Sure enough, one moment later they were back at the iron peak. "And if it works, every robot on the mountain will be finished," Hannah concluded. The trip had blotted out her intervening clarification.
"Isn't it brightly brilliant?" Dawn asked.
"And darkly imaginative," Eve agreed.
"Fascinating," the parody said sardonically.
Well, maybe he would find out soon enough.
They had a panoramic view of the battle scene. Unfortunately it was contracting, as the six sectors gave way before the onslaught of the robots. They were fighting brave rearguard actions, but there was no stemming the metal tide. The robots were definitely winning.
As the day waned, they reached the base of the mountain. The werewolves were panting, their elves just hanging on. The centaurs hardly had strength to climb the gentle slope, and the harpies were riding their backs, exhausted. The naga made it to an iron gully and lay strewn out in snake form. The dragons found a higher ledge and clung to it, pretty much out of fire, smoke, and steam. Even the ogres looked worn out, their knuckles dragging. Only the goblins, small but ornery, still showed fight; their lines roiled as they sallied to beat back the machines. The robots tried to press between them and Mountain Lake, but they rallied and shoved them back. But finally even the goblins had to seek the refuge of the mountain, following paths to assorted holes and caves.
The robots reached the base and found the iron. There was a fluting cheer from them as they achieved their objective, while Goody, Hannah, and the battered troops looked down in dismay.
"Is it time?" Magician Trent inquired, as if in doubt.
"Yes, Grandpa, I think it is," Dawn said.
"If the big birds are ready," Eve said.
"I will notify them," Grossclout's voice said. Goody hadn't realized that the demon professor was present, but of course demons were normally invisible unless they chose to become apparent. There was a pop as he departed.
"There," Dawn said, pointing north.
Goody strained to see. On the horizon were several dots. These expanded rapidly, becoming birds. The birds seemed to grow larger as they approached, and larger yet. Finally they were huge: they were rocs.
The rocs carried some sort of lines strung out between them. At first they looked like spider strands, then like string, and finally like cables. They were heavy; a roc could carry a Mundane elephant, but the cable was making them struggle. It looped around in a complete circle, a number of strands, with rocs supporting it all around. It seemed to be metal wire wrapped in cloth. Goody had no idea what the point of it was.
The big birds flew right over Iron Mountain, carrying the giant ring of wrapped wires. Then all together, they let it go. The cable dropped down to circle the base of the mountain close to where the robots were. The robots looked at it, but saw no purpose in it, any more than Goody did. Why drop wrapped metal wire on a metal mountain?
Then demons materialized, detaching individual strands and connecting them to large plants growing in sheltered gullies. "Those look like electric plants," Goody said.
"Oh, yes," Eve breathed. Like her sister, she breathed very well. "The perfect mating of animate and inanimate."
And they were the sorceresses of animate and inanimate things, at least in knowledge. They surely knew what they were doing.
But meanwhile more and more robots were reaching the mountain, clustering there, delighted with the presence of all that iron. Soon they would be setting up a factory to make more of themselves.
Suddenly it happened. The robots fell to the iron ground with audible clanks and lay there unmoving.
"What a lazy bunch!" the peeve said.
"What are they doing?" Goody asked, surprised.
"They're dead, if machines can be dead." Eve said. "The battle is over."
"I don't understand."
"But I explained it to you," Hannah said. "The coils, the electric power plants, the coiling current—it's the magic of magnetism."
"The magic of what?"
"Allure, glamor, charisma," Metria said. "Appeal, potency, seduction—"
"No, this is electric attraction," Eve said. "Specifically, iron. We have made Iron Mountain magnetic. The iron bodies of the robots are helplessly attracted to it, and that's their doom, because when their heads come up against all that power it blows their programs. They are done for."
"But why didn't it do the same to us?"
"It doesn't affect living organisms," Dawn said. "Or even all metal. Just iron."
"Which I appreciate," Hannah said. "My armor is aluminum. I'd hate to have it pulled off by a magnet."
So, just like that, they had won the battle and beaten the robots. Who had not thought of magnetism any more than Goody had.
"Tomorrow we'll start picking up the pieces," Magician Trent said, satisfied.
16
Lost Things
It was too crowded on the mountain to go anywhere or do anything other than stay put and rest. The harpy supply line resumed, bringing box suppers for all, and facilities for washing and refuse were set up in mountain crevices. The invisible river that sprang from the side of the mountain provided plenty of translucent water.
They settled down for sleep where they were. Dawn and Eve argued over which of them would get to be a pillow for Goody to sleep on, until Hannah settled it by doing that job herself. Her metal armor wasn't very soft, but he knew better than to complain; he definitely did not trust the teasing mischief of the princesses.
In the morning Goody, Hannah, and the princesses were drafted to relay Magician Trent's parting message to the troops. "You have all done well in this significant battle. You held the robots back long enough for us to craft the magnet that destroyed them. You can all be proud. But take this warning back to your people: we have won the battle, not the war. It was not possible to destroy all the robots, and those that remain will surely resume construction of more of their kind. Next time they will profit from experience, and organize with leadership instead of pushing blindly toward Iron Mountain. They will insulate themselves from damage by magnetism. They will seek not merely to pass by the opposition, but to destroy it. So do not rest easy; we must remain vigilant, and prevent the robots from ever becoming numerous enough to defeat us."
That was a sobering statement. The threat had been abated, not ended. They relayed it to the several contingents as they organized to go home.
Only then did Goody feel free to seek Gwenny, who he knew was busy organizing her goblins for the return. They went to the Goblin Mountain section and asked for her.
A goblin subchief was surprised. "We thought she was with you and Magician Trent. She's not with us, dunce."
It felt as if a cold hand gripped Goody's innards. What had happened to Gwenny?
They questioned the other subchiefs, trying to ascertain who had seen Chiefess Gwenny last. It turned out that she had been rousing the troops everywhere, doing a fine job (for a female), going constantly back and forth. She had been there as they started the retreat up the mountain. And not since. She had simply disappeared, and no one had seen her go.
"I hate to say this," Hannah said. "But many goblins were slain in the melee. She—"
"Croaked?" the peeve asked.
"No!" he cried.
"May have been abducted by the robots," she concluded. "To be a hostage for their safe escape. If some of them suspected that Iron Mountain was a trap."
He stared at her. "They did catch us and hold us prisoner before," he said. "They do know about that sort of thing."
"Yes. And as Magician Trent said, they can profit from experience. So they might take her away, knowing her value to us, and maybe use her to bargain for a better deal."
Goody didn't like the notion, but it seemed better than the alternative, which was unthinkable. He had to believe that she was alive and well. "But then how can we find her?"
"We can look around the area. They can't have gotten far."
But a quick search revealed nothin
g. It seemed Gwenny Goblin was nowhere in the area, dead or alive.
By the time Goody gave up the search, the assorted contingents had departed, leaving the robots littering the scene, especially on Iron Mountain. Magician Trent and the princesses were gone, together with the demon and human contingents, including Dara and Metria. There was no one left but Goody and Hannah.
"I don't know what to do," he said. "I can't rest until I know where she is."
"Give it up, joker," the parody said. "She ditched you, one way or another."
Goody stiffened. His hands twitched.
"Maybe I should carry the bird for now," Hannah said.
"That seems best," Goody agreed with a controlled voice.
"I can tell you how to find her," the peeve said in Hannah's voice.
Goody was so on edge that he took the bait. "How?"
"Look in the gourd, idiot. If she's alive, she's dreaming of you, ha ha."
Goody and Hannah split a glance. The obnoxious bird just might have something.
They found a live gourd plant growing in one of the few untrampled sections of the shore of Mountain Lake. "Now this has to be careful," Hannah said. "Suppose I watch you and break the connection every hour? That way you won't get stuck forever, and can take rest and food breaks. It might be a long search."
"Yes." He lay down beside the gourd, propped himself comfortable, and peered into its peephole.
He found himself standing before a haunted human house. He had heard of this; it was one of the gourd's standard entry points. He could get anywhere from here, once he found the way. But where would she be?
He wasn't partial to haunts, but if there was any chance she was there—maybe having entered via the same portal—he had to check. So he braced himself and marched up to the rickety door. He lifted its cob-webbed knocker and let it fall, once. Somehow he was able to reach it though the house was obviously sized for human dreams.
There was no response. Well, he had tried the polite thing. Now he took the handle, which was at head height on him, and turned.
Zap! He got a shock. But the door opened and he saw inside the gloomy edifice.
"Oooo!" It was a ghost making its eerie noise as it fled. Of course. But since Goody knew these were all bad dreams, having no physical reality, he took them in stride.
He entered the house and explored it, setting off all manner of ugly things. The most insidious was a can of eyeballs staring out at him. He lifted it out of his way, and it sent some kind of signal through his hand and body. "I can do anything!" he exclaimed. He knew this was a trick of the eye can, but it did give him confidence. He proceeded on through the house with improved efficiency.
There was no sign of Gwenny. But he had only begun. He passed on out of the house and came to a graveyard. He walked across it, and skeletons hauled themselves out of the graves and converged spookily on him.
"I'm looking for Gwenny Goblin," he said. "Have any of you seen her?"
The skeletons were taken aback. Screams and fear they could handle, but not a straightforward practical question. They passed an eyeless glance around. Then one came forward. "I saw a note signed by a goblin," it said.
"Where?"
"I don't remember. My head is empty."
Oh. Of course. But it was useful information. "Thank you."
The skeletons retreated into their graves, and Goody went on to the next setting. This was a desolate wasteland resembling a trash heap. Odd items were strewn everywhere. But it did not seem that they had been thrown away, because each was carefully labeled. Could the goblin note be here?
He investigated the nearest. This was a large curved sword labeled CUTLASS. Well, he had heard of that; barbarians used them.
Then he saw that there was small print under the note. "For use only against women."
Goody recoiled. What a vile notion! Then he smelled the pun: cutlass.
He checked the next. This was a small section of cloth with print all over it. CANTEEN = ADOLESCENT CAN. FEE-MAIL = ADDITIONAL LETTER COST. FAST FOOD = RUN TO CATCH IT. SOFTWEAR = VERY SOFT CLOTHING.
Goody shook his head. These were nothing but bad puns!
Then he saw the label: PUNTIES. Panties made up of puns. He had been handling panties without realizing. Why hadn't he freaked out? Maybe because they weren't the same when not filled by fee-mail, correction, female flesh.
The next was a picture of a rowdy-looking man. But as Goody approached it, something struck his knee. It was a wad of spit. He tried to brush it off, but was hit by another. They were coming from the picture! The face was spitting at him. Ugh.
Then he saw the label: SPITTING IMAGE. Double-ugh.
Now he came to a harpy sitting on a perch. She was nipping toenails off with her teeth. She was unclothed, of course, but unlike centaur fillies, harpies were not very attractive bare.
"Hello, harpie," he said politely.
She glanced at him. "What's it to you, goblin?" she screeched. "Can't you see I'm pruning?"
That set him back. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Birds preen, mammals groom, crossbreeds prune, dumbbell." She returned to her nipping.
He let her be and investigated the next: a small furry creature. "Hello," he said cautiously.
It paused to study him. "You're a really handsome goblin."
Goody was set back again. "Oh, I don't think so. I'm quite ordinary. But if you don't mind telling me, what are you?"
For answer, the creature held up its tag: LITTLE WHITE LIE.
This was becoming wearing. Everything here seemed to be a bad pun.
Then he saw two young men walking toward him. Maybe they would be able to help. "Hello," he called. And felt a kind of wrenching, as if he was no longer quite there.
"What have we here," the man on the right said.
"I believe it is a lost goblin," the other said.
"Well, as the pro-tagonist it surely is up to me to deal with him."
"Aw, you never let me do anything. How can I ever get beyond being the amateur-tagonist if I can't deal with things?"
"Perhaps you have a point. Very well, you may take over the viewpoint for this one." He held it out.
The amateur-tagonist smiled, accepting it. Immediately the realm was seen through his eyes and no one else's. It was a glorious feeling. He leaned down to address the goblin. "You may be feeling a little strange right now," he said. "That is because while you may have been the main character in your own story, you are now in our story, so have been relegated to secondary status. Probably you should leave now."
"I agree," the surprisingly polite goblin said. "Just where is this?"
"This is Pungatory, where bad puns are stored until there is use for them," Amateur explained patiently.
The goblin seemed not wholly surprised. "No wonder I was encountering so many! How can I best depart this site?"
Amateur pointed. "Cross the com-plain until you reach the doors. Be sure to exit through the one saying DO NOT LINGER."
"Thank you," the goblin said, and set off across the plain.
Once he was away from the tagonists, Goody's awareness settled back on him, and he felt in charge of his life again. That was weird, losing it like that! It was as though he had briefly become part of someone else's story.
"You're hurting my surface with your big feet," the ground beneath him said.
"I beg your pardon," Goody said. Was King Dor somewhere in the vicinity, causing the inanimate to talk?
"And your voice grates," the ground said.
Then Goody got it: this was the com-plain. A plain that grumbled. Part of Pungatory.
Then came an animal that really gave the plain reason to object: a galloping bull. Goody was alarmed as it headed right for him, but then it stopped. "Would you like to have your fortune told?" it inquired.
A bull telling fortunes? Where was the awful pun? But he didn't want to rile the beast. "Perhaps. Who are you?"
"I am Ptero Bull, from the planet of Ptero, of course."
Then Goody got it: the name sounded like "terrible." "I read Ptero cards and tell fortunes." Which sounded like tarot cards.
That might be useful. "Can you tell me whether I will find my love?"
"Certainly." The bull produced cards with pictures and laid them out on the sand, not seeming to have any problem handling them with his hoofs. This was after all the dream realm. "Yes, you will. But you may not keep her. There will be a key choice, and you may choose wrong. That's as close as I can define it, because telling you more might cause you to change it and invalidate the reading."
There always seemed to be a fudge factor. Still, it was good news. "Thank you."
"By the way, if you prefer to avoid all these bad puns, walk in the lee of the pun shield there." The bull waved a hoof at a wall Goody hadn't seen before. "That was erected to protect the sanity of the innocent, and you certainly seem innocent."
"Thank you." Goody quickly walked to the wall. But he had a problem: which was the lee side?
Fortunately a young human woman was standing beside it. "Please, miss—which is the lee side?"
"This is," she said.
"Thank you." Then he saw that objects were piled up along that side of the wall, and not on the other. Was he being misled?
He decided to think just a bit outside the box. "I am Goody Goblin."
"I am Lee Human."
And this was her side of the wall. "Nice meeting you, Lee." He moved to the other side.
There was a frustrated roar from the massed puns as he walked, as they tried in vain to get past the wall and blast his sanity. He was afraid it would fall and leave him to their horrible mercy, but it managed to hold.
At last he reached the edge of the site. There was a wall, inset with two doors. One said DO NOT LINGER, and the other said DO NOT ENTER. He was supposed to exit through the first. He put his hand on its knob.
He paused. Had the tagonists told him right? This was the region of stored puns; was this a devious pun? He couldn't fathom it, but neither did he trust it. Maybe the secret was that he couldn't enter, because he was already here; he would be exiting regardless which door he used.
He wasn't at all sure of his logic, but since his purpose was to find Gwenny, if she were here, he needed to check every possible place she might be, not just the one approved for visitors. He moved to the second door, turned the knob, and exited through it.