Food appeared. Steaming pots emerged from a window in the wall at the end of the table and walked on stout little legs to the center, and a big cocoa pot arrived similarly. Plates and utensils slid along until they took their proper places before each person. Then the pots lifted serving spoons and plopped stew onto each plate, while the cocoa pot siphoned steaming cocoa into each mug.
Orgy dived into his stew with gusto, slurping and splashing. But then Forrest reminded himself- about attitude, and looked again, more carefully-and saw that the ogre was using a big spoon in the conventional human manner, and neither slurping nor splashing. His prejudice had tried to reassert itself.
They tried their own portions. Forrest found the substance in his stew to be almost nut-like, and quite good. The mares seemed to be enjoying theirs too.
“If I may inquire,” Cathryn said, “what kind of stew is this?”
“Horse dropping stew,” Orgy said.
She blinked. The stew was brown and lumpy. Then she smiled, surmounting her prejudice. “Horse chestnuts,” she said.
“Yes. The chests and nuts drop from the horse trees, and we collect the chests and the nut droppings too.”
“And the cook makes stew from them,” Imbri said. “How nice.”
Then, as they ate, Forrest got down to business. “We need to find a service we can render Orgy, in return for information about the location of the dear horn. Do either of you have any ideas'?”
“Not at the moment,” Cathryn said. “But perhaps if we knew more about Orgy and this castle, we would get an idea.”
“That is too simple to be interesting,” the ogre said.
“Even the most stupid thing becomes interesting, when there is a need,” Forrest said.
He had uttered a magic word. “Stupid,” Orgy said. “I am as stupid as any ogre. Very well, I will tell you about me and this castle. Two years ago I was “just another ogre, happily bashing rocks, tying trees in knots, and teaching young dragons the meaning of fear. I mean, it's what ogres do. Then I happened across an odd looking horn that someone had left lying around. Dimly curious, I picked it up and sniffed it, but it had no particular smell, but it didn't taste particularly edible. In short, it didn't seem to be very useful. The scorn this horn,” I said, or words to that effect; after all, there might be someone listening. Then I put it to my mouth and blew.”
He paused. “Are you sure you want to hear more? This is so stupid that even I am being bored.”
“I don't want to be a spoilsport,” Forrest said, “but I find it fascinating. Please do go on.”
“Oh,” Orgy said. “Well, it gets duller. When I blew the horn, it made a noise like none other I had heard. It was, if you can imagine this, the sound of utter longing. When I heard that, I wanted something so badly that I could think of nothing else. I didn't even know what it was, just that I had to have it. So I blew the horn again, and this time I heard an echo from afar, and my longing focused on that distant response. So I trudged toward it, and when I began to lose my way, I blew it again, and got another echo. Gradually I realized that I was the only one who heard either the horn or the echo; other creatures I passed paid no attention, apart from getting hastily out of my way. They did not realize that I was on a mission; they thought I had come to maraud as usual.
“I continued in this manner for some time, until at last I hove into view of this castle. The echo came from it. It seemed to be unoccupied, so I entered. Naturally I bashed down a wall or two, and found it very bashable, so I continued. It was a real thrill, once again destroying something solid. Eventually, pleasantly exercised, I dropped to the floor and snored valiantly for a few hours. When I woke, there was a table loaded with victuals. So I got up and gobbled them down, then resumed my bashing of the walls.
“So it continued for several days, before I realized that the walls did not stay bashed. They restored themselves overnight, or even sooner.
This pleased me intensely, for it meant that I could bash them down again. And indeed, so it has been ever since. Bash, eat, sleep, bash, in a perpetual routine. I love it; it is an ogre's heaven. Since I had no more use for the horn, I threw it out a window. After a time several months-I realized that this was the purpose of the horn: to lead me to my heart's delight. A perpetually bashable castle. So this is surely the dear horn you seek, and I know exactly where I threw it-memory being inversely proportional to intelligence-and will be glad to tell you, if you can find any equivalent service to trade for the information. But I doubt that you can, as I am completely happy as I am.”
“It does seem as if this castle was designed with an ogre in mind,” Cathryn remarked. “Perpetual bashing.”
“With feasting in between,” Imbri agreed. “There doesn't seem to be anything missing.”
“Yet I, too, thought I had everything I wanted,” the centaur said. “Now I realize that I simply had not thought of my missing desire.”
Orgy looked at her. “You have a missing desire?”
“Yes. That's why I seek the dear horn.”
“To find your True Love?”
“Yes. A companion to be with, to love and cherish and breed with-” She paused. “Oh, that's it for you!”
Orgy was taken aback. “I don't think I would be a good companion for you.”
She laughed. “Surely not. I favor intelligence and wings. I mean that maybe you could use a companion of your own kind. An ogress.”
“I'm not sure. She might be uglier than I am. Then the castle might like her better than me.”
“Maybe a merely moderately ugly ogress?” Imbri inquired.
“Who would want a merely moderately ugly ogress?”
Forrest saw that this wasn't getting anywhere. But it did suggest a line of investigation. “What about one who is distinctly inferior to you in strength, ugliness, and stupidity, but who really appreciates your ogrish qualities?”
Orgy pondered, and the fleas began jumping. “There is something appealing there.”
It fell into place. They had sought to applaud the ogre, letting him win an ugly contest. That had worked, in a manner. An ogress could surely do it much better. “Someone to admire your achievement in continuously bashing down the walls. Where's the fun of a job well done, if nobody notices?”
The fleas jumped higher, as if their feet were getting burned. “Yes, I hadn't thought of that.”
“Naturally not,” Forrest said triumphantly. “You are too stupid. But we who can't compare to you in that respect were able to think of it, and this must be what we can do for you. We can find you such an ogress.”
Orgy nodded, and the few remaining fleas hung on. “For that I would tell you where the dear horn is. Find me that ogress.”
“Well, if you tell us where the dear horn is, we can use it to find her.”
Orgy shook his head, and the fleas were hurled into the nearest unbroken wall. “I am too stupid to understand why you wouldn't simply use the dear horn for your own quest, once you had it. So I'll wait for you to bring the ogress.”
The three of them exchanged a somewhat stretched glance. Naturally it would not be expedient to question the stupidity of their host. “We'll search for her without the dear horn,” Forrest agreed.
“Do you have any notion who would know where such an ogress might be?”
Cathryn asked with something less than full stupidity. “Ogle Ogre might know. He sees everything.”
“How can we find Ogle?”
Orgy put his last remaining fleas to flight. “He especially likes to look at esthetic females. Maybe if you stood on a mountain and looked esthetic, he would spy you and come to ogle you.”
This time Cathryn and Imbri shared a female type glance, excluding Forrest. Then they shrugged. “Maybe so,” one of them agreed.
Thus, in due course, they departed the ogre's castle on a new mission, to discover a suitable ogress. They headed for the nearest barren peak.
“I hope we are able to compliment Ogle Ogre before he crunches us,”
Cathryn muttered.
“If he comes to ogle you, he shouldn't crunch you,” Forrest pointed out.
“And that's another thing,” Imbri said. “Do you suppose all females exist just to be ogled?”
“Why no, of course not,” Forrest said, taken aback. “A number of them exist to be chased and celebrated.”
For some obscure impenetrable reason she turned a dark glare on him. “He is a faun,” Cathryn reminded her, for some similarly unfathomable motive.
Since they had nothing important on their minds, Forrest shared a concern of his: “If I am the size I am because of the solidified mass of my soul, and Imbri is the size she is because of the mass of her half soul, how is it that creatures like Cathryn and Orgy have so much more mass? Are their souls so much larger?”
“Now that's an intelligent question,” Cathryn said. “Just when we thought you had used up your supply of intelligence. No, souls don't vary in size like that. In fact, we of Ptero really don't have souls.
They come only when we assume reality. We have inferior substitute filler material that assumes the semblance but not the essence of souls.
Thus we are limited to our life spans, and have no existence beyond them. It is one reason each of us hopes to come into genuine existence.
So we amass as much material as we require to fill out our standard forms, and that's it.”
“You mean I could assume larger size, by adding some of that filler substance?” Imbri asked.
“You could. But why would you want to? You are pure soul now; what higher aspiration can there be?”
“To be fully souled. To be fully real. I am only a day mare; I was fully real only briefly, when I had a mission in Xanth, and was king for a moment. Ever since, I have longed to be fully real again. And once I complete my Service to the Good Magician, by enabling Forrest to find his tree spirit, I will be, perhaps.”
“I envy you your chance at reality. All of us here on Ptero hope for it, but most of us know that we will never achieve it.”
“How do you know that any of you achieve it?” Forrest asked. “Could you all be victims of a cruel hoax?”
“No, we do know the chance is real, because some of us are real. We see them, and know it can theoretically happen for others.”
“But didn't you say that none of you actually have souls?”
“I said that all of us hope for genuine existence, and gain souls only when we assume reality. Some of us do achieve it, and the rest of us envy them despite the inconvenience it brings them.”
“Inconvenience?”
“There is a year-wide swath missing from their lives, corresponding to the period they are in Xanth. It is similar to the excluded regions of death, but broader. Because a creature can't be both here and in Xanth at the same time.”
Forrest shook his head. “I don't understand that.”
“Neither do I,” Imbri agreed.
“Well, it is rather complicated to appreciate, until you see it,” Cathryn said. “Perhaps we shall encounter a living person before we separate.” Forrest hoped so, because this was one peculiar thing she was describing. Souled folk with missing year-wide bands?
They reached the top of the peak, which really wasn't all that high, but it made up for it in barrenness. As far as they could see, there was nothing except dirt and rocks and stunted weeds that didn't dare grow bold for fear of the ogres. So visibility was good, which was what they wanted.
“Now we shall have to give him something to ogle,” Cathryn said distastefully. “I understand males like to look at forbidden female anatomy. But centaurs, being more sensible, have no forbidden anatomy.
So it may be up to you, Imbri.”
“But I'm a mare,” Imbri protested. “I assumed this form only because it's all that my half soul can substantiate, and because it facilitates physical verbal speech. I wear a dress only because otherwise I would be confused for a nymph.”
“But nymphs are mindless creatures,” Cathryn said. “While you clearly have a mind.”
“Not unless I speak.”
The centaur nodded. “Point made. From afar, Ogle would take you for a nymph, unless you are clothed. So he would ignore you, because ogling just doesn't work unless the subject is embarrassed. So you wouldn't be of interest, clothed or unclothed.”
“Maybe if Cathryn put on clothing,” Forrest suggested. “Since centaurs don't normally wear anything, that might make her interesting.”
“I doubt it,” Cathryn said. “Even straight human beings, who have the worst hang-ups about exposure, don't worry much about children, and I am now seven years old.”
He had to admit that was true. A clothed juvenile centaur would not be worth ogling, because even an ogre would know she had nothing to conceal. But he refused to give up on the quest. “We'll just have to establish that Imbri is an adult human female, and then have her remove her clothing.”
“But that would be improper,” Imbri protested. “A human woman wouldn't.”
“Precisely,” Cathryn said. “That makes it ogleable.”
The logic was impeccable. So, reluctantly, Imbri agreed. She reformed her dress, which was made of her own soul-stuff, so that it had a number of pieces. Then Forrest and Cathryn stood on either side of the peak, serving as an audience. Imbri, who had experience with male dreams, explained what was required, so that they could make suitable comments that would help attract the ogre's notice. Then Imbri stood on the highest knoll and lifted her arms.
“Behold!” Cathryn said loudly. “A modest human style female woman lady is about to do a naughty strip tease dance, that no decent person should observe.”
“Great!” Forrest exclaimed, just as loudly. “As an improper male type faun I can hardly wait.”
Then Imbri began her dance. She stepped around, wiggling her bottom.
She was pretty good at it; her experience making daydreams must have helped. Then she kicked one foot high, so that her leg showed all the way to the knee. Her sandals were still protecting her from moving her feet incorrectly, so that she managed to show only as much as she meant to.
“Disgusting!” Cathryn pronounced.
“More! More!” Forrest cried.
Imbri whirled, so that her skirt flared out and lifted, showing both knees.
“Stop this vile display at once!” Cathryn said in her best imitation of an adult voice. “Don't you realize that a child might see?”
“Who cares?” Forrest demanded irresponsibly.
There was a faint shudder in the ground. Either the earth itself was disgusted at the display, or an ogre was stirring far away.
Imbri took hold of the kerchief she had formed and drew it from her head. She tossed it into the air, where it fluttered a moment, then dissolved into vapor.
“Indecent exposure!” Cathryn protested.
“Take it off! Take it off!“ Forrest insisted wickedly as he sat down on the Ground.
The ground rumbled. Something huge was trudging in their direction.
Imbri worked off her blouse and threw it at Forrest, who caught it and sniffed it in as vulgar a manner as he could imagine. Actually it was a very nice blouse, with a faint smell of fresh hay. It was Mare Imbri's natural soul substance. Then it dissolved, because of course she couldn't afford to get fragmented.
“Absolutely revolting,” Cathryn proclaimed.
“Divine,” he countered sincerely.
Imbri was now dancing in a bright red halter and skirt, and really did look nice. She was small, because of her lack of much soul substance, but well formed, and the tight halter offered a strong hint of even better things to come. Especially when it bounced with the vigor of her motions. Forrest was intrigued despite knowing that this was only an act. There was something about clothing that enhanced interesting aspects into exciting aspects.
Imbri kicked up a leg, and one of her slippers went flying. Then she danced closer and kicked off the other, and such was her position that Forrest saw halfway beyond the knee. That was
dangerously close to panty territory! “Awesome!”
But as he sat, half stunned by the prospect, the slipper hit him on the forehead. It didn't hurt him; it felt more like a kiss as it dropped and dissolved.
Then the ogre arrived. “Who she me see?” he demanded.
Startled, Forrest turned to him. “You must be Ogle Ogre,” he said. It was a good guess, because the ogre's eyes seemed to bulge halfway out of their sockets. There was something else about him, but Forrest wasn't certain what it was.
“From dawn to dawn, me ogre, you faun,” he agreed.
“Oh, come off it, Ogle,” Forrest said. “We know you don't really talk in stupid rhymes.”
The ogre looked crestfallen. “What gave me away?”
“Nothing. It was Orgy Ogre who let slip the secret. We want to make a deal with you.”
“I am not interested in any deal. I came merely to get a closer look at your dancing maiden. She was just about to reveal something interesting.”
“No I wasn't,” Imbri said as her blouse, kerchief, and shoes reappeared on her body.
“Then I'm out of here,” the ogre said crossly. “I can't crunch you because you know my nature, and if I can't ogle you, then any further dalliance here becomes pointless.”
“He has a soul,” Imbri murmured. “See that faint glow.”
That was the oddity Forrest had noted. What an unlikely place to encounter a soul!
Imbri reconsidered. “Suppose I dance while you negotiate with the faun?”
Ogle considered, and his eyeballs heated to a dull red. “Okay,” he concluded in due course.
So Imbri resumed her dance, with all her clothing in place. She did not look perfectly pleased, but yielded to necessity. Also, she seemed to enjoy dancing, and might have done it for pleasure, if it were not for the ogling.
“We need to know where to find a suitable ogress to go stay with Orgy in his bashable castle and applaud his heroic efforts,” Forrest said.