Knot Gneiss

  “Harpies think they’re beautiful?” Wenda asked.

  “Oh, yes! It’s just that some other species don’t properly appreciate them.”

  “As we don’t,” Ida said. “Not at the moment, at least.”

  “So now we know what we’re in for,” Wenda said. “But about this world—Comic, you called it?—we can’t stay here if we want to accomplish the Quest. Is there a door back to Xanth?”

  “There are many doors to Xanth,” Ida said. “But reaching them is awkward.”

  “Awkward?”

  “They are cunningly hidden in the Strips.”

  “I’ve heard of those,” Meryl said. “Hopelessly infested with abysmal puns. But aren’t they on your moon, Terra?”

  “Ptero,” Ida said. “Yes they are, as boundaries. But Comic is a sister world where the great majority of the Strips exist. It’s almost unpopulated, for some reason.”

  “I can’t think why,” Meryl said, and the others laughed. Puns were a natural part of Xanth, but the Strips were so concentrated nobody could stand them for long.

  “So the Good Magician deemed this world a good place to put the Doors, as they would not be abused by others. They serve as a way to escape difficult situations. The return Doors open randomly in Xanth, so they are not convenient for traveling; a person would be lucky to find himself anywhere near his destination. But when there is danger, they can be useful.”

  “That’s why you’re on this Quest!” Dipper explained. “To help us escape danger!”

  “Yes, in part,” Ida agreed.

  Wenda kept silent. It was important that Dipper not know about Ida’s talent of making Ideas come true. She was a full Sorceress, though she did not act like it.

  “And you just did that by conjuring the Door that brought us here,” Jumper said. “But we shouldn’t dawdle here too long.”

  “Actually it doesn’t matter,” Ida said. “Time is frozen. That is, when we return to Xanth, no time will have passed. That’s part of the magic. We could remain here for months, and it wouldn’t make a difference there.”

  “Something else,” Meryl said. “If this is a sister world to Ptero, how can you be here? Isn’t it orbiting your head?”

  “That is complicated to explain completely,” Ida said. “But I will try to simplify it. Ptero looks small, and for a long time we thought it really was small, but actually it’s a full-size world. People on it see another world orbiting the head of Ida on it, and so on, each tiny in comparison. But appearance is not reality; via the magic of perspective they look small in the distance, but are not. They form a phenomenal loop, so it is possible to complete it and return to Xanth. I have done it. They can be visited conveniently by souls, but it is also possible to travel to them physically with the right magic. So the Doors are a way. I retain my connection to the chain via the image of Ptero, but that does not limit me.”

  “Okay,” Meryl agreed uncertainly. Wenda could appreciate why; this was indeed complicated.

  “Still, we have no reason to delay,” Jumper said. “We have to return to Xanth and complete our mission. We may not know where we will land, but once there we should be able to find our way.”

  “We surely will,” Ida said agreeably. But Wenda knew that this wasn’t guaranteed, because Jumper knew Ida’s talent. His suggestion would not magically become reality. Not unless Dipper suggested it. And they couldn’t ask the bird to do that; it was too likely to give away the talent.

  Ida brought out her carpet, unrolled it, and got on it. They walked, floated, and flew toward the nearest Comic Strip. “In there?” Meryl asked dubiously.

  “We need to find a Sidewalk,” Ida said, putting away her carpet again. She seemed to feel that the carpet would be more of a liability than an asset in the Strip. “Then we walk sidewise to find the Door.”

  “Have any of you been in a Comic Strip before?” Ida asked.

  None had.

  “Then I need to warn you that it rapidly becomes tiresome. Fortunately the Strips are not deep; if you feel overwhelmed, try to get outside, and the effects will cease. Meanwhile we will need to stay grouped, so that we can go through the Door together, because once a Door is used, and closes, it orients on a different spot in Xanth. We don’t want to get separated.”

  The others shared a glance of agreement. Still, Wenda didn’t see what could be so bad about innocent puns. They might be annoying or embarrassing or inconvenient, but surely they were harmless.

  “Maybe we should link hands,” Meryl suggested. “Then two others can pull me along just above the ground.”

  “I would have to change form,” Jumper said.

  “Maybe I can handle that now.”

  He assumed naked manform. Meryl took one hand and Wenda took the other. Ida took Wenda’s free hand. Neither Meryl nor Ida looked directly at Jumper.

  “I can’t change form,” Dipper said.

  “Perch on my shoulder,” Wenda said. “And don’t let go.”

  Dipper flew to her and perched.

  Thus linked, they stepped across the marked border that delineated the Strip.

  Immediately they were in a patch of green, yellow, and red plants that were shaped like pepper mills. They were flinging up colored coins, which puffed into clouds of dust.

  Wenda took a breath—and choked. It was pepper!

  Then all of them were coughing and sneezing violently, their eyes tearing so badly it was impossible to see. But they dared not let go of one another, lest they get separated in the Strip and be lost. Whatever they suffered here, they had to be together.

  They had to get out of this pepper patch. But how, when they couldn’t even see?

  “This—sneeze!—is peppermint!” Meryl exclaimed. “Minting—sneeze!—coins! We have to—sneeze!—nullify it!”

  “But—sneeze!—how?” Wenda demanded.

  “I have a—sneeze!—idea,” Dipper said. He was not immune to the clouds of pepper. “Find a—sneeze!—salt mint.”

  “But we can’t—sneeze!—let go of each—sneeze!—other,” Meryl protested.

  “I will—sneeze!—have to change,” Jumper said. Then his hand in Wenda’s hand changed to the foot of the giant spider.

  Through bleary eyes she watched him spread out his other legs, searching through the patch. Then he found something, and lifted it high. And in barely a moment the clouds of pepper dissipated.

  “Salt mint,” he said, as they all recovered their breaths.

  Salt to abate the pepper. That made sense in this crazy region. “Thank you,” Wenda gasped.

  Jumper remained in giant-spider form. Meryl still held his foot, now acclimatized to that shape.

  They were through the peppermint patch. But they were not out of the Strip, and they had not yet found the Sidewalk.

  Before them was a narrowing path between mountainous slopes. It was a V-shaped valley, blocked by what looked like a giant stone ear. There was no way around it, especially since they had to remain linked by the hands.

  “This is surely a pun,” Ida said. “Because everything here is puns. But fathoming its nature is only part of the problem; we will need to find a way to nullify it so we can pass.”

  “What would nullify a stone ear?” Meryl asked.

  “Maybe a really nasty sound,” Dipper said.

  That gave Wenda an idea. She knew of the nastiest sound in the forest, based on a pun. There ought to be one here, since all the most villainous puns were here. She gazed around, and spied one growing on the steep slope. But it was out of reach.

  “We need that stink horn,” Wenda said.

  “I could fly up and get it,” Meryl said. “But I’d have to let go.”

  “Maybe not,” Jumper said. “I have the talents of size and form, thanks to my beloved Eris. If you don’t mind standing on me, I can lift you up.”

  “I’ll do it,” Meryl agreed. She spread her wings and flew up to sit on him, without letting go of his foot.

  Then Jumper expanded, becoming twice his
prior size, then three times, carrying Meryl upward until she could reach the plant. She extended one hand, carefully.

  “Handle it gently!” Wenda called. “Very gently!”

  But then Meryl lost her balance, and instead of carefully lifting the horn from its mooring, she punched it. The thing blasted out a foul-smelling noise and issued a bilious colored smell. Both spread disgustingly out to fill the V of the valley. The people could not escape the sound or the cloud. Suddenly they were dipped in nausea.

  Their pile collapsed in a sickly heap. But the job was done: the giant stone ear, similarly oppressed by the awful noise, was melting. Wenda could hardly blame it; all of them were retching. There was nothing quite as offensive as a ruptured stink horn.

  They dragged themselves to their feet and scrambled over the sagging stone before the ear could recover from the awful sound. They were not much better off than it was.

  But they were not yet through. “I don’t think I like these puns,” Dipper remarked, shaking his head to clear a dribble of vomit from his beak.

  “That is the heck of it,” Ida said. “No person in his or her right mind would enter a Strip unless desperate. Unfortunately, we are desperate. We have no other way to return to Xanth.”

  As their sickness from the dreadful stink horn eased, they saw that they faced a pleasant scene where assorted hoodlike hats floated. “What is this?” Meryl asked suspiciously.

  “It must be a pun we won’t like,” Dipper said.

  “But there seems to be no way through except there,” Jumper said, reverting to manform. This time the mermaid glanced at his body and did not protest or freak out. In fact her expression seemed appraising. Jumper glanced similarly at her bare body, and did not freak out. They were getting acclimatized. It was interesting seeing it happen, stage by stage.

  “We shall just have to endure it,” Wenda said. They were all still linked by their hands.

  They forged together into the scene. The hats swirled, then flew to the head of each person, including the bird, and lodged there.

  The effect was immediate. All of them became children.

  “Oh, no!” a nine-year-old Ida exclaimed. “They are Child Hoods!”

  “So what, dummy?” Jumper demanded.

  “You’re the dummy!” Ida retorted.

  “Am not!”

  “Am too!”

  “Children!” Wenda said sternly. “Don’t quarrel. It isn’t nice.”

  Both turned on her. “Oh, yeah?” Jumper demanded.

  “Yeah!” Wenda said. Then, realizing that she was being just as childish as they, she tried to correct it. “Those hoods are making us naughty children. We have to take them off.”

  “You first,” Ida said.

  “I don’t have a free hand, dummy,” Wenda said.

  “I do,” Meryl said, showing a trace of maturity. She put her free hand to her head, trying to lift off the hood. “It won’t come off.”

  Wenda wanted to check her own hood, but didn’t dare let go of Jumper or Ida. So she made a childish squeal of frustration.

  “I’ll check,” Dipper said, putting a wing to his head. “Bleep!”

  “It seems we can’t get them off,” Jumper said. “We’re locked into Child Hood.”

  “This is all your fault,” Dipper said to Wenda.

  “Is not!” Wenda said, then caught herself. Somebody had to be un-childish. “I mean, I’m sorry.”

  Ida made an effort and spoke like an adult. “It’s no one’s fault. It’s just part of the Strip. We just have to handle it. Does anyone have an idea?”

  That shamed the others into momentary maturity. “There must be something,” Meryl said. “This Strip seems to be like the Good Magician’s Challenges: there’s always a way, if you can just fathom it.”

  “That must be where the old gnome got the idea,” Dipper said, cackling.

  “I think it is actually that puns have an affinity for anti-puns,” Ida said. “Opposites attract, and actions generate equal and opposite reactions. The effect is similar: we can nullify the puns if we just see how.” Then, worn out by her effort of maturity, she lapsed into a childish giggle.

  Wenda wracked her young brain. What would nullify a Child Hood? She couldn’t think of anything.

  “What’s that?” Dipper asked. He was looking at a patch of fuzzy little plants that grew into the shape of the letters E or T.

  “Those are mist E’s or miss T’s,” Wenda said, because she had seen them on occasion in the forest. “They generate wisps of fog.”

  “What good is that?” the bird demanded truculently.

  “Aren’t human children afraid of the dark?” Jumper asked.

  That crystallized a notion. “Yes!” Wenda agreed. “Meryl, get over there and stir up those E’s and T’s.”

  “You aren’t my mommy,” Meryl said. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

  Wenda choked down her urge to shout, “Nyaa Nyaa fraidy cat!” and rephrased her request. “Please, pretty please with sugar on it, go mess up those plants.”

  “Well, in that case, okay.” The mermaid flew over the patch, not letting go of Jumper’s hand, and swept her tail through the patch.

  The plants, outraged, puffed out a huge quantity of fog. It rose up in a roiling cloud and surrounded them. Suddenly everything was black.

  Wenda was terrified. Children were indeed afraid of the dark, and she was a child. She screamed. So did the others, overwhelmed. But they all clutched one another’s hands.

  She felt something happen on her head. That was what she wanted. “Flee forward!” she cried, lurching forward herself.

  They stumbled forward. In barely a moment and a half they plunged out of the shroud of fog.

  “The hoods are gone!” Meryl exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Wenda said. “They didn’t like being terrified, so they jumped off. Now we’re beyond their range.”

  “You figured it out,” Meryl said in a mature manner. “I apologize for my prior attitude.”

  “You were a child,” Wenda reminded her.

  “We were all children,” Jumper said. “We all apologize. Wenda came through for us.”

  But they were not yet out of the world of Comic, or even the Strip. Now the way was barred by a large armored figure with a sword. He stood menacingly before them; on his chest was a sign: I AM THE SILENT KNIGHT. I HAVE TAKEN AN OATH OF SILENCE. I SHALL ALLOW NO TALKING PERSON OR CREATURE TO PASS.

  “But we need to pass,” Wenda protested. “We don’t belong here.”

  The sign changed. TOO BAD FOR YOU. YOU SHALL NOT PASS.

  “He means it,” Ida said. “He is using sign language.”

  Wenda glanced at Jumper. “Could you maybe grow in size and move him out of the way?”

  “No,” Jumper replied. “I would have to let go of your hands, and we don’t want to do that. Besides which, he would probably lop off a limb or two if I challenged him. Even in my spider form I wouldn’t like that.”

  He was right. They needed to find some other way.

  “Why did you take that oath?” Meryl inquired.

  The Knight’s visor oriented on her. It seemed to brighten. Was he gazing on her bareness and freaking out? That might be a way.

  But Meryl was only the upper half of a woman. Wenda, though, was a whole woman. If Meryl could half freak him out, maybe Wenda could do the whole job.

  “I think I need to strip,” she murmured.

  Meryl glanced at her appraisingly. “Maybe you do,” she agreed. She helped undress Wenda, because she had a free hand. It was tricky getting her sleeves off without letting go of the two hands she held, but they managed it through extremely careful maneuvering.

  Wenda stood in her bra and panties, slowly turning around. “Silent Knight!” she called. “Gaze on me a moment.”

  He did, but did not freak. Maybe his visor obscured the view enough to protect him. She had assumed the visor was to stop him from getting poked in the eye with an arrow or spear, but maybe it also
served for dangerous visions.

  She would just have to up the ante. With Meryl’s help she removed her underwear and stood embarrassingly bare and blushing. As a species of wood nymph she had been normally nude, but now she was a whole woman, and that was different.

  It didn’t work. The Silent Knight remained immune.

  “Mud and brambles!” she swore as she hastily donned her clothing. She was almost as angry about having exposed herself for nothing, as for the fact that they remained balked.

  “We have a problem,” Ida murmured.

  Wenda looked. The Knight hadn’t freaked out, but Jumper had. At least that showed that her body had not lost its power. Clothed, Wenda snapped her fingers, and he came out of it. “Did it work?” he asked blankly.

  “Not the way we wanted,” Wenda said.

  The Silent Knight still stood guard, completely sober. His closed helmet did not give even the hint of a smile. “This guy’s a barrel of laughs,” Dipper remarked.

  “Barrel of laughs,” Jumper echoed. “I wonder whether that could be literal? And if so—”

  “A wooden barrel,” Wenda said. Wood was her domain. She sniffed the air. Sure enough, she caught a faint whiff. “That way,” she said, pointing with her nose.

  The valley had opened out somewhat. There was a vile tangle of thorny mean-spirited vines on either side of the Knight, that would surely prevent any passage, but farther back the vegetation was halfway normal. There was an old dead beerbarrel tree in the direction Wenda was pointing. From it leaked a few muffled laughs.

  “It got infected with bad humor and died,” Wenda said. “Beerbarrels can’t stand bad taste.”

  They made their way to it as a linked group. They pushed, and the old trunk fell over as a sealed barrel. They rolled it back to the path, then up to rest before the Knight.

  “Now heave it forward,” Wenda said.

  The got behind the barrel and heaved together, so that it rolled right into the Knight. The Knight reacted automatically, swinging his sword and cleaving the barrel in two. There was an explosion of crude laughs.

  They were contagious. In half a moment all the members of their party were rolling on the ground and helplessly laughing. There was nothing funny about it, but the bad humor had infected them and they had no choice.