“The Good Magician has five and a half wives,” Nia murmured. “Since it’s against Xanth custom to have more than one at a time, a different one is designated each month.” Then she spoke directly to the demoness. “We’re on our way out. We didn’t meant to bother you, now that your joke has played itself through. Which way is the exit?”
“No, Grania and Lydell,” Dara said. “You are on your way in. This way.”
“But we flunked that third Challenge,” Dell said.
“No, you passed it with the two best scores we’ve had. This way, please.” She ushered them into the castle.
“Just what was that test for?” Nia asked.
“Honesty. It was rigged to show all your answers wrong. Only a cheater could get credit for any of them.”
Suddenly it made sense. Crazy questions, crazier answers, and self-graded. Supreme temptation for the average person.
Dell thought of something else. “The riddle and the poem in the shelter—did you put them there? If so, why?”
“I did,” Dara agreed. “They were to make you think.”
So they had been being tested all along, and it might not be over yet.
They came into a pleasant family room and took the indicated seats. “Some background,” Dara said. “There is a necessary project that requires the services of two truly steadfast folk. In the past year none have qualified. Because it involves a quite valuable artifact, there could not be a general announcement that would attract the attention of the unscrupulous. So Humfrey—that is, the Good Magician—finally took my advice and set out to recruit two qualified people. He sat on his Know-Ledge and learned what isn’t in his regular Book of Answers: the most honest and loyal residents of Xanth. Then I went out to solicit the two top ones. And here you are.”
Compulsive Honesty. There it was.
Dell’s head still felt as if it were spinning. “But then why the Challenges?”
“It’s a matter of form,” Dara said. “There are protocols to follow. Also, we wanted to be quite sure you were the ones we wanted. You may find yourselves in distinctly strange situations in the course of this mission, and have to adapt to odd or uncomfortable circumstances. We needed to know you could handle it. But mainly we wanted to verify what the Ledge of Knowledge indicated: that you were completely immune to temptations.”
Now the Challenges did make sense.
“What is this so-special project?” Nia asked.
“You must pilot a special boat, actually a skiff, to its new proprietors.”
There was two thirds of a silence. Just in time, Dara interrupted it. “It is small, but actually quite valuable. Everyone who sees it, wants to possess it, regardless what they say. It’s worse than a reality check that bounces. Only completely trustworthy folk can be allowed to navigate it to its destination.”
“Paddle a boat?” Dell asked, still not getting much of a handle on it.
“A skiff, because it has a sail,” Dara said. “In a moment I will show the fireboat to you.”
Nia was having as much of a problem with this as Dell was. “You recruited us, bringing us to solicit the Good Magician, get Answers, and do a year’s service—to deliver a little boat?” she asked.
Dara smiled brilliantly. “Exactly.”
“But I’m no sailor, or even a canoeist,” Dell said. “I was on a small boat once and I got seasick. I don’t know anything about waterways.”
“Neither do I,” Nia said. “I was a good swimmer in my youth, but only in rivers and ponds. I have never seen the wide sea outside Xanth. I have heard of Lake Ogre-Chobee and the Gel-A-Sea. That’s about it.”
“The Gel-A-Sea?”
“It is said to be so lovely it makes folk green with envy.”
“This way, please; it is moored to a convenient turret.” Dara led them to a winding stair. They followed her around many loops, Dell covertly admiring her legs from behind and below. But this was already getting strange: How could they be going up to reach a moored boat?
At last they came to the highest cupola, many stories above the ground. And there, anchored to the windowsill, was a boat. It looked like a rowboat, but it had a mast, though that was lying flat along its length. But the weirdest thing was that the craft was floating in the air.
They stared. “There’s a hidden shelf?” Dell finally asked.
“Not at all. Now we’ll board.”
“Wait half a moment,” Nia said. “You’re a demoness; you can fly. We can’t. A drop from this height would kill us.”
“Trust me.”
The two of them shared a shrug. Dara opened a window and stepped across the sill onto the boat. Dell followed, dazed by the flash of her legs as she lifted them over, and stood beside her. Then Nia crossed over.
They stood on the boat, which did not fall. It rocked slightly as though floating on invisible water. Dell was already impressed. This was indeed a surprise.
“Nia, sit at the stern,” the demoness directed. “You will work the rudder to steer it.” Grania took her place and held the rudder.
“Dell, lift the mast.” He went to the center of the craft, bent down, and hauled on the lowered mast, not expecting it to budge. But it came up readily, and soon clicked into place, standing tall. “Now spread the sail.”
“What sail?”
“It is wrapped around the mast. Loosen the binding cord.”
Oh. He untied the cord. The wound material pulsed like a living thing and expanded, unrolling itself until it spread out to either side. Except that now it could be seen that it was not stout canvas, but gossamer thin; indeed he could poke his finger through it without disturbing it. This was a sail?
“Now ignite it.”
He stared at her blankly.
“Snap your fingers.”
He snapped his fingers—and a spark flew out. Suddenly the entire sail was a sheet of flame.
Dell was so surprised that he sat down on the bench, gazing at it. The heat of it warmed his face. He saw the wind catch the sail, billowing it out.
“It’s round!” Nia exclaimed.
“The fire can assume whatever shape it wishes,” Dara said. “Depending on its mood.”
Oh.
“Cast off,” Dara said to Nia.
Nia hauled the anchor into the craft. The boat started to move in the direction of the blowing wind. Surprise number two: the remarkable sail actually worked.
Nia shifted the rudder, and the boat turned and cruised on the new azimuth.
“Steer for that other tower,” Dara said. “Throw the anchor at it before we get beyond. This is only a token voyage, to show you the craft in operation.” She turned to Dell. “Douse the sail.”
“Huh?”
“Snap your fingers.”
He snapped his fingers, and the fire extinguished, leaving only the gossamer film. The boat slowed.
“Furl the sail.”
He took the edge of the sail and passed it in a circle so that its almost invisible material wrapped around the mast. When it was snug, he tied the cord. Then, unbidden, he folded the mast down against the deck.
Meanwhile Nia threw the light anchor at the approaching tower. It caught and the boat nudged up against the cupola.
They stepped over the gunwale into the tower. Then Dell felt his knees trying to give way. Only now did he realize that he had not felt seasick. It seemed the boat was proof against that.
“You made your point,” Nia said weakly. “This is no ordinary craft.”
“There is more, but that can wait. Tomorrow you sail; tonight you are guests of the Castle. Humfrey will see you next.”
Dell managed to exchange half a glance with Nia as they descended the spiral stairway to the ground level. It seemed they had already been committed. What were they in for?
Soon they stood before the Good Magician
, who looked like a century-old gnome hunched behind a giant open tome: his celebrated Book of Answers. He hardly even looked at them. “Deliver the craft to its new proprietors and you will have your desires,” he said grumpily. “Any questions?”
Dell felt almost guilty for even asking. “Where are the proprietors?”
“That is indefinite. You will have to locate them yourselves.”
“But how can we deliver it, if we don’t know where to go?”
“There will be hints, if you can fathom them.”
“But—” Dell was so confused he couldn’t even formulate the question.
The old gnome’s eyes flicked to Dara. She took Dell by the elbow and led him out of the cramped chamber. Bemused by her touch, he went without protest.
“The Magician does not suffer fools or rascals gladly,” Dara said.
Lydell knew he wasn’t a rascal, so he must be a fool. There must be something obvious that he was missing.
They reached the ground floor. “The girl will take you to your room,” the demoness said. “Dinner is in an hour. Be there.” She was gone, literally, fading out in place. She was after all a demoness.
Before him stood a petite, shapely young woman, the servant. The girl turned to glance at him.
“Zephyr Zombie!” he exclaimed, amazed anew.
“I’m an actress,” she said. “Serving my time for my Answer. I’m not really a zombie.”
“Uh, I guess not,” he said stupidly.
“You do kiss well, regardless.”
Was she joking? She was actually the first girl he had ever kissed, and he knew he had been clumsy. “Um,” he said, finding no honest response he could give without being impolite.
“You’re shy.”
That he could answer. “Yes.”
She walked to another stairway, and he followed numbly. Her legs were nice too. In fact everything about her was nice.
They entered an upstairs hall, and halted by a door. “Here is your room. Your elderly friend will be next door.” She led him in.
It was a well-appointed chamber, with a bed, desk, chair, mirror, and sanitary alcove with a basin of water and a sponge. The window looked out on an interior courtyard, and beyond it was the tower with the fireboat anchored at its pinnacle. “Uh, thanks,” he said lamely.
“You will want to clean up and change for dinner,” she said. She wrinkled her pert nose. “You smell of zombie.”
He had to smile. “I will, thank you.”
“Do you need help? I can wash your back.”
She wanted to help him change and wash? Maybe she was teasing him. “I’d, uh, have to be with—without clothing.”
“Yes of course. Would it help if I stripped too?” Her eyes flicked toward the bed.
Being bare with her? It would be a disaster! She had been pretty as a zombie, and more so as a servant girl. Bare, she would be devastating. He would make a horrible fool of himself, just by standing there, if he didn’t actually freak out.
Unless she was hinting more, as that artful eye-flick suggested. The very notion excited him wonderfully. To be that close and personal with her!
Uh-uh. That was Grania’s warning in his mind. That put it into perspective.
This pretty girl was coming onto him. Why? She had to have serious motive, and it wasn’t his manliness. He needed to know what it was.
So he asked her bluntly. “What do you want from me?”
To his surprise, she was candid. “This was my last Challenge project. Tomorrow is my last day of my year of service for my Question and Answer. I will be leaving here.”
Uh-uh. Grania again, alerting him to a possible trap. This pretty girl had not actually answered his question.
Maybe he could get more information. “What were your Question and Answer?”
She answered directly again. Maybe she was unable to be evasive here in the Castle of the Magician of Information. “I longed to have a superior talent, one that people would applaud, rather than the spot on the wall type I had of looking sincere when I lied. The Good Magician gave it to me. He opened a tiny bottle, and vapor smoked out, and I smelled it. It enhanced my meager talent to its full potential: I became an accomplished actress, able to seem sincere in almost any role. Now I could join a troupe and be the lead lady, and the male half of the audience would see me and fall in love with me and not be able to do anything about it. I love that!”
She had answered, and he could see that it was true. She had been a perfect zombie with considerable feminine appeal, and now was a perfect seductress. But that still didn’t explain her presence in his room.
“So you have what you wanted,” he said. “What do you want of me?”
She was direct a third time. “Tomorrow when you sail on the fireboat, take me with you.”
He was surprised anew. “What do you want with the boat? It’s just an open shell with a fiery sail, with barely room for two. You’d be uncomfortable on a wood bench, and the wind would blow your hair askew. No one would see you up in the sky. It’s no place for a pretty girl.”
“Troupes travel,” she explained. “From town to town. More of their time is spent on the road than before an audience. I’d have to walk until my legs got unsightlyly muscular, or ride on a bumpy wagon. How much better to fly there and arrive refreshed, ready for the big evening. The boat could do that.”
Somehow the thought of her legs becoming “unsightlyly”—he could almost see the attached note “(sic)”—intrigued him more that it bothered him. They would still be very good legs. Surely the boat could indeed ease that situation for her. But there was a problem. “Uh—”
“I will spend the night with you,” she said. “Completely bare. I guarantee you will really enjoy it.”
Oh, he surely would! Still, the boat was not supposed to be used for private benefit. They were supposed to deliver it to its new proprietors. How could he justify such a perversion?
He tried to change the subject. “Is it true that the Good Magician has a Copy ’n’ Paste spell that duplicates things and people? Together with an Undo spell in case of a mistake?”
“And every night we’re on the boat,” she added, ignoring his question.
So she was offering private delight for a particular service. She wasn’t really interested in him as a man. Still, it was exquisitely tempting. To be that close, that long, that regularly to such a creature! Why should he care if she was doing it for her own reason? It was more than he would ever get otherwise.
She saw his hesitation. “Neither does he have a facts machine.” So she was paying attention. He would have to answer.
But, ultimately, he wanted a girl who wanted him, not something else. Regardless, he could not in honor make such a deal. So there were two reasons. “No.”
She looked as if he had struck her on the face. She flinched back, tears emerging. Then she turned and departed without a further word.
He felt miserably guilty.
He morosely closed the door after her, then stripped and sponged himself off, then put on a nice suit from the ones hanging in the closet. It fit him perfectly, by some miracle. No, it must be magic, made to fit anyone.
There was a knock on his door. He opened it to find Nia there, handsome in a well-fitting dress, her hair neatly curled. “Dinnertime,” she said.
“Time,” he agreed. “I’m hungry.”
“So am I. The banquet hall is downstairs. I know where it is.”
They walked down the hall and down the stairway. “The—the servant girl is Zephyr, the one who was my zombie in the Challenge. The one I kissed. She showed me my room.”
“Ah. Another role player.”
“Yes. She—she came on to me.”
Nia glanced sidelong at him. “She’s too pretty for you, Dell.” She was not being unkind, but cautious on his behalf.
&
nbsp; “Yes, I heard your warning.” He would have said more, but they had arrived.
It was a fine meal whose details he lost track of as soon as he finished, except that he had enjoyed it. Zzorb and Zephyr had served seemingly endless dishes, she in a low-cut maid’s uniform that threatened to crystallize his eyeballs if he did more than sneak brief peeks. Only Grania’s glanced warnings kept him balanced.
He finished with a wonderful sweetie pie, so sweet that his taste buds almost blossomed. It made everything seem sweet.
Pleasantly filled, and a bit dizzy from fine wine, he let Nia steady him as they returned to their rooms. “Good night, Dell,” she said as he entered. “I am next door if you need me.”
“Thanx,” he slurred, and stumbled inside to fling himself on the bed.
And halted just in time. The bed was already occupied. By Zephyr. Bare.
Suddenly he was mostly sober. “Am I in the right room?”
“Oh yes, my friend,” she breathed. “I am here for your pleasure.”
Uh-uh. It was Nia’s voice in his head. This was definitely dangerous territory.
“Why?” he asked. “When I told you no?”
“And you did it so admirably,” she agreed as the sheet slid down just a bit too far. “Then Dara sneaked in that sweetie pie, because she thought you needed help with women. So I decided to share a night with you anyway, with no obligation on your part.”
In his confusion he fixed on one thing. “Sweetie pie?”
“It makes everything sweet. It leaves you with a certain residue of sweetness that girls find appealing. I’m a girl. Join me, and we will celebrate your embarkation tomorrow.”
So she still wanted to join them on the boat. He knew that if he celebrated the night with her, as she put it, long before morning he would be so smitten that he would do anything she wanted. There were limits to his resolution, and she was already on the verge of shattering them. He had to end this soon.
“No. Please depart so I can sleep.”
Her face started to tear up as the sheet slipped farther down. “Don’t be that way, Dell,” she pleaded. “I want so much to be with you, now and hereafter. Join me and be happy.”
Just in time he remembered that she was an actress, able to feign emotions convincingly, including artificial tears. She had surely done that earlier. He could not afford to take her at (lovely) face value. But how could he get rid of her, if she would not go? Even if he had the gumption to throw her out physically, the moment he made contact she would be all over him, and he would be finished. And she knew it.
Fire Sail Page 4