"Now we shall have to get moving," Trent said.
"But the siege hasn't even started," Gloha said. "Precisely. We must seek a devious route that will take longer, so that the mountain never suspects the real object. The siege will be in place by the time Pin-A-Tuba might realize that an insignificant party is approaching-and then it may assume that this is merely a distraction from the real object. This is chancy, I agree, but seems to be the best course."
"What is the real object?" Gloha asked. "I mean, the one that we hope the mountain will think is the real object?"
"The harpies discovered a marvelous lake on the other side of the volcano from the trans-plant. They call it Miracle Lake. The apparent object will be to capture and exploit that lake."
"Why would anybody want a lake beside a mean-spirited volcano?"
"There are boats on that lake, floating at anchor. Barnacles grow on the bottoms of those boats. The surfaces of those barnacles are so highly glossy as to be reflective. They can be harvested and assembled into full-sized mirrors. Thus they are mirror-barnacles, or miracles for short."
"But mirrors can be made from glass or polished stone," she said. "Why go to the trouble of fashioning them from shiny barnacles?"
"They are magic barnacles. They make magic mirrors."
"Oh!" Gloha exclaimed, suddenly understanding. "I never knew where magic mirrors came from."
"There may be other origins," Trent said. "But I suspect that we have stumbled upon one of Magician Humfrey's secret sources. Certainly the mountain will zealously guard its treasure. So I think this is as good a diversion as any."
"I should think so," she agreed, impressed. "I wouldn't mind having one of those mirrors myself."
He smiled. "You have other business, I think."
"Oh, of course! I wasn't suggesting-" Then she realized that he was teasing her. His ways were sometimes so subtle that she had trouble interpreting them. That was part of what she liked about him. He was just so-so manly.
He turned to other business. "Metria and Veleno are now scouting out a possible route to the trans-plant. They seem to work well together."
"But Veleno can't go near that mountain."
"He can in his present form."
"His-?"
"I transformed him. He is a parrot legal, one of the few creatures the volcano tolerates near its cone. Perhaps because they are very good at arguing their cases."
"Arguing cases?" she asked blankly.
"Parrots are talkative birds, and these ones like to perform legal tasks, though they are neither secretary-birds nor lawyer-birds. They are merely paralegals. They argue Pin-A-Tuba's case that he has a right to sound off in as great a volume as he chooses, though he blows phenomenal amounts of gas and ash into the sky. So he doesn't object to their presence. Veleno is flying through the region, while Metria makes spot detail checks on the terrain. I think they'll get the job done."
"But why should Veleno help us? He was holding us captive, and he almost wanted to-to make me be his-"
"He was doing what he thought he had to, to achieve freedom from his enchantment," Trent said. "You caused Metria to marry him. He is grateful, and perhaps suffering some tinge of guilt. He believes that the guilt will not entirely dissipate until he has helped you achieve your quest, just as you helped him achieve his."
Gloha shook her head. "I suppose it does make sense. But why couldn't Metria explore the whole region herself?"
"Because she's a demoness, and the volcano doesn't much like demons. It seems that they used to play pranks on him, such as dropping stink bombs into his mouth. So whenever a demon materializes close by, Pin-A-Tuba lets fly with vigor and blasts it out of there. Metria can remain close only so long as she never materializes."
"But then she can't communicate with anyone, can she?"
"She can communicate with Veleno, because she has half his soul. So Veleno is indeed proving to be useful to our cause."
Gloha shook her head again. It was amazing how things could turn out.
Metria appeared. "We have a route," she reported. "I didn't have time to investigate every nuance, but I think it's good. It won't be fun, but it should get you there."
"Where's Veleno?"
"He paused to argue a case with another parrot legal who didn't recognize him. He'll be along soon."
Indeed, in only four moments the parrot winged in. He had bright purple plumage with orange stripes. Metria held out her hand, and he landed on it. She brought him in and kissed him on the beak. "I have been beakissed," he exclaimed, fluttering his wings. "There is no precedent."
"Are you ready for your next form?" Trent inquired.
"Proceed with your case, counselor," the parrot said.
The Magician put his hand close, and the parrot became a glob of goo. "Eeek!" Metria screamed in almost nymphly fashion, trying to hold the goo in her hands. But it slipped through her fingers and landed with a splat on the ground.
Metria turned to face Trent. "What did you do to my love?" she demanded. "He's all icky!"
"No he isn't," Trend said mildly. "He's merely not yet quite firm. He will shape up in a moment."
Sure enough, in exactly one moment the blob shaped itself into what appeared to be a reclining chair. Metria touched the surface. "Oh, he's like centaur hide," she said appreciatively.
"Precisely. He is ready to carry Graeboe to the transplant."
"But what kind of creature is he?" Gloha asked.
"A slowmud. A smaller cousin of Swiftmud. Large enough to carry one elf. He can hear and understand us, but can respond only with bubbles: white for yes, black for no, and shades of gray for other responses."
"Carry an elf?" Gloha asked. "You mean-?”
"Graeboe lacks the strength to make this trip," Trent reminded her. "We are fortunate that he was able to rest and recuperate enough to survive beyond noon."
That was certainly true. Graeboe remained asleep, or-
Gloha hastily checked him. His eyes were open, but his forehead was cool. "Oh, Graeboe, you're fading!" she said.
He gave her a reassuring smile, but it was a weak one.
"We need to reach that plant before the day is out," Trent said quietly. "Does your route permit that, Metria?"
"Yes, if you move right along," the demoness said. "I'll lead the way. I won't be able to solidify near the mountain, but Veleno will receive my communications."
"You had better lead invisibly from the start," Trent said. "So that we can work out the miscues before we get within range of the mountain."
"Gotcha," She smoked out.
He turned to Gloha. "I think it will be best if you move Graeboe to the chair."
Gloha agreed. She got down and slid her arms under the elf form and the blanket. She heaved him up, wincing as she saw him wince. She set him carefully in the chair, which adjusted to accommodate the body. The surface of the slowmud was plush and did seem to be about as comfortable as it could be. Trent had chosen the transformation well.
"Lead on, Metria," Trent said.
The demoness did not appear. But Veleno started to move. He just slid smoothly along the ground, in the manner the larger Swiftmud had, evidently responding to Metria's hidden touch or silent word. Shared souls were wonderful.
"But we can't get there from here," Gloha said, hurrying after the slowmud, which was getting to respectable velocity. "It's beyond the Faun & Nymph Retreat, Lake Ogre-Chobee, and the Region of Madness. It took us days to come this far. How can we do it in hours?"
"Maybe we can go into ogre-drive," Trent said, unconcerned as they moved onto a slight hill. "Or take giant steps."
"But we're not-"
The hill rose into the air. "Eek!" Gloha cried, exactly like a nymph. She kicked her feet, flung her hair about, spread her wings, and flew up, alarmed.
Trent and Marrow sat down beside the chair. "On the other hand, let's just relax," Trent said. The group rising up beyond the tops of the trees.
Chex and Cynthia flew over to
join Gloha. "I see you are on your way to the nasty mountain," the elder centaur said. "We can't go there, so we'll return home now. But please stop by when your quest is done."
"Yes, please do," Cynthia said. "I really enjoyed traveling with you and Magician Trent." There was just the suggestion of a flush as she mentioned the name, as if she had some unchildish memory. "I would hate to lose touch."
"I, uh, of course," Gloha said, somewhat discombobulated if not actually disconcerted, because she understood Cynthia's memory all too well. Also, she was confused by the mysterious flying hill.
"I'm so glad I was able to help," Cynthia said.
"Yes. Thank you."
The centaurs flew away, looking somewhat like dam and filly, or more properly dam and future filly-in-law.
Then Gloha saw a giant footprint form in a field. Oh-an invisible giant was carrying them! One whose breath didn't smell. Now she realized that the hill the others rode on was in the general shape of a hand with a tarpaulin spread across it. Somehow she hadn't gotten the word about this detail.
She flew to the hand and landed. There was no sense wearing herself out with a long flight.
Then she remembered Trent's pun: take giant steps. On the other hand. Figures of speech to be taken literally. Darn the man!
In a surprisingly short time their flying island sank down to the land. In the distance was the peak of a smoking mountain. She saw other islands floating in, and realized that the armies of goblins, skeletons, and harpies were being similarly transported. "The giants can't approach the volcano for the same reason the demons can't," Trent remarked. "It seems that once an absentminded giant trod on one of Pin-A-Tuba's ash gardens, and now none of them are welcome. A boulder of hot rock can make an uncomfortable burn. But the giants are contributing to the effort in this manner before going home." He patted the tarp. "And we certainly appreciate the transportation." The flesh beneath gave a twitch of appreciation. Gloha knew why the giant did not speak; it would give away the operation if the mountain overheard.
They dismounted from the hand, and the tarp slid off and became limp. The hand had departed.
They were at the edge of a dry plain spread with what looked like dishes. Veleno, answering an invisible directive, slid briskly into it. Trent and Marrow paced it on either side. Gloha was left perplexed again.
Unable to subdue her curiosity, she went to inspect the closest of the dishes. It turned out to contain what looked like vanilla ice cream. What was that doing way out here in nowhere? She checked another. It contained several brownies, smelling very chocolaty. A third dish contained butterscotch pudding. Others had pie, cake, tarts, sweets, fruits, sugared nuts, and assorted other desserts.
Suddenly it registered. This wasn't a desert plain-it was a dessert plain! Filled with plain desserts. In fact it must be the region of Just Desserts she had heard about but never expected to visit.
Well, there was no sense in letting all this wonderful food go to waste. She picked up a dish with a mouth-watering slice of meringue pie. She was about to eat it when Marrow's skull turned to face her. "That may not be wise," the skeleton said. "Fumes from the volcano may have tainted these desserts."
Good point. She threw the pie away. But it looped around and came back to her hand. "Boo!" it said.
Astonished, she threw it away again, harder. It skated just above the ground in a big loop, and came right back to her. "Boo!" Couldn't she get rid of it?
"Boo-meringue pie, I believe," Marrow observed.
Oh. The kind that always came back to a person. So she held on to it for now; she'd find a way to get rid of it soon, she was sure.
She flew ahead to see what other wonders might be along this route. Beyond the desserts was a low valley. In it were hoods. Just assorted pointed or rounded headdresses, sitting there for anyone to take. She picked one up that was about right for her and put it on her head.
Immediately it closed on her forehead and ears with such force it was painful. She tried to take it off, but it clung, curling around her mouth, trying to suffocate her. Choking, she fell to the ground.
Then the hood climbed off her face. She gasped in a breath, not moving for the moment. The hood crawled to her hand and wrapped itself around the dish of pie. Then it rolled away with the pie.
Gloha sat up, staring after it. That was a robbing hood! A criminal type. And she, unsuspecting, had let it waylay her. What a fool she had been to trust a hood.
She got up, dusted herself off, and set forth again. She hoped the others had not seen her stupidity with the hood.
Beyond the hooded valley was a field with a single tree. The tree had branches with spinning needlelike spikes, leaves that radiated X rays, and tendrils that squirted jets of water or made horrible sucking sounds. The very sight of it made Gloha shiver with horror. That was a dentis tree! The most feared of all trees. Her teeth ached with the mere thought of getting within range of that monster.
The party caught up as she hovered, not daring to proceed. "No need to be concerned about that," Trent said reassuringly. "That's a dentis tree."
"I kn-know," she agreed, her teeth chattering.
"Such a tree can be very useful, when there's a toothache, I understand," Marrow said. "It doesn't bother folk with healthy teeth."
Veleno proceeded right past the tree. Gloha nerved herself and followed. She was relieved when the tree did not grab her.
Now the route descended into a broad, deep cleft. This was good, because it concealed them from the view of the mountain. But there was something odd about it. "I don't like it," she said.
"Like it it," a voice replied with an annoying inflection.
"Who said that?" she asked, not quite pleased.
"Said that that," the voice said with a sneer.
"Are you making fun of me?" she demanded.
"Fun of me me," it agreed ironically.
"Pay it no mind," Trent advised. "It's obviously a sar-chasm."
"Sar chasm chasm," the voice agreed tauntingly.
Gloha nodded, not trusting herself to speak again, because the chasm had a way of reversing and demeaning the import of whatever she said.
There was a remote clamor. It sounded like goblins and harpies hurling insults at each other. That was good news; it meant that the siege was starting. That should distract Mount Pin-A-Tuba from the real mission.
But soon there was another sound: that of distant thunder. Trent cocked his head. "Uh-oh," he said mildly.
"Could that be Fracto?" Marrow inquired.
"It surely could," Gloha said. "He always shows up at the worst times."
"Malign beings do seem to congregate," Trent agreed. "The evil cloud may have a pact with the evil mountain. Our siege alerted it."
"Well, as long as Fracto doesn't realize what we're up to."
The cloud moved in with dismaying speed. The sky darkened. Thunder crashed, and lightning jags taunted the land. The rain started.
"I think this chasm won't be suitable much longer," Trent said.
"Maybe if we hurry, we'll get out of it soon," Marrow said.
They hurried. Veleno fairly whizzed along. The rain came down more thickly, and the runoff from higher slopes poured into the chasm in assorted waterfalls. The base began to fill with water.
"Maybe we had better get out of this chasm," Gloha suggested. "I mean by getting straight out now, not trying to get out the far end of it."
"Metria is showing the route," Trent said. "She should know whether it is safe to leave the chasm now." He glanced at Veleno.
A black bubble came from a nozzle at the slowmud's front. That meant No. It wasn't safe to leave.
So they continued, as rapidly as they could. But the rainfall increased. Water sluiced into the chasm, and the runoff poured more thickly into it. Evidently this was one of the mountain's natural drainage clefts, excellent for travel during dry weather, but a disaster in a storm. Metria could not have known that Fracto would get into the act. The level not only rose in the chasm,
it developed a turbulent flow. They had either to get out of the chasm, or fight that flow. It was getting more difficult.
"Still not safe to leave this depression?" Trent inquired mildly.
Another black bubble.
"I'll see for myself," Gloha said impatiently. She spread her wings and hauled herself into the air despite the buffeting of the winds. She got her head up above the level of the brink and peered out.
It was a hellish scene. The chasm was winding through a landscape of jagged rocks surrounded by ash. Steam rose from hot spots, and sinister smoke issued from mean-looking vents. There seemed to be no clear path through it except the chasm. Metria had signaled truly.
"Not safe," Gloha said shortly as she dropped back to the bottom. "We have to continue here."
"We shall have to float," Trent decided. "Slowmud can do it, and Marrow can form a boat for me, as he did before. But each can support only one person. We have one extra."
"Me," Gloha said. "I will have to go back, so that the rest of you can make it."
"No," Trent said firmly. "You must be along. It is your quest."
"But Graeboe has to be along, and so does Marrow. You don't mean that you will go back?"
"I fear for your safety if I am not with you. I may need to transform you if there is an emergency."
"Then transform me now, into a form that can handle this."
"I don't think that's wise."
"But we have to do something*" she cried despairingly.
"See if you can hang on to the slowmud," he said. "You can float without putting your weight on it."
She hadn't thought of that. Maybe it would work.
Trent kicked Marrow in the hipbone, and the skeleton flew apart and formed into the small boat. There was even a line of small bones extending across so that the slowmud could grab on. That way they wouldn't get separated in the rapids.
Trent found a long piece of driftwood he was able to beat into a crude paddle-pole. He got in the boat and jammed the pole down through the surging water as an anchor. Gloha saw now that the bone boat had flipper-bones below that served to propel the craft.