“I am Prince Dolph,” Dolph said. “I—”
“Oh, why didn't you say so! You are merely touring, of course! What do you want to see?”
“The fastest way to Bishop's Storkford,” Ivy said.
The dungeon master scratched his hairy head. “We are bounded on the far side by a broad river with several good fords, but I don't recall that particular one. I can show you to the river, anyway.”
“That will be fine,” Ivy said.
They followed the dungeon master through the dungeon. Ivy tried to avert her eyes from the horrors of it, lest it give her bad dreams that would later bring her right back here, but it was impossible to overlook all of it. A groan would attract her attention, and she would see someone with a gory knife wound, the knife still in it, ready to hurt twice as much as it was pulled out. A sigh would summon her eye to the other side, and there would be an otherwise lovely maiden whose hair had been burned away, leaving her bare scalp a mass of blisters. Ivy knew they were all actors, only setting the scene so that the terrible dreams could be fashioned for the night mares to take, but it was so realistic that it turned her stomach anyway.
“I don't ever want to dream again!” Dolph whispered.
“I think I saw something like this in a horror movie once,” Grey remarked.
“You were tortured in Mundania?” Ivy asked, appalled.
“No, I watched it for fun.”
“For fun!” she repeated, shocked.
“But I didn't like it,” he reassured her hastily.
“I certainly hope so!” How could she marry a man who liked awfulness like this? Yet she realized that there probably were Mundanes who were of that type. Just so long as they never got into Xanth!
They came to the river. The water was muddy and the current swift; anyone who tried to cross it could be swept away and drowned. Indeed, she spied a night mare picking up a just-completed dream in which a desperate girl was drowning. Ivy hoped she never suffered that dream herself, either!
“The fords are supervised by various creatures,” the dungeon master explained. “I think the storks are upstream, that way.” He pointed to the left. “You may walk along it until you find the one you are looking for. Keep an eye out for blood flowing into the river; it can be slippery.”
“Thank you,” Ivy said faintly. “You have been very kind.”
“It's not my nature,” the man confessed. “But for Prince Dolph, nothing is too good.”
They followed the river upstream, doing their best to ignore the activities by its bank. But the activities in the river weren't much more reassuring. Grotesque monsters loomed in it, snapping their mottled teeth, and rogue winds threatened to capsize tiny boats containing helpless women and children. One section of the water was on fire, and the fire was encircling several swimmers; the more desperately they stroked to escape it, the faster the flames advanced. Another area was calm and deep; a sign said SWIMMING, and children were gleefully diving into the pool. But they weren't coming up again. When Ivy peered more closely at the sign she saw that a stray leaf had plastered itself across a word at the top, and she was able to make out the word: “no.” What was happening to those disappearing children? In another place the sign was clear:
NO FISHING. Naturally several people were dangling their lines in the water. What they couldn't see, because of the blinding effect of the reflection of sunlight (never mind where the sunlight came from, in this realm of dreams)!, was a monstrous kraken weed below, its tentacles carefully latching onto each line. Then, abruptly, it tugged, and the fishers tumbled forward into the water and disappeared in the swirl of tentacles.
Ivy hoped she was never bad enough to have such dreams. Yet she could see that it was far better to experience the horror of the dream than the reality—and those who fished where it was forbidden might indeed get caught by a kraken. So if the dream frightened them into safer behavior, that was good. Thus a bad dream could be a good dream! She had never realized that before.
But what was the Good Magician doing here? Surely the Night Stallion had his domain well under control, and did not need any help from Humfrey! If the stallion had needed anything, he should have sent a night mare to the Good Magician's castle in Xanth to inquire. Something about this situation did not make sense.
Was it possible that the address which guided them was false? That Magician Humfrey was not here?
Ivy squelched that thought, because if Humfrey wasn't here, then they had no clue to where he was, and they would not be able to get his Answer, and Grey would be subject to the will of Com-Pewter. That was unacceptable, so Ivy unaccepted it. Good Magician Humfrey was here; that was final.
They came to the region of the fords. The first was labeled FRANKFORD, and was supervised by a man-sized sausage with little arms and legs. They passed it by.
Farther along was one marked AFFORD, where those who wished to use it had to have plenty of Mundane coinage to qualify. Then there was Beeford, strictly for the bees, and Ceeford, where everyone was looking but not touching. They passed the complete alphabet of fords, finally leaving Zeeford behind; it was being used by strange striped horses.
At last they came to the various fords that were strictly for the birds. They watched closely as they came to the Ibisford and Heronford, and finally spotted the Storkford.
Here was where the storks were crossing, carrying their squalling bundles. Ivy realized that this was part of the route the storks took to reach Mundania; it must wind down to the big gourd on No Name Key, and from there they carried their babies to waiting Mundane mothers.
Grey had said that Mundanes had a different way of getting babies, but naturally he was ignorant, being a man.
“But we aren't storks,” Grey protested. “They won't let us cross here!”
“We can cross,” Dolph said. He became a giant stork.
Ivy smiled. She went to where a pile of spare sheets was, and took a large, sturdy one. She knotted the corners together so that it formed a big sling. “Climb in. Grey,” she said.
“But—” he protested.
“When at the storkford, do as the storks do, you big baby,” she teased, climbing in herself.
Double-disgruntled, he joined her. It was like a hammock, lumping them together, but they really didn't mind that too much. Dolph walked out across the ford, and no stork challenged him. Perhaps they assumed he was delivering a set of twins to a giant.
“Now we have to find Little Halingberry,” Ivy announced, looking at the address as they resumed their normal forms and positions at the far bank.
“I dread to think how foolish that will be,” Grey muttered.
They were at the edge of a field of assorted berries. The storks were following a path that led underground; the plants there seemed to put their fruit below. “What kind is that?” Dolph asked.
“That's a bury plant,” Ivy responded. “You have to be careful about eating them, because of the pits. You don't want to fall in.”
Grey looked at her as if uncertain whether their bethrothal was a good idea, but did not comment.
They passed many varieties of berries. Some seemed edible, like the red and blue berries, and some were odd, like the Londonberry. Then the heard something calling.
“That's it!” Ivy said confidently. “The plant haling us!”
Sure enough, it was the halingberry plant. But it was way too large. It was the big halingberry. They looked around until they found its offspring, the little halingberry, whose voice was relatively faint. Beside that was a road, marked MAIN LANE.
“Now for Silly Goose Lane,” Ivy said. She led the way down it. She was getting the hang of this region.
There were many offshoots: Hot Lane, Cold Lane, Plain Lane, Lois Lane, Santa Claus Lane, Derby Lane, and others in boring profusion. Some of them seemed to have interesting activities at their ends, but Ivy didn't want to waste time with bypaths. Then they got to the animal lanes, and to the bird lanes. After Donald Duck Lane was Sober Goose Lane and then Silly Goose Lan
e.
“We're getting close!” Ivy said, relieved. She stepped onto the lane—and leaped. “Eeeeek!” she screamed, outraged.
“What happened?” Grey asked, alarmed. He hurried after her—and made his own great leap. “Ooooff!”
It was Dolph who caught on! “A silly goose—like boot rear!” he exclaimed, trying to stifle a laugh which threatened to overwhelm him. “When you get on it, you get—”
“Now it's your turn, little brother!” Ivy said grimly.
“Sure.” Dolph became a wacky-looking goose and stepped forward. Naturally nothing happened to him, since this lane was intended for this species. He had outwitted it.
“Now we find Damescroft,” Ivy said pretending not to be disappointed. Grey was beginning to understand why she and her brother did not always get along.
There were houses here. Soon they reached the ones labeled croft: Eaglecroft, Handicroft, Welkincroft, Manscroft, Kidscroft, and finally Damescroft.
They had made it! There before them stood a pretty cottage, with white walls and a thatched roof.
“This is the Good Magician's castle?” Grey asked.
“Nothing like it!” Dolph replied. “But you know, there are always three challenges to get in, and you have to surmount them or Humfrey won't talk to you. He's probably just as crotchety about that as he's been for the past century.”
“Maybe this is illusion,” Ivy said. “The challenge is to get in, when we can't see what we're getting into.”
“Then let me see what I can do,” Grey said. He took a step forward and stretched out his hands, concentrating.
The cottage nickered, then disappeared. In its place was a perfect replica of the Good Magician's castle as it was in Xanth. It was of stone, with reasonably high turrets and a moat. It looked deserted, too.
“That's more like it,” Ivy said. “I don't see a moat monster, but that's the way it is now, anyway. We can cross over the—oops.” For now she saw that there was no drawbridge over the moat. It wasn't that the bridge had been drawn; there was none at all.
They went to the edge of the moat. “It may be poisoned,” Dolph said. “We don't want to risk it; Grey couldn't null real poison.”
Grey agreed. “Also, it might not be fair for me to use my power more than once. We don't want the Magician to be annoyed.”
“I can get us across,” Dolph said. He became the roc again. They climbed onto his feet. He spread his wings and flew across, landing on the inner ledge.
Ivy didn't say anything, but she was ill at ease. This was too easy! The Good Magician's challenges were always challenging, while they seemed to have conquered two of them without effort. She was suspicious of that.
They were on the ledge between the sheer castle wall and the moat. They walked along it, seeking the entry.
Normally the main gate would be where the drawbridge crossed the moat, but they had no bridge to orient on.
They kept walking until they had completed a circuit around the castle. There was no gate at all!
“My turn,” Ivy said. “I can get us in.”
She concentrated on the impervious wall, enhancing its state of perviousness. It became less substantial, so that water might percolate through it, and air. It was a shadow of its former self, looking solid but becoming illusion.
She took the hands of her companions. “We can pass through this,” she said, and led them into the wall and out of it, inside the castle. Then she reversed the enhancement, so that the walls returned to their normal state.
They were all the way in, now. Ivy heard footsteps. A man turned the corner and stood in the lighted hall.
“Hugo!” Ivy exiaimed, walking toward him.
“Ivy!” he replied. “You are lovely!”
Ivy was unable to return the compliment, for Hugo was best described as homely. “You haven't changed!” she said instead, then hastily made introductions: “This is my friend Hugo, the son of Humfrey and the Gorgon. This is my betrothed. Grey Murphy. You know Dolph, of course.”
Hugo nodded. “Right this way,” he said. “Mom has cookies, the kind you like.”
“Punwheel!” Ivy exclaimed as they followed him to the kitchen. Indeed, the smell of freshly baked cookies was drifting down the hall.
The Gorgon was there, exactly as Ivy remembered her: tall, stately, with snakelets of hair framing her invisible face. The Good Magician had made it invisible so that the sight of it would not stone those who saw it. In the dark, Ivy was sure, that face was just as solid and warm as any other. The cookies were crisp and hot, with just that bit of hardening that close proximity to the Gorgon's face caused.
“My, how you've grown. Ivy!” the Gorgon exclaimed. “You were, let me think, only ten or eleven years old the last time I saw you!”
“I'm seventeen now,” Ivy said proudly. She introduced Grey, and of course the Gorgon exclaimed over the betrothal.
They ate cookies while they compared notes. The Gorgon was eager for news of Xanth, and rather missed the old castle there.
“But why are you here?” Ivy asked. “The three of you just disappeared, and we had no idea where you had gone until now.”
“The Magician is on a Quest,” the Gorgon explained.
“The Question Quest!” Grey exclaimed.
“Why yes; however did you know?”
Ivy explained about their sneak peak at the volumes the Muse of History was working on. “But couldn't he just take care of it right there?”
“No, this was of a preemptive nature. The Magician never was very tolerant of interruptions, and this was so important that he decided to eliminate interruptions entirely. We have not been disturbed for seven years.” But there seemed to be more regret than pride in her voice.
“But we have a Question,” Ivy said. “We must have the Answer before we can get married. So we tracked you down here, and we will go home as soon as we see Magician Humfrey.”
The Gorgon shook her head. “I'm afraid he won't see you. He is so wrapped up in his Quest that he allows nothing to interrupt it.”
“But we must have that Answer!” Ivy protested.
“I would be delighted to have him give it to you. But he just won't. He will just slide into another level of the dream realm and avoid you, without ever taking his eyes from his texts.”
“But he left his texts behind!” Ivy said.
“The physical ones. He has all of them duplicated perfectly here, and all his other magic. Everything he needs for his Quest—including privacy.”
“I think I could find him,” Grey said. “I could null out the levels of magic illusion until—”
“No, that wouldn't make him give an Answer,” Ivy said dispiritedly.
And that was it: they had come all the way here for nothing. No wonder the challenges they had faced when entering the castle had been perfunctory: the Good Magician wasn't at home to Questions anymore.
Grey nulled the magic for them as they held hands, and in a moment Ivy looked up from her gourd. They were back in Castle Roogna.
For a moment she was tempted to say they had gotten their Answer. But that would not be honest, and besides, if she could have figured out an answer herself, they would not have needed to find the Magician.
So their dilemma remained. Her dilemma, really; Grey had never had any doubt. He intended to be out of Xanth before Com-Pewter's deadline expired. It was Ivy who had to make her decision: whether to go with him to drear Mundania or remain in Xanth without him.
“Oh Grey!” she cried in torment. “I can't do either! I love you, but I also love Xanth. I can't endure without both!”
“I understand,” he said. “I love you, and I love Xanth, and I know you must be together, so I will leave you.”
Ivy clung to him, her tears flowing. “No, without you Xanth would be as drear for me as Mundania. I will go with you, though it destroy me.”
“But I am afraid it will destroy you!” he protested. “That is why I know you must not go.”
Then,
as she clung to him, she remembered something she had forgotten. “Your father's curse! It was working! It gave us the clue to where the Good Magician was!”
“Yes, but it failed. Humfrey would not—”
“No!” she cried. “Maybe it succeeded! Only we are giving up too soon!”
“I don't understand,” he said, looking at her quizzically. “We did all we could.”
“No, I think we only thought we did all we could!” she said, uncertain whether she was experiencing a significant insight or grasping at a futile straw. “We thought we failed, but we haven't yet. Because we got on the wrong track. But maybe we can get back on the right track!”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the dream isn't over yet!” she said.
“Not over?” he asked blankly. “But we exited from the gourd, and—”
“Think back,” she said excitedly. “Remember how easy it was to find the Good Magician? There were exactly three challenges, and we took turns overcoming them, and we were in. And there were Hugo and the Gorgon, exactly as I remembered them.”
“Yes, so you said. I hadn't met them before, so—”
“I am seven years older, but they aren't!” she continued. “They were unchanged—and they shouldn't have been. The Gorgon should have a gray hair or something, and Hugo should have been in his mid twenties. But he wasn't. Because he wasn't real. He was from my memory—no more. Gray, I made it all up! We never found them at all!”
Gray nodded. “Unchanged—conforming to your mental images,” he said, “when they should have been older. So it was a dream, not the reality.”
“And the dream isn't over!” she repeated. “It side tracked us, made us think it was over, but it isn't! We can still search for the good Magician!”
He nodded, working it out. “I did think that the challenges weren't as horrendous as reputed. So when I banished the illusion of Damescroft, it wasn't the reality we saw, but another illusion.”
“We only dreamed your power worked,” she agreed.
“And we only dreamed that you returned us to Xanth. That's the real challenge: to penetrate the illusion that we are accomplishing anything!”