“I can show you where there’s a secret secluded fruit tree grove that no other bat knows about,” Dragoman said.
She considered. “Show me.”
The dragon veered and winged in an unknown direction.
Soon he landed by a secluded grove in a niche offshoot of the Gap Chasm. It was overgrowing with richly flourishing fruit trees of many kinds.
“Hmm,” the dragon said, annoyed. “Someone’s been picking the fruit recently, but there are no tracks or smell.”
“A mystery,” Brunhilda said.
“This must be where I conjure my fruit from!” Hugo exclaimed. “I’ve taken a lot in the past few days, for Bathos. I never knew where it came from.”
“So this is the source,” Brunhilda said, pleased. “So I don’t need you any more.”
“You don’t need me,” Hugo agreed, relieved.
“So you can marry me,” Dragoman said.
“Not quite so fast, fireface,” she said. “There is still the second thing.”
“What is that?” Dragoman asked.
“Bathos Bat. When Hugo trades to get his human body back, Bathos will be a bat again, and will want me. And he is a bat.”
“I’ll chomp him!”
“No, he has a useful talent. I might need it some time.”
“What for?”
“To make out with you, for one thing. Short of a quadruple strength accommodation spell, you and I are never going to make physical love, now are we?”
“I’ll find the accommodation spell!”
“No, it would be easier to exchange minds with Bathos and tryst with me as a bat. I’m sure Bathos would like to be a dragon for a while, too.”
The dragon considered. “How do you like being a bat?” he asked Hugo.
“Actually, it’s all right. It enabled me to contact Becka Dragongirl to arrange my escape from the cell.”
“Could you make out with Brunhilda?”
“I’m married!”
“If you weren’t married, could you make out with her?”
Hugo got the dragon’s drift. “Yes, enthusiastically. She kissed me too, you know. She’s some bat.”
Dragoman nodded. “Good enough. But will Bathos agree to let me have his body for that?”
“He will if I kiss him,” said Brunhilda. “He’ll be my love slave, and will do anything I ask.”
“Then you can keep him. You’re right: he will be useful. Now let’s go make the exchange.”
They flew back to Castle Maidragon and the Bat Cave. Dragoman dropped them off and hovered outside, too big to enter. They made their way to the crevice that opened to the cell.
There was his body, sacked out amidst a pile of half-eaten fruit. It seemed that Bathos had not yet quite conquered his hunger.
Bathos! Hugo called mentally. I’m back.
“Go away,” Bathos said, tossing a ripe pear at the crevice.
It is time to trade back. I have made contact with the proprietress of the castle. She will let me out.
“She’s a pretty girl, isn’t she? Maybe I’ll make time with her. I’m sure this body can do it.”
What was this? You can’t. She’s married.
“Well, there’ll be others. And gobs of fruit. How I love it!”
“What’s happening?” Brunhilda asked. She did not understand human talk, and lacked the mental connection.
“He’s balking about changing back.”
She paused half an instant. “Oh he is, is he? After we have it all arranged? I’ll deal with that.” She squeezed through the crevice and dropped into the cell. She spread her wings and circled the chamber. Then she swooped into the human body and planted a recharged kiss on its mouth.
The body staggered, hearts and planets spiraling wildly around it. She had staggered it with the potency of the kiss.
Hugo pounced, mentally. Trade back now! Brunhilda wishes it.
And he was back in his own body, his belly full to the verge of sickness. But he wasn’t Brunhilda’s love slave; that enchantment had remained with the person rather than the body. That was a relief.
Brunhilda remained in the cell, watching him. “I’m myself, Hugo,” he told her. “Human. Go deal with Bathos.”
She understood his manner if not his words. He waved as she headed for the crevice and squeezed through. She would handle Bathos and Dragoman, making the best of an interesting situation.
He got to work cleaning himself up. His clothing was a loss, but he didn’t want to exit the cell nude. Maybe he would be able to borrow something.
Soon there was a knock at the door. That would be Becka. “Yes,” he called. “I am Hugo. But the bat who used my body made a mess, and I have no clothing. Can I borrow something?”
She was evidently reassured that he wasn’t the Random Factor. “Oh, don’t be concerned,” she said as she unlocked and drew open the door. “I’ve seen it be—” Then she caught a full glimpse of him, perhaps two glimpses. She froze in place, her eyes staring blankly.
She had freaked out. One flash per eyeball had taken both out. Hugo hadn’t realized it happened to women too. Maybe the case had to be truly egregious. Hastily he picked up his sodden bundle of clothing and held it over his soiled midsection. Then he snapped his fingers.
She recovered, unconscious of her time in freakdom. “I’ll fetch some clothing. You’ll want a shower, too.” She beat a swift retreat.
Hugo shook his head ruefully. There was nothing between him and Becka, but he would have preferred to have made a better appearance.
Soon Brusk appeared, carrying an armful of clothing. Evidently Becka was making sure not to be flashed again. “Follow me,” Brusk said, turning around. It seemed he wasn’t that keen on Hugo’s filthy forty-three-year-old body either.
He followed the man to a magical shower stall. Soon he was luxuriously washing. Then he dried and donned the clothing. It didn’t fit him well, probably being some of Brusk’s, but was far better than his own.
Now at last he met formally with Brusk and Becka. “So that’s why the bat was inside,” Becka said. “That was you.”
“That was my identity borrowing the bat’s body,” Hugo agreed. “While the bat used my body to gorge on fruit. He’s a hungry fruit bat, you see.”
“But just how did you get in that cell?” Brusk asked.
“I don’t know. One moment I was in the cellar of the GMC, and the next I was in that cell.”
“GMC?”
“Good Magician’s Castle. I’m so used to it I abbreviate it. Anyway, the conjecture is that somehow the Random Factor managed to exchange places with me.”
“But that means the Random Factor is on the loose,” Becka said, alarmed.
“I fear it does,” Hugo agreed.
“I’d better call the Gorgon,” she decided. She went to the magic mirror hanging on the wall. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall—”
“I heard,” the mirror said. “I’m flashing her now.”
Hugo wished it hadn’t used that word.
The Gorgon’s veiled face appeared in the mirror. “Yes?” Then she saw Hugo. “Hugo!”
“Mother,” he agreed.
“At least you might have told me where you were going,” she admonished him. “Wira’s been beside herself.” The mirror obligingly put two small images of Wira in a corner, beside each other. “Where are you?”
“At Castle Maidragon, mother.”
“Visiting with Becka? For shame! Not only are you married, so is she.”
“Mother, it’s not—”
But then her smile, unable to remain suppressed, twisted her veil. “I’m glad you’re safe, son. What happened?”
“We think the Random Factor switched places with me. Is he there?”
“The Random Factor! No, he’s not here. There’s only a nebulous dead body here. I trust you didn’t do it?”
“I didn’t do anything. Are you sure that’s not the Factor?”
“If it is, he’s dead, or dead to this world. I do
n’t think it is.”
“Doesn’t father know? There should be something in the Book of Answers.”
“The Book of Answers has been scrambled; Humfrey’s struggling to put it back into order.” The Gorgon paused. “But you know, that’s something the Factor could have done. So maybe he was here, and left the body.”
“But whose body is it?”
“We wish we knew. It’s a mystery. We were afraid you were being framed for it.”
“I’m not a murderer!”
“We know, son. We’ve kept it quiet until we can exonerate you.”
“May I talk to Wira now?”
“She’s not here. She’s out looking for you.”
“Where is she? I want to be with her.”
“We don’t know, dear. I’m sure she’ll check in in due course.”
“I want to find her!”
“And she wants to find you. Something about an overdue signal to the stork, I think. Why don’t you return here, and be here when she returns?”
“I suppose I’ll have to,” Hugo agreed, disappointed.
“I’ll take you there,” Becka said. “You obviously don’t mind riding dragons.”
“Not when they’re going where I’m going,” Hugo agreed. But he was sorely disappointed that he wouldn’t be back with Wira immediately.
9
PASSION
Are you satisfied?” the Demoness Mentia inquired.
“I am prostrate,” he confessed.
“You are what?”
“Worn out, tired, exhausted, utterly sated—” He paused. “You haven’t reverted to Metria, have you?”
“Whatever,” she said with mock crossness. “I merely thought you used a dirty word.”
“I did not. Anyway, you certainly proved your point. Are you going to vanish now that you’ve done it?”
“Naturally. That’s what demonesses do.”
“I can’t interest you in a continuing relationship?”
“What continuing interest would I have in a mortal? There was a challenge, I rose to it, now it’s done, and there’s no point in staying.”
“You demons don’t have a conscience,” he said, remembering.
“Well, Metria got half a soul when she married, so I have part of a soul too. That gives us some conscience. It’s a nuisance. What do you care? You have precious little conscience yourself.”
“I couldn’t do my randomizing if I had much of a conscience. It would make me be concerned about the consequences of my actions to others. So I have it parked somewhere out of the way.”
“Why are you interested in a continuing relationship? You’re random, not crazy. I’m the crazy one.” Her head shifted shape until it resembled her bare bottom. Her bottom surely now resembled her head. She was indeed a little crazy. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have wasted a whole night making you delirious,” her voice said from under her skirt.
“I want something from you, of course.”
“I already gave you a night of it. That’s enough.”
“Something else.”
“Oh, with my features reversed? That would be different, all right. But what would be in it for me?”
This wasn’t getting him far. “What can I offer you that would enlist your cooperation taking me somewhere and helping me meet someone?”
Her head and face reformed where they belonged. “Someone else? Who?”
“A girl.”
“You want me to set you up with another woman?” she asked, sparks jumping from her hair and little lightning jags from her eyes. One might almost have supposed she was annoyed.
“It would be complicated to explain.”
“I’m a little crazy, not a little stupid,” she snapped, her teeth striking further sparks.
“But you’d have to keep company with me long enough to hear my explanation.”
She nodded. “True. That would be deadly dull. So ootoodle, as my other self would put it.” She began to fade.
“There’s a small mystery,” he said desperately.
She remained half faded. “Metria has an insatiable curiosity. She must be done with her morning routine by now. I’ll swap out with her. It’s been a while since I emulated her form and seduced her husband. That really annoys her.”
Her half-faded form subtly shifted. “What’s this stupid conundrum?”
“This stupid what?”
“Puzzle, enigma, riddle, maze—”
“Corn?”
“Whatever,” she agreed crossly. “Hey, wait half a moment! That’s not it.”
“Mystery,” he said.
“That’s it. Anyhow, that’s maize, not maze, when its corny. So what’s your deal? Mentia says she already gave you triple the bliss any mortal man deserves, just to make a point. She was crazy to do it.”
“Naturally,” he agreed. “Now I have a stupid, minor, inconsequential little mystery to fathom, and I could use your help to accomplish that.”
“Is it interesting?”
“Dull.”
“You cunning one-eyed card! You know I don’t believe you.”
“Cunning what?”
“King, queen, jack—”
“Knave?”
“Whatever. What’s your mystery?”
Now was the time for truth, as she would catch on quick enough otherwise. “You know I’m the Random Factor.”
“No corn there,” she agreed.
“I tried to escape from the Factory some time ago, and they confined me in the dungeon of Castle Maidragon. I escaped, but now they’re after me. They’ve sent an agent to fetch me back. I don’t want to go back; it would stifle my random nature. So I need to know how this girl proposes to do it.”
“Girl?”
“Maid, damsel, young woman, servant, female—”
“I mean how’s a mere girl going to catch you and bring you back when you can randomize out of it?”
“Exactly.”
“What?”
“Precisely, correctly, properly, accurately, veraciously—”
A puff of steam blew her head off. “I mean how’s it going to happen?” the head called from on high.
“That’s what I want to know. It’s a mystery. Can you help me?”
The head settled back into place. “What kind of help do you want?”
“I want to go to her and investigate without her knowing who I am or what I’m doing.”
“So why don’t you?”
“She’ll know who I am the moment I use my magic. Then she’ll nab me. Unless I know how to stop her.”
“This is intriguing,” the demoness agreed. “Very well, I will help you fathom this corn. What’s your tack?”
“My what?”
“Procedure, technique, plan, course, angle of attack—”
“Approach?”
“Whatever. Answer the question.”
“First you’ll have to take me there, so I don’t have to use my magic, though my magic couldn’t work that way anyway. Then you can pose as my girlfriend or wife—”
“I knew it! You just want me to proselytize!”
The Factor considered momentarily, and decided not to question that. He treated it as the word she had intended. “No. Your crazy half already did plenty of that. I need an innocent identity, and a married man traveling with his wife would seem to be that.”
“A pretend wife.” She considered. “I can do that. But there’s a wonder.”
“A what?”
“Suspicion, mistrust, issue, doubt, dubiousness—”
“Problem,” he said. “Your problem with words.”
She nodded.
She had a point. The moment she opened her mouth, anyone who knew her or had ever heard of her would catch on to her identity. “Maybe you could be mute,” he said.
“Be what?”
“Silent, quiet, still, soundless, stifled—”
“Gagged?”
“Whatever,” he agreed crossly.
“Me? I never shut up! How cou
ld I make mischief if I were gagged? The thought gags me. I’m not gaga over it.”
“It won’t work if you mess up words. Maybe it will have to be Mentia after all.”
“That smoky hussy? Never!”
“But obviously you can’t do it.”
She considered two thirds of an instant. “How about Woe Betide?”
“How about what?”
“My child identity. When a sphinx stepped on me long ago I fractured into three forms. The third is a five-year-old waffle.”
Her problem was getting annoying. “Waif?”
“Whatever. She doesn’t have a vocabulary problem. But you have to honor the Adult Conspiracy in her presence.”
“But surely she knows everything you and Mentia know. She would remember the night I just had with that sultry demoness. That would completely fracture the Conspiracy.”
“She’s in de Nile.”
This one threw him. “The what?”
“A river in Mundania. Not. Pretending something doesn’t exist.”
“Denial!” he said, getting it. “You know, that would work. We could be father and daughter, because the mother was toasted by a dragon. Completely harmless. What do you think?”
Metria dissolved into smoke. In more than an instant but less than half a moment she reformed as a cute little tike. “Matches?” she asked, proffering one. “They grant you your fondest wish.”
“I want to abolish that agent.”
She clouded up. “That’s a mean wish.”
He backed off. He didn’t want trouble that would alienate her. “I take it back. But what about your name? How can you be anonymous?”
“Be what?”
Was this really Metria? No, probably just too big a word for the waif. “You need a pretend name. It’s a game. So no one will know who you really are.”
She clapped her little hands. “A game! I’ll be Trace, ’cause I’m only a trace of my grown-up self.”
“Very good. Trace it is. And I’ll be—” He paused, considering. “Fabian. You will pose as my daughter, and when anyone asks you about your mother, you cloud up and say she went away because of a dragon.”
“Goody,” she agreed. “I like being half an orphan.”
“Now we need to go to join Debra. Can you find her?”