Air Apparent

by Piers Anthony

  “B-O-A-T-S-W-A-I-N,” Debra spelled.

  “Oh, you got me,” Higgs said. “I can’t touch you. Bleep.”

  “I didn’t know you could spell that well,” Wira said.

  “I couldn’t, until I had to,” Debra said.

  They got on his boat, discovering that there was room for them all including the centaur. Higgs saw to the rigging and got it in motion. It set sail across the lake toward the castle.

  “Now if you had spelled it B-O-S-O-N,” Higgs said conversationally, “it would really have been interesting. No one has ever perceived me in that guise. I don’t just sail my ship, I hold the universe together.”

  “How can you do that, if no one can see you?” Debra asked.

  “They don’t need to perceive me. My power is there regardless. I bring mass to everything that exists.”

  Wira did not believe that, but decided not to challenge it. Folk were entitled to their harmless delusions. She was more interested in reaching the castle and learning what the air folk had to say to her.

  The motor sputtered. “Oops, I’m low on petrol,” Higgs said. “I’ll summon the bird.” He poked a finger into the air.

  “A bird?” Wira asked.

  “A petrel.”

  In a moment a large aquatic bird swooped low. It had a nose shaped like a tube. It put this tube to the boat’s motor and regurgitated a bellyful of liquid. Then it flew away.

  The motor resumed full power. Its petrol had been restored.

  “I thought this was a sailboat,” Debra said.

  “It was, until it ran out of petrol.”

  The centaur let that pass. It seemed they did not properly understand this airy realm.

  Higgs brought the boat to dock at the castle. There was a welcoming party there consisting of three drummers. They had no drums; they merely beat the air, and the booming of the drums sounded. “Air drumming,” Higgs explained. “We have a whole air orchestra, but the others couldn’t make it on such short notice.”

  They got off the boat and followed the winding path to the castle. “I’m feeling faint,” Ilene said. “Things are too strange here for me.”

  “I’ll summon a medic,” Higgs said. “Though normally they are reserved for older citizens.” He put his hand up, and in a moment a man in a hospital uniform flew in with a balloon. He brought this to the girl.

  “Whatever this is, I don’t need it,” Ilene said quickly.

  But the medic put the stem of the balloon to her mouth and let it go. Hot air whooshed out of the balloon and into Ilene, inflating her. Then the medic flew away, his job done.

  “Are you all right?” Wira asked, alarmed.

  Ilene looked surprised as she deflated. “Yes, I’m fine. That medic air took good care of me.”

  “Ouch!” Debra exclaimed.

  Ilene glanced at her. “Something is wrong?”

  “I am discovering that centaurs don’t much like egregious puns.”

  “Was there a pun?”

  “Never mind. You’d have to be Mundane.”

  “Ugh!”

  “Exactly.”

  Higgs opened a door at the end of the path. “This is as far as I go. Enter; someone will guide you inside.”

  They passed through the doorway. Inside was a young man. “Hello, travelers. I am Airon. I can change into the wind.”

  “You must be a blowhard,” Nimbus said brightly.

  “Glow!” Ilene said, appalled.

  “He means you must be very effective when ships are becalmed,” Wira said. “They would really need your help.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Airon agreed, deciding to be complimented.

  Wira introduced herself and the others. Unfortunately she forgot to fudge Debra’s name, and the man eyed her bosom suggestively.

  “We need to see the king,” Wira said. “We must not keep him waiting.”

  “Oh,” Airon said, as if he had lost track of that. “I suppose not.”

  Wira was coming to appreciate how annoying Debra’s curse could be. Would the man actually have tried to remove her bra by hand, if not intercepted?

  Then Airon showed them to the royal assembly room. There were the King and Queen of Air awaiting them. They looked quite royal in their robes and crowns.

  Airon introduced them to the king. And of course the Air King eyed Debra’s well-filled blouse. “I believe centaurs normally don’t wear clothing,” he remarked. “We should not enforce our customs on you. Suppose I help you remove—”

  “By no means,” the Air Queen snapped. “Our customs are inviolate.”

  The Air King looked disappointed, but dared not argue with his wife on a social matter. She was the arbiter of custom.

  Then Wira summarized their situation, concluding with the discovery of the air plain, thanks to Ilene’s talent, and their ascent to the realm of the air folk. “We may be bothering you for nothing,” she concluded. “It was just a feeling by the words ‘air plain’ whose relevance I don’t know. We found the plain, but I still don’t know how it relates to my quest for my lost husband.”

  “Fortunately we do have a vague notion,” the Air King said. “Things do tend to be somewhat diffuse for us, because of our nature, but this is certain: your mystery relates to the air in some manner.”

  “Or perhaps an heir,” the Air Queen said. “The detail is obscure, but the relevance is plain: you must deal with one or the other.”

  “Or both,” the Air King said. “Only then will you achieve your purpose.”

  “Thank you your majesties,” Wira said, thinking of Nimbus, the heir to the Demon’s realm. It did seem to be falling into place, though she did not understand how.

  “We’re sorry to be so foggy,” the Air Queen said.

  “Now for the fun,” the Air King said. “We’ll have a feast and a ball.”

  The Air Queen rolled her eyes. “He does love parties,” she murmured. “This will run late; you will need accommodations for the night.”

  “But we have to move on,” Wira protested.

  “Tomorrow,” the Air King said decisively. “You can’t leave tonight; the bosun has departed and won’t return until morning.”

  “We shouldn’t argue with a king,” Debra murmured. Evidently she liked the idea of a big meal and party. So did Ilene and Nimbus.

  Actually so did Wira herself. She had not ever attended a ball, and here, where she could actually see things, seemed ideal. She could enjoy the life of sighted folk, for one evening.

  The banquet was fabulous. The Royal Chef brought forth every imaginable dish and several unimaginable ones. Ilene and Nimbus took turns swallowing huge gulps of boot rear, seeing who could get the biggest kick, and gorging on patty cake and eye scream. They were soon patting and screaming with gusto. Wira and Debra, more cautious, nevertheless ate more than was probably good for them.

  Then Debra finished with some tap water—and broke into a four-footed tap dance routine. “Oops—I missed the pun,” she said, embarrassed.

  “But you do a very nice dance,” Wira reassured her. Indeed, Ilene and Nimbus paused to watch, then sipped some tap water themselves, joining her.

  In the evening was the ball, which was of course held in a room shaped like a huge ball. The royal personnel helped garb them all in elaborate gowns, even the boy: his resembled the king’s robe, and he plainly loved it. The Queen took in upon herself to teach him ballroom dancing, and she was a good teacher and he a good learner. Soon they where whirling around the ballroom in style.

  The King danced first with Wira. In his arms she discovered that she never made a misstep, though she had seldom danced before; he guided her perfectly. “I know your nature,” he murmured. “Only those perfectly pure of heart can see us or our realm.”

  “I thought it was because you folk made yourselves apparent,” Wira said, foolishly flattered.

  “We are doing so. But you saw us first. Then we knew we wanted to get to know you better. We facilitated it for you and your associates. You
are surely Xanth’s nicest person.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she protested, blushing.

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” he agreed. “But it is nevertheless true.” He glanced around. “And the boy glows. That is significant. He must be protected.”

  “You recognize him?”

  “You don’t?”

  “I feel he is safer anonymous.”

  “Surely so,” the King agreed, giving her a friendly squeeze. He was a most personable man.

  Then he danced with Ilene, who was utterly thrilled. And finally Debra, embracing her human portion carefully. Wira suspected he still wanted to remove her bra, but the Queen was alert and all he could do was touch its back strap through the material of her gown. She had never imagined a man dancing with a centaur, but it turned out to be possible and even graceful in its fashion.

  All too soon the evening was over and they were conducted to their suite. “Oh, that was wonderful!” Ilene exclaimed. “I never thought I’d get to dance with a king! Not until I was grown up, anyway.” She seemed to be careening between girl and woman, neither fitting perfectly. When she was with Nimbus she was more like a girl, but when she danced with the king she had been much like a woman.

  “I danced with the Queen,” Nimbus said proudly.

  They took turns disrobing, washing, and donning the fancy pajamas the castle provided. “I think I could get to like the royal life,” Debra confessed. “I was almost tempted to let the King take off my—” She saw the boy and stifled it. “He was so nice.”

  They were ready for sleep, but it turned out that none of them were able to relax yet. The events of the day had been too exciting. What were they to do?

  “Have you suffered any more of that—awareness?” Wira asked Debra privately.

  “On and off. Sometimes my—front—positively itches. There’s somewhere I should go, something I should do. But I don’t know what. Then it passes. It seems to be random.”

  “It’s almost as if your curse wants you to put on your bra, so as to make men want to take it off.”

  “Almost,” Debra agreed. “One man, anyway.”

  “Your prospective boyfriend?”

  “I’m only thirteen!” Wira could feel her blush.

  “Teens can have boyfriends. They just have to stay clear of the Adult Conspiracy restrictions.”

  “Would taking off my bra be allowed for a boyfriend?”

  “Absolutely not.” Then Wira reconsidered. “But you are a centaur now. They don’t practice the Conspiracy among themselves; it’s largely a human convention.”

  “But I’m human, whatever my present form.”

  “Say, you’re turning a pretty shade of red,” Nimbus said, noticing. “I didn’t know centaurs could do that.”

  It was time to distract him. “Maybe we could play a game,” Wira suggested. “To pass the time until we get sleepy. Maybe charades.”

  “I know!” Nimbus said. “Let’s play my father’s favorite game. Nimbi.”

  He wasn’t aware how close he had come to giving away his identity. Nimby played nimbi?

  “Let’s,” Ilene agreed. “How is it played?”

  “Matchsticks,” he said. “Lay them in rows. Try to pick up the last one.”

  “But we have no matchsticks,” Debra said.

  “Sure we do,” the boy said. “There on the mantelpiece.”

  Debra tried to pick one up, but her hand passed through it. “Those are illusion, part of the decoration.”

  “No problem,” Ilene said. She went to pick them up, and they were real.

  The boy laid out fifty matches in five rows of ten each. He and Ilene played the first game. The rule was that a player could pick up any number of sticks in a row or column, as long as there were no gaps in it.

  The boy took the top two in the third column. That left the top two rows with two matches and seven matches, and the bottom three with ten matches. Ilene took the whole third row out. That left a gap in the middle of each column. They kept playing until there were only five matches left, two, two, and one. It was Nimbus’s turn. “I win,” he said, taking the single match.

  Ilene studied the situation. “If I take a set of two, you will take the other set and win. So I’ll take one match.”

  “I still win,” he said, and took a single match from the other set. That left two isolated matches. She took one, and he took the last, winning.

  “If you had seen that coming,” Debra said, “you could have set up a winning combination.”

  “He was thinking ahead of me,” Ilene said ruefully.

  “I learned from Dad,” Nimbus said brightly. “He always wins.”

  Debra played a game against Nimbus, and lost. Then Wira did, and lost. Then they tried a game with four players, and that messed up the boy’s concentration, and Ilene won. They played several more games, and each person won at least once.

  By that time they were tired and relaxed enough to sleep. Wira lay down on one bed, while Ilene lay on another with Nimbus, who did not want to be alone. Debra slept standing on her four feet; that was more comfortable for her.

  Yes, it had been a fine day, and she had learned things that were worthwhile. She had also added the boy Nimbus to her party, and she suspected that he was the reason for the clue. He must play some part in accomplishing her mission. He was after all the son of Demon Xanth. That was a phenomenal development.

  But she hardly seemed closer to finding Hugo. That quietly pained her.

  7

  GOBLINS

  At least now we have some clues,” Happy Bottom said. “They may not lead anywhere, but they’re better than nothing.”

  “They’ll help us find Father,” Fray said hopefully.

  “Surely so,” Happy agreed. But Fray could tell that her mother was humoring her, because she was only nine years old and couldn’t handle the ugly realities of adulthood.

  “What’s the first clue, Mother?”

  “Peeve.”

  Oops. What had she done now? She had to try to keep her mother in a good mood, because Happy Bottom could blow up into a terrible storm in hardly more than two and a half moments. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

  “Not you, dear. The peeve is a thing, not a mood. It’s a bird. Somehow it relates.”

  “A bird?” Fray liked birds; they flew through her substance and sometimes she played with them, tossing them about.

  “A nasty bird. It stays at the Golem residence.”

  “The Golems!” Fray repeated. “Grundy Golem—isn’t he the one who insults us as we float by, so we try to tag him with lightning, but he always ducks inside the house and escapes?”

  “The same. As peevish as the bird. Fortunately his wife Rapunzel Elf is very nice; maybe we can talk to her.”

  “Rapunzel! Isn’t she the one who sits out on the bank and lets her long hair waft out to dry in the wind? I like her.”

  “Then you may talk to her. Maybe she will know why the peeve is a clue.”

  “Yes! She will help if she can.”

  “Fortunately the wind is right, so we can float there now.”

  “Goody!”

  They diffused into their cloud forms and floated up into the sky. Fray always loved floating; there were so many things to see as she drifted over the Land of Xanth, and the warm air currents were comfortable. The terrain was like a tapestry, with forests and farms and hills and dales. Each had its own air currents and smells. The landscape was endlessly interesting.

  They passed over a lake. There were waves on it, and these intrigued her. “Who it is waving at, Mother?” she asked in gaseous cloud talk.

  Happy seemed amused. “At you, dear. Maybe it wants you to wet on it.”

  “Oh, I will!” Fray focused her energy and squeezed out a nice wetting before she floated away from the lake. She hoped the lake appreciated her effort.

  “And there is a parade,” Happy said.

  “Oh, I know what to do with that!” Fray exclaimed. “Father taught me.
”

  “He taught you well,” Happy agreed.

  They focused, and as they floated over, they rained on the parade. The odd thing was that the folk below did not seem thrilled. Didn’t they know that a parade was a summons for rain? Some folk just didn’t appreciate the favors clouds did them.

  In due course they came to the Golem residence. Now they condensed to their solid forms, because solid folk had trouble understanding normal cloud talk. As solid woman and solid girl, they went to the solid door and knocked. “Remember, we must try to get along with the disagreeable golem and bird,” Happy cautioned her.

  “I’ll try,” Fray promised, adding her knock. It was funny the way a solid banging into a solid made a noise.

  “It’s unlocked, airhead!” a voice called from inside.

  Happy opened the door. There on a perch perched the peeve: a small green bird with a sour expression on its beak. “I am Hurricane Gladys,” Happy said. “You must be the pet peeve.”

  “What’s it to you, soggy bottom?” the bird demanded peevishly.

  “And this is my daughter Fray. Where is Rapunzel?”

  The bird eyed Fray. “Fray—does that mean a good fight? You must be a little terror.”

  “Thank you,” Fray said, flattered.

  “Are you too dull to know an insult when you hear it?”

  “Yes,” Fray agreed.

  The bird, discommoded for some reason, turned back to Happy. “Rapunzel and Grundy are out visiting their daughter Surprise and granddaughter Prize. I am holding the fort. What the bleep do you want?”

  “Don’t curse in front of the child,” Happy snapped.

  “It got bleeped out, prude. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “We’re looking for my father, Fracto,” Fray said. “He disappeared, but Wira gave us some clues where to look for him. One clue is you.”

  The bird was flattered, and for the moment unable to formulate a worthwhile insult. “I’m a clue? I’m clueless.”

  “We don’t know what it means,” Fray said. “But you must know.”

  “How the bleep—uh, bloop—should I know?” the peeve demanded.

  “Because you must be Xanth’s smartest bird.”