No, she could marry Grey only if he remained in Xanth with her—and that meant she had to have the approval of her parents. That meant in turn that she couldn't marry him. Yet her heart wished that she could.
She would simply have to get her heart under control.
She knew that. But she also knew it was going to hurt.
Maybe when Grey finally learned that magic was real, he would suffer a revulsion against it and Xanth and her, and choose to go home to Mundania alone. That would solve her problem, as the decision would be out of her hands. But it still would hurt.
Ivy lay quietly on the pillows, her eyes closed, the tears nevertheless running down her cheeks.
She woke to the wan light of a shrouded morning. As her eyes adjusted she discovered Grey sitting beside her.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Of course I am,” she said, sitting up and shaking a stray leaf out of her hair. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “I, uh, thought you were unhappy or something, maybe sick. I was worried.”
She smiled. “I must look wretched! But that's because I'm not used to sleeping out. Let me find a brook to wash in, and I'll be better.”
“Uh, sure. I'd have gone out and looked around, but I didn't want to leave you alone.”
“I wouldn't want you going out alone,” she retorted.
“Not until you believe that the dangers are real.”
They went out together, and did find a spring nearby.
“Let me test it,” Ivy said. “These things can be dangerous.”
“Why? Are they poisoned?”
“Not exactly. Some are love springs.”
“Oh, yes—they make the creatures who drink from them fall in love with each other. What a horror if we should drink from one of those!”
Ivy glanced at him sharply. Grey tried to hold his face straight, but couldn't, and had to laugh. She laughed too, more with relief than humor. “It's not as nice as that,” she warned him. “Love may be a euphemism. When it happens, they breed immediately, being unable to restrain themselves, even if they are of two different species. It is believed that that's how the major crossbreeds got started centaurs, merfolk, harpies, and so on. So you wouldn't want to drink from one by accident.”
“Of course I wouldn't,” he agreed, but he looked doubtful.
Ivy squatted by the spring and concentrated, enhancing it. If it was a love spring, the enhancement would cause it to affect the plants growing around it, and they would start loving each other in whatever manner they could manage.
Nothing happened. “It's all right,” she reported. “It's just water.”
“I'm sure it is,” he agreed condescendingly. Again she had to suppress her annoyance. He didn't know any better.
This was the other side of it: because of his ignorance, she could trust his feeling for her, but it was also a constant source of irritation. She wasn't used to such divergent feelings for the same person.
They dipped out double handfuls of water to drink. Then she washed her face and hands. The rest other was feeling a bit grubby, but she decided not to strip and wash. After all, she would just have to climb back into the same dirty clothing. She had changed to her clean clothes the night in the mock Castle Roogna, and then gotten those dirty trudging along the river of blood and pushing the boulder.
She would probably have to throw away this Mundane outfit the moment they reached Castle Roogna. She hoped Agenda, whose clothing it was, wouldn't mind.
That was funny, the way Grey had met such a series of peculiar girls who used the room before Ivy was sent there by the Heaven Cent. And the way Com-Pewter had been there, with a bit of magic. Grey had told her that an odd “program” from someone called Vaporware Limited had changed the machine. She wondered whether Vaporware lived in Xanth; that might explain a lot. Still, magic wasn't supposed to work at all in Mundania, so a mystery remained.
“Com-Pewter,” she said. “How did he do magic in Mundania?”
“My computer didn't do magic,” Grey said. “It just had a good translation program, so we could talk. I guess.” He didn't seem to be entirely satisfied either. “It sure was strange what it did, though. It admitted at the end that it was setting me up for you.”
“Setting you up?”
“It had something to do with all those oddball females. When I demanded a good one, it brought you. I don't know how, but I'm sure glad it did.”
“No one brought me!” she protested. “The Heaven Cent sent me.”
“Whatever. I think that program knew you were coming, somehow, and took the credit. But I don't care. My life was like dishwater until you came, and then it was like sunrise.”
Ivy had learned about dishwater in Mundania, because the same dishes had to be used over and over again, which meant they had to be washed. “And I was a dishwater blonde,” she said, remembering how the magic green had washed out of her hair.
“You were beautiful,” he said.
She tried to think of some clever response, but her mind froze up. He was telling the truth. He had seen her unenhanced—drab really—yet had liked her. There could be no better compliment than that.
“We'd better eat,” she said, changing the subject.
“I saw some—they looked like lollypops, growing out of the sand, back there,” he said.
Ivy checked. “Sugar sand,” she said. “Naturally sweet things grow in it. Here are some sugar doughnuts, and here's sugarcane.” She picked some of each. “And a sugarplum tree over there. We'll get sick of sweets, but at least it's food.”
They ate. “You're right,” he said as he chewed on the candy-striped cane. “I am getting tired of sugar! I never thought I'd see the day!”
“How is it that you eat these magical plants, but still don't believe in magic?” she asked mischievously.
“Sugar doughnuts and sugarplums aren't magical,” he protested. “Though I admit that in Mundania sugar sand and sugarcane have different definitions.”
They moved on, bearing south. They came to a wellworn path. “Great!” he exclaimed. “Now we won't have to plow through brush!”
“This isn't one of the enchanted paths,” she said. “Unknown paths are not to be trusted until their nature is understood. You never can tell where they might lead.”
He peered at the tangled jungle across from the path.
“Can't we risk it, this once? My legs are tired.”
Ivy considered. Her legs were tired too. “Maybe if we're careful. If we hear anything, we should get right off it, though.”
They walked down the path. It was indeed a nice one, well beaten down. It wound along the contour, passing a number of fine fruit and nut trees.
Then they turned a curve, and discovered three goblins blocking the path ahead.
“Oopsy,” Ivy said. “Goblins are never good news. Run the other way!”
They turned and ran back around the curve—and discovered three more ugly goblins. They were trapped.
“They don't look very big,” Grey said. “Maybe I could knock them down.”
“There are always dozens more goblins near the first,” Ivy said darkly. Sure enough, more goblins were already crowding in behind the three. They were squat little men, almost black, with big heads, hands and feet, and huge grimaces.
“Maybe they're friendly,” he suggested hopefully.
“Goblins are never friendly. I'll have to summon help.”
Ivy brought out her magic mirror. “Castle Roog—”
A goblin leaped forward and grabbed the mirror from her hand. “None of that, slut!”
Grey leaped for the goblin, but it was already too late, the mirror had disappeared amidst the throng. “Don't fight them!” Ivy screamed. “We'll have to talk our way out of this!”
Grey, seeing the throng, desisted; it was obvious to anyone that they could not hope to fight their way clear of such a number.
A goblin chief appeared, distinguished mainly by his greater ugliness. “You'r
e going to talk your way out of this, wench?”
“I'm no wench!” Ivy protested. “I'm Princess Ivy!”
“And I'm the king of the dragons!” the goblin retorted.
“Har, har, har!” All the goblins joined in the coarse laughter. “Well, I'm Grotesk Goblin, and we're the Goblinate of the Golden Horde, and we don't care who you are!”
“Well, give me back my mirror, and I'll prove it!” she said. “My father will recognize me.”
“And will send hostile magic against us, if you are,” the goblin said. “We don't need any of that. Better if he just doesn't know what happens to you.” He turned his head to the side. “Tell the Golden Gals to heat up the pot, we've got two live ones for supper tonight.”
Immediately a messenger goblin set off, running on his stubby legs down the path. He really wasn't golden; it was evidently just a name they had chosen.
This was getting desperate! Ivy knew she would not really get boiled, because of her guarantee of a safe return, but as usual she feared for Grey, who had no such assurance. How could she get him free of this Golden Horde?
“And who're you—the king of the centaurs?” Grotesk demanded of Grey.
“Don't answer him!” Ivy warned. But once again she was too late.
“I am Grey, from Mundania,” Grey said.
“A Mundane!” the goblin exclaimed. “We've never cooked a Mundane before. Do you believe in magic?”
“No.”
“Well, now! Maybe we can have some sport with this one!” The chief turned his head again. “What shall we do with the Mundane?”
There was a horrible clamor of violent and obscene suggestions. Unsatisfied, Grotesk turned again to Grey.
“You're with the ha-ha princess here. What do you think of her?”
“Don't answer!” Ivy cried.
“Shut up, trollop,” the chief said, swinging at her head.
Grey reached out and intercepted Grotesk's arm. “Leave her alone!”
Immediately several goblins surged in and bore him back, but the chief was not annoyed. “I think we have our answer,” he said. “He likes her—and surely she likes him. There's the key. Before we cook them, let's play with them. Take them to the hate spring.”
There was a roar of approval. Ivy and Grey were hustled on along the goblin path. Ivy was dismayed anew; she knew what mischief a hate spring would be!
They passed the goblin village. There was a bedraggled small centaur, haltered and tied to a stake. These goblins knew no limits! Nobody tied a centaur, lest it bring terrible retribution by centaur archers from Centaur Isle. Yet here was a young male, evidently bound magically, for no halter could hold such a creature otherwise.
They reached the spring a short distance beyond. It was dismal as springs went, shallow and muddy, with a tiny island in the center. The goblins hauled over a boat and put her in it. One got in front, and one in back, with paddles; both were extremely careful not to splash.
“You're afraid even to touch it?” Ivy asked. “Such water doesn't work unless you drink it.”
“That's all you know, slattern,” Grotesk called from land. “One touch of this anywhere on your body, and you hate the next creature you see to pieces, and will try to kill him any way you can. Go ahead, dip your finger; you already hate us, so it won't matter.”
Ivy shivered, not dipping her finger; this was hideously potent stuff! No wonder the goblins had camped near it; they loved to hate.
They deposited her on the tiny isle, then paddled back, leaving her stranded there. Then they hauled away the boat and brought Grey up to the edge. “Very well. Mundane,”
Grotesk said. “You don't believe in magic? Then you don't think this hate spring will affect you. Go rescue her!”
“Don't touch that water!” Ivy called. “It will make you hate me!”
“Why couldn't I touch it and hate you ?” Grey asked the chief. “Then I wouldn't hate her.”
“Go ahead!” the goblin agreed as the horde laughed.
“One touch, one hate; we don't care how much you hate us as we cook you. Maybe you'll even utter some nice Mundane curses to entertain us. But you can't reach your girlfriend without crossing that spring, and when you see her or touch her you'll hate her. So you might as well get on with it.”
“What good is it to go to her, if you're going to cook us anyway?” Grey asked. “I might as well just stay here and not cooperate with you at all.”
There was a groan from the throng. They didn't like that threat because it ruined their sport.
“Very well, Mundane—if you cross to her, I'll let you go. We'll only eat her.”
“Don't deal with him!” Ivy cried. “Goblins can't be trusted!”
“No, I want to rescue her,” Grey said, in that infuriatingly reasonable way he had. “You have to let us both go, or I won't cooperate.”
Grotesk pondered a moment. Then his eyes lighted cunningly. “Suppose I let you decide her fate, when you get there? You go free and you take her with you if you want.”
“Yes, that seems fair,” Grey agreed.
“Don't do it!” Ivy screamed. “He'll break his word the moment you're across! And you'll hate me!”
“I don't think so,” Grey said. He stepped toward the pool.
“No!” Ivy cried despairingly. “No, no, no!” It was crazy, if Grey was going to die anyway, but she didn't want him to die hating her.
Grey waded into the water. A jubilant cheer rose from the Golden Horde. His eyes were fixed on Ivy as he proceeded, the water rising gradually to his waist as he crossed.
Ivy stood, transfixed by horror. A man who hated her was coming for her, and she could not get away without touching the water herself. She discovered that there was one thing worse than having him hate her: for her to hate him back. She had to try to salvage her own emotion, so as to remember him with pleasure instead of displeasure.
He strode out of the water, his trousers clinging to his legs. He came to stand before her, his eyes still fixed on hers. Ivy knew her tears were flowing. She had seen the need to break up their association—but not this way, oh not with hatred!
“I want you to know, Grey,” she said falteringly, “that, that whatever you feel for me now, I still think you're wonderful. Do you hate me very much?”
“Hate you?” he said, bewildered. “Ivy, I love you!”
She stared at him. “You—you're not cruelly teasing me?”
For answer he swept her into his arms and kissed her, hard. Suddenly she could not doubt: this was the passion of love. Then she realized that the cruelty was that of the goblins. This wasn't a hate spring at all, it was just a muddy pond! The Golden Horde was trying to make complete fools of them both!
And that meant that she was not stranded here. She could cross the pond just as Grey had. She could escape, and take Grey with her, protecting him with her security.
“Oh, Grey,” she said. “I'm so glad! Hold my hand tight; we're getting out of here!”
“Of course,” he agreed.
But it wasn't enough. Her emotion was overflowing and demanded a more significant expression.
“Grey, will you marry me?” she asked.
He paused, amazed. Then he recovered. “Yes, certainly, Ivy. But—”
She cut off his protest with another kiss.
Chapter 8
Gap
Then he released her. Even though the water wasn't poisonous, those goblins were mean characters, and the two of them still had a problem about winning free.
He was not at all sure the goblin chief would honor his promise to release them, but he hoped to shame the little man into it.
But it was hard to concentrate on such things in the face of what had just happened. Ivy had asked him to marry her—and he had agreed! What an incongruous occasion for such an engagement!
“We're not out of this yet,” Ivy said. “I've got to get my mirror back. Then I can call for help. If you can think of a way to get it for me—”
“Maybe I can,” he said, his mind spinning. It was as if what had just happened between them had revved up his brain so that he was thinking with uncommon clarity and power. “The hate water isn't real, but it occurs to me that most of the goblins may believe it is. The chief would know the truth, but keep the unruly minions cowed by threats to use the water on them. That means we can bluff them.”
“But in a moment they will see that you don't hate me!” Ivy said worriedly. “Then they'll all know.”
“I don't think so. If I claim to have powerful magic that makes me immune—”
“But Grotesk will know that's not true!”
“But he won't dare say so, because then his hold on the others will be weakened. He will have to support me, though he hates it. So I can force him to honor his deal, because he'd rather let us go than lose his position and maybe get thrown in the pot himself by the angry dupes.”
Ivy's face clouded, then brightened as she understood.
“Grey, that's brilliant!” she exclaimed.
“Something about you that brings out the best in me,” he said wryly. Indeed, that seemed to be true. He had never been in love before; this episode had brought it out, and he seemed almost to be floating. Suddenly he had confidence in himself such as he had never had before.
“While we're at it, we'd better rescue that poor centaur, too; it will be bad if they take out their wrath on him.”
“You care so much about others who are in trouble, like Girard Giant,” Ivy said. “I think that's why I love you.”
He hadn't thought of it that way. He had just done what he felt ought to be done, without thought about whether it impressed her. In fact, she had seemed irritated when he insisted on seeking the source of the river of blood. Maybe that was what had been wrong with his life before: he had been trying to impress people, and had had inadequate resources, instead of just focusing on what was right. But now, with Ivy, he didn't care about any of that; he just wanted to make her happy.
Then he thought of something else. “But can I justify telling them something I know is not true? I mean—”