Centaur Aisle x-4

by Piers Anthony

  These things happened; few people seemed to know the distinction, and Dor’s spelling had not been good enough to correct it. But this time there was no sign. He had to generate his own persecution. “Get on with it,” he told the water, still holding the rock.

  “It’s a zombie,” the water said. “A zombie sea serpent.”

  Now Dor understood. Zombies were dead, so it was true there were no living creatures in the moat. But zombies were animate, so there were no inanimate traps either. It made sudden sense-for Dor remembered belatedly that the Zombie Master was still here. When the Zombie Master appeared in the present Xanth, there had been a problem, since Good Magician Humfrey now occupied the castle the Zombie Master had used eight hundred years ago. The one had the claim of prior tenancy, the other the claim of present possession.

  Neither wanted trouble. So the two Magicians had agreed to share the premises until something better was offered. Evidently the Zombie Master had found nothing better. Naturally he helped out with the castle defenses; he was not any more sociable than Humfrey was.

  As it happened, Dor had had experience with zombies. Some of his best friends had been zombies. He still was not too keen on the way they smelled, or on the way they dropped clods of dank glop and maggots wherever they went, but they were not bad creatures their place. More important, they were hardly smarter than the inanimate objects Dor’s magic animated, because their brains were literally rotten. He was confident he could fool a zombie.

  “There should be a boat around here,” he said to the rock. “Where is it?”

  “Over there, chump,” the rock said. “Now will you let me go?”

  Dor saw the boat. Satisfied, he let the rock go. It dropped with a satisfied thunk to the ground and remained there in blissful repose.

  Rocks were basically lazy; they hardly ever did anything on their own.

  He went to the boat. It was a dingy canoe with a battered double paddle-exactly what he needed. Dor walked away.

  “Hey, aren’t you going to use me?” the canoe demanded. Objects weren’t supposed to talk unless Dor willed it, but they tended to get sloppy about the rules.

  “No. I’m going to fetch my friend the zombie.”

  “Oh, sure. We see lots of that kind here. They make good fertilizer.”

  When Dor was out of sight of the castle, he stopped and stooped to grub in the dirt. He smeared dirt on his face and arms and over his royal robes. Naturally he should have changed to more suitable clothing for this trip, but of course that was part of his overall carelessness. He had not planned ahead at all.

  Next, he found a sharp stone and used it to rip into the cloth of the robe. “ooooh, ouch!” the robe groaned. “What did I ever do to you that you should slay me thus?” But the sharp stone only chuckled. It liked ripping off clothing.

  Before long, Dor was a tattered figure of a man. He scooped several double handfuls of dirt into a fold of his robe and walked back to the castle. As he approached the moat, he shuffled in the manner of a zombie and dropped small clods to the ground.

  He got into the canoe. “oooooh,” he groaned soulfully. “I hope I can make it home before I go all to pieces.” And he used the paddle to push off into the scum of the moat. He was deliberately clumsy, though in truth he was not well experienced with canoes and would have been awkward anyway. The water slurped and sucked as the paddle dipped into the ooze.

  Now there was a stirring as the zombie sea monster moved. The slime parted and the huge, mottled, decaying head lifted clear of the viscous surface. Globules of slush dangled and dripped, plopping sickly into the water. The huge, sloppy mouth peeled open, revealing scores of loose brownish teeth set in a jaw almost stripped of flesh.

  “Hi, friend!” Dor called windily. “Can you direct me to my Master?” As he spoke he slipped forth a moist clod of dirt, so that it looked as if his lip were falling off.

  The monster hesitated. Its grotesque head swung close to inspect Dor.

  Its left eyeball came loose, dangling by a gleaming string.

  “Sooo?” the zombie inquired, its breath redolent of spoiled Limburger.

  Dor waved his arms, losing some more earth. One choice clod struck the monster on the nose with a dank squish. He was sorry he hadn’t been able to find anything really putrid, like a maggoty rat corpse, but that was the luck of the game. “Whe-eere?” he demanded, every bit as stupid as a zombie. The big advantage to playing stupid was that it didn’t take much intelligence. He knocked at his right ear and let fall another clod, as if a piece of his brain had been dislodged.

  At last the serpent caught on. “Theeere,” it breathed, spraying out several loose fragments of teeth and bone with the effort. Its snout seemed to be afflicted with advanced gangrene, and the remaining teeth were crumbling around their canes.

  “Thaaanks,” Dor replied, dropping another clod into the water.

  He took up the paddle again and scraped on toward the castle.

  “Hope I don’t fall apart before I get there.”

  He had won the first round. The sea serpent was in poor condition, as most zombies were, but could have capsized the boat and drowned Dor in slime without difficulty. Had its brain been a better grade of pudding, it might have done just that. But zombies did not attack their own kind; that was too messy. Even the completeness of Dor’s own body, conspicuously healthy under the tatters and dirt, did not count too much against him; fresh zombies were complete. It took time for most of the flesh to fall off.

  He docked at the inner edge of the moat, where the castle wall emerged at its steep angle. Now Dor splashed a hole in the slime and cleared a section of halfway clean water he could wash in. His zombie ploy was over; he didn’t want to enter the castle in this condition.

  The rents in his robe could not be repaired, but at least he would look human.

  He got out of the canoe, but found it hard to stand on the sloping wall. The surface was not brick or stone, as he had supposed, but glass-solid, translucent, seamless, cold hard glass. A mountain of glass.

  Glass. Now he grasped the nature of the second challenge. The slope became steeper near the top, until the wall was almost vertical.

  How could he scale that?

  Dor tried. He placed each foot carefully and found that he could stand and walk, slowly. He had to remain straight upright, for the moment he leaned into the mountain, as was his natural inclination, his feet began to skid. He could quickly get dumped into the awful moat if he let his feet slide out from under him. Fortunately, there was no wind; he could stand erect and step slowly up.

  He noticed, however, a small cloud in the sky. As he watched, it seemed to extend rapidly. oops-that surely meant rain, which would wash him out. That was surely no coincidence; probably the touch of his foot on the glass had summoned the storm. He had to hike to the top of the mountain before the cloud arrived. Well, the distance was not far. With care and good foot-friction, he could probably make it.

  Then something came galloping around the mountain. It had four legs, a tail, and a funny horned head. But its chief oddity It was heading right for Dor, those horns lowered. The creature was no taller than he, and the horns were small and blunt, but the body was far more massive. Dor had to jump to get out of its way and lost his footing and slid down to the brink of the water before stopping, his nose barely clear of the slime.

  He stabilized himself while the zombie sea serpent watched with a certain aloof amusement. Dor wiped a dangle of goo from his nose.

  “What was that?”

  “The Sidehill Hoofer,” the glass responded.

  “Something funny about that creature. The legs-“

  “Oh, sure,” the glass said. “The two left legs are shorter than the two rights. That’s so she can charge around the mountain in comfort. It’s natural selection; lots of the better mountains have them.”

  Shorter left legs-so the Hoofer could stay level while running on a slope. It did make a certain kind of sense. “How come I never heard of this
creature before?” Dor demanded.

  “Probably because your education has been neglected.”

  “I was tutored by a centaur!” Dor said defensively.

  “The centaur surely told you of the Sidehill Hoofer,” the glass agreed. “But did you listen? Education is only as good as the mind of the student.”

  “What are you implying?” Dor demanded.

  “I rather thought you were too dense to grasp the implication,” the glass said with smug condescension.

  “You’re a mountain of glass!” Dor said irately. “How bright can you be?”

  “Thought you’d never ask. I’m the brightest thing on the horizon.”

  And a beam of sunlight slanted down, avoiding the looming cloud, causing the mountain to glow brilliantly.

  Dor had walked into that one! With the lifetime experience he had had, he still fell into the trap of arguing with the inanimate. He changed the subject. “Is the Hoofer dangerous?”

  “Not if you have the wit to stay out of her way.”

  “I’ve got to climb to the top of this slope.”

  “Extraordinary fortune,” the glass said brightly.

  “What’s that?”

  The glass sighed. “I keep forgetting that animate creatures cannot match my brilliance. Recognizing your handicap, I shall translate: Lots of luck.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Dor said sarcastically.

  “That’s irony,” the glass said.

  “Irony-not glassy?”

  “Spare me your feeble efforts at repartee. If you do not get moving before that cloud arrives, you will be washed right into the sea.”

  “That’s an exaggeration,” Dor grumped, starting back up the slope.

  “That is hyperbole.” The glass began humming a tinkly little tune.

  Dor made better progress than before. He was getting the hang of it. He had to put his feet down flat and softly and will himself not to skid. But the Sidehill Hoofer came charging around the cone again, spooking him with a loud “Moooo!” and Dor slid down the slope again. He was no more partial to this bovine than he had been to Irene’s sea cow.

  The cloud was definitely closer, and playful little gusts of wind emanated from it. “Oh, get lost!” Dor told it.

  “Fat chance!” it blew back, ruining his hair with an aggravating intimacy.

  Dor went up the slope a third time, by dint of incautious effort getting beyond the slight gouge in the mountain worn by the Hoofer’s pounding hooves. The glass hummed louder and finally broke into song: “She’ll be coming ‘round the mountain when she comes.”

  Sure enough, the Sidehill Hoofer came galumphing around again, spied Dor, and corrected course slightly to charge straight at him.

  Her uneven legs pounded evenly on the incline, so that her two short horns were dead-level as they bore on him. Blunt those horns might be, but they were formidable enough in this situation.

  Oh, no! It was no accident that brought this creature around so inconveniently; she was trying to prevent him from passing. Naturally this was the third barrier to his entry into the castle.

  Dor jumped out of the way and slid down to the brink again, disgruntled.

  The Hoofer thundered by, disappearing around the curve.

  Dor wiped another dribble of slime off his nose. He wasn’t making much progress! This was annoying, because he had passed his first challenge without difficulty and faced only two comparatively simple and harmless ones-to avoid the Hoofer and scale the slippery slope.

  Either alone was feasible; together they baffled him. Now he had perhaps ten minutes to accomplish both before the ornery raincloud wiped him out. Already the forward edge of the cloud had cut off the sunbeam.

  Dor didn’t like leaning on his magic talent too much, but decided that pride was a foolish baggage at this point. He had to get inside the castle any way he could and get Good Magician Humfrey’s advice-for the good of Xanth.

  “Glass, since you’re so bright-tell me how I can get past the Hoofer and up your slope before the cloud strikes.”

  “Don’t tell him!” the cloud thundered.

  “Well, I’m not so bright any more, now that I’m in your shadow,” the glass demurred. This was true; the sparkle was gone, and the mountain was a somber dark mass, like the quiet depths of an ocean.

  “But you remember the answer,” Dor said. “Give.”

  “Take!” the storm blew.

  “I’ve got to tell him,” the glass said dolefully. “Though I’d much rather watch him fall on his as-“

  “Watch your language!” Dor snapped.

  “-sinine posterior again and dip his nose in the gunk. But he’s a Magician and I’m only silicon.” The glass sighed. “Very well. Cogitate and masticate on-“

  “What?”

  “Give me strength to survive the monumental idiocy of the animate,” the glass prayed obnoxiously. The cloud had let a gleam of sunlight through, making it bright again. “Think and chew on this: who can most readily mount the slope?”

  “The Sidehill Hoofer,” Dor said. “But that’s no help. I’m the one who-“

  “Think and chew,” the glass repeated with emphasis.

  That reminded Dor of the way King Trent had stressed the importance of honesty, and that annoyed Dor. This mountain was no King! What business did it have making oblique allusions, as if Dor were a dunce who needed special handling? “Look, glass-I asked you a direct question-“

  “An indirect question, technically. My response reflects your approach. But surely you realize that I am under interdiction by another Magician.”

  Dor didn’t know what “interdiction” meant, but could guess.

  Humfrey had told the mountain not to blab the secret. But the cloud was looming close and large and dense with water, and he was impatient.

  “Hey, I insist that you tell me.”

  “’That is of course the answer.”

  Dor paused. This too-bright object was making a fool of him. He reviewed his words. Hey, I insist that you tell me-how was that the answer? Yet it seemed it was.

  “You’ll never get it,” the glass said disparagingly.

  “Hey, now-“ Dor started angrily.

  “There you go again.”

  Hey, now?

  Suddenly Dor got it. Hey-spelled H A Y. “Hay-now!” he cried.

  It was a homonym.

  The zombie sea serpent, taking that for an order, swam across the moat and reached out to take a clumsy bite of dry grass from the outer bank. It brought this back to Dor.

  “Thank you, serpent,” Dor said, accepting the armful. He shook out the residual slime and dottle, and several more of the monster’s teeth bounced on the glass. Zombies had an inexhaustible supply of fragments of themselves to drop; it was part of their nature.

  He started up the slope yet again, but this time he wanted to meet the Hoofer. He stood there with his hay, facing her.

  The creature came ’round the mountain-and paused as she sighted him. Her ears perked forward and her tongue ran over her lips.

  “That’s right, you beautiful bovine,” Dor said. “This hay is for you. Think and chew-to chew on while you think. I noticed that there isn’t much forage along your beat. You must use a lot of energy, pounding around, and work up quite an appetite. Surely you could use a lunch break before the rain spoils everything.”

  The Hoofer’s eyes became larger. They were beautiful and soulful.

  Her square nose quivered as she sniffed in the odor of the fresh hay.

  Her pink tongue ran around her muzzle again. She was certainly hungry.

  “Of course, if I set it down, it’ll just slide down the slope and into the moat,” Dor said reasonably. “I guess you could fish it out, but slime-coated hay doesn’t taste very good, does it?” As he spoke, a stronger gust of wind from the eager storm swirled through, tugging at the hay and waiting a few strands down to the goo of the moat.

  The Hoofer fidgeted with alarm.

  “Tell you what I’ll do,” Dor
said. “I’ll just get on your back and carry the hay, and feed it to you while you walk. That way you’ll be able to eat it all, without losing a wisp, and no one can accuse you of being derelict in your duty. You’ll be covering your beat all the time.”

  “Mmmooo,” the Hoofer agreed, salivating. She might not be bright, but she knew a good deal when she smelled it.

  Dor approached, gave her a good mouthful of hay, then scrambled onto her back from the uphill side. Is left foot dragged, while his right foot dangled well above the surface of the glass, but he was sitting level. He leaned forward and extended his left hand to present another morsel of hay.

  The Hoofer took it and chewed blissfully, walking forward. When she finished masticating that-Dor realized he had learned a new word, though he would never be able to spell it-he gave her more, again left-handedly. She had to turn her head left to take it, and her travel veered slightly that way, uphill.

  They continued in this manner for a full circuit of the mountain.

  Sure enough, they were higher on the slope than they had been. His constant presentation of hay on the upward side caused the Hoofer to spiral upward. That was where he wanted to go.

  The storm was almost upon them. It had not been fooled! Dor leaned forward, squeezing with his knees, and the Hoofer unconsciously speeded up. The second circuit of the mountain was much faster, because of the accelerated pace and the narrower diameter at this elevation, and the third was faster yet. But Dor’s luck, already overextended, was running out. His supply of hay, he saw, would not last until the top-and the rain would catch them anyway.

  He made a bold try to turn liabilities into assets. “I’m running out of hay-and the storm is coming,” he told the Hoofer. “You’d better set me down before it gets slippery; no sense having my weight burden you.”

  She hesitated, thinking this through. Dor helped the process.

  “Anywhere will do. You don’t have to take me all the way to the base of the mountain. Maybe there at the top, where I’ll be out of your way; it’s certainly closer.”