"Action!" the director said, the megaphone amplifying his voice. Diana resumed her vibrant full-breasted red-haired persona and her panting fleeing, and the monsters their slavering pursuit.
A shape appeared on the slope above. It had four legs below, two in the middle, two arms above, a head in front and another at the top, and glinted somberly. The monsters held back, wary of this apparition. "Avast, varlet!" it cried.
The maiden paused. "A knight!" she exclaimed. "My rescue is at hand!"
The knight lifted his visor to peer down at her. "A damsel in distress."
"Verily!" she exclaimed gladly, her bosom heavingly active. Her décolletage had slipped somewhat, revealing additional rondure. "Swoop me up in your mighty arms and take me away from all this."
But the knight did not swoop her up. He peered down inside her fragmented halter as if there was something interesting there. "A point of observation, damsel. Do I bestride a horse?"
"No," she said, surprised. "It is a great black bull."
"Does my armor shine?"
She looked more carefully. "No, it glints darkly."
"And what does that signal to your limited intellect?"
She clapped the back of her hand to her forehead. "You don't serve the light."
"I am a dark and stormy knight," he agreed. "I serve the Dark Power. I certainly have a use for a creature of the light as lusciously exposive as you are, but I would not term this 'rescue.' Acquisition is more like it. Now yield thee to my dubious mercy forthwith and I will not throw you to the monsters after I and my virile steed are done with you. You will serve as a scullery maid betweentimes."
"Never!" she cried despairingly, evidently having some inkling of his sinister intent.
"Too bad, slut." His visor snapped back into place, and a long dark lance appeared in his hands. "I will simply run you through in another fashion." His armored bull snorted and charged, steam blowing from its nostrils.
"eeeEE!" she cried, in her distraction capitalizing the last two e's. She dodged to the side, so that the point of his lance missed by a medium hair breadth. He was unable to stop his charge quickly, as it was downhill, so he moved on down, skewering bystanding monsters galore. The monsters were hardly pleased.
Meanwhile the maiden, having dodged the bull-et, resumed her plunge up the hill, panting anew.
The peeve flew back into the scene. "You were about to tell me about the children, Diana," it said.
She flinched, but couldn't answer without violating the script. She forged on up the slope.
"So it's like that," the peeve said, landing back on her head. "Are you sure you don't want to answer? It would be such a shame to poop such lovely fresh-washed hair again."
Now the fleeing maiden came to the brink of a horrendous cliff. Vultures circled above the abyss below, eying her hungrily. The monsters behind closed in, knowing they had her trapped. "Get lost, you little turd," she hissed. The air shimmered around the dirty word, and the hint of a foul smell wafted out.
"So be it, wastrel." The peeve readied a phenomenal poop.
Diana leaped into the void, avoiding the valiant effort, and also, incidentally, the charging monsters. She sailed downward in a swan dive, her lovely hair spreading like a parachute. The peeve was annoyed; she had caused it to waste a significant deposit. After all, quality poop didn't grow on trees.
Well, she wasn't going to escape that way. The peeve folded its wings and dived after her.
A Mundane helicopter zoomed across, its enormous whirling propeller almost chopping through the peeve. The peeve had to take immediate evasive action to avoid losing some tail-feathers. "Bleep!" it swore.
The helicopter dropped a dangling ladder right before the diving maiden. She caught the bottom rung with both hands and swung like a pendulum below the machine, hair and skirt flaring appealingly. "Saved!" she cried.
A large man with a complexion reminiscent of a warthog leaned out of the copter. "Ha!" he exulted. "Now you are in my power, you luscious wench!"
The maiden looked up. Panic spread across her face and down her neck to her bosom, almost obliterating a heave. "Oh, no! Black Repete!"
"Your ancient nemesis," Repete exulted. "Come on up, my lovely, so I may have my ill way with you repeatedly before I throw you to the monsters."
"Never!" Diana cried plaintively.
"That's what you think, you tempting tidbit. If you won't come up, I'll come down." Repete swung himself onto the ladder, showing heavily muscled arms. "I'll ravish you in midair. I always wanted to do that."
"Eeeeek!" the maiden cried despairingly.
But now the peeve caught up. It perched again on her hair. "Now will you tell me about the children?"
"You unmitigated—" she started.
"Thank you," Black Repete said. He hadn't seen the peeve.
"One more chance," the peeve said, lifting its tail.
"Oh! You're awful!" she cried in the very depths of disgust.
"I am indeed," Repete agreed. He was almost down to where she clung.
Then the maiden let go of the rung.
"Cut!" the director bawled through his megaphone. "That's not in the script!" He and the monsters were standing at the brink of the cliff, above.
"Bleep the script!" Repete growled. "What happened?"
The maiden dropped below camera range, bounced on the safety net, and sailed up almost as far as she had dropped. "That bleeping bird was going to poop on me again!" she said furiously.
"What bird?" Repete demanded.
By this time the peeve had reached the director's megaphone. It put its beak to it and let forth its loudest voice, suitably amplified. "THIS BIRD, MORON!"
Several startled assistants and a monster or two almost fell off the cliff. The director lifted up the megaphone, but the peeve clung to it. "WHERE ARE THE CHILDREN?" its voice reverberated.
"What children?" the director asked, trying to shake the bird off.
"THE LOST CHILDREN, IMBECILE."
"You've ruined the whole scene," the director complained. "We'll have to shoot it over from the beginning."
"Not before you tell me about the children, dimwit," the peeve said, finally shaken loose from the megaphone.
"I don't know anything about children!" the director said. "This is an adult-rated dream. No children here."
"What about in the rest of the dream realm, jerk?"
"How should I know? I'm just doing my own scene. Now get out of here, you speck of dirt, before I call the law."
"What law? I'll poop on your head." The peeve flew up over the director.
Then the entire scene froze. The director and monsters were unmoving, the helicopter blades became visible and still, and Diana hovered in mid-bounce, part of an eyeball-freaking panty showing under the floating skirt.
The great Night Stallion stood in mid air. "This law," he said without moving his mouth. "We can't have our sets disrupted by intruders."
"Too bad, horse-face. I won't leave until I get what I came for."
"You will leave when I hurl you out, bird."
That made the peeve nervous, but he bluffed it out. "Try it and I'll poop on your mane, founder-foot."
The air wavered around the Stallion. A tremendous force coalesced, focusing in the peeve. The entire realm of dreams seemed to turn inside out.
When it cleared, the peeve remained where it was. It had not been ejected. "What the matter, numbskull? Lose your power?"
"You're not of this reality," the Stallion said, surprised. "I lack power over your dreams."
"Tough spit, cow-eye. So you'd better just tell me what I need to know."
The Stallion steamed slightly, but his voice was even. "What is that?"
"Where are the three lost children? Ted, Monica, Woe Betide?"
"That would be complicated. I would have to inventory all our children, to ascertain whether those three are among them."
"Get busy, laggard. Do you think I have all day?"
The Stallion bl
inked, and the scene vanished. Now they were in a somber hall, just the two of them. An independent observer might somehow have gotten the impression that the horse of another color was angry. "Tell me about these children. Are they of this reality?"
"No. They're visitors, like me."
"What are you doing here?"
"As if you don't know, fleabag."
"I do not know the affairs of other realities," the Stallion said evenly. Wisps of acrid vapor drifted in minor air currents. "In fact I was unaware that individuals could travel between them. How did you manage that?"
"The Stork works, dullard. That connects with all the realities. You didn't know?"
"I did not know the storks allowed children and birds to utilize their facilities."
"It's a special case, hoofer."
The Stallion nodded gravely. "So it seems. I suspect there is something larger here than meets the eye."
"You do have bigger orbs than I do, horse-head. If you can't see it, why should I?"
The equine body glowed dangerously. "I may not be able to eject you from my realm, alien bird, but I can put you into dreams that will make you wish you had departed."
"Listen, rump-rot, I've lived in Hell. What do you have that can match that?"
The Stallion considered. "You strike me as a creature almost without conscience. What interest do you have in finding children?"
"What business is it of yours, puke-tail?"
"If you want me to locate them for you, that becomes my business."
The peeve searched for a way to refute that, but could not. "The Sorceress Morgan le Fey is holding the children hostage so as to force Surprise Golem to give up her baby for Morgan to use. We have to find those children so Surprise can keep her baby."
"Surprise surely cares. Why do you?"
The peeve squirmed uncomfortably. "Is this relevant?"
"Motive is relevant. Before I help you, I need to be sure you are not planning to harm her or the children."
"I wouldn't do that!"
"A creature without conscience would sell out anyone for personal benefit. Convince me you would not."
The peeve saw no alternative but the truth. "The Golems gave me a good home. The baby likes me. I don't want to mess that up."
"Suppose the Sorceress Morgan offers you a mountain of divine birdseed?" The Stallion flickered, and the mountain appeared, formed of every kind of seed, common, rare, and exotic. There were even the seeds of Doubt, Dissension, and War, which were guaranteed to give a bellyful in short order.
The peeve licked its beak, but held firm. "The harpy can eat it herself for all I care."
"And if she offers you the Big Book of Insults for All Occasions?" The huge tome appeared, bound by two hefty leather straps, with wisps of smoke leaking out from between the pages.
The peeve hesitated half a flicker. "Including the filthiest ones?"
"Including ones that scorch foliage and make maidens swallow their teeth."
But the peeve remembered nice Surprise Golem. How could her welfare be traded for a pot of puke? "No."
"What about a perch over an abyss filled with beseeching faces?" The abyss appeared below them, filled with the features of humans, monsters, and crossbreeds of every fantastic description, all staring up pleadingly.
The notion was dizzying. All those faces to poop on! "Well—"
"Or the combination," the Stallion continued persuasively. "Birdseed to stoke your poop-tract, insults galore, and the faces of everyone who ever disliked you?" The three scenes superimposed in an artistic dream.
Even Hell had not offered such opportunity! There had been a time—a long time—when that would have been irresistible. But as of the past year the peeve had begun to experience life with a loving family, and as of the past hour had been the recipient of a single unfeigned smile. It would be ludicrous to trade seeds, insults, and faces for such pittances, yet the Golem family, including the new baby, had somehow lassoed the peeve's wizened heart and would not let go. "No," it whispered regretfully.
"That is not a purely rational decision. How can any puny trace of emotion be allowed to interfere with unadulterated self-interest?"
"I know," the peeve agreed, ashamed. "I'm just not the bird I was."
"I will help you," the Stallion said abruptly. The Temptation scene retreated to the background, restoring the somber hall. A monstrous megaphone appeared. "Now hear ye," the horse said, his voice amplified beyond all reason by the instrument. "All children are to report to headquarters this moment for tallying. Any child hanging back will be denied candy for a week."
There was an immediate scramble, and the hall filled with children.
There were humans, elves, goblins, trolls, ogrets, skeletons, demons, cubs, little dragons, small ghosts, puppy cats, kitty dogs, and more alien youngsters.
"Which are yours?" the Stallion asked.
The peeve eyed every child. "None of these," it said sadly.
"Then they are not in the dream realm."
"Then my job here is done. I wasn't able to help Surprise."
"You have helped her by eliminating one sector," the Stallion said. "That is the most you can do."
"I wanted to do more."
"That is the penalty of developing your soul, conscience, and empathy."
"Now he tells me," the peeve muttered. Then it remembered something. "There's a nice girl named Lydia who is looking for work. She can interpret dreams, but few folk remember them long enough. I wonder—"
"We can use her," the Stallion said. "Next time she sleeps we will bring her here and present her with our uninterpreted dreams. We like to understand them perfectly before using them, so they can't go wrong, but some are awkward."
"Tell her the pretty green bird arranged it."
"I will."
Meanwhile the children had discovered the objects in the background. "Seeds!" one exclaimed, and several dived into the mountain, throwing seeds at each other. "Insults!" another cried, trying to unfasten the containing straps. "Poop-deck faces!" a third said, looking down into the abyss.
"I had better get out of your way," the peeve said.
The Stallion glanced back. The seeds became candy, the book a giant Fairy & Elf Tales volume, and the faces became a mural on the floor. "Awww," the children groaned, disappointed.
"Just fly through the bull's-eye."
The peeve found itself back in the cliffhanger horror sequence, which was being rerun. The Dark and Stormy Knight was charging the Desperate Maiden, who was dodging aside. Now it was evident that this event was carefully choreographed; the knight was not really trying to impale her, but to make it look like a very close call. The dreamer who received that bad dream would not know that, of course.
The bull was snorting, its armored eye glaring. The peeve flew right at the eye, passing between the slats of the armor and diving into the angry pupil.
It emerged from the gourd whose peephole it had entered. The standard dull Xanth scenery remained. It was good, in its fashion, to be back.
The peeve resumed its search of the remaining sector, but was sure the children weren't there. Maybe someone else would find them. At least it had done what it could.
And learned something about itself. Indeed, it was not the bird it had been.
11
Piquant Sea
Che Centaur flew across his sector, searching for traces of the children. His gaze was keen and so was his hearing; he was confident he could spot them if they were here. They tended to be noisy little rascals, always up to some mischief; that made them easier to spot.
He came to a large lake or small sea, half shrouded by fog. He realized he was thirsty, so he glided down for a drink. He landed on the bank, brought a cup from his arrow quiver, and dipped out some sparkling water.
Then he paused. Things were not the same in this reality as in his own. He was not necessarily married to Cynthia Centaur here, for one thing. What looked like good lake water could be a huge love elixir pond.
He already had trouble enough with his illicit passion for Surprise Golem; he did not want any further complication.
A creature emerged from the fog. It looked like a small human woman, or a large elf, but not exactly. It was female, with cat ears and tail, and wings. A crossbreed of some sort.
The creature saw Che. "Well hail, centaur! What are you doing in this neck of the woods?"
"I am Che Centaur. I thought I would take a drink of this water, but I am uncertain of its nature."
"And I am Chaska, half human, half demoness, and half whatever," she replied, changing form to small winged centaur. "My talent is seeing through fog. Have no fear of this water. This is the Vitamin Sea, very healthy."
This surprised Che. "How can you have a talent in addition to shape-shifting?"
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Folk are normally limited to one magic talent. Mine is flying. Any others I have to develop by serious practice, such as accurate archery."
She glanced sidelong at him. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"I am from far away, yes."
"So you don't know that there is no limit on magic talents in Xanth. Not that I have more than one; it's my demon ancestry that enables me to shape-shift." She became a fully human bare girl with wings.
"I did not know that," Che agreed. "Thank you for your information about this water." He lifted his cup and drank.
The water was dizzyingly healthy. He felt wonderful. And alarmed. Had she told him the truth? Suppose it was after all love elixir? She had for the moment assumed bare human form, which in that species was considered seductive. After his experience with Surprise Seven, who had tempted him far more than he cared to admit, he did not trust anything about this reality.
"You are welcome," Chaska said. She walked back into the fog, and disappeared.
Che felt no passion for her. So she had not tricked him; the water was merely full of healthy vitamins. He was relieved.
Chaska reappeared. "I just thought: might you be looking for other winged centaurs?"
"Actually I was looking for three lost part-demon children. But I wouldn't mind meeting others of my kind."