Her answering smile was genuine but somewhat strained. “Thank you for clarifying that, Jim.”
Then something came flying through the air from the north. They all half ducked, not sure where it was going to land. It appeared to be a big rag doll, one of the modem type, with excellent legs.
It landed plump! in the middle of the giant cushion. It bounced, and got its skirt smoothed down. It was a lovely young woman, seemingly no worse for the experience. The boys immediately discovered a new creature to gawk at.
“Hello, folks,” she said brightly, brushing back her golden-green-tinted tresses. “I am Chlorine, your guide, sent by the Good Magician Humfrey. In a moment my companion will be along; then we must talk.”
Before they could do more than get their collective mouths closed, another rag-doll figure came flying across and down. It, too, bounced, but had no skirt to get in order.
It wore slacks, and was a handsome young man.
“This is Nimby,” Chlorine said. “He is mute, but nice.
He will help me to help you. But first I must warn you that a bad storm is coming.”
“We had noticed,” Jim said, stepping forward. “Hello.
I am Jim Baldwin, and this is my wife, Mary, and our children, Sean, David, and Karen. We're from—I believe you call it Mundania.”
“We do,” Chlorine agreed with a smile. She glanced at Sheila. “Thank you for guiding the lost folk this far; I'm sure you are eager to return to Centaur Isle.”
“Yes I am, before the wind further intensifies,” the centaur agreed. She turned to the family. “I wish you the very best. It has been pleasant meeting with you. And if you should encounter Carleton's sister Chena, do give her his good wishes too.”
“We shall certainly do that,” Jim agreed. “Thank you and Carleton—for your kindness in helping us this far.”
“Welcome.” She turned tail and cantered back along the beach. The boys watched her until she was out of sight, then their eyes reverted to Chlorine, who was far more decorously dressed, but so beautiful in every respect that she was fully as distracting as the bare centaur filly.
Chlorine turned back to Jim. “I don't want to be impolite, but what I have to say is of some urgency. There is danger for you here. The Good Magician's wife, Sofia, was most specific about that. She's Mundane herself, so appreciates how difficult Xanth must be for you. I understand you have a moving house.”
The children laughed. “Motor home,” Mary said. “But yes, it is a moving house.”
“Could you get it moving? There is very little time to escape before the storm intensifies. It is my service to guide you safely where you wish to go, but it won't be safe here very much longer.”
“We can drive it,” Jim said. “And there is room for you and Nimby.” He wondered at the name, but this didn't seem to be the time to inquire about that. “But we are going to need gas soon, or we'll stall.”
“Gas?” the woman asked blankly.
“Gasoline. Petrol. Fuel. It—our vehicle eats it. Drinks it.”
“Oh.” Chlorine turned to her companion. “Nimby, do you know where there is—gas—for this creature?” Nimby nodded. “Then show us, because we mustn't delay long.”
“Come on in,” Jim said. “If Nimby knows where it is, he can sit up front with me and point the way.”
So they got into the van, with the silent young man taking the passenger seat in front. Chlorine joined the family in back, which Jim knew thrilled the boys. Ordinarily he would not pick up hitchhikers, but when in Rome—or Xanth—it was time to do as the natives did. Chlorine was certainly right about the dangerous storm; apparently Hurricane Gladys was reintensifying, or turning back, to catch them again. The last thing be wanted was to get caught in a hurricane, in the RV.
He started the motor. There was an exclamation of surprise from Chlorine, but the odd Nimby took it calmly in stride. He pointed to the trollway, which was exactly where Jim wanted to go. It looked like a good solid highway where he could make excellent time, storm and gas permitting.
At the entrance to the trollway stood a horrendous creature. “Don't tell me; let me guess,” Jim muttered. “A troll.”
Nimby smiled. Evidently he understood speech well enough; he just couldn't speak himself. Curious fellow, but seemingly amicable.
He drew the RV to a stop before the troll. Sure enough, there was a sign: STOP: PAY TROLL. But there wasn't any indication what the fee was.
Well, he would start small. “Here's two cents,” he said, offering two pennies to the troll. And the creature smiled—a horrendous effect—took the pennies, and waved him on.
Maybe it was the thought that counted. Jim pulled the vehicle onto the pavement and gathered speed. He was almost beginning to feel at home here!
Now a sign said HIGHWAY AHEAD. And of course, the road rose up until it was at treetop level: a literal high way.
Things tended to be extremely literal here. Unfortunately this elevation exposed them to the higher winds of the heights. “Are we going to be up here long?” he asked Nimby.
The man shook his head, but gave no other information.
Certainly he was a strange one.
Jim listened to the dialogue of the others. The children were eagerly questioning the girl Chlorine—odd name and she was answering to the best of her ability. It was interesting.
“Yes, candy really does grow-in Xanth, and cookies of all kinds along the With-a-Cookee River,” Chlorine said.
“Doesn't food grow on trees in Mundania?”
“Oh, sure, in a way,” David agreed. “Fruits grow on trees, and vegetables grow in gardens, and grain grows in fields. But candy and cookies have to be made. And paid for. That's what allowances are for.”
“Allowances?”
“Do you have a concept of money in Xanth?” Mary asked.
“Certainly. It is filthy green stuff that no clean person cares to touch.”
The others laughed, “That's the stuff we have,” Sean said.
A heavy gust of wind buffeted the RV. “Oh, that reminds me,” Chlorine said. “I must tell you of the great danger you face. The Good Magician told me to be sure to make you understand. You see, there has been a weakening in the Interface—”
“Whose face?” Karen asked.
“The Xanth Interface. It keeps the Mundanes out. No offense. Something went wrong, and a Mundane storm came through—and you folk too. The storm is headed for the center of Xanth. That means it will sweep up a lot of magic dust, and—”
“Magic dust?” Sean asked.
“That's the dust that wells up in the center of Xanth, bringing the magic,” she explained. “Without it, we wouldn't have magic, and it would be horrible. But where the dust is too thick, the magic is too strong, and so there is madness. If Happy Bottom spreads that dust across Xanth—”
“Gotcha,” Sean said. “Everybody goes mad.”
“Well, not exactly. But things could get very strange.
However, you don't need to worry about that. I'm supposed to help you get through Xanth and out of danger before the storm gets too bad. So we must hurry. There won't be much time to stop and sleep.”
“No problem,” Sean said. “We'll sleep in the RV while Dad-drives.”
Which meant no sleep for Dad, Jim reflected. Well, it had happened before. He didn't like the way the wind was building, and would far rather stay ahead of the worst of it if he could, sleep no object.
Nimby pointed to the side. There was an exit ramp. Jim steered the vehicle to it. The thing spiraled around and around, corkscrewing down to the ground. He had had no idea they had gotten so high! The treetops had vanished without his noticing.
As they neared the ground. Nimby pointed again. There beside the road was a big ugly purple tree, and under the tree stood a big uglier purple monster with greenish gills.
It looked most uncomfortable. Jim hoped the discomfort wasn't hunger, because the thing was big enough to gobble down a man and a child. He hoped Nimby kn
ew what he was doing.
“Oh, there's a gas guzzler,” Chlorine said, putting her pretty head close to his so she could peer out. She smelled faintly of delight.
A gas guzzler. It figured. “We can get gas from it?”
“Yes. Just make a deal.”
A deal. He would have to feel his way through this one, as he had with the troll.
He drew to a stop beside the monster and rolled down the window, partway. “You have gas?”
The monster faced him. It belched. The putrid odor of spoiling gasoline wafted by in a noxious little cloud.
“You guzzled too much gas?” Jim asked. The monster nodded miserably. “Then maybe we can make a deal.”
But at this point Jim's imagination failed him. What would an overindulgent gas guzzler want to trade for?
“I think he needs one of Mom's ant-acid pills,” David said brightly.
“Then hand one over,” Jim said.
Mary fished in her purse and came up with an ant-acid pill. Jim offered it to the monster. “This ant-acid pill for one tank of gas,” he said. Could this possibly work?
The guzzler took the pill and gulped it down. He belched again, this time not quite so awfully. Then he lifted his tail. Jim saw that the end of it looked somewhat like the nozzle of a gas pump. “Right here,” he said quickly, turning off the motor, piling out of the vehicle, and going to the gas tank. He removed the cap and pointed.
The guzzler put the tip of his tail into the aperture. There was a liquid flow sound. The fumes smelled like gasoline.
When the tank was full, the creature removed his tail and Jim put the cap back on. “Thank you,” he said.
The monster nodded. His gills were no longer green.
Evidently the pill had alleviated his condition. So it was a fair bargain.
Jim climbed back in and started the motor. Then he had another thought. “We have taken the high road,” he said to Nimby. “But it's pretty windy up there. Is there a low road?”
Nimby pointed ahead. Sure enough, there was a road following the ground. Jim went for it. “Thanks.”
For a time the road seemed routine. Jim had a dark suspicion that it wouldn't last, but he enjoyed it while it did. The motor was running well; the gasoline seemed to be good. Which was a considerable relief. So again he listened to the dialogue behind.
“How did you get here?” Karen asked Chlorine. “I mean, you just came flying through the air, like a parachute.”
“With your skirt flying,” Sean added appreciatively.
“Oh, no!” Chlorine exclaimed, sounding appalled.
“Did my panties show?”
“No,” Jim called back, realizing by her reaction that this was a social nuance of some consequence. Just as the centaurs were evidently quite open about their apparel, or lack of it, others might be quite uptight. The children might not realize, and make a social blunder. “Just your legs.”
And what legs they were!
“Oh, that's a relief!” she said. “I would fade away from mortification if—but never mind. The Good Magician had us use the cat-a-pult.”
“Now, why do I think that's not what we mean by the term catapult?” Sean asked musingly.
“I confess to being curious,” Chlorine said. “Why do you think that?”
There was half a pause. She had, innocently enough, set the brash teenager back. “I, uh, mean that everything else is different. With us a catapult is a big engine that hurls things far away.”
“Yes, that's it. It's a giant cat whose tail springs up and hurls things where they need to go. The Good Magician must have told the cat where to aim. I'm glad there was a pillow to land on.”
“This Good Magician,” Mary said. “He must be quite knowledgeable.”
“Oh, yes! He knows everything. I came to him to ask where my last tear was, and he told me, but then, of course, I had to perform a year's Service, or the equivalent. So he assigned me to guide you folk safely out of Xanth.”
“You have certainly been a help,” Mary said. “As was Sheila Centaur. But did I hear you correctly? You have to do a year's service, for the answer to a single question?”
“Oh, yes. I was foolish, wasting my Question on something I could have figured out for myself. But I really did it for adventure, and I'm getting that. You folk—this traveling house—this is fantastic.”
David laughed. “You think the RV is fantastic? After getting hurled through the air by a giant cat?”
“Of course. Lots of people use the cat-a-pult. But I don't think there's ever been a wheeled house like this in Xanth before. There aren't even many houses with chicken legs. I couldn't ask for a better adventure.”
There was a full pause. She had set them back again.
So Jim filled in with a question of his own. “I do not wish to be impolite, or to seek after anything private. But since Nimby can't speak for himself, may I inquire about his background and mission?”
“Oh, there's no problem about that,” Chlorine said brightly. “Nimby's a donkey-headed dragon in man-form.
I could ask him to revert to his natural shape, to show you, but he'd be too big for this little house.”
“Then we had better take your word for it,” Jim said carefully. This young woman, like this strange land, kept surprising him anew.
“He's doing me a really big favor,” Chlorine continued.
“You see, in real life, I'm, well, plain. And not all that smart or nice. But Nimby's talent is to make himself and his companion whatever she wishes them to be. So naturally I wished to be really pretty, smart, healthy, and nice.”
“Yeah,” Sean said appreciatively, doubtless glancing at her legs or more. She was about as healthy a young woman as Jim had seen, and strong on the other qualities.
“I think maybe you don't believe me,” Chlorine said.
“But that much I can show you, because I'm the same size in real life.” She lifted her voice. “Nimby, show me as I really am—for one moment.”
The young man sitting beside Jim nodded. And there was a gasp of surprise behind. Jim turned his head for a quick look.
The lovely young woman had indeed changed. She was now a plain-bordering-on-ugly girl, in unattractive clothing, with an irritable expression. Her hair was a listless, stringy, unappealing shade of green.
Then the moment was over, and she was lovely again.
Her legs and bosom filled out, and her dank hair became lustrous. She smiled, and the interior of the RV seemed to brighten. “See? I owe Nimby a lot.”
“You sure do,” Sean breathed, as Jim turned back to watch the road.
“But why is Nimby doing this for you?” Karen asked.
“I mean if he's really a dragon, wouldn't he rather eat you?”
“Karen!” Mary said severely.
“Ah, come on. Mom,” David said. “She does look good enough to eat.”
Chlorine laughed. “Thank you. I was afraid of something like that, at first, because that's what dragons do. But he turned out to be a nice dragon. A very nice dragon.”
“Yeah,” David agreed. “I wish I had one like him. I'd have him make me a star football player or something.”
“Actually, he did tell me why, when we first met.” She evidently held up a hand, as someone started to protest, Jim had to keep his eyes on the road, so couldn't look.
“Yes, Nimby is mute now, but at first he could speak. He told me that he needed my company, and would do anything he could to make it worthwhile for me. But he warned me that that was his only chance to speak, and he has been mute since. But he understands me, and he can answer me by gestures.”
“But suppose he had something important and complicated to tell you?” Sean asked, perhaps becoming intrigued by something other than her appearance. “Such as some terrible danger you didn't know was coming, so you didn't think to ask him a yes-or-no question about it?”
“Why, I don't know. Nimby, is there anything like that?”
Nimby turned to face the
rear, and nodded.
“Something important? That's too complicated for me to just guess readily?”
Nimby nodded again.
Now Chlorine seemed out of sorts. “But how can I ask you, if I don't know what to ask?” she asked plaintively.
“Maybe he can write it,” David said.
“But I can't read,” Chlorine said. “More than big obvious signs and short words, I mean. The signs have spells to make them legible to anyone, even animals. I can't read anything significant on my own. I flunked Centaur School.”
So she was functionally illiterate, Jim realized.
Sean laughed. “So have him make you able to read.”
There was a flash of light, followed by a gasp of awe.
“A lightbulb just appeared over your head!” Karen cried. “It glowed!”
“Yes, of course,” Chlorine agreed. “I realized Sean was right. That's a brilliant idea. Nimby, make me literate, so I can read what you write, no matter how complicated it is. And write me what I need to know.”
Immediately the young man brought out a pad and stylus and began writing. Jim nodded; there were definite advantages to magic. In Mundania there were no such shortcuts.
“That reminds me of something else,” Jim said. “This is obviously not our homeland. The rules are mostly different. How is it that you and the centaurs speak exactly our own language?”
“Oh, that's part of the magic of Xanth,” Chlorine said.
“Everyone speaks the same language here. All people, I mean. Animals speak their own languages, which are different from ours, so we usually can't understand them. But often they can understand us.”
“We have animals,” Sean said. “But they don't speak.”
“Oh, they surely do speak, at least here in Xanth. You just need someone like Grundy Golem to translate what they say.”
“Who?”
“He's an obnoxious little creature who speaks all languages.”
Meanwhile Nimby had completed his writing. Soon he passed the note back.
Chlorine took it and looked at the fine script. “I can read it!” she exclaimed. “I really can! I'm literate! I'm utterly thrilled!”
“What does it say?” David asked.