The others stared at her, realizing that it was true. “And if you found him, you could ask him how to foil Pewter's plot,” Rapunzel said. “Oh, Ivy, what a coincidence that you should learn of that paper just now!”
“Coincidence?” Ivy asked musingly. “No, I think it's Murphy's curse! This is just the kind of fluke that happens when that curse is operating.”
Then Grey began to hope.
This time they appeared to be a party of three: a young peasant man, a pretty peasant girl, and a homely young centaur with a donkeylike hide. They were not these things, exactly, but they played their parts carefully, for their mission was important and not without risk. Had the need to find Humfrey and solve Grey's problem not been so urgent. King Dor and Queen Irene would never have permitted this excursion. But the parents had had to agree that this was their best chance.
Actually, Queen Irene had quietly approached Grey during one of the few times when Ivy was otherwise occupied, and hinted that there might be another way to deal with Com-Pewter. A sphinx might take a stroll and accidentally step on the evil machine's cave, squashing it and all inside it flat. Then there would be nothing for Grey to serve. But Grey had demurred; that would be an unethical solution, by his definition. He could not conspire so directly against Com-Pewter, who had after all made a deal with Grey's parents and fulfilled his part of it. It was Grey's own responsibility to solve his problem, whatever the outcome.
“I thought you might feel that way,” Irene said approvingly. “There is an ethical dimension to power. We shall remain clear and allow you to deal with your problem yourself.”
Grey had thanked her, though his prospect of success seemed bleak. The more he learned of Ivy's folks, the better he liked them.
They walked north from the invisible bridge over the Gap Chasm. This time instead of taking the enchanted path north they veered to the east, following a lesser trail that wasn't magically protected but that led to a centaur range. In fact Chester and Cherie Centaur had once lived there, before moving to Castle Roogna to tutor the young Prince Dor and Princess Irene. A few centaurs still lived there, though it was a diminishing community that was desperately in need of nubile fillies. In a past generation it had been short of centaur colts, which had led in part to the defection of Chem Centaur to another type of association. The winged centaur Chex was the result. The centaurs of this region were a good deal more liberal than those of Centaur Isle far to the south, but not that liberal, and neither Chex nor her dam were welcome there now.
So the region continued to decline, victim as much of its conservatism as of its bad fortune. Monsters were encroaching, becoming increasingly bold despite the proficiency of centaur archers.
Peasant girl Ivy rode the centaur, while peasant boy Grey walked beside. It was evident that they were going to visit the centaur's home range, perhaps to discuss with the centaurs there some type of commission or employment. Few peasants could afford centaur tutors, but on occasion some child with excellent magic turned up, and then the centaurs could be prevailed on for instruction in the rudiments.
There were goblins not far from this region, but they had not yet been so bold as to attack the centaur community. Even goblins were able to appreciate the effectiveness of aroused centaurs; losses would be prohibitive.
But the goblins did lurk, watching their opportunity. There were stories…
“Oh, gentle peasants!” a sweet voice called.
They looked. A slender young woman was running toward them, her cornsilk hair flowing behind. She was so slight as to be almost transparent, but nicely contoured.
“What is it, sylph?” Ivy inquired.
So this was a sylph! Grey had not encountered one before. But of course there were a great many of the creatures of Xanth he had not yet met—and might never meet, if their quest for the Good Magician's Answer proved unsuccessful.
“Oh, kind peasants and brave centaur, surely you have come to fulfill the prophecy!” the sylph said.
“Prophecy?” Ivy asked.
“My friend, the lovely centaur damsel, is captive of an ogre who means to fatten her horribly and then crunch her bones!” the sylph explained. “According to the prophecy, only a bold gray centaur with a young human couple as companions can hope to rescue her from a fate exactly as bad as death! Surely you are the ones it refers to, for you answer the description perfectly!”
“That is an interesting prophecy,” Ivy remarked. “But an ogre is a fearsome creature! What could poor peasants do against such a monster?”
“Oh, wonderful folk, I know not!” the sylph cried, distraught. “But there must be some way, for the prophecy says so. Will you not at least come and see?”
“And get our own bones crunched by the ogre?” Ivy asked. “I think we should take another path!”
“Now let us not be hasty,” the gray centaur protested.
He turned to the sylph. “You say this filly is fair?”
“Oh, she is lovely, sir! She was a bit thin, but the ogre has been making her eat all she can hold, and now she is quite buxom, and soon she will be fat, and he will crunch her bones! I beg you, come and see her, and perhaps you can free her. She would be most grateful!”
“But the ogre!” Ivy protested. “We don't dare approach!”
“He forages by day, leaving her chained. I am too frail to break the chain, indeed all normal folk are, but the prophecy says you will find the way! Please, please, come and see, while the ogre is away!”
“I think we should at least look,” the gray centaur said reasonably. One might almost have thought he had some ulterior interest in the matter.
Ivy sighed. “Well, the centaurs are in need of young fillies. But we must be ready to flee at the first sign of the ogre!”
“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” the sylph exclaimed. “I am ever so relieved! Right this way!” She skipped along the path ahead, her hair flouncing nicely.
They followed. Grey had kept his mouth strictly shut, not interfering. They had just played out a little charade.
They had surveyed this matter with the Tapestry, and discovered that the goblins had a new ploy: they used their captives to beguile travelers into goblin ambushes and then pounced on the hapless travelers and bore them off to the pot. The sylph was a captive who had been promised her freedom if she lured three travelers in for capture. Of course the goblins would renege on that pledge, and surely the sylph suspected it. But it was at least a hope, while the alternative was certain: if she did not cooperate she would be dumped in the pot immediately.
It occurred to Grey that it was about time someone did something about those goblins. They were not nice neighbors.
The sylph led them deeper into the jungle. This was no longer the regular trail, for there were no centaur hoofprints on it; it was one the goblins had scuffed out for this purpose. Goblins were good a scuffing trails, especially for a nefarious purpose. They were making sure the prey had no chance to escape the ambush.
Grey permitted himself a grim little smile. The goblins had a surprise coming.
They reached a clearing. There was nothing in it except a mound of garbage evidently left by the goblins.
The sylph turned. Tears streaked down her face. “Oh, I am so sorry, good folk!” she said. “They made me do it!”
“Do what?” Ivy asked with simulated confusion.
“They have my child captive, my darling Sylvanie, and she is first into the pot if I do not do all they demand, and me too if I fail,” the sylph continued. “I know it's wrong, and I hate myself for doing it, but my man defied them and they boiled him, and oh, I have no pride left, only I must save my daughter, and so I have done this awful thing to you and I do not beg your forgiveness, only your understanding.”
Now Grey saw the goblins. They were appearing from all around, closing the net with what for them was surely delicious slowness, savoring the horror in their prey. They wanted their victims to suffer on the way to the pot.
“What is your
name?” Ivy inquired.
“I am Sylvia Sylph,” she replied, still weeping. “My man was Sylvester. We were just traveling through, as you were, and they caught us. We will all be cooked and eaten, I know that, but I just have to struggle through as long as I can, hoping somehow to save Sylvanie though I know I can't. Now you must suffer, you innocent folk, and I apologize abjectly for what I have done to you, but I cannot help myself.”
Now the goblins ringed them closely. Grey recognized the ugly chief, Grotesk. Too bad that one hadn't landed in the Gap Chasm, back when they had last met!
“Would you help us, if we helped you and your child escape?” Ivy asked.
“Oh, yes, yes! But it is hopeless. They will never let any of us go! They are the meanest tribe of these parts.
They have no mercy! They delight in torturing innocent folk. Do not go into the pool if you can possibly avoid it, because—”
“Enough, wench!” the chief cried harshly. “Leave us to our sport.” The sylph was instantly quiet.
Ivy turned her face to look directly at Grotesk. “Oh goblin, what do you mean to do with us?” she asked as if affrighted.
“Well, peasant girl, I may turn you over to my lusty henchmen for their amorous sport, then let you take a nice drink from our nice pool before giving you a nice hot bath in our pot. Or maybe I'll give you the nice drink before you engage my henchmen; that could be even more interesting. As for this bedraggled centaur—” The chiefs eyes widened. “Hey, I recognize this beast! The one who looks like a mule!”
“Donkey,” the creature said.
“Whatever! We had you captive before, only you got away, and—and these are the ones who helped you escape!”
“Curses!” Ivy said. “They have found us out!”
“Kill them right now!” the chief cried. “All of them, the sylph slut too! Don't give them any chance at all!”
The goblins raised their clubs and spears and cocked their stone-throwing arms.
Ivy jumped off the centaur. The centaur disappeared. In its place was an immense low-slung six-legged dragon with steam puffing from its nostrils.
Grey jumped forward and grabbed the sylph by her thin arm. “Cover your face!” he said, pulling her into the center of the circle formed by the dragon's curving tail.
“The Gap Dragon!” the chief cried, terrified.
“Yes,” Grey said. “He came to see you dance, chief.”
“What?”
The dragon pursed his lips and touched the chiefs big feet with a small jet of steam. The chief danced with pain.
Ivy poked her head over the dragon's neck. “That was just a sample, goblin,” she said. “Do you know what my friend will do to you if you threaten to hurt one hair of my head?” She swept off the peasant cap and let her golden-green hair tumble out.
“You—you really are the Princess Ivy!” the chief exclaimed. “ The dragon's friend!”
“I really am,” she agreed. “Now you just walk along back toward your camp, and all your minions with you, and my friend will steam any who stray.”
“What are you going to do with us?”
“Well, Grotesk,” Ivy said with relish, “I may turn you over to my lusty friend for his sport, then let you drink from your nice pool before giving you a nice steam bath.”
“But—but—”
“Now MARCH, frog-face!” she snapped. “Before my friend loses his patience.” Her friend, of course, was not the real Stanley Steamer, but her little brother Dolph, working off his penance for spying on Nada's panties. It didn't matter; Dolph in dragon form could get just as steamed as the real dragon. After seeing what the goblins were up to, Dolph was surely just as outraged as Ivy and Grey were.
The goblins marched. The party wended its way back to the goblin camp. Whenever a goblin tried to stray, the dragon jetted steam at the seat of his pants, and he quickly danced back into place. The truth was that the goblins could have scattered, and most of them would have gotten away; and they would have done just that if any ordinary dragon had manifested. But they lived close enough to the Gap Chasm to be familiar with the dread Gap Dragon, and they were terrified of him. Their trap had been neatly reversed, and they were as helpless to escape it as they had expected their prey to be.
They reached the hate spring. Grey knew that Ivy remained angry about the way these goblins had tortured her with it before, even though that had brought about the breakthrough of their betrothal. He stayed clear, letting her handle it her way.
“Now,” she said. “There is something I want from you, goblin, and I am going to get it. Are you going to give it to me?”
The chief laughed. “Take off your dress and I'll give it to you! Har, har, har!”
Ivy signaled the dragon. A jet of scalding steam shot out. It singed a group of six goblins standing by the pool. They screamed and jumped into the water.
Then they began fighting among themselves, for the water made them hate the first other creatures they saw. The water splashed, droplets striking others nearby, and they too began fighting. In very little time a dozen goblins were unconscious.
“Are you going to answer me?” Ivy asked the chief evenly.
“I told you: lie down and spread your—” There was another blast of steam. A second group of goblins were singed into the water. Another fight broke out, finishing about ten more goblins.
“Now we can do this until all your tribe is gone,” Ivy said, “if that is the way you prefer it. I suspect there is a prophecy that you will be the last to enter that pool before we get what we want. Shall we test it for accuracy?”
The chief looked at the sprawled goblins. “Exactly what is it you want?” he asked grudgingly.
“I thought you'd never ask!” Ivy said brightly. “Where is the piece of paper you stole from the gremlins?”
“What paper?”
More steam hissed. More goblins were goosed into the water. Another awful fray occurred.
“Oh, that paper,” the chief said, after the fracas had died out. “We burned it long ago.”
This time the dragon steamed a large group of goblins.
They screamed as their skin was burned. They could cool themselves only by plunging into the water. By the time this action was done, more than half the tribe was unconscious or worse.
“In my cabin,” the chief mumbled.
“Send a goblin for it.”
“Go jump in the lake!” he retorted.
The steam was running low, but Ivy touched the dragon, Enhancing him, and the steam became so hot it smoked.
Half the remaining goblins leaped into the pool, not even waiting for that jet to catch them. Yet more fighting broke out.
“Princess,” Sylvia Sylph said hesitantly, “I will fetch it, if you wish.”
“No, you fetch your child,” Ivy said.
Sylvia's eyes brightened. “Oh, yes!” She hurried off.
At this point only four goblins remained standing, besides the chief. “Send a goblin,” Ivy repeated grimly.
The chief grimaced. “Go, Bucktooth.”
Bucktooth broke away from the diminished group and walked to the chiefs hut. In a moment he returned with a box.
“Open it, Bucktooth,” Ivy said.
“Princess, I can't!” the goblin protested. “It is spelled against intrusion!”
“I thought so. Open it, chief.”
“Like stewed brains I will!”
More steam hissed. Two more goblins leaped into the pool. They scrambled out and attacked the two remaining goblins. The box fell to the ground. The melee ended up back in the water. Soon all four were unconscious.
“Will you let me go if I do?” the chief asked.
“I will treat you with the same compassion you have treated others.”
The chief leaped at her—but the steam caught him in mid air and blasted him back into the pool. He splashed about. “I hate you!” he screamed.
“Stay in the pool,” Ivy said.
The goblin obviously wan
ted to rush out and attack her, but he saw the snout of the dragon covering him, and refrained. The longer he remained in the water, the worse his hatred grew, but there was nothing he could do about it. He began frothing at the mouth. Finally he waded across and out the far side and stumbled into the jungle. Grey knew that whatever creature the goblin encountered there would be in for trouble. Maybe it would be a fire-breathing dragon.
“But how can you open the box?” Sylvia asked.
Grey walked across and picked up the box. He worked the catch, and it opened. He had nulled the magic that sealed it. There was the bit of paper. He took it out and handed it to Ivy.
She inspected it. “Yes, I can see that this is spelled to be intelligible only to the person who truly needs to see the Good Magician,” she said.
“I can null that spell too,” Grey offered.
“No, you can't read Xanthian,” she demurred. “The magic has to remain. But we truly need to see him, so I am sure it will respond to us.” She concentrated on it.
“Yes, it's coming clear now. He is living somewhere in- in—” She looked up, dismayed.
“Where?” Grey asked, alarmed.
“In the gourd.”
There was a moment of silence. Then the dragon vanished and Dolph stood in his place. “I can go there!” he exclaimed.
Ivy gazed at him sourly. “But you're grounded, remember, until you decide between Nada and Electra. I only got you sprung today because I promised I'd keep a big sisterly eye on you all the time.”
Sylvia Sylph reappeared, leading a pretty child by the hand. “I will go into the spring now, only I beg of you, spare my daughter!”
Ivy's head snapped around. “What?”
“My punishment for what I did,” Sylvia said. “But Sylvanie is innocent; please let her go.”
Ivy got her composure together; it had showed signs of unraveling. “Let me explain, Sylvia: you did not deceive us. We deceived you. We knew about the prophecy trap: that you had to approach any travelers with a story about someone like one of them being in trouble so they would follow you into the goblins' trap. We have been captive of these goblins ourselves; we know what they are like. But we needed this paper, so we used you to lead us in. This is my brother. Prince Dolph, who assumed the form of the centaur and then the dragon. You know he wasn't tempted by any lady centaur!”