The Dastard

  The Dastard realized that he could unhappen his dialogue with Chet Centaur, but that wouldn't accomplish anything either; the centaur had already been waiting for his granddaughter, and would meet her regardless. So this was no nexus; there was nothing dastardly he could do.

  Mesta climbed up on Chet's back, and he walked away. As he did so, a griffin flew down from the sky, landed before them, and changed into another girl. "Hi Merei," Mesta called.

  "Hi Mesta! Hi Grandpa!" She joined her sister on the centaur's back.

  Then two small young sphinxes strode up. They had the bodies of lions, the heads of humans, and the female had vestigial wings. They were not much larger than a mundane pony. "Hi Grandpa," the male called.

  "Hello, Dell," Chet replied. "Who is your friend?"

  "This is Nightreven," Dell said. "She's two hundred years old."

  "Two-seventy if she's a day," Becka muttered. "She starting to mature."

  Indeed, the sphinx did seem to be developing a modest bosom. Not enough to cause any male eyeballs to encrust, but sufficient to show the way. The Dastard was surprised by Becka's perception.

  "Actually I'm two-seventy," Nightreven said. "But that makes me close to Dell's age in sphinx years."

  "To be sure," Chet agreed affably. Then Dell turned human and joined his siblings on the centaur's back, and the girl sphinx waved a wing in parting and moved on.

  Chet had such a pleasant life, with his talented grandchildren. It really bugged the Dastard, but there was nothing he could do about it. Disgusted, he walked out of the village in the opposite direction. Becka accompanied him; he had half hoped she would go with one of the others, but she stuck like a leech.

  They met a griffin. Like all griffins, she was the color of shoe polish. No nexus here, either. She squawked at them.

  "Excuse me," Becka said.

  "What?" he asked irritably.

  "That's what the griffin said."

  "How in Xanth can you understand griffin talk?"

  The girl paused half a moment as if thinking. "Oh, I just picked it up along the way somewhere."

  The griffin squawked again.

  "She wants to know if we've seen--"

  "She's too late!" the Dastard snapped. "Anyway, that one wasn't a real griffin. She was a girl in griffin form."

  "That wasn't her question," Becka said. "She's looking for her father."

  "I haven't seen him," he told the griffin. "Now go away."

  The griffin squawked again.

  "Yes, we'd love to hear your story," Becka told the griffin.

  The Dastard inflated, but couldn't think of a retort savage enough to squish the stupid girl. What did she think she was doing? The girl had become odd and willful. He had just about lost hope of ever seeing her panties, so she had no use at all.

  The griffin fell in beside them as they walked and squawked repeatedly. Becka made a running translation.

  "Her name is Griselda Griffin, and she has an unusual history. It seems that many years ago, back in the year Ten-forty-three, just before the Time Of No Magic, a party of four males stopped at the Magic Dust Village, which was at that time occupied entirely by females of every type. Their males had been lured away by the song of the Siren, and then turned to stone by her sister the Gorgon. So the females carried the burden of distributing the magic dust throughout Xanth, so that its magic would be more or less evenly spread. It was a dirty job, but somebody had to do it."

  "Must we endure this ancient history?" the Dastard demanded. "It was boring in centaur school, and it's worse now."

  She ignored him and continued her translation. "Two of the visitors were human males. One was a centaur named Chester, the father of Chet. The last was a griffin named Crombie. Actually he was not what he seemed: He was a human man who had been changed into griffin form for this particular mission. He was nevertheless a handsome griffin, and so was attractive to Grinelle Griffin, who worked at the village. She had lost her husband the year before in a fight among winged monsters at Mount Rushmost, and Crombie resembled her lost mate. That was to say, he had a fine strong body, lovely wings, and a bad attitude. Grinelle couldn't resist; she had to have something to do with him. So she--"

  "Enough of this dullness," the Dastard snapped. "I don't care which griffin did what to whom."

  "Too bad, my pet," Becka. said. "I'm interested, and I'm not accustomed to being balked, so stifle your face."

  Again, the Dastard was too outraged to speak. What was with this idiot girl?

  "So she approached Crombie. He turned out to be a woman-hater; he did not like females of any type, as he quickly and nastily informed her. A true misogynist. He was just so much like her husband! But Grinelle had learned something about dealing with balky men in the course of her marriage. So she retreated gracefully and bided her time until evening. She realized that this griffin would not be staying at the village long, so she had to act promptly. She longed to have a griffin cub to ease her sorrow, someone she could love and who would love her in return, and Crombie was her best prospect to sire it. So she brought him a cup of water in the middle of the night."

  "The middle of the night!" the Dastard said. "What idiot joke is this? A griffin couldn't even carry it."

  "It was a covered cup, which she carried hung from a cord about her neck," Becka. explained patiently. "I thought I told you to stifle it, dimwit."

  Yet again she had set him back by her amazing temerity. This was definitely not the Becka he had known.

  "She used a claw to jog him awake. He opened his eyes and squawked in outrage. 'You stupid bird-brained idiot female! You stepped on me! What is the matter with you?' But instead of either retorting or fleeing, she proffered him the cup of water. As it happened, he was thirsty from his efforts of outrage, so he thrust his beak into the sealed cup and drained it. The water was unusually refreshing. Then, without so much as a squawk of thanks, he closed his eyes and settled back down to sleep. But she brushed his face with a wing-tip, causing his eyes to open and catch a glimpse of her. That was when he discovered that the water he had just drunk was from a love spring."

  "Beautiful!" the Dastard said, unable to stifle his appreciation of a truly dastardly deed. "She trapped him."

  " 'You treacherous winged monster!' he squawked as he realized. 'You deliberately gave me that love elixir. I'll never forgive that. I must punish you.' Grinelle merely turned her back. This really heightened his rage. 'Take that and that and THAT!' And he had at her with ferocity. But she did not protest, for each 'that' translated to a dot of the dread ellipsis, and the trio of dots sent a forceful message to another winged monster, the stork. Then she turned around and sprinkled him with water from another cup she carried, and he immediately let the matter drop, and returned to sleep. It was lethe, the water of forgetfulness. He had forgotten all about her and this nocturnal episode."

  "Dastardly," the Dastard repeated. Who would ever have thought this story would turn so briefly satisfying?

  "In the morning, Crombie hated Grinelle even more, because in the back of his mind he felt somehow drawn to her. He treated her yet more harshly, trying to abolish the lurking attraction he felt. For though the lethe had made him forget, the love elixir had not entirely worn off, as it normally required more than three dots of an ellipsis to wear it out. But then he went on his way with his companions, and thought no more about her, though the lingering love elixir was destined to strike again, this time with a nymph as its object. But that's another story."

  "I hope this one is almost done," the Dastard said wearily. However, it had given him an idea. If he found that green-haired princess, maybe he should have some of that love elixir handy to use on her.

  "Grinelle in due course, not long after the Time of No Magic, received a bundle from the stork: a baby griffin girl cub which she treasured and named Griselda. She had astonishing color for her kind: a yellow beak, red mane, and blue wingtip feathers. Only as she grew did it become evident that Griselda, though griffin in body, was
essentially human in mind. She was very smart, and had a soul. She never felt completely at home among the griffins, and finally Grinelle had to tell her the truth about her origin: She had a human father. So when she was eighteen in human years, she set out to find her father. But because he had reverted to his human form, she did not know how to locate him. She realized that she would be able to find him only if he wished to be found--and how could he wish that, when he didn't know she existed? So she decided to go ask the Good Magician for help."

  "Oh, no, not another Good Magician story," the Dastard said, disgusted.

  "But she got lost on the way to Magician Humfrey's castle, and blundered down to the Brain Coral's pool, where it stored all manner of creatures and things, pending their possible need in some distant future.

  So she made the deal with it: She would do it a service, if it would preserve her until her father learned of her existence and wished to meet her. It seemed that there was a person on the surface of Xanth who was very ill and about to fade out, who had a very special talent. This was to project a thought or an image or an emotion into the mind of another person or creature, somewhat in the manner of a night mare, but not restricted to bad dreams. She went where the Brain Coral told her, and found him: his name was Just Ice, and he had somehow lost himself and was dying of coldness. 'There ain't no more Just Ice,' he wailed as he sank into oblivion. But Griselda reached him just in time, and wrapped him in a blanket, and promised to take him to a place where he would always be warm. So he went with her to the Brain Coral's pool, and dipped his big toe in the water, and it was marvelously warm and cozy. He was glad to let the Brain Coral borrow his talent while he delved into the pool. And Griselda joined him there, finding it just as comfortable. And so they remained, for thirty-eight years. Then something glitched, and several of the stored folk were washed out of the pool, including Griselda. So, finding herself back in Xanth proper, she decided to resume her search for her father, the misogynist Crombie." Becka paused, glancing at him. "Have we seen him?"

  "No!" the Dastard said. "Now go away."

  Sadly, the griffin spread her wings and flew away.

  "You certainly are dastardly, my pet," Becka remarked appreciatively. "You let her tell her entire story, then dismissed her with a mere four words."

  "I wish I could dismiss you as readily," he said.

  "I am much more of a challenge, my pet."

  "You don't sound at all like the girl I met yesterday."

  "I am indeed not like that girl. Come, my pet, let's seek a private place, and I will freak you out with my panties."

  Suddenly the Dastard was suspicious. "You are completely different! What has come over you?"

  "I'm surprised you haven't caught on by this time, pet. I am the Sea Hag."

  Suddenly it fell into place. The significant change in personality. The sudden interest in the histories of other people. The Sea Hag was interested in people, because they were all prospects for her to take over, and she wanted the very best bodies. "That glitch in the Brain Coral's pool, that ejected the griffin girl--it ejected you too!"

  "Indeed it did, my pet. My spirit flew to my statue and waited for a suitable prospect to pass. I took Ann Arky." Her face soured. "But then you unhappened her entry to Xanth, stranding me. That never happened to me before; usually only death deprives me of my hosts. So I took the next available young female body. This one is if anything better than the first. It's clean and healthy, and with a formidable identity." She turned dragon for an instant. "It has been a long time since I have had a man to play with. You will do until I find a better one. Come to me, my unhandsome but surely serviceable male." She reached for him.

  He didn't trust this at all. The Sea Hag had Xanth's worst reputation. She was cunning and unscrupulous and bloodthirsty. How could she be trusted? He backed away. "Aren't you mad at me for unhappening your prior body?"

  "Well I was, my pet. But I decided to investigate, both in the memory of this naïve child and in observation of you, and I have concluded that you are my type of man. That is to say, cunning and unscrupulous and with a taste for panties. Together we can do a great deal of mischief." She advanced on him.

  There was a certain aptness in her reasoning. But the Dastard had always worked alone, and was wary of joining forces with anyone, let alone a crone like this. The Sea Hag was no cute young thing, regardless of the body she occupied; she was centuries old. That bothered him as much as anything: the fact that she had so much age and experience, making him a child by comparison. "No. Go away."

  Still she advanced. "Oh, come on, my pet. I have none of the restrictions this girl had, and I have considerable experience. I can give you encounters such as you never before imagined. Here; I will show you." She turned around and hitched up her skirt.

  The Dastard slid into limbo before the panties showed. He knew that such a sight, when he was unprepared, would freak him out and leave him helpless as long as the view remained. Then what would she do? It could be anything, including getting his head chopped off.

  So it was better to be rid of her, however tempting her present body might be. Oh, when properly braced, he could see her panties and not be freaked out, so that wasn't a long-term issue. But he could never trust her disreputable mind. She knew too much and was too cynical, and would never be in his thrall. He needed a real girl--or a real princess.

  It was better to unhappen her again. He could do so, because it postdated his last unhappening of the girl Becka; he would not be treading on his own tracks. So he went back to the time the Hag must have taken over the girl--and hesitated. Had it been then, or could she have done it earlier, and taken a while to give any sign? It could have happened any time after he had unhappened Ann Arky.

  Also, how could he stop a spirit from infusing the girl? He couldn't see it, and a simple change of direction or paths wouldn't suffice. He had to not only unhappen it, but fix it so the Hag couldn't take the girl again later.

  A moment's thought yielded an answer: there was a herb that repelled loose spirits. He could fetch some of that and put it on her after he unhappened the takeover. That would make her safe.

  He slid to a patch of spirit herbs and picked several good ones. He tied them together with vine, making a clumsy necklace. Then he slid to the point right after dealing with Ann Arky. There stood Becka in all her innocence. She thought that her ability to turn dragon protected her from any threat; how little she knew!

  He put the necklace over her head. "Never take this off," he told her urgently. "I'll explain tomorrow." Then he slid back to the present; he never remained longer in the past than he had to, as it became wearing.

  In the present, Becka stared at him. "The Sea Hag!" she gasped. "She had me! I couldn't escape. But now she's gone."

  "I unhappened her takeover of you," he said. "But you must always wear those herbs, to keep her away."

  "I will! Oh, it was utterly horrible. I tried to resist, but she made me hurt until I couldn't stand it. She ransacked my memory, she used my body--she was merciless."

  "You remember it all?" He still wasn't quite used to her ability to remember unhappened things.

  "I wish I could forget! Oh, thank you for rescuing me!"

  "You're welcome. Now will you show me your--"

  "No!"

  That was, oddly, the correct answer. It meant it really was Becka, and not the Sea Hag pretending to be her. "What did she plan for me?"

  Becka grimaced as she remembered. "She was going to--to give you my body, not because she wanted to please you, but because she wanted to control you. If it didn't work, she was going to kill you and look for a man she could control. She has no use for men, except to the extent she can make them do her will."

  "That's what I thought. Keep wearing those herbs, so she can't get you again. She evidently likes your body."

  "Yes. It was horrible. Her thoughts--she vaulted me right past the Adult Conspiracy in sickening detail. She's had so much experience, so ugly--she's worse than
you are."

  "That's why I unhappened her possession of you. I want an innocent girl, not a creature like her."

  "I'm a whole lot less innocent than I was a day ago--but I'll never be like her." She clutched the herbs. "I'll never give these up."

  They walked on. An outsider might have thought that nothing had happened. How wrong that impression would be!

  "Will she come again?" Becka asked. "I mean, will she take some other poor girl's body, and look for us? To get back at us for balking her?"

  That was an excellent question. "I think she will," the Dastard said. "She will be angry. Different as you and I are, I think we must do our best to guard against that."

  The girl shuddered. "Yes."

  Chapter 6

  THREE BIG PRINCESSES

  Melody touched fingers with her four-year-old younger self. Mel Junior was certainly a cute child, in her green dress and hair, looking much like Melody herself when she traveled to From on Ptero and became five years old. In fact she looked much like Harmony and Rhythm at that age too, but not quite the same; they were said to be fraternal triplets rather than identical. That had never made much sense to her, because obviously they were sisters, not brothers. At any rate, the little ones did look almost alike, and would have been hard to tell apart without their distinguishing colors. Melody remembered a game they sometimes played, calling each other Greenie, or Brownie, or Reddie, for their hair. If the little princesses were to color their hair the same and wear matching dresses, only their eyes would give them away.

  She glanced to the side. Sim Bird was touching wingtips with his junior Self too, and there the contrast was startling. Sim was the size of a roc, though he wasn't exactly a roc, while his younger self was the size of a human person. He was the prettiest bird in Xanth or Ptero, because of his iridescence, but was also uncommonly intelligent, and a pleasant companion. She was glad he was coming along on this mission, and not just because he would make travel easy. Oh, of course they could always conjure a floating carpet, but then they had to agree on its color, and tell it where to go, and it could attract the attention of Cumulo Fracto Nimbus, the worst of clouds, who would try to blow them away, and then they would have to put a magical diaper on Fracto's soggy bottom, and the war would be on. So it was easiest to let Sim handle travel, now that they had something serious to do.