"But how could that whirlpool be here?" Umlaut asked plaintively. "It's on Zombie World."
That was a pretty good question, for a human. Sammy looked at Claire, but she shrugged. She knew only what, not how.
It occurred to Sammy that there had been several problems interfering with the delivery of the letters. Could it be that some power did not want them to be delivered? What power, and why? The question made him unfelinely nervous.
Chapter 9
Submarine Sand Witch
Umlaut had not been too keen on adding another member to their little party, but after the way Claire Cat stopped them from going into the whirlpool he was more than satisfied to have her along. He was beginning to wonder whether the problems they had had on the way to delivering letters were not just coincidences. The way the Demoness Metria had tried to distract him from his mission and faded out in annoyance when it didn't work. Or when that girl Caitlin had lured him into the comic strip where there was the panty trap, and then it had seemed that Caitlin wasn't exactly where or what he had thought she was—could there have been a fake Caitlin trying to get him in trouble? And the appearance of the Dire Strait, getting them into trouble again—and the reappearance of the deadly whirlpool. There had also been the way Fracto Cloud had come; had he been looking for them, to mess them up? Umlaut didn't want to be paranoid, but he wondered. Suppose Metria had tried it herself, then emulated Caitlin, then talked Scylla and Charybdis into intercepting the party? She could certainly have talked to Fracto. How she could have gotten the whirlpool to come to Xanth he wasn't sure, but it did seem to have happened.
But there was one big problem with this idea: Why would Metria, or any demon, bother? Delivering letters was dull, harmless business, not worth interrupting. Except that it was supposed to show how to deal with the menace of the Red Spot. If one of those letters led him to that answer, and Metria didn't want him to find it, that might explain it. But why wouldn't she want that problem solved? She was a creature of Xanth too and would suffer if it suffered. So it made no sense after all, and probably his problems were just because he tended to bumble. Metria hadn't been paying any attention, after she learned how dull their business was. He had let his foolish imagination run away with his thoughts.
Claire Cat looked up and made a small hiss that startled Sesame. There was a swirl of smoke before his face. A feminine mouth formed. "Did I hear my gnome?"
"Your what?" he asked before he thought.
"Appellation, designation, classification, denomination, monogram—"
"Cognomen?"
"Whatever," the smoke agreed crossly as it expanded into a voluptuous female form.
"No, Metria, I don't think you did, because I wasn't speaking."
"But you were thinking of me," she said. "I heard the thought."
Oops. "You have me live to wrongs."
"I have you how?" the dusky form asked, reaching for him.
"Dead to rights!" he said, getting it straight before she could lead him into another three-questions routine. That word confusion of hers was contagious.
"Then I'd better give you a nice embrasure." She started to draw him in. It was surprising how solid her front was, considering that her backside still trailed off into curling smoke.
Again his mouth was too fast for his caution. "A nice what?"
"Crenel, battlement, parapet, merlon, turret—"
She was way off on the wrong track. "Hug?"
"Don't mind if I do," she agreed, embracing him. "So nice of you to ask." Her amazingly bouncy front squeezed against him.
He had indeed foolishly asked for it. He managed to avoid her attempt to kiss him by asking another question. "What do you want with me, Metria?"
"Well, now. I—"
He had bungled again. "Don't answer that. I don't want it anyway."
"But you were thinking of me," she reminded him. "What else could it be?"
Umlaut got annoyed. "I was wondering if you are trying to stop me from delivering letters, and if so, why?"
She gazed at him a moment, her mouth forming an O of chagrin. Then she faded out.
Astonished, he gazed at the spot where she had floated. His simple question had truly set her back. That implied guilt. But if she was trying to stop him, why hadn't she simply lied about it? Or tried harder to seduce him? He was becoming rather curious about exactly what seduction entailed.
He looked at Sesame, then at the two cats. It was Claire who had the answer, as about three questions determined; she was remarkably quick to catch on to his method. Yes, the demoness was trying to distract him from delivering the letters. But Claire again knew only what, not why.
Para reached the shore and waddled out on the beach. "Thank you," Umlaut said and got ready to step out of the boat.
But Claire caught his eye. "I shouldn't get out?" he asked. She nodded. "Because there is danger?" She shook her head. Then he caught on. "Para wants to take us!"
For Para was a sociable boat and liked traveling with people who were doing things. Well, why not? Since the boat could go overland as readily as over water, he could be a real help. "Okay."
Para did a little jiggle of joy that threatened to nudge them out of their places.
Umlaut settled back and brought out the bundle of letters. To whom should they deliver next?
The top remaining letter was addressed to Snortimer Bed Monster.
"Who?" he asked.
Sammy had to explain this one. It seemed that every child in Xanth who slept on a bed had a pet bed monster under it. Its job was to grab any convenient ankle and make the child scream, needlessly alarming the parents. The monster could not leave the shelter of the bed because direct daylight destroyed it, and at night it had to stay near enough to grab any unwary ankle. Some bad children teased their monsters by dangling their feet temptingly down and yanking them out of the way just before the monster could grab. But when the child grew up and joined the Adult Conspiracy, at about age eighteen, the bed monster faded sadly away, because it was part of the Adult Conspiracy not to believe in monsters under beds. It was an ongoing tragedy that occurred also in Mundania. Animals believed, but grown humans did not. Surely, Sammy suggested, Umlaut himself had a bed monster back home, so he knew how it was.
Umlaut considered that and drew a blank. He didn't remember any bed monster. Neither did he remember a bed. In fact he couldn't even remember a home. That was weird.
He saw Claire exchange a significant glance with Sammy. "What?" he demanded. "What do you know?"
They were reluctant, but he insisted that they tell him. But what they told him was not to be believed. "I don't exist?" he asked incredulously. "But obviously I do exist, because I'm right here arguing with you, and we're delivering letters." But he remembered what Princesses Dawn and Eve had said about him being neither alive nor dead. They were sorceresses and could tell anything about anything living or unliving. How could they be wrong? But they had to be wrong.
Yet Claire was adamant, and Sammy agreed with her. Umlaut had no reality she could fathom. He might not be an illusion, since he seemed to have substance, but he wasn't real.
"Well, I sure don't feel like an illusion," he said hotly. "And I'm not acting like one. I think Claire's voyance just doesn't apply to me. Maybe I'm under a deflective spell so she can't orient on me. Obviously I'm here in all the ways that count."
Claire considered and yielded the point. But that did not fully reassure him. Claire wasn't a sorceress, just a cat with a special talent; she might have limits she didn't know about. But what about the two princesses? And what about the Demoness Metria, who was not only trying to stop him from delivering letters but also had faded immediately out when he accused her of it. Why had she had such a peculiar reaction? It was as if she had truly considered him for the first time and been really set back. And why couldn't he remember his home? Why couldn't he remember anything before he fled Sherry and wound up in the Castle Zombie dungeon? Had Sherry's kisses done more than wipe out his last date with
her? Had they destroyed his other memories too? That seemed like too much, for she was no sorceress, just a girl with sweet kisses. He knew she didn't mean him any harm; in fact she wanted to marry him. And surely would have, if he hadn't fled.
Sesame nudged him. She knew he existed, because he had a talent like hers. She didn't care what others thought.
He hugged her neck. "Thank you, snake eyes," he said.
Then he got back to business. "So what happened to Snortimer? Princess Ivy is now grown and adult. Didn't he fade away?"
No, it turned out that he was saved by an unusual development. Princess Ivy also had a pet dragon, Stanley Steamer, who had disappeared, so Grundy Golem went with Snortimer to find Stanley. They succeeded, but Stanley was protecting the fauns & nymphs from predation. So Snortimer took over that job so Stanley could go home with Ivy and later resume his job patrolling the Gap Chasm. That sacrifice of the bed monster had indefinitely extended his existence, because the fauns & nymphs weren't really adult, despite having adult bodies; they believed in Snortimer throughout. So he could receive a letter.
Umlaut realized that there was a lot of Xanth history in obscure bypaths. "So where are the fauns & nymphs?" he asked.
They were in the Faun & Nymph Retreat just south of Lake Ogre Chobee.
"And how do we get there quickly?"
Para, who understood both human and animal languages, made a quiver. He knew a way.
"But we don't want to make you carry us all that way through the jungle," Umlaut protested. "That would wear out your feet."
Para wasn't concerned. He carried them back to the sea and into it. Where was he going?
A human female head popped out of the water. "You called. Para?"
Para nodded, then settled into quiet. Since the swimming woman was human, Umlaut would have to negotiate. "Uh, hello," he said, noticing that her long hair was the color of seaweed.
She eyed him. "Why, you're a young human man."
"I'm Umlaut. And with me are Sesame Serpent, Sammy Cat, and Claire Voyant Cat. Para thought you could help us travel."
"And I am Mela Merwoman," she said.
"A mermaid!" he exclaimed, surprised.
"Merwoman," she clarified. "We are a salt sea subspecies and better endowed." She swished her tail and lifted her foresection out of the water.
Umlaut tried not to stare, but his eyeballs ignored his effort. She was indeed marvelously well endowed. Then she inhaled, and he almost fell out of the boat.
"The seas can get rougher than the rivers or lakes," she explained helpfully, "so we need a bit more padding."
He finally managed to wrench his eyes from the pads. "So can you help us?"
"That depends on where you are going."
"To the Fauns & Nymphs."
Mela considered. "Yes, we can reach that by water, though it's inland. We'll have to use the acqui-fur, which means a sand witch."
"Aquifer? Sandwich?" But her tail was already flipping out of the water as she dived, on her way somewhere.
Then a crack appeared on the surface of the water. It broadened into a crevice. Umlaut watched it nervously. Was the whirlpool coming back? But Para did not seem nervous. What was going on?
Mela reappeared. "I sure found a fish," she said.
"That looks more like a fracture," Umlaut said.
"Or a fish sure."
"Fissure?"
"Fissure Cutbait," she said. "She's the best, for fast work."
The break in the water became still wider and deeper. "What a cleavage!" Umlaut said, alarmed.
"Why, thank you," Mela said, inhaling again.
The boat rode over the brink of the fault and tipped down into it. Umlaut hung on, and the cats dug their claws into the wood, while Sesame braced her coils against the sides. They slid down into the gap. Then the fissure closed, trapping them inside. It was like a giant mouth.
Umlaut held his breath as the water surrounded them, but he knew he couldn't hold it long.
"Oh, don't be foolish," Mela said, swimming into the boat with them. She tickled Umlaut on the ribs, forcing him to burst out laughing, losing his breath. He was afraid he would drown but discovered he could after all breathe. But he was surrounded by water. What was this?
"Cutbait is a water fissure, evolved from a sand witch," Mela explained, flexing her tail. It was certainly a nice tail. "You do get sandwiched between her sides when she submarines, but you can breathe."
So it seemed. "A giant submarine sand witch," Umlaut agreed weakly.
Now the huge fish, if that was what it was, oriented to the south and swam rapidly along the coast. Not only could all of them breathe, they could see the sand, shells, and seaweed of the bottom of the sea. It seemed that Cutbait, being made of water, was completely translucent.
"So what is it you want with the fauns & nymphs?" Mela inquired as she sat beside him. "What do those nymphs have that I don't?"
"Nothing," he said. "I mean, I don't want anything with them.”
She frowned. "You spoiled my setup line. You were supposed to say 'legs.' "
He was getting lost again. "Legs?"
"Nymphs have legs. I have a tail. A nice piece of tail."
Oh. "Tail," he agreed numbly.
"Because I'm not that kind of girl."
"Uh, yes." It was still hard to believe that a very full-bodied mermaid—merwoman—was sitting hip to hip with him. "You have to swim."
"But then I say, 'I can become that kind of girl and I change, like this." Her tail shifted and became a fine bare pair of legs.
Umlaut had been preserving his eyeballs by staring ahead instead of sideways, but this caught him by surprise. He had never before seen such legs, that far up.
Then the tail was back. "Are you recovered?" Mela asked.
"From what?"
She laughed, jiggling grandly. "You freaked out, and I'm not even wearing panties. That's a real accomplishment, at my age. So I changed back before your eyeballs fried."
"Your age?" He seemed to be locked into brevity; one or two words were all he could get out at a time in the near presence of this splendid creature.
"I am forty-nine years old."
He turned to stare directly at her. That was another mistake. He blinked, and suddenly she was wearing a piece of cloth over her bosom. He must have freaked out again, and she had taken another step to unfreak him. "I—I'm amazed."
"We water monsters preserve well," she said. "Still, it's nice to know our stuff still works. That way I know Naldo isn't just humoring me."
"Naldo?"
"My husband. Prince Naldo Naga. That makes me a princess. I love it. He's eleven years younger than I am, but princes are ageless. But I also love the sea, so I go out for a swim every so often. So I answered Para's call. Para's a really nice boat. His mother was a dream boat."
"So he told me." There: He had gotten out four words in a row.
"So you're not looking for a nice nymph to play with," Mela continued. "Though I understand they play very well. So why are you going to the Faun & Nymph Retreat?"
That he could answer. "To deliver a letter to Snortimer."
"Ivy's bed monster!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know he got letters."
"It's from Mundania. We're delivering a number of them. I have to read them before I deliver them, because the one that went to Demon Jupiter made him hurl his Red Spot at us."
"Those big Demons are touchy when mortals bother them. What does Snortimer's letter say?"
"I haven't read it yet."
"Then let's read it together."
"Uh, all right." Her remarkable assets were covered but still almost nudging him; it was nigh impossible to turn her down. He opened the letter, and they read it.
Village Kaledon Otch Enau Kane Valley Sir Snortimer:
My residence is with the mundane human adult who has been posting articles of correspondence to Xanth. She is named Arjayess. My correct title is Sir Winslow Cromwell Wentworthy XV. The dratted woman calls me "a dust bunny
." Ludicrous expression regarding one of my aristocratic bearing, what? Quite demeaning I say, quite.
I am assuming your position of monster-under-the-bed has more dignity than that of what my life has been reduced to. At the very least your existence has been acknowledged. You are also awarded due respect and allowed to maintain your personal dignity. Here, my human weekly probes under the sleeping platform with a terribly violent machine that inhales everything within reach. Thus disturbing my repose, though "coward" is not in the Wentworthy vocabulary, I prudently retreat to the farthest corner. One must exercise caution about foreign contraptions, must we not? I am then ignored for another seven days.
This day I have become incensed to the point I find it necessary to advance upon the woman's writing machine. I feel I must state a formal note of grievance. The adults in this world are entirely daft. They deny magic exists. The very young of the species are aware of it; however, the grown-ups refuse to believe. The human here is so involved with growing flowers—I ask you!—that she wouldn't recognize a chimera if it stepped right before her. Likely say, "Oh, do excuse me please, you're treading on my aconites," or some such rot.
Right. What I need is a key—a talisman, an amulet, or a charm of a sort that one could invoke so the woman would comprehend. My situation has now become serious; this foolish human is so blind that my very substance is under threat. Actually she is not altogether a bad sort, if a trifle single-minded. I am certain that if she were aware of my presence, and recognizing my status, we could develop an acceptable relationship.
Please do inform me if there is such an object that would be of assistance to myself in this dire plight. I remain Your humble servant, Sir Winslow Cromwell Wentworthy XV
Umlaut looked up from the letter. "What do you think? Is this letter dangerous?"
"That poor bunny!" Mela exclaimed sympathetically. "Stuck in a land where they don't believe in magic. He needs to come here to Xanth.”
Umlaut took that to be her agreement that the letter was safe. He folded it and returned it to its envelope.
The ride continued. Sesame, Sammy, and Claire were all gazing out at the colorful sand passing close beneath them, for it contained all manner of shells and plants and fish. The two cats' tails twitched when an especially delicious-looking fish passed, but they did not try to pounce on it. Being sandwiched wasn't so bad; they were traveling quite swiftly.