Ghost Writer in the Sky

by Anthony, Piers

Eve became aware that though the males in the room were theoretically engaged in their own pursuits, all of them were actually watching her. Waiting for her to take up the mug and drink the grog with her name on it. For her to be unable to say no, or to remember next day.

  Talk of falling in a pit.

  This was certainly deserving of a murmur to Pluto. But she did not like summoning him incidentally. She preferred to handle awkward situations herself. How could she do that?

  What about that floating title? That might be the key.

  Eve climbed carefully on the table and stood up. Now the title was in reach. She took hold of the first two letters of the last word, GR, and mashed them about to make one new letter: F. Now it said THE PRINCESS AND THE FOG.

  She knew what that fog would do. She took a deep breath, held it, and jumped down from the table as the liquid in the mug puffed into vapor. In fact it was dense mist. It spread out, surrounding her, as the males converged. She dropped to her hands and knees and scooted along the floor, concealed by the billowing cloud, passing between the legs of an ogre, moving away from the table. Soon she was clear of the fog.

  She stood up and looked back. The center of the room was now a mass of vapor shrouded drunk males, none of them able to say no to whatever was happening, and none of whom would remember any of it tomorrow. Which would make explaining it to anyone else difficult.

  Princess Eve smiled. It did seem to serve them right.

  She walked to the illusion door and stepped through. She found herself back on the path. She made her way around the illusion tavern, not risking its interior again, and resumed her trip along the path. Soon she reached Caprice Castle; the path was spelled to get to it, regardless of where it was at the moment.

  She stepped up to the front and knocked on the door. “Aunt Eve!” a child’s voice cried. The door slid open to reveal two five-year-old children. One was a cute human girl, the other a cute walking skeleton.

  “Hello, children!” Eve said as she gathered them in for a hug.

  “Did you bring us anything?” the skeletal boy asked.

  “Of course I did, Piton,” Eve said. “But you’ll have to change form to eat it. It’s a cupcake from the pastree I passed along the way.” She handed it to him.

  Piton shifted to human boy form and took a bite. “Thanks!” he said around a mouthful.

  “And one for you too, though you were too polite to ask, Data. A Danish from the same tree.”

  “Thank you,” the girl said, and bit into it.

  “Now I’d love to spend the rest of the day with you two, but I really need to talk with your mother.”

  “I’m here,” Dawn said, stepping close so they could hug. The children ran off, still eating their pastree confections.

  “What is disturbing you?” Eve asked. “Does it by chance relate to a strange dream or episode?”

  “Yes! How did you know?”

  “I had one of those myself. In fact, on the way here.”

  “Tell me all about it.”

  Eve did. “Someone must have set it up,” she concluded. “It could have been significantly worse for me, if I had not been alert and with magic of my own.”

  “Exactly. Now let me tell you, or rather show you, Princess Rhythm’s experience yesterday. She called me on the mirror and relayed the whole thing.”

  “Princess Rhythm,” Eve repeated, surprised.

  Dawn smiled. “You do remember the triplets Princesses Melody, Harmony, and Rhythm, the naughty one who got a boyfriend when she was only twelve?”

  “And now she is pushing twenty-one,” Eve agreed, responding to the teasing. “And about to come out openly with her boyfriend Cyrus Cyborg, now that she is of age to do publicly what they’ve been doing all along privately. Yes, I may remember her, if I focus hard enough.”

  “Yesterday Rhythm had an odd dream, if that is what it was. But beware; there are some elements that some viewers might find objectionable.”

  “I have spent years in hell,” Eve said. “I suspect I can handle it.”

  Dawn gestured to the magic mirror on the wall, and the scene came on.

  Princess Rhythm woke and stretched. Today was the day she would visit Cyrus for some close-up one on one. That was not completely surprising, as she did it every day. But soon there would be no further need for secrecy, and their secret love would be no secret any more.

  But right now she had an urgent need. She tossed back the cover and flung her pretty legs over the edge of the bed.

  And caught herself just in time. She was atop a pile of twenty mattresses that towered so high that it threatened to bang into the ceiling. Despite that, there was an annoying bump, and she knew that there was something below the bottommost mattress that threatened to disrupt her repose. It felt like a hard half pea. She would have to do something about that. Right after she satisfied her pressing urge.

  She gazed down from the height and saw a potty sitting on the floor beside the mound of mattresses. That was it! She would just have to scramble down to floor level and—

  She paused her thought. There was something wrong with this picture. First, natural functions were seldom if ever mentioned in fantasy narratives, and almost never in connection with girls, and absolutely not with princesses. A true princess had no natural functions as far as fantasy fiction went. Second, she had a competent bathroom in her suite, complete with sanitary facilities. She hadn’t used a lowbrow potty in about eighteen years. The moment she turned twenty-one, she would graduate to perpetual pristinity. Third, what was she doing atop twenty mattresses? She had gone to sleep on one. Fourth, she had the feeling that someone or something was watching. An invisible presence, probably male. That compounded the awkwardness.

  Rhythm made an effort and held her, um, patience as she pondered. Certainly she was not about to do anything before she came to understand the complications. She looked around from the height of her feathery mountain, and spied what she had overlooked before.

  There was a sign hovering in the air, like the title of a story:

  THE PRINCESS AND THE PEE

  Rhythm stared at the last word, then down at the potty. She suspected that there was a connection. Especially considering her desperate urgency.

  Some one or some thing had set this up, and was watching to see how it played out. Smile! You’re on Forthright Focus!

  Well, she was not going to perform for the camera, though she was about to burst.

  But what could she do? She was in the scene, and seemed unable to get out of it without following its rules. She could not delay much longer, lest she begin to leak, um, suffer an unprincessly accident.

  Then she got an inspiration. That floating sign seemed to define the action. Suppose the definition shifted slightly?

  Rhythm scooted across the mattress, causing the tower to wee-waw alarmingly. The sign was just above the end of the mattress. She got cautiously to her feet and reached up to it. Her fingers caught hold of the word PRINCESS but were unable to move it. The title seemed to be fixed.

  Ah, but maybe it could be amended. She sat back on the mattress and took hold of the bedspread. She used a sharp fingernail to cut a cloth shape out, then another. Then she stood and used loose threads to tie two new letters to the last word. Now it said:

  THE PRINCESS AND THE PEEVE

  Lo, her internal urgency was gone, replaced by a new one: she had to go consult with the pet peeve, the most obnoxious bird in Xanth. She understood the peeve had spent time in hell itself, and been ousted when its fowl beak wore out its welcome there. No one knew what kind of bird it was, except that it was a parody. For that matter no one knew its gender either. It typically perched on a person’s shoulder and used that person’s voice to insult all comers, stirring up trouble. But she had always liked it, to its evident frustration.

  Rhythm clambered down the side of the mattr
esses to reach the floor. She ran past the now pointless potty, not even pausing to change out of her nightie. She had to get to the peeve.

  Ordinarily a girl alone in a nightie would not fare well in the dragon-infested jungle of Xanth. But Rhythm was a Sorceress, and the dragons had come to understand that these ladies were not for burning. Now none tried to interfere with her.

  In due course, approximately, because it wasn’t exactly a course and nothing was due, Rhythm arrived at the peeve’s perch.

  The nondescript little green bird eyed her disapprovingly. “Only an idiot or a disreputable urchin would go walking alone outside in her nightie,” it remarked.

  Rhythm produced her little drum, which was always magically within her reach. She bonged on it with one stick so that its magic manifested as a warning ripple. “Only a bird brain would remark on the obvious.” Then she stepped close and kissed it on the beak.

  “I wouldn’t take that from anyone less naughty than you.”

  “I know. I’m the naughtiest.”

  The parody sighed. “What brings you here, Princess Naughty?”

  “I think I need your help, peeve.”

  This set the bird back a bit. The peeve had very few friends, and no one ever wanted its presence for long, let alone its help. It fought visibly against the flattery, without perfect success. “What’s up, Princess?”

  “Do you want the whole story, or a summary?”

  “The whole story, of course, tart.”

  “Right: the summary. This morning someone tried to make me act out the story of the Princess and the Pee.”

  The peeve laughed so hard it fell off its perch. It scrambled back, still amused. “Oh, I’d have liked to see that.”

  “Forget it. I’m not that naughty.”

  “Too bad. So how can I help you?”

  The parody had a dirty mind. What else was new? “You already have. I changed Pee to Peeve and came to see you. I figure that means you need to be involved.”

  The peeve considered. “It could be interesting. Especially if they try again to make you do it.”

  “I have the feeling someone is watching, even now. I want to know who and why.”

  “I can tell you Why: there’s nothing like seeing a naughty pretty girl perform. As to Who—it could be any male in Xanth.”

  “No. Remember, I’m a Sorceress. I’m proof against ninety-nine and forty-four hundredths of a percent of males. This has to be something else.”

  “Something beyond Magician caliber magic. That does limit it. So we’d better get help.”

  “Help? I don’t want the whole of Xanth knowing about this nuisance.”

  “The other Princesses. So as to have all five.”

  “Oh.” That appealed. Rhythm was a Sorceress. When she got together with one of her triplet sisters, their combined magic squared the power. When all three of them got together, their power was cubed. The two older princesses, their cousins Dawn and Eve, had invaluable knowledge magic. The five of them together could surely crack this mystery.

  “And that’s the story,” Dawn said as the mirror faded out. “They’ll be arriving soon.”

  “Perhaps that is just as well,” Eve agreed. “But what about this invisible observer? Is he watching us now? How can we plan anything effective, if the mischief maker knows even as we plan it?”

  “You forget, this is Caprice Castle. It is proof against hostile spying. Rhythm and the peeve know that; that’s why they didn’t mention it. We have the privacy we need.”

  “That’s right; I forgot. It will be good to see the three twerps again.”

  “Twerps?” the three princesses chorused, appearing in the doorway. Melody was in a green dress, with greenish hair and blue eyes; Harmony was brown throughout in dress, hair and eyes; Rhythm wore a red dress with red hair and green eyes. It was their standard Trio outfit, as though they were three peas in a pod, though they had become quite different young women. “You know-it-alls call us twerps?”

  “And hello peeve,” Dawn said, laughing. Because the bird was perched on Rhythm’s shoulder, and imitating the voices of the princesses, as was its wont.

  The twins appeared, both in human guise for the moment. “What a stench,” Piton said, wrinkling his little nose. “Did a zombie crow fly in here and poop?”

  “No, it’s worse,” Data said, matching the wrinkle. “It’s the peeve.”

  “Hello, bratwurst,” the peeve said in its own voice. “Or do I mean worst brats?”

  Then all three laughed. It was obvious that they understood each other.

  “The grownups are heading into a big dull discussion,” Piton said.

  “So let’s us three go and get into some mischief while they’re busy,” Data said.

  “That works for me,” the peeve agreed. It flew across to perch on Piton’s shoulder. “What you have in mind, bonehead?”

  “Mom has a pot of Eye Scream ready to serve the guests,” Piton said.

  “And what about you, meathead?”

  “Let’s go have a snowball fight with it,” Data said.

  “I get the chocolate eyes,” the peeve said. “You can have the screams.”

  The three left the room.

  Eve looked at Dawn. “You didn’t really leave it unguarded, sweet sister dear?”

  “Of course not, sinister sister dear. Picka is watching it.”

  “But he’ll turn fleshly and join their mischief,” Eve protested.

  “And none of them will bother us while we work out our plans,” Dawn said.

  The three shared most of a glance. Dawn did have a fair notion what she was doing. It would be easier to work effectively when not distracted by man, bird, or children, all creatures who tended to demand more attention than was convenient.

  “Shouldn’t we notify King Aunt Ivy?” Eve asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Dawn said. “Not until we know who is watching, and why. It’s better to keep our plans secret, which we can do only here.”

  “Also, King Ivy is distracted with the looming Dragon/Human war,” Harmony said. “She’s searching for a way to head it off, but it’s complicated. We surely need to leave her to it.”

  “Meanwhile I did some spot research with Goggle,” Rhythm said. “There have been incidents.”

  “So?” Eve asked.

  “There’s a report of a story that didn’t play out well, ‘Goldilocks and the Three Beers.’ Apparently the storyteller didn’t have all the elements in place. Then there was ‘The Three Little Prigs,’ where the Big Bad Wolf went after three village girls. They used their talent to foil him, and he wound up frozen stiff and dumped in the sewer. Next day I was targeted as ‘The Princess and the Pee,’ and today Eve was caught in ‘The Princes and the Grog.’ We both managed to avoid the worst, but the incidents are disturbing. Who is behind this, and what does he want? Surely not just peeks at disheveled girls.”

  “And how does he set up the stories?” Eve asked. “That requires considerable magic.”

  “Do you think a Demon is involved?” Harmony asked. She was the most sensible of the trio, and destined to become King of Xanth in due course, so naturally was concerned.

  “No,” Melody said. “I did spot research with Binge, though it made me a bit tipsy, and learned that the dream realm is involved, in a manner.”

  “The dream realm,” Harmony said. “That does make sense. These were like waking dreams, not exactly night or day dreams. But that puts them outside the realm of the night mares or the day mares.”

  “Yes,” Melody said. “They occur only in the morning, the dreams being planted in twilight between night and day. That confirms that the regular dream carriers aren’t involved.”

  “So then who’s doing it?” Harmony asked.

  “A rogue night colt.”

  “A colt! But the Night Stall
ion doesn’t tolerate any other male dream horses. They get banished or killed.”

  “I said a rogue,” Melody said. “It seems that somehow he escaped the notice of the Stallion, and is operating in the twilight zone.”

  “But male horses can’t carry dreams,” Eve said. “They’re drones; they can observe, but not act, in that respect.”

  “Some drones can act,” Dawn said.

  “Those ones are promptly banished to drear Mundania,” Eve said. “Or to Hades; I see a number there.”

  “The colt isn’t a drone,” Melody said. “But you’re right. He can’t carry dreams. He’s in league with a Mundane writer. The man isn’t much good at his craft, but he can carry dreams, or in this case, stories. He adapts them from Mundane fairy tales, such as ‘The Three Little Pigs,’ only with a word changed.”

  “‘The Three Little Prigs’!” Rhythm exclaimed. “That’s where he got it, shoring up his weak imagination.”

  “Then letting the title play out as it would,” Harmony said. “He must have done the same with Goldilocks and the Three Beers.”

  “The Three Bears,” Melody agreed.

  “But if he’s Mundane, how does he get those hackneyed notions to Xanth?” Eve asked. “Because I can tell you, ‘The Princess and the Grog’ definitely reached me. I don’t care what it was adapted from, I could have been in real trouble if I’d drunk that grog. My Sorceressly powers could have become useless if I didn’t remember I had them, or that I could summon my husband.”

  “Who would have been most annoyed if all those lawless males had deluged you with ellipses,” Rhythm said. An ellipsis consisted of three significant dots and was essential to stork summoning. It was considered a rather private matter.

  “That’s where the night colt comes in,” Melody said. “It seems the two made a deal, and the colt carries the writer into Xanth, where he can deliver his pesky notions.”

  “But a night colt couldn’t carry a Mundane physically,” Eve protested. “He’s a dream horse.”

  “The Mundane is dreaming at the time. The colt carries not the dream, but the dreamer, who is like a ghost. He gallops through the sky while the writer sows his mischief.”