“Hey, Dor-what’s keeping you?” Irene called from halfway up.
“I’m on my way,” he answered, glancing up. But as he did, several larger chunks of rock became dislodged, perhaps by the sound of their voices, and rattled down. Dor stood chest-deep in the water, shielding his head with his arms.
“Are you all right?” she called.
“Just stop yelling!” he yelled. “It’s collapsing the passage!” And he shielded his head again from the falling rocks. This was hellish!
“Oh,” she said faintly, and was quiet.
Another tentacle had taken hold during this distraction. The weed was getting bolder despite its losses. Dor sliced it away, then once more began his climb. But now ichor from the monster was on his hands, making his hold treacherous. He tried to rinse off his hands, but the stuff was all through the water. With his extra weight, he could not make it.
Dor stood there, fending off tentacles, while Irene scrambled to the surface. “What am I going to do?” he asked, frustrated.
“Ditch the coins, idiot,” the wall said.
“But I might need them,” Dor protested, unwilling to give up the treasure.
“Men are such fools about us,” a coin said from his pocket. “This fool will die for us-and we have no value in Xanth.”
It did make Dor wonder. Why was he burdening himself with this junk? Wealth that was meaningless, and a magic salve that was cursed. He could not answer-yet neither could he relinquish the treasure. Just as the kraken was losing tentacles by anchoring them to his body, he was in danger of losing his life by anchoring it to wealth-and he was no smarter about it than was the weed.
Then a tentacle dangled down from above. Dor shied away; had the weed found another avenue of attack? He whipped up his sword; in air it was far more effective. “You can’t nab me that way, greedyweedy!” he said.
“Hey, watch your language,” the tentacle protested. “I’m a rope.”
Dor was startled. “Rope? What for?”
“To pull you up, dumbbell,” it said. “What do you think a rescue rope is for?”
A rescue rope! “Are you anchored?”
“Of course I’m anchored!” it said indignantly. “Think I don’t know my business? Tie me about you and I’ll rescue you from this foul hole.”
Dor did so, and soon he was on his way, treasure and all. “Aw, you lucked out,” the coin in his pocket said.
“What do you care?”
“Wealth destroys men. It is our rite of passage: destroy a man. We were about to destroy you, and you escaped through no merit of your own.”
“Well, I’m taking you with me, so you’ll have another chance.”
“There is that,” the coin agreed, brightening.
Soon Dor emerged from the hole. Chet and Smash were hauling on the rope, drawing him up, while Grundy called directions so that no snag occurred. “What were you doing down there?” Irene demanded. “I thought you’d never come up!”
“I had some trouble with the kraken,” Dor said, showing off a fragment of tentacle that remained hooked to his leg.
It was now late afternoon. “Any danger here?” Dor asked the ground.
“There’s a nest of wyverns on the south beach of this island,” the ground replied. “But they hunt only by day. It’s quite a nest, though.”
“So If we camp here at the north end we’ll be safe?”
“Should be,” the ground agreed grudgingly.
“If the wyverns hunt by day, maybe we should trek on past them tonight,” Irene said.
Smash smiled. “We make trek, me wring neck,” he said, his brute mitts suggesting what he would do to an unfortunate wyvern. The ogre seemed larger now, taller and more massive than he had been, and Dor realized that he probably was larger; ogres put on growth rapidly in their teen years.
But Dor was too tired to do it. “I’ve got to rest,” he said.
Irene was unexpectedly solicitous. “Of course you do. You stood rearguard, fighting off the kraken, while we escaped. I’ll bet you wouldn’t have made it out at all if Chet hadn’t found that vine-rope.”
Dor didn’t want to admit that the weight of the gold had prevented him from climbing as he should have done. “Guess I just got tired,” he said.
“The fool insisted on bringing us gold coins along,” the coin blabbed loudly from his pocket.
Irene frowned. “You brought the coins? We don’t need them, and they’re awful heavy.”
Dor sat down heavily on the beach, the coins jangling. “I know.”
“What about the diamonds?”
“Them, too,” he said, patting the other pocket, though he wasn’t sure which pocket he had put them in.
“I do like diamonds,” she said. “I regard them as friends.” She helped him get his jacket off, then his wet shirt. He had avoided the Kingly robes for this trip, but his garden-variety clothing seemed hardly better now. “Dor! Your arms are all scraped!”
“That’s the work of the kraken,” Grundy said matter-of-factly. “It hooked his limbs and dragged him under. I had to carve it with diamonds to make it let go.”
“You didn’t tell me it was that bad!” she exclaimed to Dor. “Krakens are dangerous up close!”
“You were busy making the escape,” Dor said. Now the abrasions on his arms and legs were stinging.
“Get the rest of this clothing off,” she said, working at it herself. “Grundy, go find some healing elixir; we forgot to bring any, but a number of plants manufacture it.”
Grundy went into the forest. “Any of you plants have healing juice?” he called.
Dor was now too tired to resist. Irene tugged at his trousers. Then she paused. “Oh, my-I forgot about that,” she said.
“What?” Dor asked, not sure how embarrassed he should be.
“I’m certainly glad you brought that along!” she said. “Hey, Chet -look at this!”
“The centaur came over and looked. “The salve!” he said. “Yes, that could be quite useful.”
Dor relaxed. For a moment he had thought-but of course she had been talking about the salve.
Soon Irene had him stripped. “Your skin’s abraded all over!” she scolded. “It’s a wonder you didn’t faint down there!”
“Guess I’ll do it now,” Dor said, and did.
Dor woke fairly well refreshed. Evidently Grundy had located a suitable balm, for the scraped skin was largely healed. His head was pillowed on something soft; after a moment he realized it was Irene’s lap. Irene was asleep with her back against an ash tree, and a fine coating of ashes now powdered her hair. She was lovely in that unconscious pose.
He seemed to be wearing new clothing, too. They must have located a flannel plant, or maybe Irene had grown one from seed. As he considered that, he heard a faint bleat in the distance and was sure; newly shorn flannel plants did protest for a while. He decided not to dwell on how she might have measured or fitted him for the clothing she had made. Obviously she was not entirely naive about such things. In fact, Irene was shaping up as a pretty competent girl. Dor sat up. Immediately Irene woke. “Well, someone had to keep you from thrashing about in the sand until you healed,” she said, embarrassed.
He had liked her better without the explanation. “Thank you. I’m better now.”
Chet and Smash had gathered red and blue berries from colorberry bushes and tapped a winekeg tree for liquid. They got pleasantly high on breakfast while they discussed the exigencies of the day. “I don’t think we had better try to walk by that wyverns’ nest,” Chet said. “But our most feasible alternative carries a penalty.”
“The curse,” Grundy said.
“Beware the air,” Smash agreed.
Dor scratched his head. “What are you talking about?”
“The salve,” Chet explained. “To walk on clouds.”
“I don’t want to perform some dastardly deed,” Irene said. “But I don’t want to get chewed up by wyverns either.”
Now a shape loomed on
the ocean horizon. “What’s that?” Dor asked the sea.
“A big sea serpent,” the water answered. “She comes by here every morning to clean off the beaches.”
Now Dor noticed how clean this beach was. The sand gleamed as whitely as bone.
“I think our decision has just been made for us,” Chet said. “Let’s risk the curse and walk the vapors.”
“But the clouds are way out of reach,” Irene protested.
“Light a fire,” Grundy said. “We can walk up the smoke.”
“That ought to work,” Chet agreed.
Hurriedly they gathered dry wood from the interior of the island while Irene grew a flame-vine. Soon the vine was blazing, and they set the wood about it, forming a bonfire. Several fine bons puffed into the sky, looking like burning bones; then smoke billowed up, roiling its way slantwise to the west. It seemed thick enough; but was it high enough?
The sea monster was looming close, attracted by the fire. “Let’s move it!” Grundy cried. “Where’s the salve?”
Dor produced the salve, and the golem smeared it on his little feet.
Then he made a running leap for the smoke-and flipped over and rolled on the ground. “Lift me up to the top of it,” he cried, unhurt. “I need to get it firmly under me, I think.”
Smash lifted him up. Yes, the ogre was definitely taller than he had been at the start of their trip.
Now the golem found his footing. “Hey-it’s hot!” he cried, dancing. He ran up the column-but the smoke was moving, making his footing uncertain, and in a moment he stumbled, fell-and plummeted through the smoke toward the ground.
Smash caught him before he struck. The golem disappeared entirely inside the ogre’s brute hand. “Small fall,” Smash commented.
“How about putting it on his hands, too?” Irene asked.
Dor did so, dabbing it on the golem with the tip of his little finger.
They put Grundy up again. This time when the golem stumbled, he was able to catch himself by grabbing handfuls of smoke. “Come on up,” he cried. “The vapor’s fine!”
The sea monster was almost upon them. The others put salve on their hands and feet and scrambled onto the smoke. Chet, with four feet, balanced on the shifting surface fairly handily, but Smash, Irene, and Dor had trouble. Finally they scrambled on hands and feet, getting from the hot lower smoke to the cooler higher smoke.
This was less dense, but the footing remained adequate.
The surface was spongy, to Dor’s sensation, like a soft balloon that was constantly changing its shape. The smoke seemed solid to their soles and palms, but it remained gaseous in nature, with its own whorls and eddies. They could not stand still on it. Dor had to keep shifting his weight to maintain balance. It was a challenge-and became fun.
Now the sea monster arrived. She sniffed the beach, then followed her nose up to the smoke and the creatures on it. The wind was extending the smoke on an almost level course at this elevation, not quite beyond reach of the monster. The creature spied Irene up there, did a double take, then snapped at the girl-who screamed and jumped off the smoke.
For an instant Dor saw her there in midair, as if she were frozen, her shriek descending with her. He knew he could not reach her or help her. The fool girl!
Then a loop of rope snagged her and drew her back to the smoke.
Chet had saved his rope, the one used to draw Dor up from the hole, and now had used it to rescue Irene from her folly. Dor’s heart dropped back into place.
The sea monster, deprived of her morsel, emitted an angry honk and lunged again. But this time Irene had the wit to scramble away, and the huge snout bit into the smoke and passed through it harmlessly. The teeth made an audible clash as they closed on nothing.
However, the passage of the monster’s head through the smoke disturbed the column, and Dor and Smash were caught on the side nearer the fire. They could not rejoin the others until the column mended itself.
Now the monster concentrated on the two of them, since they were closest to the ground. They could not move off the smoke, so she had a good shot at them. Her huge ugly snout oriented on Dor and lunged forward.
Dor had had enough of monsters. He danced aside and whipped out his magic sword. The weapon moved dazzlingly in his hand, slicing through the soft tissue of the monster’s left nostril. The creature honked with pain and rage.
“Oooo, that’s not ladylike!” Grundy called from upsmoke.
“Depends on the lady,” Irene remarked.
Now the sea monster opened her ponderous and mottled jaws and advanced agape. Dor had to retreat, for the mouth was too big for him to handle; it could take him in with one chomp. The monsters of the ocean grew larger than those of the lakes!
But, stepping back, he stumbled over a fresh roil of smoke and sat down hard-on nothing solid. His seat passed right through, and he had to snatch madly with both hands to save himself. He was caught as if in a tub, supported only by his feet and hands.
The monster hissed in glee and moved in to take him in, bottomfirst. But Smash stepped into her mouth, hamfists bashing into the giant teeth with loud clashing sounds, knocking chips from them.
Startled, the monster paused, mouth still open. The ogre stomped on her tongue and jumped back to the smoke.
By the time Dor had regained his feet, the monster had retreated, and Smash was bellowing some rhyming imprecation at her. But the monster was not one of the shy little creatures of the inland lakes that gobbled careless swimmers; she was a denizen of the larger puddle. She had been balked, not defeated; she was really angry now.
The monster honked. “I have not yet begun to bite!” Grundy translated. She cast about for some better way to get at the smokeborn morsels-and spied the fire on the beach.
The monster was not stupid for her kind. The tiny wheels rotated almost visibly in her huge ugly head as she contemplated the blaze.
Then she dropped her head down, gathered herself, and with her flippers swept a huge wash of water onto the beach.
The fire hissed and sent up a violent protest of steam, then ignominiously capitulated and died. The smoke stopped billowing up.
Dor and his friends were left standing on dissipating smoke. Soon they would be left with no visible means of support.
The remaining cloud of smoke coalesced somewhat as it shrank.
Dor and Smash rejoined the other three. Now all were balancing on a diffusing mass; soon they would fall into the ocean, where the sea monster slavered eagerly.
“Well, do something!” Irene screamed at Dor.
Dor’s performance under pressure had been spotty. Now his brain percolated more efficiently. “We must make more smoke,” he said. “Irene, do you have any more flammable plants in your bag?”
“Just some torchflowers,” she replied. “I lost so many good seeds to the eclectic eel! But where can I grow them? They need solid ground.”
“Smear magic salve on the roots,” Dor told her. “Let a torch grow in this smoke.”
Her mouth opened in a cute of surprise. “That just might work!” She took out a seed, smeared it in the salve Dor held out, and ordered it to grow.
It worked. The torch developed and matured, guttering into flame and smoke. The wind carried the smoke west in a thin, dark brown stream.
Irene looked at it with dismay. “I expected it to spread out more. It will take a balancing act to walk on that!”
“In addition to which,” Chet said, “the smoke in which the torch is rooted is rapidly dwindling. When it falls into the ocean-“
“We’ll have to root it in its own smoke,” Dor said. “Then it will never fall.”
“Can’t,” she protested. “The smoke won’t curl down, and anyway it’s always moving; the thing would go into a tailspin.”
“It also smacks of paradox,” Chet said. “This is a problematical concept when magic is involved; nevertheless-“
“Better do something,” Grundy warned. “That sea monster’s waiting open-mouthed
beneath this cloud.”
“Have you another torch-seed?” Dor asked.
“Yes, one more,” Irene said. “But I don’t see-“
“Grow it in smoke from this one. Then we’ll play leapfrog.”
“Are you sure that makes sense?”
“No.”
She proceeded. Soon the second torch was blazing, rooted in the smoke of the first, and its own trail of smoke ran above and parallel to the first. “But we still can’t balance on those thin lines,” Chet said.
“Yes, we can. Put one foot on each.”
Dubiously, Chet tried it. It worked; he was able to brace against the two columns, careful not to fall between them, and walk slowly forward. Irene followed, more awkwardly, for the twin columns were at slightly different elevations and varied in separation.
There was a honking chuckle from below. Irene colored. “That monster is looking up my skirt!” she exclaimed, furious.
“Don’t worry,” Grundy said. “It’s a female monster.”
“You can be sure your legs are the first it will chomp if it gets the chance,” Dor snapped. He had little patience with her vanity at this moment.
Smash went out on the columns next, balancing easily; the ogre was not nearly as clumsy as he looked.
“Go on, Grundy,” Dor said. “I’ll move the first torch.”
“How can you move it?” the golem demanded. “You can’t balance on one column.”
“I’ll manage somehow,” Dor said, though this was a complication he hadn’t worked out. Once the first torch was moved, there would be no smoke from it for him to walk on.
“You’re so busy trying to be a hero, you’re going to wind up monster food,” Grundy said. “Where is Xanth, if you go the way of King Trent?”
“I don’t know,” Dor admitted. “Maybe the Zombie Master will discover he likes politics after all.”
“That sourpuss? Ha!”
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