Pet Peeve

by Piers Anthony

  He was in an endless pasture with fine grass growing thickly. To the right was a nice stall, similar to those used by centaurs. To the left was another stall. And another, and another. It appeared to be an endless line of stalls at the edge of the endless pasture.

  He considered. This did not seem to be a scary or punnish setting. So what was it? Was Gwenny likely to be here, or at least a message from her?

  He stepped into the nearest stable. Suddenly he saw a huge horse standing in it. It was male, midnight black of hide and eye and tail. This was surely the dreaded Night Stallion!

  But it did not seem to be quite real. For one thing, it took no notice of him, though he was standing close before it. Was it a statue?

  He walked up and put his hand on the stallion's right front knee, which was what he could comfortably reach. He didn't quite touch it; his hand sank in slightly, encountering obscure resistance.

  This was weird. It was as if he didn't belong here, so didn't properly register. That could be why the door said DO NOT ENTER: it meant it literally, like the NO MAN'S LAND gate. Still, he wasn't sure, so he explored further.

  The next stall looked empty until he entered it. Then, suddenly, it was partly occupied. The horse was leaving it, or frozen in the act, with only the tail inside. The rest was in the pasture.

  Goody considered, then walked back to the first stall. There was the horse inside, as before. This time he walked on to the next stall behind the horse. Sure enough, the horse was just entering it. This was Trojan's recent past.

  Now he saw a sign with two words: PASTURE and FUTURE, with arrows pointing opposite directions. The past and the future, of course. He had taken the pasture for a mere grazing place, and not realized that the other direction represented things to come. So, bit by bit, it was coming clear. He had always to be wary of puns and alternate explanations.

  How far did this go? Goody hurried on to the next stall, and found the horse farther away. Now that was interesting: the faster Goody went, the more time he seemed to cover. Could he reach the end of it, and maybe discover what it all meant?

  He ran through the next stall, and the next. The horse retreated farther, faster, but somehow not out of sight. The stables became a blur.

  Then he came to the end. He stood before a great ancient Mundane city. Trojan was there. From somewhere came words, or at least that was how Goody heard them.

  "You lost, Trojan. Therefore your status as a Demon is revoked, and you are confined to the Realm of Dreams until you are able to purchase your freedom with the souls you collect. Only then will you be eligible to court the fair Helen of Troy again."

  That was all. Apparently the scenes covered only spot samples of the Night Stallion's history. Before this it had been outside the dream realm, so was not represented here.

  This was nevertheless phenomenal information.

  Goody walked back to the next stable, set some time after that significant event. He had heard of the Demons, who were to regular demons like Metria as the whole of Xanth was to a grain of sand. They were said to be aloof, arrogant, and so powerful that the whole of the magic of the Land of Xanth was merely the trace radiation from the surface of the Demon Xanth. Their whole attention was taken by constant little contests with each other for status, making bets on the most trivial things. Evidently Trojan had been a Demon, and lost a contest, and his penalty was to run the gourd world.

  But what was this business about Helen? Trojan had a girlfriend? She must have been quite pretty, because there were lovely creatures galore in the dream realm he should otherwise have taken. Of course that was long ago; she would be an old hag by now, if she survived at all. A long lost love. So why was he still collecting souls?

  Goody came to the next stable. It was empty, but there on the floor was a scroll. He picked it up and read it.

  O, Trojan, I am so sorry you got banished! Know that I still love you, and will love you for eternity, though I dare not let my husband or lover find out. I beg of you, answer me if you can.

  Helen

  Well, that confirmed their secret love. But it had to have faded long since.

  He walked to the next stable. There was another scroll.

  Dearest Trojan, I was so glad to hear from you! Yes, I was serious about eternity. I have a potion to keep me young and beautiful forever. By the time you fetch enough souls to win your reprieve, the other men in my life will have aged and died and dissolved into dust. Now tell me again how you love me.

  Helen

  Well, now! That explained a lot. Maybe she was still around somewhere.

  The scrolls continued through the stables, later becoming flat envelopes. The final one, in the present stable—Goody had missed it before, because it had been hidden by the body of the horse—had a return address of Troy, New York, Mundania. So she was still Helen of Troy. It expressed joy that Trojan had finally collected enough souls, and agreed to meet him on the honey side of the moon for their honeymoon. Goody appreciated why; the near side of the moon was no longer milk and honey, because the honey had soured and the milk turned to moldy green cheese from constantly gazing on the dreariness of Mundania and the horrendous puns of Xanth.

  As Goody set the letter down, there was a little flash. He cast about, searching for its origin. He spied a floating eyeball. It was a spy eye, hovering above the letter. Someone was spying on Trojan's love life. Who could it be?

  Goody went and put his eye to the pupil of the eyeball. He saw inside it, and through it, to its other lens. There was an elegant chamber with thick curtains and an ornate bed. A lovely black-haired older woman reclined on it, reading a book. Who was she?

  Now that he had the connection, Goody found he could look around the room well enough. He saw a letter addressed to Sorceress Morgan le Fay. That must be her. But why was she spying on Trojan?

  He looked at the book Morgan was reading. It was titled Greek Mythology, and he realized she was reading it for research to learn more about Helen of Troy.

  "Ah, Helen," Morgan murmured. Goody wasn't sure how he heard her; maybe it was a form of telepathy sponsored by the connection. In fact her lips weren't moving; he was hearing her thoughts. "Soon your body will be mine, and I will escape the confines of Ptero and roam the dream realm, on my way to Xanth proper. That foolish horse will never know. But I must catch you unguarded, when you are distracted by your lover's first kiss."

  What an insidious plot! The aging Sorceress would steal the lovely body and use it as her own. What would happen to poor Helen? Goody had heard of the Sea Hag, who stole lovely young bodies and soon wore them out; this might be similar. And Trojan had no idea. Only Goody, who did not belong in this scene, could see what was going on. The love of centuries would be blighted by the evil selfishness of the Sorceress.

  What could he do? Goody didn't know, but he would have to make the effort. He understood too well the grief of love lost, and didn't want it to happen to anyone, not even the fearsome lord of dreams.

  He withdrew from the spy eye. Now he knew that Trojan was heading for his rendezvous with Helen on the honeymoon, and that Morgan would intercept them as they met. Maybe he could warn them before it was too late.

  He followed the stables into the future, hurrying. Soon—it was hard to tell time in this timeless scheme, and he could make no sense at all of distance—he found Trojan arriving there. It was beautiful, but no more so than the radiant girl coming to meet him. Trojan transformed from horse to man, smiling.

  They came together—and the spy eye appeared. It was going to happen!

  Goody ran to them. He leaped, bounding as high as he could, landing on their shoulders. They seemed not even aware of him, and closed in for their kiss. He scrambled to get his body between their heads and the floating eyeball.

  Something zapped his own shoulder and bounced back to its origin. That was his talent operating. There was a shrewlike scream. "Curses! Foiled again!"

  The eyeball puffed into smoke and drifted away. Goody dropped to th
e ground. Trojan and Helen continued their kiss, oblivious to all else.

  Goody returned to the "present" stable, then found the door. He exited the Night Stallion's private quarters, as it was clear he did not belong there. Yet he did not regret the incident.

  He used the DO NOT LINGER door, and found himself in a library. A very old man sat at a desk writing on a pad.

  "Hello. I am Goody Goblin."

  The man looked up. "And I am Ichabod Mundane, of course. Are you my new research assistant?"

  "I don't think so. I'm looking for a message from Gwenny Goblin."

  "Gwendolynius goblinus."

  Goody looked blank.

  "Oh, sorry; I was locked in classification mode. I am devising scientific names for the magical creatures of Xanth, using the excellent dream library. I don't believe I have seen such a message."

  Goody was curious. "Scientific names for magical creatures? Isn't that an—an—"

  "An oxymoron? By no means. Anything can be scientifically classified, and ought to be. For example, this creature." Ichabod showed a picture of a bird with the head and breasts of a woman. "You see a—?"

  "Harpy."

  "But that could be subject to confusion, particularly when puns are involved. It could be the condition of being a harp. Whereas a proper cladistic description would be Homogyps vulgaris. Then there is no doubt."

  "I suppose so," Goody agreed dubiously.

  "And this one," Ichabod said, warming up to his subject. He showed another picture.

  "Mermaid."

  "Ah, but how do we know she is really a maid? Or whether she is freshwater or seawater? And what of the male of the species? But if we label this Homopices nereadus, or Sea Merperson, we have it properly covered."

  He did seem to have a point. He went on to show off his designations for the centaur species, Homoequis intellegus; invisible giant, Homotitan invisiblis; water griffin, Aquileo gryphonus; white unicorn, Monoceros alba; naga, Homoserpens hybris; and the huge sphinx, Homoleo giganticus. He seemed quite proud of his work.

  "I'm sure it will clarify things for all those who follow," Goody said politely, hoping he wasn't emulating the furry white creature he had seen in Pungatory, the white lie.

  "Now that I think of it, I believe I did see a note in the adjacent lot," Ichabod said. "I am unseasonably old, and tend to forget what I don't write down."

  "Thank you." Goody went on to the next setting. This was a very nice one, with a pleasant garden, gentle walks, and delightful patches of sunshine. But he didn't see the note.

  He did see another young woman. He hoped she wouldn't try to deceive him punnishly the way Lee had. "Hello, I am Goody Goblin."

  "I am Emily Human."

  So far so good. "I am a visitor exploring the dream realm."

  "And I am the keeper of this garden of the day mares."

  "Day mares?"

  "Night mares carry bad dreams to deserving sleepers. Day mares carry daydreams, which are far more pleasant. This is where those nice dreams are crafted."

  "But I thought everything in the dream realm was for bad dreams."

  Emily smiled. "Obviously not. Dreams can be of any type. It's just that there is more demand for the bad ones, and they require fancier settings, so most of the realm is allocated to them. All except this portion."

  That was interesting. "Did you by chance see a note here?"

  "Why yes, as it was a pleasant one. I believe a lady goblin left it."

  Goody's heart throbbed. "Please, may I see it?"

  "Right here," she said, presenting it to him. "I picked it up for safekeeping, as I did not know for whom it was intended."

  He read the note. Goody—meet me at the Lost & Found. Gwenny.

  "Oh thank you!" he exclaimed. "It's definitely for me! Can you tell me where the Lost & Found is?"

  "Certainly. Just follow the yellow line." She pointed to the ground, where there was a line he hadn't noticed before. Had it just come into being? He decided not to question it. "Thank you, Emily."

  "Welcome, Goody. We are glad to do little favors for worthy dreamers."

  That made him pause. "But you don't know me."

  "I don't, but the Night Stallion asked me to do you a favor. Evidently you have pleased him in some obscure manner."

  Could Trojan have known after all? Suddenly that seemed possible. "I appreciate it."

  He followed the yellow line, and it greatly simplified his travel. It passed through numerous other settings, but the folk there were all busy crafting their bad dreams and paid no attention to him. He had not realized that there was so much labor involved in making bad dreams; it seemed that every detail of the setting had to be correct, and actors had to act out every role, with several takes until they got it right. Only then was a dream fit to be delivered by a night mare. Even then, he gathered, the mare could foul it up.

  He found himself on a path through a forest. The sign said LOST PATH, but he wasn't lost—not as long as he had the yellow line to follow—so it must be the path that was lost.

  He saw a pile of oddly shaped ocean birds. One was like the letter A, another like the letter B, a third like the letter C, and so one. They looked unhappy, so he paused, always sensitive to those who were sad. "Can I help you?"

  "We are lost gulls," the A bird said. "We were headed for our setting to help craft a dream, but forgot what our pun was. Until we remember, we can't get where we're going."

  Goody considered. He was getting better at fathoming puns, having been exposed to so many recently. Sometimes it was just a matter of getting literal. "Let's see—you're the A-gull," he said. The bird nodded. "You're the B-gull." Another nod. "And you're the C-gull." Then a bulb flashed. "C-gull! Seagull! That's the pun!"

  "That's it!" the C cried. "Now we remember!" They spread their wings and flew away.

  Goody resumed his trek. Soon he met a man who was evidently looking for something. "Are you lost?"

  "No, I'm looking for something."

  "Perhaps I have seen it. What is it?"

  "A vampire."

  Goody kept being surprised. "You want to find a creature who will suck your blood?"

  "That won't happen. I merely want to look at it. I'm a vamp-eyer."

  "You want to watch a vampire sucking blood?"

  "No. I want to watch a sexy vamp in operation."

  Now Goody got it. Not a bloodsucker, but a seducer. He went on.

  Suddenly there was a hand in front of his face. He blinked. Had he walked into something without looking?

  "Snap out of it, Goody." It was Hannah's voice.

  Oh. He was back in real Xanth, lying beside the gourd. He must have been there an hour, and it was time to take a break.

  "Thank you. I have almost found her. She's the last lost thing. I'm on the way to meet her at Lost and Found."

  "Good for you. Do you want another hour now?"

  "Yes!"

  "But first eat a bite, drink a gulp, and see about nature. You might be there some time."

  It made sense. He did those things, then settled down again by the gourd.

  17

  Trust

  Goody was back on the Lost Path, relieved to see that the yellow line remained. He had understood that a person always returned to the place in the dream realm that he had left, but he hadn't been quite sure. It was probably set up that way to prevent folk from escaping bad dreams before they ran their full course, but for him it was convenient.

  He came to a brown dog that looked lost, as was natural on this path. It seemed sad, so he paused, though he was in a hurry to reach Lost & Found. "Hello, brown dog."

  The canine gazed at him mournfully. Evidently it wasn't a talking animal.

  "You are lost," Goody said. "Is there a reason?"

  The dog nodded. Good; it understood him.

  "You have forgotten where you live?"

  The dog shook its head no.

  "Where you are going?"

  A mix, neither yes nor no.

&nb
sp; "What breed you are?"

  The dog nodded. That was its problem: it didn't know its assignment in dreams, because they were surely specified by species. Once it remembered that, it should know where to go, and would no longer be lost.

  Goody sniffed. He smelled chocolate. "You're made of chocolate!" he said.

  The dog nodded.

  "You're a chocolate lab!"

  The dog nodded, licked Goody's face with a chocolate tongue, and bounded happily away.

  Goody continued—and found another dog. This one was long and low, with stubby legs. Steam rose from its body; it was obviously quite warm. He would burn his hand if he tried to pet it.

  He didn't hesitate. "You're a hot dog!"

  The dog bounded away. Goody felt good; he liked helping creatures.

  Now at last he came to a shelter marked LOST & FOUND. And there was Gwenny Goblin.

  He ran to her. "Gwenny!"

  She turned and saw him. "Goody!"

  They came together, like Trojan and Helen, embracing and kissing. "I'm so glad you're alive and safe," he said.

  "I'm so glad you found me. I left notes, hoping you'd find one. If you thought to check the dream realm."

  "I did," he said. "And did."

  "I have so much to tell you."

  "And I want to hear it all." But then he suffered an awful thought. This was the realm of dreams, where things were not necessarily what they seemed to be. Was this really Gwenny, or was it someone or something else emulating her, to lead him astray? He did not want to be fooled; he had to be sure of her. Because a fake would cause him to stop the search, and maybe really lose her when he might have saved her. "Gwenny—"

  "You're not sure I'm real," she said. "For all that we're both dreaming. And I'm not sure you're real, either."

  "Yes. How can we prove to each other that we are who we claim to be?"

  "We could compare memories from before we got separated. Is there anything that only the two of us know about each other?"