins were not bluffing. Illusion could be spectacular, but the Good Magician had no need to use it. He could afford the real thing, as the harpy/centaur ball had demonstrated. She really would be rendered older or younger, larger or smaller, depending on how she chose to be touched. Yet how could she avoid it? There seemed to be no way.

But there
had
to be a way. That was the nature of each Challenge. If only she could figure it out. She was supposed to have a fine centaur mind. She should be able to use it now. If she was a real centaur, instead of an imitation one. Unfortunately she wasn't sure she
was
genuine. That was why she was here, after all.

This reminded her of the problem of age. She had been delivered as a human baby in the year 1005, and been transformed to winged centaur in 1021. So technically she had been in this form for eighty of her ninetysix years. That was how she made it as five-sixths of her life. But when transformed she had fled to the Brain Coral's pool, and remained there seventy-two years, until 1093, when she was released, and traveled with Gloha Goblin-Harpy and Magician Trent, and joined Che Centaur. So her conscious life was twenty-four years. Then she had been rejuvenated by eight years, so was now physically sixteen. So if she were touched by Chronos, would she become three hundred eighty-four or twenty-four? Or ninety-six or six? Or sixty-four or four? Which of her ages would the magic talent fix on to multiply or divide?

She couldn't risk it. None of them were good for her. She wanted to stay sixteen, parallel to Che, so they could marry as approximate equals. That was why she had been rejuvenated: to match him. She didn't want to throw that away. As for changing her size—she had changed it when transformed, and that was quite enough. So she could not tolerate any more change of either size or age.

In addition, the very thought of having these freaks touch her body revolted her. She knew exactly where they would grab. Even if their talents didn't change her size, she would get dirtily pawed. The dirt was all in their minds, not hers, but it nevertheless bothered her considerably. She had not, it seemed, yet abolished all of her original human conditioning.

So should she just give up, and go home, and hope it was all right? That did not appeal, either. There just had to be a solution! If only she could cancel out the twins, make them touch each other—

Surely they did touch each other, and themselves, often. How did they eat, wash, dress? Were they constantly changing size and age? She doubted it. Each might be immune to his own touch, but what about his brother? They must have a way to nullify brotherly touches. That was the way she needed.

Suppose they touched with both hands at once? Would they multiply or divide? Or would the hands cancel each other's effects?

A bulb flashed. They had to cancel. It was the only logical way. And therein was her answer. She should take
both
hands, simultaneously.

But there were two of them. She might nullify one, but what about the other? She didn't have four hands.

Another bulb flashed. She didn't need them. The twins' hands defined their talents, but the victims weren't restricted to hands, as far as she knew. Otherwise the victims could simply tuck their hands under their armpits and be immune. It had to be the touch anywhere on their bodies that counted. Not that there was any doubt where she would be touched.

Well, it was time to prove she was more centaur than human. She would use their fixations to nullify them. She would touch
them,
her way. "I'm coming through!" Cynthia cried. She galloped toward the twins.

Each of them reached forward to touch her. She reached to the right to catch both of Metros's hands in hers. Her size did not change. She hauled him in to her bosom. She was taller than he; his face got flattened against her right breast while his feet dragged on the floor. He was helpless.

But that was only half the job. She half unfurled her left wing and swept it out to enclose Chronos. It was awkward, but she angled her body to make it possible. She brought him in against her left breast, holding him down with the wing so that both his hands were under him, locked against her equine chest. She held him there, and clasped his twin brother as closely as she turned around. Then she shoved Metros quickly away, and reached across with her hands to do the same with Chronos. The twin brothers tumbled together as she backed hastily away from them. Both had silly vacant smiles on their faces, as if they had been stunned by something heavenly. That irritated her, on a background level; she had intended to nullify them, not to give them a treat. But it couldn't be helped.

She saw one of them become huge, then small. The other grew old, then young. Indeed, they had not been bluffing. They would have to sort themselves out. Meanwhile she was backing through the far door. She had gotten past them.

Not without some token injury, however. She discovered that there were scratches on her breasts and sides where the obnoxious men had scraped by. Her torso was stinging, and blood was starting to ooze.

She shut the door, and turned around again. Her pulse was racing; she wasn't used to physical violence, even in a good cause. But she had overcome the third challenge. She felt like taking a shower to get her front side clean. But it had done its job, paralyzing their minds while nullifying their hands. She had proved she was more centaur than human.

"Welcome, Cynthia." It was Wira, the Good Magician's daughter-in-law. She appeared to be about twenty-seven, but, like Cynthia, could be reckoned as different ages. She was blind, and very nice.

"I'm so glad to see you, Wira," Cynthia said. "I was afraid I wouldn't make it through those challenges."

"Maybe it would have been better if you hadn't."

Cynthia stared at her. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, I shouldn't have said that," the woman said quickly. "I'm sure everything's in good order." But there was a certain insincerity in her tone. That was quite unlike her.

"Now, Wira," Cynthia said in her most reasonable manner. "We have been friends for some time, because we have things in common. Remember, we were both sixteen when we went to sleep."

"Yes, we have been, and we were," the woman agreed evasively.

Cynthia didn't like taking advantage of guilt, but she was getting really nervous about what was going on with Magician Humfrey. "You woke in Ten-ninety, and were youthened twenty-two years to match Hugo, so you could marry him. I woke in Ten-ninety-three, and was youthened eight years to match Che. He introduced me to you, when we visited the castle."