Faun & Games

by Anthony, Piers

  “Maybe it’s a sapphire fly,” the aquarium said.

  The flame vine’s flower whipped around, because those bright little flies were its kind. They set fire to the sap of plants, which made them unpopular with most other types.

  During the flame vine’s distraction, Irene whipped the spout of her watering can in and delivered a good dollop to its soil. Then she drew her hand away before the flame could return to burn her. “Thanks,” she said.

  “Oh, she got you good, flamebrain,” the pot said. “Don’t you ever learn?”

  The flame vine took aim and scorched it, but the pot only laughed. “I was fired long ago, tender-root. That’s why I sought work here. You can’t hurt me.”

  “Oh, stop all this quarreling,” Irene snapped.

  “Who says?” the pot demanded metallically.

  “I say. Or I’ll use the hair spray on you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  Irene brought out a bottle and pressed the top. A jet of hair shot out and formed a cloud around the pot. Soon it got worse: the hair formed into choking tangles. “Oh, ugh!” it exclaimed, coughing. “What a hairy mess!”

  Dor smiled. It was never wise to call his wife’s bluff. She did not like back talk.

  Irene brought out a hare comb. “After this perhaps you will behave,” she said as the hare tackled the worst of the tangles, clearing the pot’s surface.

  “Yes,” the pot agreed, chastened.

  Irene moved on to the miniature hackberry tree. It bore small axeshaped berries that waved about, trying to hack things. Her watering can had many little dents from prior times.

  Dor looked in the aquarium. It was a fish bowl, and inside it pin and needle fish stood on their tails, waiting to be bowled over.

  The floor tile Irene stood on spoke up. “Oh, guess what I’m seeing!” it chortled. “Feet, ankles, calves—”

  Irene lifted a foot and stomped on it warningly, and it shut up. She knew how to handle the inanimate.

  “I understand you are looking for me,” Dor said. “Was it for a kiss?”

  “That, too,” she agreed, kissing him.

  “Ooooo!” the ceiling exclaimed. “Look what she did—and at her age too.”

  Irene shot half a glance at the ceiling, and it went silent. She didn’t like discussion of age. “We have news that the zombies are all stirred up. Mr. E brought it to our attention.” Mr. E was a man who loved enigmas. In fact he could sniff them out from afar. He never solved them; he merely called them to the attention of others who were likely to be willing to undertake that chore.

  “Zombies?” he asked, intrigued.

  “People are getting annoyed. Do you think we should check into it?”

  Dor considered. This was her way of saying that the matter needed immediate attention. He was bored with the dull palace routine anyway. “I will see to it immediately. You can keep an eye on the kingdom for an hour.”

  “Or a year. Zombies aren’t necessarily nice creatures,” she said. “Except for Zora. I wonder how she’s doing?”

  “She’s rotting,” the nearest table suggested.

  Dor ignored it. “I think she had a son some time ago. But you’re right: most zombies are a bit ugly. Maybe I should take Dolph along, for quick transportation.” Their son Dolph’s talent was changing into any other living creature; when he became a roc bird he could carry others swiftly and far.

  “Maybe your father, too,” she suggested. “He and Chameleon just got youthened, and I think he’s still getting used to it.”

  Dor remembered. His mother Chameleon varied with the phases of the moon, becoming beautiful and stupid, or smart and ugly. She had been rejuvenated too, but was currently in her ugly phase, and not much company for anyone. “Yes; it will do him good to get out for an afternoon.”

  Irene waited, as if he had said something stupid. Usually when she did that, she had reason. So he pondered.

  The nearest book helped him. “You must be missing something really obvious,” it said. “Maybe you should read a good book.”

  Suddenly it came to him. “They’ve been what?”

  “Youthened,” she said with half a smile, or slightly more. “Instead of being eighty one, now he’s twenty one. Physically. And Chameleon is a child of sixteen.”

  He was stunned. “Why? I thought they were getting ready to fade out.”

  “Nobody knows. There were two doses of youth elixir in the package the Good Magician sent to Jenny Elf this morning, and they were marked for them. So now they are both young again. Younger than their grandchildren.”

  “The Good Magician always has a reason,” Dor said. “But he never gives away anything free. Do they have some arduous service to perform for him?”

  “Surely so. But no one has been told. Jenny Elf has a huge chore to do, with instructions. Maybe you should ask her.” Which was her way of saying that she wanted very much to know, but didn’t deign to inquire directly.

  “I will,” he agreed. “Right after I locate Bink and Dolph. We’ll check with Jenny, and then go out and check with the zombies.”

  Irene nodded, and continued watering her plants.

  Dor went out looking for his son Prince Dolph first. Dolph remained slightly awkward at age twenty four, despite having been married to Princess Electra for nine years and having two bright daughters delivered. His magic was first rate, however, and he was of amiable disposition. Still, it seemed better that his more savvy older sister Ivy become the next King of Xanth, when the time came. Dor hadn’t said anything about that, yet, but eventually he would have to.

  The inanimate things and surfaces around him directed him to the kitchen, where Dolph and Electra were showing their daughters Dawn and Eve how to make punwheel cookies. The children were six, going rapidly on seven, and already seemed to have the hang of handling the required puns and wheels. Electra was 874 or twenty seven, depending on whether reckoned by date of delivery or amount of active living; she had taken a long nap in the middle of her life. The twins were cute in proportion to their mischief, which was considerable.

  Electra was clean in blue jeans, but Dolph and the girls were covered with punwheel dough. It was clear where the competence lay in that family.

  “The zombies are roaming Xanth,” Dor said to Dolph. “I thought you and I and your grandpa Bink could go out and find out what’s agitating them.”

  Dolph looked at Electra. “Go ahead,” she said. “I think we girls can handle the rest of this by ourselves.” She glanced sidelong at him. “But perhaps you should wash and change. You wouldn’t want to make a bad impression on the zombies.”

  Both girls giggled. They were similar in a family sense, but differed in detail. Dawn was red-haired, green-eyed, wore bright clothing, was normally bright, and her talent was to tell anything about anything living. Eve was black-haired and -eyed, wore dark clothing, was more somber, and could tell anything about anything inanimate. Dor wasn’t sure which of them would relate better to a zombie, because it wasn’t quite clear which category zombies fit into.

  “I’ll do that,” Dolph agreed. He left the kitchen.

  “We’ll meet you at Jenny Elf’s room,” Dor called after him. Then, to Electra: “I’m glad he married you.”

  Electra blushed, and the girls giggled again, well understanding her natural modesty. Electra had never aspired to be a princess, but had loved Dolph from their first magical meeting. Her innocent ways still clung to her on occasion.

  Dor went in search of his father. Bink was an oddity in Xanth, because everyone knew he had Magician-caliber magic, but few knew what it was. When there was something especially tricky or dangerous to accomplish, Bink was usually the one to tackle it, and often accomplished it by a series of weird coincidences. Apart from that, he was as amiable as his grandson, which made him easy to get along with.

  Bink and Chameleon were in a guest room, having evidently come to Castle Roogna for the youth potions. Maybe they knew why they had been selected. Dor knocked
on the door.

  “It’s King Dor,” the door called to the folk inside.

  “Come in, Dor,” Bink’s voice called.

  Dor opened the door and stepped in. And stood amazed.

  Before him stood a lad of twenty one, and a girl of sixteen. The lad was handsome and muscular. The girl was ugly. Both were in illfitting clothing; indeed, the girl was in the process of pinning the boy’s trousers so they would fit better.

  “I think this is the wrong room,” Dor said, embarrassed.

  “No it isn’t, son,” the woman said in Chameleon’s voice. “Don’t stand there with your mouth agape; close the door behind you.”

  It really was true. These were his parents, youthened by—

  “Sixty years,” Chameleon said. “We each took the same dosage. We have no idea why the Good Magician sent the elixir, but concluded that he must have good reason. He has not made any requirement of us, as yet.”

  “But he surely will, in due course,” Bink added. “I must say that apart from the awkwardness of ill-fitting clothing, it feels rather good to be young again. There’s a certain vigor I had forgotten.”

  “Why did you come, Dor?” Chameleon asked. She tended to be abrupt in her smart/ugly phase, having little patience with the slower intellects of others. She was more popular when in her lovely/stupid phase.

  “I came to ask Bink if he would like to go out with me and Dolph to question the zombies, who are stirred up. I thought a three generation excursion might be fun.”

  “Good idea,” Chameleon said. “Go ahead, Bink; you’re not much help around here. I’ll fix your other clothes and mine in the interim.” She paused. “Including a showy dress for my other phase.”

  Bink nodded appreciatively. Chameleon had been generally acknowledged to be the loveliest woman in Xanth, when young and in phase, and even in age she was elegant. Now she was young again. Dor found it awkward thinking of his parents having romantic interests, but realized it was possible. His mother’s combination of traits at the far end—extreme beauty and extreme stupidity—made her a very fine romantic prospect. The extremes would be much sharper, now that she was a teenager. Well, soon they would return to the North Village, and he could put that awkward aspect out of his mind.

  Chameleon worked swiftly with needle and thread, and Bink’s trousers assumed a better fit. “Let’s go,” he said, with the seeming aban don of his youth. He tended to grow more interested in traveling away from the home, when Chameleon was in her smart phase, but of course it would not be kind to speculate why.

  “First we must check with Jenny Elf,” Dor said as they walked down the hall. “Maybe she has the answers to several questions.”

  “Good idea,” the youth agreed. It was just about impossible to think of him as an aging father.

  Dolph appeared, in newer and cleaner clothing. “I’m ready, Dad,” he said. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Your granddad,” Bink said.

  “My what?”

  “This is Bink,” Dor explained, understanding his son’s confusion. “He has been youthened to twenty one.”

  “But that’s younger than I am!” Dolph protested.

  “Physically,” Bink said, smiling.

  “You do sound like him. But why?”

  “We hope that Jenny will know,” Bink said. “She was the one who got the package with the potions. Maybe the other papers in it will say.”

  Jenny Elf was in an office chamber on the main floor, laboring at a desk. On her left was a huge pile of envelopes, and on her right a small pile of addressed envelopes. Before her, on the desk, was her cat, Sammy. She looked up wearily as they approached. She was a small girl, with pointed ears, freckles, big spectacles, and fourfingered hands. She had come to Xanth by accident, at the age of twelve, when some kind of hole had appeared in the fabric of whatever, and been stuck here since. It had been nine years, because it happened just before Dolph and Electra married.

  “That’s a big pile of papers,” Dolph said sympathetically. “Can I help you with any of them?”

  That was one thing about his son, Dor realized: his sympathetic nature. If anyone had a problem, Dolph always wanted to help out. He and Jenny had been friends since they met.

  “I wish you could, Dolph,” Jenny said. “But the instructions say that all of the invitations must be written in the same hand, and that’s mine. They all have to be done in two days too, so I must keep at it.” She shook her right hand, and little sprigs of tiredness flew out from it.

  “Invitations?” Bink asked.

  Jenny glanced at him, startled. “Why, you’re Bink!” she said. “I didn’t recognize you.”

  “Chameleon and I took the potions as soon as we got to our room,” Bink said. “They worked.”

  “So I see.” She concentrated, and recovered the question. “Yes, these are wedding invitations.”

  “Wedding?” Dor asked, surprised again. “Who is the groom?”

  “The note says he is no one we know. But he is a prince or king, who will marry a common girl and make her a princess or queen. It is scheduled to happen here at Castle Roogna in just one week, so everything must be ready by then, and the invitations have to go out in time to bring all the participants.”

  “Who is invited?” Bink asked.

  “Everyone, I think. Of course I haven’t looked at all the names on the list yet.” She indicated a long scroll. “Some of them have assignments too.”

  “Assignments?” Dor asked.

  “Matron of Honor—things like that. That’s Electra.”

  “Are any of us on that list?” Dolph asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Then Sammy Cat moved his paw. It landed on one section of the list. “Oh, thank you Sammy,” Jenny said. Her cat’s talent was to find anything—except home. That was part of the reason Jenny was stuck here in Xanth. Sammy had led her here, but couldn’t lead her back.

  Jenny checked the list where the paw was. “Yes, here it is: King Dor is to be in loco Father of the Bride.”

  “But my daughter Ivy’s already married!” he protested.

  “In loco,” Bink reminded him. “That means instead of. Maybe her real father can’t do it, so you will fill in.”

  “Oh.” It was obvious in retrospect.

  Jenny read farther. “Bink is to be Best Man.”

  “But I don’t even know the groom!” Bink said.

  “And Dolph is an Usher. Head Usher.”

  “Okay,” Dolph agreed. “I guess I can handle that.”

  “What about you, Jenny?” Dor asked. “Since you’re doing all this work.”

  The girl’s eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t think to look. Sammy?”

  The cat lifted a paw—and set it down again, off the list.

  “But you can find anything,” Jenny reminded him.

  Dor caught on, unpleasantly. “Not if it’s not there. I fear you aren’t invited, Jenny.”

  “Not invited!” Dolph said angrily. “She has to do this mountain of work, wearing out her poor little hand—and she’s not even invited?”

  “It’s all right,” Jenny said quickly. “My birthday is on the same day. Sammy and I will have a chance to celebrate by ourselves.”

  A glance bounced back and forth between the three men. “It’s not fair,” Dolph said. “She’s not a slave. She should at least be invited.”

  “Maybe there’s a mistake,” Dor said. “We can ask the Good Magician.”

  “No, please don’t bother him,” Jenny said. “Really, I don’t mind helping. I’m sure it will be a very nice wedding.”

  Another glance bounced around between them. Then the desk spoke. “It had better be.”

  Dolph still wasn’t satisfied. “Jenny, I don’t need to be an usher for somebody I don’t even know. I’ll join you for your birthday instead. We’ve been friends for a long time.” He stroked Sammy, which was proof of what he said, because the cat did not accept the touch of just anybody.

  The girl was
plainly touched. She blinked back a tear. “That’s very nice of you, Dolph. It’s true that you and Electra have been very kind to me. But it’s not right to go against something the Good Magician has set up. There is surely excellent reason for you to be Head Usher. Sammy and I will be just fine.”

  “She’s right, son,” Dor said. “And you don’t have to choose one or the other. The wedding won’t take all day.”

  “It’s at three in the afternoon,” Jenny said.

  “Then let’s have your birthday in the morning,” Dolph said. “I know Electra will want to be there too. And Che Centaur, of course, and Gwenny Goblin.” They were Jenny’s closest friends, though Gwendolyn was now Queen of Goblin Mountain, making the goblins behave. Che was tutor for Sim, the Simurgh’s chick, who would some millennium inherit the position of Wisest Bird in the Universe. If Che came, so might Sim, and that would go far toward making the occasion significant. Every winged monster in Xanth was pledged to protect Che, and every living thing was pledged to help Sim and his guardian nanny Roxanne Roc. Che Centaur was destined to change the history of Xanth, by influencing Sim, and no one could be sure what events they attended might thus become truly significant.

  “So will Irene and I,” Dor said, sharing his son’s disquiet about the way the girl was being snubbed. He didn’t care who else attended; he would be there regardless.

  “And Chameleon and I,” Bink said.

  Jenny had to blink back several more tears. She removed her glasses and dabbed at her eyes with a hankie. “Thank you. That would be nice. But I had better get back to work on these invitations, so as to finish them in time.”

  They needed to leave before Jenny’s tears overflowed and fell on the invitations. “Next week,” Dor said firmly, guiding his son and young father to the door.

  “It still bothers me,” Dolph muttered as they walked down the hall. “How complicated would it have been to add her name to the list? The Good Magician couldn’t have forgotten her, because he’s making her do the handwriting chore.”