Air Apparent

  “That reminds me,” Happy said. “Gwenny Goblin figured out that Fracto and Factor are an anagram. So they might conveniently have switched places. But if it was Hugo who switched, that’s not a good clue.”

  “Fracto and Factor,” Debra said. “That can’t be mere coincidence.”

  “I wonder,” the Gorgon said. “Maybe you should look at the body. As clouds you must have seen many folk; you might recognize it.”

  “We can do that,” Happy said. “As long as we’re here.”

  “I’d like to see it too,” Debra said.

  “Welcome,” Wira said. “We never can know what will be revealed.”

  They went down to the cellar, a trip Debra never could have managed in her centaur form. There in a dusky corner was the body. She helped the Gorgon and Wira drag it out into the light.

  Happy screamed. “That’s my husband!”

  “Daddy!” Fray cried almost simultaneously.

  The Gorgon looked at Debra, amazed. The look bounced off Debra’s own amazement. This was Fracto?

  “Cumulo Fracto Nimbus,” Happy said. “In condensed form, as we are now.”

  “Nimbus,” Debra repeated. “That’s the boy’s name.”

  “Did we get the wrong Nimbus?” Wira asked. “Was it supposed to be the cloud on the air plain?”

  “Was the Book of Answers wrong?” Debra asked.

  “Unlikely,” the Gorgon said. “The confusion is more likely ours.”

  “Unless both Nimbuses relate,” Wira said.

  “Like Fracto and Factor,” Debra said. “We just had to understand the devious hints.”

  “Who cares?” Happy Bottom said. “We must wake him and take him home.”

  “Why didn’t he wake before?” Wira asked. “We thought he was dead.”

  “He’s locked into sleep,” Happy said. “It must be a stasis spell. Do you have an antidote?”

  The Gorgon smiled under her veil. “The very best. Sleep-stasis spells are normally broken by the kiss of one who loves the sleeper best.”

  “That’s easy!” Happy dropped down and slopped a wet and windy kiss on the body’s face.

  Fracto stirred. His eyes opened. “Happy! What kept you?”

  “I’ll explain later, dear. Let’s revert to form first.”

  “Gladly!” He started to vaporize.

  Happy looked around. “Thank you so much!” Then she vaporized too.

  “Great adventure,” Fray said, and did the same.

  Before long the mist of their presences had floated out of the cellar. They had made it safely into the sky. Wira, Debra, and the Gorgon were left standing in the cellar, sharing a pleasant bemusement.

  “Let’s see how this fits,” the Gorgon said as they returned to the main floor. “The Random Factor does random magic. So he exchanged randomly with another person, who happened to be Hugo. Thus Hugo wound up in the Factor’s dungeon cell, and the Factor was here in our cellar. Then he made another random exchange with Fracto, only this wasn’t quite as random, because of the anagram, and Fracto wound up in stasis where the Factor had been.”

  “Maybe he loses some of the randomness when he does it too frequently,” Wira said. “Can randomness wear out?”

  “Maybe so. But it doesn’t explain the scrambling of the Book of Answers or the stasis spell on Fracto.”

  “Or the Clues,” Debra said. “Or the way they led us to find Nimbus. Unless—”

  “Unless the randomness spread out,” the Gorgon said. “Here a scramble, there a stasis spell, and elsewhere a lost boy because his name connected to Fracto’s name. Not completely random, but still random enough to make a mystery and a lot of mischief.”

  “And it seems that my involvement wasn’t random at all,” Debra said. “The Factory acted the moment the Factor escaped, generating me and sending me here so that I would be chosen to participate in the search for the Factor. Except that we weren’t looking for him.”

  “Yes we were,” Wira said. “Because Hugo was hidden in his cell. We just didn’t know it.”

  “And the Factor knew the Factory would send an agent to capture him,” Debra said. “So he checked it out, to see if he could nullify it. Only he fell in love with me instead. And I with him. Which really messes things up.”

  “At least Nimby made you real,” Wira said.

  “Real but still in hopeless love.”

  “This is an ugly complication,” the Gorgon said. “Now it won’t be enough for you to abolish your curse, because the Factory might simply send another agent to capture him. The problem is bigger than the two of you.”

  “And we can’t just let them suffer,” Wira said. “At least everything else has simplified.”

  “Someone’s coming by air,” the Gorgon said, glancing at a sensor. “That must be the dragongirl. I remember when she first came here as a querent.”

  They went up to the landing roof. Sure enough, the colorful dragon was gliding in. But alone.

  Debra felt a sudden clutch of apprehension for Wira. Where was Hugo?

  The dragon landed and converted into the girl. “Something awful has happened!” she exclaimed. “Hugo can’t go home yet.”

  They stared at her, shocked. Whatever could account for this?

  11

  EXCHANGE

  The Random Factor found himself sitting on a mantelpiece. He dropped to the floor, as he did not fit well on that shelf. Fortunately there was no fire in the fireplace below. This would be where the Maiden Head normally rested. He always knew on some level what he exchanged with, though he did not actually see it; it was just part of the process. He was glad it was something innocuous; he would not have wanted Debra to suffer.

  Ah, Debra! What a strange turn his life had taken. He had met the agent the Factory had sent, and come to love her, without even a love potion or a fall into a love spring. It had just happened. Oh, he knew it was part of the enchantment the Factory had set her up with. He had been surprised by it, and so caught by it. Yet for all that, it was real, and he knew it was mutual. She could have caught him merely by leaving her bra in place for him to touch; instead she had flung it off and he had caught her breasts. That had transported him in a different but harmless fashion. She did love him too.

  It had started with the kiss. He had seen her laugh, and just had to kiss her. Then the little orbiting hearts had enclosed them, and it was love. They had been destined, or enchanted, to fall in love at their first opportunity. He with her, so that he could not avoid her. She with him so that she would constantly seek him out. That was the first half of the trap. Now they both wanted to avoid the second half. The cursed bra.

  How could they escape it, when they couldn’t stay away from each other? That was the awful, wonderful challenge. The Heaven and the Hell of it. Some sadist at the Factory had shown real imagination.

  Where was he? This was somebody’s private residence, a room in a house. The Maiden Head must have been part of a collection of artifacts. There might be others.

  He inspected the rest of the mantelpiece. There was a small wooden box. What was it? It was surely magic, so shouldn’t be touched ignorantly.

  Then he saw the plaques. Ah. The one where he had appeared said Maiden Head, of course. The box was marked Fresh Err. That would be a pun for fresher, but hardly the whole story, if the Maiden Head was any guide. Another box was labeled Err Conditioner. Maybe something that altered the quality of the surrounding air.

  But that wasn’t enough information. He might be misunderstanding their nature. He’d best not touch them yet.

  He walked around the room. There was a door to the outside, and a window. He looked out the window and saw a village street. So this was in a metropolis. He did not want to attract attention by going outside. He went on.

  He found a curtained-off corner containing a basin and chamber pot. Standard equipment; better than the trench he had had to use in the dungeon cell.

  Next was a small antechamber leading to a bedroom alcove beyond. There
was a bed in it, and—a sleeping woman.

  The Factor paused, beset by odd emotions. She was an attractive one, with nice hair and a nice figure. Her face was buried in the pillow and wasn’t visible, but it was surely pretty. Her nightdress rode up some to show her full thigh. This was the kind of woman he liked to sport with for an hour or a night.

  And he wasn’t interested. He was in love with Debra, though he had encountered her only as a centaur. She was the only one he wanted to be with. That was what mixed his emotions. He had truly been changed by love, and this was the inadvertent proof of it.

  He passed the bedroom on by, not disturbing the woman.

  Then he found a closet door. It was labeled Imagination. What could that mean?

  He considered. It seemed most likely that the sleeping woman had set up a safe place to store her imagination while she slept, and this was the place. It was surely securely locked.

  He turned the knob. The door unlatched.

  He hesitated. Did he really want to intrude on someone else’s imagination?

  He shrugged and opened the door. It wasn’t as if he intended any harm.

  It was murky inside. He put one hand in to feel what was in it, but there was only space. So he stepped in, keeping one heel back so the door could not close and lock him in. He was wary of prison cells since his experience in the dungeon. Of course he could transfer out, now that he knew how to do it, but he preferred to do so in his own good time.

  His eyes adjusted to the dim illumination. He was in a chamber of considerable size; in fact it seemed larger than the whole universe, though it was probably just his imagination.

  He paused. Imagination? That was what it said on the door. Could this really be the closet of imagination? If so, anything he could imagine would be here. Maybe even something useful. Such as a way to nullify Debra’s curse.

  That thought made him extend the pause, making it a long pause. What would nullify that bra curse? A bra-vo? Bra-zen? Bra-zil nut? Brae bonnie girl? That was intriguing. He didn’t know, and didn’t dare guess.

  He took off a shoe and wedged it to keep the door open. Then he moved on in.

  He spied a plaque on a shelf. It said Ab Cent. But there was nothing there. Oh.

  Next to it was what appeared to be a Mundane dollar bill, with the face of a king on it. The plaque said Bucking. Oh, again. Beside that was a mundane penny standing guard: Cent-inel.

  The Factor stifled a groan. These were mere puns. He wanted something with more substance.

  Still, where there was one king, there might be another, and kings had special powers. So he checked further, and found them. There was an entire shelf filled with models of assorted kings. One was a crowned mule-like animal with a load of keys and a questioning look, labeled Ass King. The Factor pondered, and in half a moment got it: Don Key asking a question. Another was a human monarch standing before an overnight residence in the shape of a Mundane printer doused in black fluid, labeled Inn King. Again he pondered, and got it: inking. Another was a crowned dog with its mouth open, looking somewhat tipsy, labeled Bar King. Also a slender king reading a serious tome: Thin King. A king peeking voyeuristically into a toilet chamber: a Loo King. There were others, but the Factor had had enough; these kings were not what he needed.

  Farther along was a cup of what looked and smelled like hot tea. It smelled very good, and he was inclined to drink it. But he distrusted it. Sure enough, the plaque said Fatal-itea. That would be lethal.

  Then he spied a jar of De Ogreant. That would repel ogres, a useful function. But his problem was with a curse, not an ogre.

  Next was a mirror with a pencil and paper pad before it. The plaque said Mirror Writing. So he wrote a word on the pad: olleH.

  That wasn’t what he had written. Then he saw the reflection in the mirror: Hello. He had written backward; it showed the word forward. That was nice incidental magic, but still not what he sought.

  He came to a bookshelf. On it were several books. The title of one leaped out at him: Dream Dictionary. If that was really a dictionary of dreams, it could be quite useful. He had agreed to meet Debra in a dream, and he fully intended to do it. This book might help him find a compatible dream setting. Such as a very private bedroom.

  He took the book down from the shelf and opened it. The title page said “This dictionary is the property of the Night Stallion, for use cataloging all the dreams used to torment deserving sleepers.”

  This was quite a reference! How had it gotten here? The Night Stallion surely missed it.

  He picked up the book and turned to depart the Closet of Imagination. He saw the distant outline of the door; he had come farther into the closet than he realized. And framed in the light of it was the woman. He recognized her immediately by her superior shape; she was the one who had been sleeping. Alas, she was sleeping no more. She must have seen the shoe blocking the door open, and realized someone was in there.

  “elloH,” he said awkwardly.

  She didn’t smile. “The rule is that you can enter my imagination and take out one thing, use it, and return it. What do you want with that book?”

  “An ideal dream setting. But how do you come to possess it?”

  “This is an imaginary copy, of course. The Night Stallion has the original.”

  The Factor nodded. “Then I will use it now, and return it.” He opened the book, riffled through the pages, and stopped randomly, of course.

  A scene opened out across the facing pages. It showed a lovely land of milk and honey, where a number of couples were embracing and kissing. It was of course the Honeymoon, the other side of the moon that had not been turned to spoiled green cheese by the constant vision of the ugliness of Xanth. This was ideal. He would meet Debra in this dream, or take her here once he found her elsewhere in the dream realm. Somehow they would get together; he knew it.

  He put the book back on its shelf, then returned to the door. The woman still blocked it.

  “It is time for introductions,” she said. “I am Venus Vila.”

  She was one of the vily! That was mischief. The vily were all females, living in the deepest forests and greatest heights, and they didn’t much like men. He would have to tread very carefully, and be ready to transfer randomly out on half an instant’s notice.

  But he waited, because he couldn’t be sure how many transfers he had today, and didn’t want to risk using up his last one unnecessarily. “I am the Random Factor.”

  Now she paused. Evidently she knew of him, and was now as wary of him as he was of her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I escaped my dungeon cell. I am here randomly.”

  “Of course. What is your intent?”

  “To move randomly on.”

  “Let’s converse a bit. We will surely never meet again. I will do you no harm if you do me none.”

  “Agreed.” For the vily were dangerous. This was a temporary truce. She did not realize that he was no longer doing random things to those people he encountered. He was not actually dangerous to her now, but it did not seem expedient to clarify that. But what did she want with him?

  “You saw me sleeping, and passed me by,” she said. “Why?”

  “I did not come here to molest innocent women.”

  She burst out laughing. “You’re a man, aren’t you? Try again.”

  “You weren’t sleeping.” He had just realized this.

  “So? You gazed at me, and considered, and passed me by. I want to know why.”

  She had seen him look, with her face buried? Maybe she had acute hearing. “It’s a personal thing.”

  “To be sure. Stop being evasive.”

  “It’s not your business,” he snapped.

  She frowned. “Beware. We are at truce, but there are limits.”

  “Don’t try to threaten me, woman. You know my powers.”

  “You are bluffing. You have lost your power.”

  “Merely changed it. Now I apply it to myself instead of to others. You can’t thr
eaten me, and I wasn’t threatening you. This dialogue is becoming pointless.”

  “No it isn’t. You have power, nerve, and discretion. You are not in awe of me. I think I will marry you.”

  “No.”

  “As a general rule I hate men. They are brutal, uncouth, and interested in only one thing.” She touched the nightgown at the juncture of her nice legs.

  “Two things,” he said, looking at her nice breasts, outlined by the filmy clingy material.

  She smiled briefly, acknowledging his brutal uncouth male nature. “But they have their uses. The stork won’t answer without one, the stupid bird. You are surprisingly worthy, and not unhandsome. So I’ll make your life pleasant just long enough, then make it miserable when it’s time to get rid of you.”

  What she said was true. The vily could be fantastically alluring when they tried, and insufferable when they didn’t try. But he had another agenda. “No.”

  She paused, the word finally sinking in. “I don’t understand.”

  “I won’t marry you. I won’t even get into bed with you. I’m not interested in a relationship with you.”

  “Ludicrous. No man denies a vila when she chooses him.” Her nightie fell open to reveal a body of unmatched splendor. “What have nymphs or a demoness to offer that I don’t?” She made a slight bob on her heels, whose effect on her torso was anything but slight.

  The Factor’s eyeballs started to glaze. He quickly closed them. “No,” he said a third time. How could she know about the nymphs and demoness? Considering that his appearance here was random, she was remarkably well informed as well as well formed.

  “This is amazing. But you can’t oppose me that way.” He heard her approach. He didn’t move because he would have to open his eyes, and she would nail him then.

  She came to stand immediately before him. She took his hands and placed them about her half-bare body. His fingers touched the back of her panties, and went numb. But still he resisted. “No.”

  She drew herself in, flattening against him. He did not move. She kissed him, and his lips went numb. But still he resisted.