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state in the smaller realm. The Good Magician would surely provide him with another narrative hook or something to return him there. Yet somehow he was unsatisfied.
He focused on his feeling, and realized that it was because he no longer really wanted to go home. That life had been fine for him before, traveling from weed to weed and biting the heads off bugs. But there were no human girls there, no camaraderie of a shared mission, no human-style friendships. No bra-and-panty teasing, or spot seductions. No true love. Having experienced these things, he found he was reluctant to leave them behind. He would be lonely in a way no other spider would understand.
And of course he would be dead by the time the year was out, because the normal lifespan of a spider was under a year. He couldn’t complain; it was, after all, the natural order. It had not bothered him before. Yet somehow he grieved for what was never his destiny. He almost wished that he had not been shown this fantastic alternate existence. It had implanted a dream in his imagination that was ultimately as false as Sharon’s love. He was a spider. An arachnid. A creature who related to this marvelous realm only peripherally. He would simply have to accept his role. Maybe the Good Magician would have a potion that would make him forget the rest.
Then he saw the ghost. “Button!” he exclaimed. “Truly, without you I couldn’t have done it! How can I ever repay you?”
But the ghost could not answer verbally. Instead he held up a sign. THERE MAY BE A WAY.
“Anything!” For this was a kind of debt that should be repaid before Jumper departed. The completion of the mission had not freed Eris, yet she had sent her ghostly minion to help. Her generosity should be rewarded to the extent possible. ASK DAWN.
As it happened, Dawn was returning, gloriously nude, along with the others. “Dawn, I have to ask you—” Jumper started.
“Yes, it was my bright idea,” she said. “Now let me see if I can implement it.”
“But you haven’t heard my question.”
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“There’s no need. Just be patient.”
She knew what was on his mind. But what was on her mind? The others returned from the pond. Now Dawn addressed them. “I think we owe Jumper a vote of thanks,” she said. “He persevered when most of the rest of us were ready to quit, and he showed us how to work together, and he spliced the cable back together. He saved Xanth from the loss of its imported gravity. He’s a hero.”
“You are all heroes,” Jumper said. “You should all be honored. It is true: we needed every member of our party, and then some. And that is my concern. Without Button Ghost’s help—”
“In fact, why don’t we vote him a sufficient title?” Dawn asked, ignoring his comment. “Such as the Honorary Prince of Spiders.”
“Yes!” the others agreed.
“No, this isn’t relevant,” Jumper protested. “I don’t care about honors. I just want to repay—”
“All in favor say Aye.”
“Aye!” they chorused.
“Done,” Dawn said. “Now you are a prince, Jumper. Do you know what that means?”
“No,” he said, baffled by this silly business. They all seemed to be up to something, but it wasn’t helping the one who deserved it.
“But Button does,” Dawn said, looking at the ghost. Jumper looked at Button. And was amazed.
Button was changing. In his place appeared the ghost of Eris, lovely in the gown she had danced in. She was just about the most beautiful creature Jumper had seen, and he had seen a lot of beauty recently. In fact much of it was standing before him, nude. But it was more than that: around Eris was the outline of her spider form, and that too was beautiful. The way she had danced with him—
Ghost Eris held up a sign. PRINCE JUMPER— WILL YOU MARRY
ME?
Jumper almost fainted. Was it possible? Could an honorary nonhuman prince marry her and rescue her from her captivity? This seemed utterly crazy. Yet the Demons had their own rules for their wagers. Had there been a loophole in this one?
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Then he thought of a problem. “Don’t you need to marry a mortal with a soul? I’m a spider.”
“While it is true that generally only humans or those with some human ancestry, such as crossbreeds, have souls,” Eris said, “there do seem to be some exceptions. You have associated so long and intimately with several souled folk, in human form, that you have absorbed a portion of their souls. You do now have a soul of your own. You are fully worthy, Prince Jumper, in what ever sense you wish to take it.”
Jumper realized that there might have been more of a point to his relationship with the girls than he had realized. Could the Good Magician have known?
“Don’t keep her waiting in suspense,” Dawn murmured. Oh. What was there to lose? If it gave the De mon ess what she needed, that would certainly be fitting. “Yes.”
Eris stepped into him, embracing him somehow in both human and spider form. She seemed to be partly solid now. He realized that the anticipation of marriage was starting the soul transfer, and enabling her to break free of her prison. So her ghostly aspect was being replaced by her real body.
“Let’s set up for the ceremony,” Dawn said. “A double or maybe triple marriage.”
“Hey, what about us?” Olive demanded. “We want to get married too.”
“Then everyone,” Dawn said. “Form your couples and stand before me.” Her mouth quirked. “Clothing optional.”
They lined up before her nude, men and women. Pluto with Eve, Charon with Haughty, Warren Warrior with Maeve, Prince Charming with Wenda Woodwife, Dick Philip with Olive Hue, Shepherd with Phanta, and Jumper now in human form with Eris. Seven couples of assorted natures.
“Do you, severally and individually, take your partners in marriage?” Dawn asked. “The correct answer is Yes.”
“Yes,” they chorused, some more eagerly than others.
“Then by the power vested in me as an unattached princess, I now 039-40892_ch01_4P.qxp 7/30/09 12:35 PM Page 311
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pronounce you severally and individually, husband and wife. You may kiss your spouses.”
They kissed, severally and individually, while Dawn stood alone, seeming sad. She had no man of her own to marry. But surely her time would come, for she was a lovely princess and Sorceress, and a wonderful person. She was surely also relieved that she had not had to change her gender to accomplish her agreement.
Then they broke into smaller groups, bidding farewell to each other before getting started on their assorted married lives. The mission was over.
Sharon appeared. “Damn! I chose the wrong side— again.”
“You were always a fool,” Pluto called. “I wasn’t going to marry you anyway.”
“But you promised!”
“Funny thing about Demon promises,” he remarked. “They don’t mean anything unless couched as Demon bets or disciplined by half a soul. Deception is merely a means to an end. So long, sucker.”
Jumper kept his face as straight as he could. Pluto was repeating exactly what Sharon had said to Jumper. He must have been watching the action all along, and served her as she had served Jumper. It was hard to feel sorry for her, yet Jumper did, to a degree. He had never completely trusted her, but had liked her, and would have married her if she had been straight with him. But as she had said, she had chosen the wrong side. Again. In retrospect, he was glad that she had. He was surely far better off with Eris, for the time that remained to him.
“Oh!” Sharon exclaimed, outraged. Then she re oriented, assuming her most luscious nude form. “But you, Prince Jumper— you could probably use a mistress, for those dull intervals when your spouse is busy or asleep.” She bounced in place, impressively. “How would you like—”
“He does not need anything of the kind,” Eris said so firm
ly that small sparks flew from her words. “Nor will he in the future. I will assume any form he might like, for what ever purpose, including your form.”
“Not that form,” Jumper said quickly. “It would make me ner vous.”
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“You’re still impossible,” Sharon said, and vanished in a cloud of acrid smoke. Jumper hoped he had seen the last of her, so that he would never again be tempted.
Now was the half-sad time for his leave-taking. “I will miss yew,”
Wenda told Jumper tearfully. “But I wood knot change a thing about this day.” She kissed him and departed with Prince Charming. Jumper gazed after them. Of all the girls, he cared for Wenda most, and was most glad for her happiness. As Charming put it, she might be half there physically, but she was all there in spirit, and that did count more.
“She will fill out when the stork delivers,” Eris murmured. “It is love fulfilled that makes a woodwife a full woman.”
That was gratifying to know. Wenda was certainly deserving. The others said similar things as they left. Jumper knew he would miss them all, especially Phanta and Eve, who had loved him in more than the routine manner. But all of them had the considerable compensation of their spouses, and knowledge of their joint achievement. All except Dawn, ironically, who had found the key to Eris’s salvation and his own.
“Too bad you didn’t make it also with Dawn,” Eris murmured.
“Now, of course it is too late. You’re married.”
He stared at her, appalled. She could read his thoughts!
“Of course,” Eris agreed. “I’m a De mon ess. That’s how I knew you were such a good person. Do not be concerned; I am not jealous of your prior experience. I will give you future experience to make it pale in comparison.”
“Uh, thank you,” he said, as another couple approached. He was glad he had married her, but realized that there would be considerable adjustments to make. She was no ordinary woman.
“Correct,” she agreed, squeezing his hand. “But now I have half your soul, and that tempers my Demon nature. I married you for my freedom, but already I am discovering the joy of my burgeoning love for you. I will devote my considerable expertise to making you the happiest creature extant.”
He was unable to reply, as the couple was with them now: Pluto and 039-40892_ch01_4P.qxp 7/30/09 12:35 PM Page 313
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Eve, he looking not as regretful about acquiring the moral discipline of half a soul as he might have been. But of course Eve was about as lovely and talented as a mortal girl could be; that was very likely some compensation. “Fare well, Jumper,” Eve said. “I know you will find your marriage to a Demon well worthwhile.”
“I surely will,” he agreed. “Fare well.” He felt his crush on Eris solidifying like her freed body, fleshing out as it were into complete and enduring love. He couldn’t do much about it at the moment, because Phanta and Shep were approaching. The forms had to be followed to the end, and Phanta, too, was special.
Finally Jumper was left alone with his bride. Eris, becoming fully soft and solid, murmured in his ear. “There will be a complication, now that you are my prince consort.”
Not another complication! But he needed to know it. “What is it?”
“Marriage to you, a mortal prince, freed me from captivity. I am duly grateful, and expect to see that you are never sorry for saving me. But there will also be an effect on you. A leakage of my power that can’t be helped if we are to be close, as we shall be.” She kissed his human ear, and squeezed him in an intimate place. “Very close.”
“What is it?” he repeated grimly.
“You will be immortal. That is to say, no longer mortal. You won’t die in a spider’s life of months or a human being’s life of de cades. You will remain young and healthy indefinitely. It can’t be helped, in this circumstance. I hope that does not annoy you unduly.”
He stared at her. “This is a joke?”
“No. I’m sorry if it disturbs you.”
Jumper knew it would be some time before he fully comprehended the significance of it. But at the moment all he had was his first impression. “I can live with it.”
She laughed. “You will have to.” She kissed him again. “Now come with me into my parlor. We have experiences to explore together.”
“Yes, dear,” he agreed, not at all reluctantly. This page intentionally left blank
039-40892_ch01_4P.qxp 7/30/09 12:35 PM Page 315 Author’s Note
This is Xanth #33, six novels into the second magic trilogy of three cubed. Some readers want the series to continue forever; some critics fear it will. I have tried to slowly age the material, so that some four-letter words are used though generally bleeped out, and some adults signal the stork onstage instead of in the unmentioned background. But in general this remains a fun series, suitable for mature children if not for the freakable mothers of teens.
Some readers complain about all the puns. Well, other readers are busy sending them in, and I must either use them or throw them away, which seems wasteful. Even a pun has some right to exist. If I try to discourage readers from sending them, they get mad and send them anyway. Some send pages of puns, or complicated plots. One problem is that some characters or ideas deserve a much fuller treatment than I can give them, so they get passed off incidentally, and I feel guilty about that. Sometimes they get their fuller treatment in a later novel, as was the case with Olive Hue and her imaginary friends. So I use what I can, in the context of the ongoing story, thinking of it as being like nuts in a fruitcake or decorations on a fun house. One example is the five marvelous children in chapter 13, credited below: Seva Yugov sent 039-40892_ch01_4P.qxp 7/30/09 12:35 PM Page 316 316
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about six full pages of descriptions of their talents, with all the nuances. He had really worked them out. But here only a fraction of that appears, because unless the characters are major, I can’t spare the space to round them out completely. Sometimes it seems a shame. The truth is it would be easier for me to write these novels without any reader input; I use reader notions as a courtesy rather than from need. My fan mail still takes a significant portion of my working time, perhaps a third of it. No, I don’t consider that time wasted; I learn things from my readers, and they are worthy people. But it doesn’t make my writing easier. Another feedback I get is about the naughtiness in Xanth. Xanth consists of magic, wordplay, puns, literalism, honor, wonder, parody, and other forms of humor, as well as adventure and romance in a land that resembles the state of Florida transformed, but it’s the one percent naughtiness that conjures some folks’ ire, as mentioned above. Ministers, older women, and the parents of teens tend to get ner vous when pan ties are glimpsed. This novel, with half a slew of glimpses of bras and pan ties, abetted by the protagonist’s discovery of love and sex, is apt to cost me some readers. But Xanth is and always was an adult series; it’s not even listed for children. If I limit it to what some folk think is suitable for children, it will become an unrecognized children’s series and lose its adult readers. Let’s face it: a person who freaks out at the mere mention of pan ties is going to have a problem with all adult literature, movies, tele vi sion, and games, not to mention real life. Children who insist on reading adult fantasy seem to be able to handle Xanth readily enough, even if their parents can’t. Girls have even sent me panty notions; they like panty power. Boys seem to like sneak peeks. As far as I know, it does not send any of them into criminal careers. So Xanth is as it is, and readers who are alienated by this sort of humor are free to take their business elsewhere.
I am getting old, seventy-three at this writing, and perhaps getting crusty in my dotage. I try to keep fit with exercise and healthy diet, but the maladies of age are creeping up on me nevertheless. I live in Florida, on our small tree farm, but never quite discovered the address of the Fountain of Youth. As I started writing this novel I was undergoing p
hysical therapy for an inflammation of my right shoulder joint that in-039-40892_ch01_4P.qxp 7/30/09 12:35 PM Page 317 AUTHOR’S NOTE
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capacitated my arm. I couldn’t even do my hair, which I have grown out since my wife is no longer able to cut it monthly; now it’s over a foot long and I wear it in a ponytail. So I notice ponytails on men and women. In general the women have neater ones, though not always. When I wear my hair loose around the house, it warms my ears and neck; maybe that’s its natural purpose. But I was unable to reach it with my right hand, and so for a few days my wife did it for me. One day she even braided it. Fortunately the therapy was effective, and now my arm is functioning again. It never interfered with my typing, which required only very limited motion of my arm.
My wife had heart surgery. Technically, it was a replacement of an aortic aneurysm. That is, the largest artery in the body had swollen as it left the heart so that it looked almost as big as the heart itself. If it ruptured, she would have been dead in seconds. They set a new section inside, like filling an old stretched hose with a smaller tighter hose. The surgery was successful, and her slow recovery continued as I wrote the novel. I had already been doing the meals and dishes; for several months I did the laundry too. I also go with her when she leaves the house for shopping and doctors’ appointments, just in case. We have been married fifty-one years, and we each do what it takes to make it work. But I no longer write novels at quite the rate I used to. It’s a kind of payback; early on my wife went to work to earn our living so that I could stay home and try to be a writer. Otherwise I would not have made it. I have not forgotten.