Ghost Writer in the Sky

by Anthony, Piers

  “Well, at least she could hear us,” Tartan said. “And it seems that we have met one more example of the things of this realm.”

  “I suppose, being a sort of a spirit, the way she pops in and out and changes forms, she could relate partially to ghosts,” Tara said thoughtfully.

  “And the way she couldn’t get the right word—does she have a speech impediment?”

  “A what?”

  “Obscurity, obstruction, confusion, incapacity, inadequacy—”

  “Block?”

  “Whatever,” he agreed as crossly as he could manage.

  They both laughed, and moved on.

  Ahead, the forest opened out to a large field. There was an elegant castle, complete with turrets and a moat. The sign said CAPRICE CASTLE.

  “I think we’re expected,” Tara said nervously.

  “We must be,” Tartan agreed grimly.

  They walked on toward the castle. The drawbridge was down, so they crossed over the moat and went to the main door. “Here goes nothing, since we’re ghosts,” Tartan said, and knocked.

  To their surprise, his knuckle rapped against the wood, not phasing through it.

  The door opened immediately. There stood a phenomenally lovely young woman in a gown as bright as the morning, with a small crown on her golden hair. “Ah, you have arrived! I am Princess Dawn. I’ll be your host, this hour.”

  “You—you see and hear us,” Tara said faintly.

  “Oh, yes. My friends and I crafted the spell of the portal and path to lead you here. Though I must say I’m surprised to see two of you. We were expecting only one.”

  “Sorry about that,” Tartan said. “I’m, uh, Tartan, and this is Tara. We were both intrigued by the portal, so we came together.”

  “Do come in. We have much to discuss.”

  “Uh, thanks, Princess,” Tara said uncertainly.

  They entered the castle, and were soon in a pleasant day room.

  “I would offer you refreshments,” Princess Dawn said. “But in your ghostly form you are unable to eat anything solid.”

  “About that,” Tartan said. “How is it that we are in this form, here in this magic land, yet you can see and hear us?”

  Dawn smiled winningly. “First I must bore you with some necessary background.”

  “Nothing about this situation bores us,” Tara said. “Our real lives are dull, while this magic Land of Xanth is fantastic. We actually saw a dragon!”

  “And a winged centaur filly,” Tartan said. “She was a sight to behold.”

  “Almost too much of a good thing,” Tara murmured.

  Dawn smiled tolerantly. “Yes, we tried to give you a preview of what to expect here, including some puns. Here at Caprice Castle we collect and store puns, as they are vital to Xanth’s existence. If that turns you off—”

  Tartan exchanged a look with Tara. “We’re neutral about puns. If they are part of the package, okay. It’s not as if we have to eat them.”

  “Don’t eat them!” Dawn said. “They are notorious for giving folk pundigestion so they emit more puns, and repel anyone within range. But we do have to live with them. Recently we suffered a pun virus that was wiping them out and making Xanth desolate, almost as bad as Mundania.” She paused. “No offense intended.”

  Both Tartan and Tara smiled. “Mundania is dull, as the lady said,” Tara agreed.

  “As who said?”

  “There was a—she called herself a demoness—along the way,” Tara said. “She could hear us but not see us. She had a—a problem getting the right word.”

  “Oh, Metria. She’s notorious. She’s always in search of something interesting. It’s best simply to ignore her.”

  “That’s the one,” Tartan agreed.

  “Here is the background,” Dawn said, returning to business. “The folk of Xanth live fairly ordinary lives, mostly, well, dull, except that every person has a magic talent. Talents seldom repeat, with some notable exceptions, and they range from what we call spot on the wall to Magician caliber, such as being able to change instantly to some other form like a dragon or elf. My magic is of the latter class; I can immediately know all about any living thing I touch.” She smiled, and the room seemed to brighten. “I can’t do that with you, because you are ghostlike in this situation. Seeing and hearing you is the limit of my ability with you. You, being Mundanes, have no magic talents; that is your curse. However, if you came to Xanth physically and lived here for a while, you would gradually develop magic.”

  “Being a ghost feels like magic,” Tartan said.

  “Yes. But it is magic three of my cousins crafted, rather than your own.” Dawn took a breath. “There is another Mundane who has become a nuisance. He is in league with a night colt who carries him through the morning sky so he can spread mischievous stories that Xanth natives are obliged to animate. We don’t like that.”

  “You become actors in little plays?” Tara asked. “I should think that would be fun, if they don’t last long.”

  “Titles like ‘The Princess and the Pee.’” She pronounced the last word so that they could hear the spelling.

  Tartan laughed, but Tara was repelled. “I wouldn’t want to act that out in public.”

  “Neither did my cousin Princess Rhythm. Nor did my sister, Princess Eve, when she was threatened with ‘The Princess and the Grog.’ It was a dangerous drink.”

  “I can imagine,” Tartan said.

  “We fear these stories will only get worse,” Dawn said. “So we want to stop the Ghost Writer. But we can’t touch a ghost, literally. So we need to recruit a ghost for that. Hence the portal.”

  “But what could we do?” Tara asked. “We can’t even touch each other, unless we’re touching in Mundania.”

  “Two things. You might spy on the Ghost Writer by flying into the sky where he is. That may enable you to trace him back to his point of origin.”

  “In Mundania,” Tartan agreed. “But what then?”

  “You, being Mundanes, would be able to approach him physically, there, and encourage him to stop his story raids.”

  “Wouldn’t work,” Tartan said. “A man intent on making princesses pee in public or drink knockout grog isn’t going to listen to reason.”

  “So we fear,” Dawn agreed. “So you will need competent advice. That brings us to the more complicated aspect.”

  “Which is?” Tara asked, intensely intrigued.

  “You will need to adopt Xanth hosts, so you can go about physically in our land, while retaining your ghostly ability to spy.”

  “And?” Tartan asked, equally intrigued.

  “And go to visit the Good Magician, who will have the answer you need.”

  “I think we need to think about this,” Tara said.

  “Of course. You should go home and consider it carefully. You can leave your ghostly presences here to mark your places, and return to them tomorrow if you decide to. If you elect not to participate, they will dissipate in a day and the portal will close. Then we will search for another candidate, elsewhere in Mundania.”

  There was more dialog, but that was the essence. Soon they vacated their ghostly forms and roused themselves in Tara’s apartment.

  “This requires weeks or months of serious thought,” Tartan said.

  “And all we have is a day to decide. It would be crazy to plunge in tomorrow morning.”

  “Absolutely mad,” he agreed. “We have no idea what we’re getting into.”

  She kissed him. “I’m glad we agree.”

  “We’ll have to get unpaid leaves from our jobs, because we don’t know how long it will be.”

  “And stock up on supplies, so we can take proper care of our bodies here.”

  They had of course decided.

  Chapter 4

  Hosts

  �
�I’m so glad to see you back,” Princess Dawn said brightly. “Now let me introduce you to your hosts, the half demons Ted and Monica. They can see and hear you because of a spot spell. That won’t be the case elsewhere.”

  A young man and a young woman appeared, literally; they had not been in the room until that moment. “Hi,” the man said. He was handsome and well constructed with curly brown hair. “I’m Demon Ted. Demented, get it? My mother is the mischievous Demoness Metria. We’ll surely be seeing her along the way.”

  “Metria!” Tartan said. “We met her. You’re really her son? She looked, well, teenage.”

  “Demons look any age they want,” Ted said. “Mom likes to look sexy. But she can be a pain in the posterior, if I do say it myself.”

  “And her trouble with words—is there a reason?”

  “Sure. She got stepped on by a sphinx, long ago, and it fragmented her into three aspects. Metria is the mischievous one with a vocabulary problem. Mentia is slightly crazy, though she often makes more sense than mom. And Woe Betide is a perpetual child of five or so. You can’t use bleeps in her presence, because of the Adult Conspiracy.”

  “The what and the what?”

  “Bleeps are bad words that children shouldn’t hear, so they get bleeped out,” he explained. “And The Adult Conspiracy to Keep Interesting Things from Children. Like bad words or how to summon the stork. We swore never to join it when we grew up, but somehow we did, as all children do when they mature. It’s a nuisance.”

  “And I am DeMonica,” the woman said. She was a dusky beauty with curves where it counted. “As in Demon and Monica, jammed together until they merged, as my parents were when they sent for me. My mother is Nada Naga, original girlfriend of Prince Dolph, Dawn’s mother. He’s still got a bit of a thing for her.”

  “He does,” Dawn agreed evenly. “She liked him but never loved him, and was glad when he married my mother Electra.” She smiled fleetingly. “Monica’s a bit of a tease. They both are. They’ve been up to mischief all their lives. Which is why I thought they could help handle the Ghost Writer; they’ll understand his nature.”

  “Sure do,” Ted agreed. “Princess and the Pee. That’s rich.”

  “Oh?” Monica asked. “How would you like Prince and the Poop?”

  “You pee on me, I’ll poop on you,” Ted said before Dawn’s look silenced him.

  Tartan found all this confusing. He grabbed on to what seemed to count. “You’re to be my host, Demon Ted, and you’re half demon?”

  “Two for two,” Ted agreed.

  “And you’re to be my host, DeMonica?” Tara asked.

  “You’re smart,” Monica said. “You nailed it on the first try.”

  Dawn lifted one eyebrow partway, signaling potential annoyance.

  “Uh, just how does this work?” Tartan asked.

  “Just walk into me and take over. Like riding a horse.”

  “I never rode a horse.”

  “A camel, then. No? A yak? An elephant? A caterpillar?”

  “How about a car?” Tartan asked.

  “We don’t have them in Xanth.”

  “Just walk into him,” Dawn said, not quite showing the verge of exasperation. “No parallels necessary.”

  Tartan wasn’t easy with this, but tried it. He walked into Ted.

  And found himself to be physical, with a complete solid body. “You got it,” Ted said in his ear.

  “I got it,” Tartan agreed, half in wonder.

  “Yes you do,” Dawn said, kissing him on the cheek. The touch made his whole head seem to float. He was physical, all right, and she was some woman.

  “She never kisses me,” Ted complained in his mind.

  “That’s because you’ve got delusions of importance, crazy T,” Dawn said.

  “You didn’t speak aloud,” Tartan said. “How did she hear you?”

  “She was still touching us,” Ted explained. “So she knew what we were saying. Ignore her and she’ll go away.”

  Meanwhile Tara had walked into Monica. “Well now,” she said, inhaling. “This is a better body than my own.”

  She was correct, but Tartan knew better than to say so. “I hope I’ll learn to recognize you in that form.”

  “Monica says that’s no problem. This body can slowly change.”

  As he looked, the sexy woman shifted by stages into the shape of the original Tara. Unfortunately that made her clothing hang somewhat awkwardly.

  “Maybe just the face and hair would suffice,” Tartan suggested. “So that no clothing change is necessary.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Tara said, not entirely pleased. And in two and a half moments—moments seemed to be measurable, here in Xanth—the clothing filled out again, while the head was that of Tara. “Or would you prefer no clothing at all?”

  There was a definite edge. “You’re fine any way you want,” Tartan said quickly. “Maybe we should move on to the mission.” Though the idea of seeing her nude in this host was exciting.

  “Curious,” Ted said in his ear. “I grew up with Monica, and never thought she was sexy. But now through your eyes, I can see that she definitely is.”

  “Your hosts know the route,” Dawn said. “You can get to know each other better as you travel.”

  “We’ll try to,” Tara agreed. “Thank you, Princess Dawn.”

  “Welcome, Tara. We will surely be seeing each other again, in due course.” Then she held up her hand in a pause. “Oh, I may have forgotten to mention this, Ted and Monica: your demonly abilities will be diminished while you serve as hosts. No popping off to other locations, no turning into smoky clouds; you’ll have to walk and be solid. You’ll be essentially human.”

  “Oh bleep!” Ted swore.

  “Sorry about that,” Tartan told him, though actually he was relieved. He had no idea how he would handle popping from one place to another, let alone becoming a cloud of smoke.

  They walked on out of the castle. Tartan was surprised to find a completely different landscape outside. The castle had been in a glade yesterday; now it was on a mountain slope. He could see that Tara was similarly startled.

  “Caprice Castle travels capriciously,” Ted explained. “It is now in a new location.”

  “Foundations and all?”

  “It doesn’t need them. It stabilizes itself.”

  “Monica says we need to get to an enchanted path,” Tara said.

  “Those are safe from dangers,” Ted explained. “Actually we half demons aren’t threatened by much we can’t handle, but yes, an enchanted path is best.”

  “Okay,” Tartan said aloud.

  “This way,” Tara or maybe Monica said, heading out. Monica, most likely, because of the way her hips flirted. She had very nice legs.

  Tara glanced back. “Monica says you’re looking.”

  “Uh, yes,” Tartan said, out of sorts.

  “Good. She says.”

  “Yes, it’s easier to let us do the routine stuff, like walking,” Ted said. “So you can focus on the mission.”

  “As if we have any idea what we’re doing in that respect.”

  “Go for one thing at a time. Right now, that’s safely reaching the Good Magician’s castle.”

  “Here it is,” Tara called. Indeed, there was a nice path with slightly glowing edges. They got on it and walked more readily.

  “Princess Dawn said we should get to know each other while we travel,” Tartan said internally. “Is there something I should know about you?”

  “Nothing important.”

  Tartan wasn’t satisfied with this. “Why did you volunteer for this dull duty?”

  “That’s cutting to the chase. Several reasons. One is that Dawn asked us, and I’ve always had a minor crush on Dawn and her sister Eve, and of course she knows it. Another is that you are eviden
tly to be a main character for this narrative, and we’ve always been incidental characters, so this enables me to seem more important for a while. A third is, well, why did you volunteer?”

  “Because Xanth is an exciting magic world to me, and I want a pretext to get to know it better. I’d also like to have some real adventure in my life, and maybe some romance. The usual. Also, I’d like to do my bit of good, somewhere, somehow, and this seems to be my chance.”

  “That’s it,” Ted agreed. “I knew you could formulate it better than I could. Adventure, romance, and doing good. I’ve never been much for any of those, and this is my chance, maybe.”

  “You don’t have anything going with Monica?”

  Ted laughed. “Her? I told you, we grew up together. She’s like a sister to me, though she’s not related. We’re both half demon, but while I’m the product of two garden variety folk, she’s the daughter of a prince of demons and a naga princess. Out of my class. She’s a great companion, because she’s my age and understands demonly ways, but there’ll never be any romance there.”

  “What is a naga?”

  “A cross between human and serpent. They live mostly underground and fight the goblins. They can assume either form, but their natural form is that of a serpent with a human head.”

  “So Monica is only a quarter human?”

  “That’s right. But since both naga and demons can assume human form, that’s what she normally wears, and of course she makes it look good.”

  “She certainly does!”

  “All shape changers look good in their human forms. It facilitates getting along with humans.”

  “And her motives for this mission are similar to yours?”

  “I’m pretty sure they are. She’s even hotter for romance than I am. Girls are. But here in Xanth, well, we’re crossbreeds. Folk treat us politely, but there’s a prejudice. So we have to do more to get noticed.”

  That did seem to make sense.

  “Oh, there’s a shoe tree,” Tara said. “With some really nice shoes.”

  “Aren’t the ones Monica has on good enough?” Tartan asked.

  She smiled. “You don’t understand women. I’m consulting with Monica right now.” She marched up to the tree and inspected the offerings.