Debra did, this time lightening herself with extreme caution. She flexed her wings, and rose a little—and spun crazily, tilting and bobbing.
“That’s probably enough for the day,” the Gorgon said. “Rest now, and think about it, and we’ll practice more tomorrow.”
Debra was glad to agree. They went back inside, and the Gorgon gave her a room piled with pillows so she could flop down without much concern for injury. What a day this had become!
She slept well, but woke early with a full bladder. She got up and looked for a bathroom, but found none—and how could her huge equine body possibly fit in it anyway, or use its facilities? This was an embarrassing problem.
Wira appeared, her sensitive hearing alerting her. “May I help you?” she inquired politely.
“I need to—to pee,” Debra blurted.
“Just go outside and do it anywhere.”
“I can’t do that! It’s far too public and, well, messy. I need a—I don’t know what I need, but I’m desperate.”
“Centaurs have no hang-ups about natural functions,” Wira reminded her. “That includes urination, defecation, regurgitation, and of course sex.”
“Sex! I’m only thirteen.”
Wira nodded. “Oh, that’s right. But you see, centaurs have different rules of behavior. They don’t use storks to deliver their young, and they don’t have any Adult Conspiracy, though they honor it in the presence of humans. You might say they humor us. So you are free to do anything you choose, anywhere, publicly or privately.”
“I think I’m still too human,” Debra said. “It’s bad enough showing my bare torso; I can’t do—natural functions—in public.”
“Then make your way out to the garden in back and do it privately. No one will mind.”
“Thank you.” Debra did that, and found a nice garden thick with concealing trees and shrubs. There she was able to relieve herself in decent privacy. She was coming to understand that there was more to becoming a flying centaur than just learning the mechanisms of lightening her body. It would be a problem adapting to centaur conventions, but she would make the effort.
“That was impressive,” a young man said.
Debra jumped, literally. “I thought I was alone!”
“What does it matter? You’re a centaur. I might have a problem dumping that amount of fluid, but of course you don’t.”
“Of course,” Debra agreed, trying valiantly to stifle a blush.
“Hello. I’m Timothy. My talent is to summon animals: ants, bees, bulls, whatever. I was practicing here in the garden, and thought I’d try a winged centaur, just for variety.”
“I’m not an animal!”
“That’s why it’s a challenge. Who are you? Another querent serving her year of Service?”
“Yes.” She braced herself. “I’m Debra.”
Tim gazed at her front. “Funny thing. I just had the oddest urge to—but of course you’re not wearing one.”
“That’s my curse. It’s why I’m here.” She changed the subject. “I met someone with your name outside.”
“That was Timur, not the same at all.”
So it wasn’t. “I apologize for my mistake.”
“Don’t worry about it; everyone confuses us at first.” He glanced past her. “Ah, there’s Psyche. We’ve been seeing each other during our Service. Hey, Psyche!”
The girl approached. “Hello,” she said shyly. “I never met a winged centaur before.”
“I’m not a real one,” Debra said. “I’ve been transformed so I can do my Service. I’m really a human girl.” She did not clarify what her Service was, as she knew that Wira and the Gorgon did not want the situation with the murder mystery and the fouled up Book of Answers to be generally known. “I’m still learning how to be a centaur.”
“Fascinating,” the girl said. “I’m Psyche. My talent is role reversal. I never understood it until the Good Magician told me.”
“Role reversal?”
“I can reverse the roles of others, like changing a predator to prey, or a minor character to a major character for a quest. I understand it’s a pretty strong talent.”
“It is,” Timothy said.
That made Debra wonder. She had thought of herself as a distinctly minor character, but the quest she was about to go on seemed more like a major one. Had Psyche’s talent been used on her? She didn’t care to inquire.
They chatted a while longer. Then Timothy and Psyche went for a walk together, evidently having more in mind than mere dialogue with stray centaurs, and Debra headed for the castle interior.
“There’s another thing,” Wira said when she returned. “Many centaurs consider magic talents to be obscene.”
“But if the winged ones use magic to help themselves fly—”
“Yes, so it’s muted in winged centaurs. But you have to be wary of it in land-bound ones. It’s probably best not to mention magic at all, as it may relate to centaurs, lest someone’s sensitivities be disturbed.”
“Centaurs will pee in public, but object to talk of magic?”
“To them, it’s human conventions that are backward. They don’t even like to admit that they have human ancestry.”
“I will keep it in mind,” Debra agreed. She found it interesting that centaurs seemed to have their own hang-ups.
They spent the day practicing flying, landing, and handling the bow. Debra might not be able to score on anything smaller than the sky, but she had to be ready to look as if she could. She hoped she never had to perform that bluff, though. For one thing, the bow was too stiff for her to draw, let alone use effectively.
“Now understand,” the Gorgon said. “We can’t just let everyone know what we’re doing, because the murderer might hear, and take it out on Hugo. So as far as others are concerned, the mission is for Wira to locate her lost sight, so she can see again.”
“I was never able to see,” Wira protested.
“That makes no nevermind, dear. It’s a necessary cover story.”
“Wasn’t it hard, growing up without vision?” Debra asked, realizing how well off she was in comparison.
“I didn’t mind, but my family did,” Wira said. “They had me put to sleep at age sixteen.”
“But you’re alive!” Debra said.
“I believe its a euphemism for death in Mundania,” the Gorgon said. “In Xanth it is literal: she joined the realm of dreams, until Hugo met her there. Then one thing led to another, and we brought her out and youthened her body so she could be as young physically as she had seemed to him in the dream realm. She has been here ever since.”
“I see,” Debra said, chastened. Wira had a darker history than she had realized.
The following day they were ready to go. That was to say, Debra doubted she would ever be really ready, but Wira was anxious to search for her lost husband, and couldn’t wait anymore. The Gorgon packed several excellent meals in saddlebags, Wira mounted her back, and Debra spread her wings and took off.
And landed half a hoofprint away. In her distraction she had forgotten to flick them light.
She flicked them carefully and tried again. This time she sailed into the sky. They were on their way.
“Oh, I feel the height,” Wira exclaimed, hanging on tightly to Debra’s mane as she winged upward in great spirals.
“You feel it? How?” She realized now that one reason they had chosen this form for her was so she could talk with Wira; it would have been hard for a griffin or winged horse to do that. Wira clearly needed that feedback, because she could not see her surroundings herself.
“The air is cooler and thinner, and there are bird sounds. It’s a whole different atmosphere.”
Debra listened. Sure enough, now she heard the faint sounds of distant birds. And yes, it was cooler up here, though the sunlight was bright. “It’s new to me too,” she said. “I never flew before adopting this form.”
“It’s an adventure for both of us.”
“I hope our mutual inexpe
rience doesn’t get us into trouble.”
“I have a bag of spells the Gorgon selected from storage. She knows where everything is.”
“Don’t you? I thought you were entirely familiar with the castle.”
“I can’t read the labels, and it’s not safe to uncork vials to sniff them. Some contain demons.”
“Oh. Where are we going first?”
“To the Region of Air, to the north. That’s where we should find Cumulo Fracto Nimbus, the irascible cloud. His entry is one of the clues.”
“He’s a cloud? How could a cloud commit a murder?”
Wira laughed. “Oh, he’s not a suspect, I don’t think. He’s just someone who must have some connection to it, or some information relating to it. I have to be a detective, and gather all the Clues, then put them together to form some brilliant conclusion and know all the answers. I hope I’m up to it.”
“I hope so too,” Debra said. She had come to like the woman, in the days of their association; Wira was unfailingly nice, and modest, and not at all stupid. In sum, she was good company.
“Please, if you will—tell me what you see.”
“You mean the landscape?” But of course she did. Debra kept forgetting the woman’s blindness; Wira never made anything of it. So she started in on a scenic description as she flew north. “It’s like a patchwork quilt below us, with fields and forests and houses and streams. It hardly seems real. Not as a land, I mean; it’s more like a picture.” Then she regretted the analogy; Wira couldn’t look at a picture either. “I mean—”
“That’s fine,” Wira said. “I know what a patchwork quilt is like; I have made them, and stitched designs. That helps me see it. With my fingers and imagination.”
Reassured, Debra continued. “Now there’s a village; the houses look like little blocks. Paths lead into it from all around.”
“Oh, I see it,” Wira said. “Thank you so much.”
Yes, she was definitely easy to get along with. “Now we are coming to something odd. It looks like a big ditch, or a crack traveling east and west. It’s big; in fact it’s huge. Oh—it’s the Gap Chasm!”
“The Gap Chasm,” Wira echoed appreciatively. “Yes, I feel its warm air wafting up.”
“It’s so big and deep it’s like another world,” Debra continued. “In fact—oh my! There’s a cloud in it, below ground level.”
“That’s funny,” Wira agreed. “Too bad it’s not the cloud we are going to see.”
“How can you tell?”
“It’s not thundering at us. Fracto is, well, fractious. He exists to make mischief. He never just floats and suns himself. So this has to be an innocent cloud minding its own business.”
“It is sort of cute,” Debra agreed. “I’m not used to seeing clouds from above. Well, there was the time I took an airplane flight, back in Mundania—” But she stifled that. She didn’t much like her memories of Mundania.
“Folk can fly in Mundania?” Wira asked.
“Oh, yes. They use airplanes, which are scientific machines with wide flat wings that go very fast. People sit inside, packed in like sardines. It’s not at all like this. This is much better.” Which was another thing: apart from the curse she had picked up when she came to Xanth, this magic land was much better than dreary Mundania. Once she was rid of the curse, she should like it here very well.
They bypassed the little cloud and reached the other side of the enormous canyon. But Debra was flying too low; she was heading for a crash against the far wall. She tried to flap her wings harder so as to rise, but it didn’t work well enough.
“Is there a problem?” Wira inquired.
“I’m flying low, and my wings don’t seem to be lifting me enough.”
“Lighten us again.”
Oh, of course; she had forgotten that the lightness slowly wore off. She flicked them both with her tail, and suddenly they shot up high. She careered unsteadily, then got her balance and resumed normal forward motion, higher. “Thanks. I lost track.”
“New things tend to be tricky.”
There she was again, defusing potential embarrassment. It was said that Wira was the one person the Good Magician actually liked. Debra was coming to appreciate why.
Now there was a speck in the air ahead. It grew rapidly larger. It turned out to be a flying dragon. “Uh-oh,” Debra said.
“Dragon?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“It’s upwind; I smelled its smoke. Also, it’s what is most likely to make you that nervous.”
“What do I do?”
“Take your bow, nock an arrow, and meet the dragon’s gaze as if you are looking for a pretext to send a barb up its snoot.”
“Make my day,” Debra murmured.
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s a Mundane saying meaning what you said. Oh, I hope this bluff works!”
Debra fumbled the bow and an arrow from their harnesses on her back, and held them up toward the dragon. She met its reptilian gaze. Could this possibly work? Her four knees felt too weak to support her; it was just as well they didn’t have to.
The dragon swerved smoothly to the side, bypassing them. “Oh, I feel faint,” Debra said.
“So do I,” Wira said.
“You were afraid it wouldn’t work? But you had so much confidence!”
“I had to make you believe that.”
Debra began to laugh. Wira laughed with her. It was such a relief. But what would have happened at such time as a dragon refused to be bluffed? Debra didn’t want to think about that.
They approached the Region of Air. Flying was a fast way to travel.
“There should be a central windswept plaza,” Wira said. “Land on that.”
Easier said than done. This was a region of high winds, and further lightening would not help Debra make headway against the gale. She was getting blown away! “I see it, I think, but I can’t get there.”
“Land and gallop.”
Oh, again. They had been gaining more weight, so she glided down to land, touched with a jolt and stirring of dust, bounced, and came down again, running to handle her forward velocity. It was awkward and clumsy, but she made it, and was able to come to a halt, folding her wings. The wind was not quite as bad at ground level, but the visibility was bad because of the dust. Still, she had a general idea where to go. She went there.
The Plaza of Winds was empty except for a child standing disconsolately beside the lone tree that managed to hold its ground in this region. She looked to be about nine years old, and a bit nebulous; her hair was almost floating, and her dress seemed diaphanous.
Debra trotted up to the girl. “Hello! I’m Debra Centaur and this is Wira Human. Who are you?”
“Fray,” the child said.
“Oh, we didn’t come for any fray. Our mission is peaceful.”
“Fray Cloud,” the girl clarified. “I’m grounded while Mother looks for Father. I hate being solid; it’s so—so down to earth.”
Grounded, in this case, Debra realized, meant solidifying to human form so she wouldn’t float away. That was perhaps one way to keep her safe. Debra had not realized that clouds could do that, but of course it was just one of the things she had to learn about Xanth.
“Fray Cloud!” Wira said. “You’re the child of Fracto and Happy Bottom.”
“Sure. What’s it to you?”
“I need to talk with your father, the king of clouds.”
The child burst into tears.
Debra exchanged half a glance with Wira; a whole one was impossible with the blind woman. What was going on here?
Wira dismounted and approached the girl, orienting on her by sound. “Dear, we mean you no harm. Why are you so unhappy?”
“Father is gone!” Fray blubbered.
“Gone! How is that possible?”
“Three days ago he went to rain on a parade, and really washed it out. Then he was coming home, but it was late, so he floated by night. But he never got home. Mothe
r’s desperate and I’m lonely.” More tears flowed.
“In what area did he disappear?” Wira asked.
“It must have been the Good Magician’s Castle, because that was right between the parade and here,” Fray said. “But Mother can’t find anyone who saw it happen.”
The Good Magician’s Castle! What a weird coincidence.
“Let me tell you something, Fray,” Wira said. “I am the Good Magician’s daughter-in-law. I live at the Good Magician’s Castle. My husband is the Good Magician’s son Hugo. Hugo disappeared three nights ago—the same time as your father did. That’s why I’m here; I’m looking for him.”
“Then you understand!” the child exclaimed, and hugged Wira.
“I do understand, dear,” Wira agreed. “I think we have a common interest. Something very bad must have happened, and we have to figure it out. I think Fracto must have been floating over the castle right at that time, and the murderer didn’t trust him not to tell, so he got rid of him too.”
“A murderer?”
“There’s a body in our cellar. We don’t know who he is, but someone killed him and got rid of any witnesses, so it’s a real mystery. We have to solve it, and when we do, maybe we’ll find Hugo and Fracto. Won’t that be nice?”
“Yes!” The child hugged her again. Debra realized that the woman was a fair hand at interviewing; she knew how to relate to people, including children, even solidified clouds.
“We should talk to your mother, Happy Bottom. Can you summon her home?”
“Yes, if I loose a smoke bomb. But that’s only for emergencies. She doesn’t like to be bothered without good reason.”
“She has a stormy temper,” Wira said.
“Yes. Isn’t it wonderful? When I grow up I want to be a hurricane like her.”
“Loose the smoke bomb,” Wira said. “We may be able to do each other some good, since we have a common problem.”
“Okay.” The girl brought out a dark blob from a pocket, and heaved it into the air. It burst into vapor that rapidly spread outward until it intersected them. “Oops.”
“Oops?” Wira inquired warily.
“That was a stink bomb. I got the wrong one.”
Now Debra smelled it: essence of rotten egg enhanced by spilled privy tank glop soiled by less pleasant aromas. She gagged, tried to take a breath to cough, and got a lungful of marvelously evocative stench. They certainly knew how to make stink bombs in Xanth!