Ghost Writer in the Sky

  The sound was so loud that it startled the three sturdy maidens. They leaped from the cliff wall and into the air, sailing up into the sky without wings. They were after all flying buttresses. Tartan got only a flash of their phenomenal bare bottoms as they passed overhead, swimming along using the backstroke, but that was enough to freeze him in place with a freak. He was aware that Dolin was reacting similarly.

  Then the wall collapsed with a resounding crash, jolting them out of it. Once the solid butts had stopped supporting it, it had been unable to stand.

  “Oh, no!” Patrick cried. “I have failed my mission!”

  “Maybe not,” Amara said. She of course had not freaked out. “Look what’s behind it.”

  There was a tall metallic column covered in carved words and numbers. An obelisk with four sides. The Timeline!

  “This is what we seek,” Dolin said, gratified. “Tata knew.”

  “But it must have been supposed to remain hidden,” Patrick said. “That was why the Muse assigned me here.”

  “She won’t object to our brief use of it,” Amara said. “Our need is great.”

  “Still—”

  “The Muse surely has other sites to protect,” Amara said. Tartan was seeing her from behind, but recognized the persuasive aura of the Goddess briefly manifesting. “Ask her. I believe you can contact her via the magic apple.”

  Still he hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  The aura intensified. Was Isis going to kiss him?

  Then the apple flashed.

  “But it seems she does,” Patrick agreed, surprised. He went to the apple and looked into it. Then he packed it into a bag, folded up the table, and departed with a friendly wave to the group.

  They stood before the obelisk. “Now what?” Tartan asked.

  “It seems right that we be here,” Dolin said. “But I know not how to use the Timeline.”

  “None of us do,” Tartan said. “I guess we thought that your knowledge of the right thing would cover it.”

  “It will help,” Dolin agreed. “But knowing the right course when there are several to choose from is not the same as working out that course for myself. Someone will have to suggest a course before my talent applies.”

  Tartan laughed. “How about taking a hammer and smashing the Timeline?”

  He was greeted with looks of horror. “That’s not funny,” Mera said.

  The suggestion had not been serious, but Tartan realized that even as a joke it was in very poor taste. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “But the answer is no, a thousand times no,” Dolin said. “That is not the right thing.”

  Tartan, embarrassed, tried harder. “What about making a wooden tower of our own, with a platform that we can mount to reach the right elevation? I’m assuming that the top of it is our future time.”

  “That will do,” Dolin agreed.

  “But getting there is only part of it,” Tara said. “What do we do once we’re there?”

  “Try to chip our own entry onto it?” Tartan asked.

  Dolin shook his head. “Only the Muse of History can make an entry.”

  “Could you turn dragon and fly up there?” Amara asked Emerald.

  “And do what? Blast it with fire? I have no hands in my natural mode.”

  “Carry one of us there?” Dolin asked. “As you carried me across the lake to reach the troll?”

  “Yes and no. When I carried you, I had plenty of room to spread my wings wide. Even so, it was difficult, because you weigh as much as I do in dragon mode, and I barely made it across without crashing. Trying to take you up to the top of the obelisk without veering into it would be a challenge, and I could not hover there. I’d have to have you jump off and cling to it. What would you do then?”

  “Make a fool of myself,” Dolin said. “That is not the way.”

  “But there has to be a way,” Mera said.

  “I think we’re still a few breaths short of a bonfire,” Emerald said. “We need to know what we’re going to do before we use up our energies building a tower.”

  Tata sniffed the base of the Timeline. He woofed. They all looked at him.

  “He knows something,” Amara said. “But it’s too complicated for me to grasp just from woofs. I think he’s as smart as we are, but he lacks the human tongue. All he has is a woof or bark. So the problem is how he can tell us what he knows.”

  “He can tell us if we ask him yes or no,” Dolin said. “One bark for yes, two for no. Maybe three for maybe.”

  “Can you play Twenty Three Questions?” Emerald asked.

  “Do you mean Twenty Questions?” Tartan asked.

  “Seventeen Questions,” Dolin said.

  “Eighteen and a half,” Mera said, smiling.

  Amara laughed. “In contemporary Xanth proper, it’s Nineteen Questions, cumulative, whatever it may be in other realities or Mundania. Each has to be phrased for a yes, no, or maybe answer, or for a specific number, like how many people are in this party. If you can’t get your answer then, you lose. It’s normally a game. But let’s see.” She looked at the dog. “Can you play it?”

  “Woof!”

  “Good enough,” Emerald said. “That’s one question. We had better make the others count.”

  “We had better,” Amara agreed. “Because we’re in a different reality now, and it may have a different limit. We don’t really know how many questions we can use.”

  “We’ll agree on each question,” Emerald said. “Then you can ask it, so that we waste none carelessly.”

  “That is the right course,” Dolin agreed.

  “We need a strategy of questioning,” Tara said. “Maybe proceed from the general to the specific, cutting the unknown segment in half each time.”

  “So what’s a good general question?” Emerald asked.

  “First, make sure we’re in the right ballpark,” Tartan said.

  “What kind of park?” Amara asked.

  “I mean, the right general area. We don’t want to ask how many stars are in the sky or how many fish in the sea; we want to know how to use the Timeline to accomplish our purpose.”

  “Ah. Like maybe is there an action we can take with respect to the Timeline to get back to the future?”

  “I think that will do,” Tartan agreed.

  “Keep it simple,” Mera said. “Tata clearly understands us, but we need to be efficient.”

  Amara faced the dog. “Tata, is there anything we can do with the Timeline to return to our own time?”

  Tata barked once.

  They discussed the next question. In due course Amara asked “Does it involve touching the obelisk?”

  The dog hesitated, then gave one bark.

  Why the hesitation? “Either we touch it or we don’t,” Tartan said, perplexed.

  They discussed it again. This was tedious, but they wanted to get it exactly right. Then Mera got an idea. “Must we touch it in a particular spot?”

  One bark.

  Back on track. “The proper date!” Tara exclaimed. “Touch it in the wrong place, we go to the wrong time. That’s why Tata hesitated. He didn’t want to steer us wrong.”

  “We have to touch the right time?” Amara formally asked.

  One bark.

  “And that time is the date we came from, 1117?”

  Another hesitation, followed by one bark. Hmm.

  They paused to consider. Was there another catch?

  “Maybe this,” Emerald said. “If one person touches the right time, he or she jumps to the future, leaving the rest behind. But the next person who touches it may not land in quite the same place. So we could get separated, and have real trouble getting back together.”

  “Woof.”

  “So we’ll all have to touch it together,” Tara said.

/>   “That could be difficult,” Dolin said. “Climbing the tower may be an individual matter, unless we make a big one. Also, the lettering on the Timeline is small.”

  “Not to mention going overhead in skirts,” Mera said. “Men are as bad as ogles.”

  The men did not respond, as if the remark was not worthy of refutation. But Tartan knew he would find Mera’s skirt from below a tempting sight.

  “Maybe we can link hands, with one person touching it,” Amara said.

  “Woof.”

  “That seems right,” Dolin agreed.

  “Are there any other cautions?” Amara asked the dog.

  Tata gave two barks.

  “Good enough,” Tartan said. “Now all we have to do is build the tower. We’ll have to scrounge for wood. I don’t see any lying around nearby.”

  “Woof.”

  “Tata can sniff out a path,” Amara said.

  They followed the dog along a new path. It was marked by a sign: BEWARE THE BRASS.

  “Danger?” Amara asked the dog.

  A hesitation, then two barks.

  “Not exactly,” Amara translated.

  “Then we had better risk it,” Dolin said. “My sense indicates that the right thing is near, if we can understand it.”

  They resumed their walk. Soon they came to a triple fork, each way marked by a sign. BRASSICA BRASSERIE BRASSIERE.

  “Which one?” Amara asked Tata.

  The dog sniffed all three paths, woofing approvingly. It seemed they needed to take them all.

  “All?” Mera asked blankly.

  “But we shouldn’t split up our party,” Emerald protested. “Someone could get lost.”

  “Woof,” Tata agreed.

  “Let’s try the left one first, as a group,” Tartan said. “Then the second, and the third.”

  “Woof.”

  They followed the first. This led to a vegetable garden where there were assorted cabbages, kale, broccoli, lovely cauli-flowers, turnips turning in place, and jars of mustard. That was all.

  “All from the mustard family,” Tara said. “As adapted for Xanthly puns.”

  “Well, we won’t have to go hungry,” Emerald remarked. “But I confess I prefer pie plants.”

  Tata barked negation.

  “These are not for us to eat,” Dolin said. “They are wholesome, but it seems for someone else.”

  “It must be a private garden,” Tartan said. “But who would want to grow turnips or broccoli?”

  “When I was a child,” Mera said, “I had a spinning toy made from a turnip.”

  Well, that was one reason.

  They walked back to the fork, and took the middle path. This led to a quaint tavern where assorted drinks were on the main counter, available for the taking. They were even labeled: BEER, ALE, PORTER, STOUT, GIN, WINE, WHISKEY, and so on.

  “All alcoholic,” Emerald noted with a certain faint aversion that Mera’s expression echoed.

  “Well, now,” Tartan said. “I could use a refreshing drink.”

  “No,” Dolin said as Tata barked twice.

  “What, poison?” Tartan asked.

  Two barks.

  “It would be wrong for us to drink them,” Dolin said. “They are not harmful in themselves, but we must let them be.”

  “So why were we led to them?” Tartan demanded. “Is some power teasing us?”

  “I do not think so. The right course for us, it seems, is merely to know about them.”

  So, with more reluctance than they had shown at the vegetable garden, they followed the path back to the fork.

  The third one got a good deal more interesting. Mostly bare young women were running around a glade, pausing at a pond to view their own reflections. They were all quite shapely, especially when they posed, as they frequently did.

  “What have we here?” Dolin asked, interested.

  “Nymphs,” Emerald said. “They exist in the present too. We dragons have flown over them many times. They play endlessly with their male companions, the fauns, and constantly celebrate in their fashion.”

  “How’s that?” Tara asked.

  “They summon the stork. But it doesn’t take. That’s how they celebrate. The storks completely ignore them. Next day they have no memory of their past. They live endlessly in their happy present tense.”

  “What possible business would we have with beautiful near-mindless creatures whose only interest is storks?” Tara asked.

  “Well,” Tartan began, licking his lips.

  “No one asked you!”

  Tartan shut up.

  “They’re all wearing bras,” Amara said.

  “Well, there’s a clothing tree with widely spreading bra-anches,” Emerald said. “So they’re harvesting the bras and playing with them. It must be a new diversion for them, since they really don’t need the support.”

  “They don’t,” Dolin agreed.

  “Which is why this glade is called brassiere,” Amara said. “Fortunately there’s no pantree here, so they’re not freaking any idiots out with panties. The question is, how does any of this relate to us? This isn’t getting our tower constructed.”

  “We can ask,” Tartan said.

  “Must we?” Tara asked.

  “Woof.”

  “It seems we must,” Emerald said. Then, before Dolin could volunteer, “I’ll do it.” She stepped forward and approached the nearest nymph. “Hello. I’m Emerald Dragon. Will you talk with me a moment?”

  “Hello,” the nymph replied. “I’m Olga.” Indeed, the name was written on her bra. “You’re pretty.”

  “Thank you. We are looking for planks to build a tower. Do you know where any are?”

  “Yes. We each have a plank. It makes for a good constitution.”

  Emerald made half a pause, evidently digesting the pun. “We would like to borrow several planks. Can we do that?”

  “Sure, if you do something for us first.”

  “Uh-oh,” Mera murmured.

  Emerald was cautious. “I didn’t know that nymphs bargained.”

  “We found this bra tree,” the nymph explained. “Now that we have a bit of clothing, we have a bit of wit.”

  “What do you want us to do for you?”

  “We’re hungry and thirsty, but we can’t get into the garden or the tavern. Both require clothing, more than just bras. Bring us each a vegetable or drink, and we’ll bring our planks.”

  Emerald glanced back at the others, who nodded. It was doable, and it made sudden sense of their recent discoveries. “Agreed. We’ll fetch the things while you fetch your planks.”

  “Wonderful!” Olga turned her head and called out to the others. “Ambrielle! Lilyette! Vanity! Victoria! Bali! Fetch your planks! We have a deal.”

  “Oooo!” the other nymphs chorused, and ran fleetly into the forest.

  Except for one, who hesitated.

  “Yes, you can keep your secret, Victoria,” Olga called.

  “Oooo!” the nymph exclaimed, and ran after the others.

  “Get those vegetables and drinks,” Emerald said. “While they remember the deal.” She snapped her fingers. “You too, men.”

  Oh. Dolin and Tartan snapped out of the freak the running nymphs had put them in and got moving.

  “They’d be real terrors in panties,” Mera said, amused. Tata woofed agreement. Tartan privately noted that the dogfish seemed especially interested in Mera, maybe because she was the newest member of the party. When he wasn’t with Amara, he was with Mera. Maybe she liked animals, and he picked up on it.

  They hurried to garden and tavern, fetching vegetables and drinks. In three moments they returned to the glade, where the nymphs were arriving with their planks. The vegetables and drinks were handed out, and the nymphs eagerly consumed them. T
hen they followed the party to the obelisk.

  Olga eyed the piled planks. “How are you going to fasten them together to make your tower?”

  Oops. “We hadn’t thought of that,” Emerald said.

  “Maybe we can help, if you get us more goodies.”

  There was a brief discussion. Then the party returned to garden and tavern for more refreshments. When they returned, the nymphs had constructed the tower. It seemed they had more abilities than their reputation suggested.

  Tartan blinked. The nymphs were now bare breasted. They had used their bra straps to tie the planks together.

  There was another round of feasting and drinking. “It’s a (hic!) good thing we built this first,” Ambrielle said as she finished her drink. “We wouldn’t be able to do it now.”

  “You did a good job,” Emerald assured them all. “Soon we’ll be on our way. Then you can have your bras back, and your planks. We sincerely thank you for your effort.”

  “Thath’s all righst,” Olga said slurrily. “You’re nice fholk. Wissh we could do more for you.”

  Dolin opened his mouth, but Emerald’s glance shut it for him. “We’ll mount the tower, and I think disappear. Then it’s all yours.”

  “Oshkay,” Bali said.

  Amara climbed the tower and set herself next to the Year 2117. That was, as it turned out, only about half way up. There was evidently a lot of future to go after their time. Emerald followed, standing below her and taking hold of her ankle. Then Mera, Tara, Dolin, Tartan, with his hand on Tata’s back. The two men at the bottom were exerting maximum willpower not to look up. They were ready.

  Amara touched the date.

  Things changed.

  Chapter 10

  Ptero

  “Well, now,” Tartan said. “There’s Caprice Castle waiting for us. That’s what I call efficient service.”

  “I shall be glad to meet my half sister Dawn again,” Dolin said. “I like her very well.”

  “But are we free of the Land of Waz?” Emerald asked. “I don’t want to be the vicious Lizard again.”

  Tara smiled. “Amara, what’s your name?”

  “Not Doorthy,” Amara said.

  “Doorthy?” Mera asked.

  “We were caught in an idiotic parody crafted by the Ghost Writer,” Tara explained. “We all had stupid roles to play. Worse, the Ghost Writer wanted the Goddess to manifest in Amara’s host body and cater to his illicit passion. You freed us from that by sending us to the past.”