Currant Events

  Morgan considered. "Of course I could make a new one, once I got a physical body again, and found a suitable man to enchant and operate on. But it would be a hassle, and his screaming might attract attention. So you do seem to have protected yourself rather cunningly, my dear."

  "Thank you," Thesis said coldly.

  "She's afraid, with reason," Drusie said.

  "You're like the Sea Hag!" Clio exclaimed. "You take other people's bodies and degrade them!"

  The Sorceress nodded. "Among other things. It is an ancient technique known to a few of the favored. But hardly my only one. A body is not an end in itself, merely a means to power."

  "A despicable power!"

  The Sorceress's eye fell on Ciriana. "No you don't!" Clio said, holding the child close.

  "She is too young for my purpose." Morgan looked at Zaven. "So I may need to utilize a representative to do my business in Xanth, such as locating and securing a suitable young woman's body for me to take over. You should do for that; you are not handsome, but my enchantment can make you so."

  "I used the spancel too," Zaven said.

  The woman's eyes narrowed. Clio did not need the little dragon's input to know that she was furious. "So you have, I see now. So she protected you too. I underestimated her."

  "You sure did," Zaven said. "I love her."

  "Of course." Morgan turned to Clio. "So it seems it will have to be you, though it will be a problem to abate your notoriety and your curse."

  "You can't have my body either," Clio said more bravely than she felt. Nevertheless, she nudged Ciriana toward Thesis, so that she would be clear of this encounter.

  "Oh? Why not?"

  "Because I will unwind anything you do to me. You can't control me."

  Morgan's hand shot out and caught a hank of Clio's hair. She yanked Clio forward with surprising strength. A stiletto appeared in her other hand, the needle-sharp point orienting on Clio's right eye. "Really?"

  Clio wound it back to just before the grab. "Really," she said.

  The hand shot out again. This time Clio knocked it aside before it reached her hair. The stiletto appeared in the other hand. Clio's other hand grabbed it and shoved it toward the woman's own flesh.

  "Interesting," Morgan remarked, her wrist twisting out of Clio's grasp. "Yet there are other ways."

  "We really must go now," Clio said. She did not like the Sorceress at all.

  Morgan looked at Sherlock. "Now here is a spectacular prospect. A mild-mannered, unassuming, unprepossessing, decent Magician. Fortune has abruptly smiled on me."

  "I'm not a Magician," Sherlock said.

  "And modest too. Oh, we shall go far together, you and I. Once I break you in."

  "And I'm not going anywhere with you."

  "Yet I think you will be amenable to persuasion." The Sorceress's outline shifted subtly, exuding rank sex appeal.

  "I doubt it. I love Clio."

  "Of course. Love is a marvelously motivating force. But yours is not inspired by the spancel."

  "That's right. It's natural. So you won't persuade me to do anything to harm her."

  The cruel smile showed again. "We shall see."

  "Danger!" the two dragons cried together.

  Suddenly the floor around Clio faded out. She was standing on a circular plate barely wider than her feet, with a gulf descending on every side. But she wasn't actually being hurt, so she didn't wind it back. She wanted to learn more of the nature of this ploy, so as not to be caught by it again, whatever it might be.

  "Now here is the situation," Morgan said to Sherlock. "Your beloved stands perched above a dreadful abyss. A counterspell blocks her limited talent; she can't wind her way back out of this one. In a moment her support will crumble and she will fall into the horror below. However, I do not wish you to be damaged. If you join her, I shall have to cancel the spell and spare both of you while I ponder my next effort. I advise you to let her go; I can do much more for you than she can." The blatant sex appeal intensified.

  This had gone far enough. Clio tried to wind it back—and could not. The Sorceress had cleverly made her demonstrate her talent, then countered it with her own superior magic. Ordinary folk could not compete with Magicians or Sorceresses.

  "It's a trick!" Drew said.

  The platform crumbled. Clio screamed as she lost her balance and started to fall into the depths. She saw Thesis and Ciriana staring with horror.

  Sherlock leaped toward her. Morgan flung a loop out before him. He passed through it and caught hold of Clio as she dropped.

  Then they both found themselves on the floor, clinging to each other. The gulf was gone.

  Ciriana was crying, and Thesis was trying to comfort her, but lacked enough assurance.

  "It was illusion," Drusie said.

  "Yes, it was illusion, you little reptile snot," Morgan said. "She was never in physical danger. But her curse is not restricted to that. She has fallen prey to the emotional danger instead."

  "What are you talking about?" Sherlock demanded as the two of them got back to their feet.

  "Do you recognize this?" the Sorceress asked, holding up the loop.

  "The spancel!" Thesis cried.

  "He passed through it," Zaven said.

  "So he did," Morgan agreed with satisfaction. "I wielded it, he went through it. I trust you understand what that means."

  Clio looked at Sherlock, appalled. "It put you in love with her!"

  Sherlock didn't answer or look at her. He was plainly ashamed.

  "It doesn't mean he hates you, dear," the Sorceress said with thinly veiled cruelty. "Merely that his passion now answers to me. He will serve me loyally, because he can do nothing else, and in time, if he does well, I will reward him in my fashion. I might even marry him, once I have a physical body again."

  "Oh, Sherlock," Clio said, sorry for him despite her own numb loss.

  "After all, he is worthy. I like him already. Very much, in fact." Morgan's smile was almost tender. "But business before pleasure. Sherlock, take these people back to Xanth. Let the couple go; their usefulness is past. Take Clio and the brat to the next rendezvous her arrow indicates."

  "You're letting me continue my mission?" Clio asked, amazed.

  "Not exactly, my dear. It is that I don't like to soil my hands with blood. I prefer to leave that sort of thing to Litho. Since your next appointment is with him anyway, it behooves me to let nature take its course, as it were. That will leave me unimplicated, and free Sherlock of any lingering commitment he may feel to you. Then he can attend to my whims without distraction."

  The witch had been way ahead of them all along. She had tricked them and won what she needed: Sherlock's commitment to her sadistic interests.

  "Can I save her?" Sherlock asked.

  "Why how kind of you, Magician. You do not wish to see her die?"

  "Yes, I do not. She is a good person."

  "Suppose I were to take her body, after all? Would that satisfy you?"

  Sherlock considered. "I'm not sure. She doesn't look like you."

  "Oh that can be fixed. I will enchant any body I take to look like me in my prime. Have no concern." Then Morgan's voice sharpened. "I will consider the matter. But now, go to Litho. By the time you reach him, I will have decided, and you will of necessity be satisfied with my decision."

  "Of course," Sherlock murmured.

  The house and Sorceress vanished, leaving them standing in a glade surrounded by comic strip. They were on their own.

  17

  Litho

  Clio knew they could simply let their soul bodies dissolve and float back to Xanth; return was easier than traveling out, because their souls remained connected and could readily find their bodies. But she remained stunned by the awfulness of the trap they had fallen into. The Danger of the Day had taken Sherlock from her. While she didn't quite love him, she was close, and now that prospect was gone. He remained a decent, worthy man—just not one who was in love with her. That was painful. She
needed time to adjust to the ugly new reality.

  Also, the blue arrow pointed through the strip. That suggested that her business here on Ptero wasn't finished.

  "What's so bad about a comic strip, really?" Zaven asked. "So it's crowded with puns. So are parts of Xanth."

  Clio was in no hurry to meet her next engagement. She knew of no Litho, but evidently he was a formidable entity. Morgan thought he would kill her. Well, did she really have much reason left to live? She had fouled up her quest and her prospect for love. Maybe it was time to let her destiny catch up with her. She didn't have to race to it. So she made only a token effort to dissuade the man. "You don't have to face it. The spancel has been returned; you and Thesis are free. Just let yourselves dissolve and you'll be back in Xanth."

  "No, I'm curious too," Thesis said. "It would be a shame to come here and not see the sights."

  As if it were a honeymoon tour. "It seems to be time for a demonstration," Clio said. "Remember, all you have to do is plow straight ahead, and you'll be out of it soon." She set the example by taking Ciriana's hand and stepping into the comic strip. Let them find out for themselves.

  A young woman appeared before her. "Hello. My name is Annie Mae, and I'll be your guide for this tour."

  It was starting already. Anime, in an animate strip.

  "Thank you," Clio said. "Be sure you introduce yourself to the others."

  "They are new to comic strips?"

  "Yes. They want to fully appreciate this one." Clio felt almost guilty.

  "I'll make sure they do," Annie Mae said with a somewhat predatory smile. She passed Clio by and went to intercept the couple.

  There was the sound of bells. A man walked by. The base of his trouser legs was quite wide. It was from them the bells were ringing.

  "Bell-bottom trousers," Annie Mae explained.

  Clio stifled her groan. Zaven, behind her, didn't quite manage to. He was learning.

  She plowed on—and almost banged into another man. Thesis, following close behind her, did crash. It was a full body-to-body collision, face-to-face. Thesis was shapely; this was bound to give the man an idea.

  But he backed off. "Sorry, Miss—I have no interest in the stork."

  Flustered, Thesis asked, "Who are you?"

  "Peter, Miss—Salt Peter."

  "That's all right," Thesis said uncomfortably.

  "But my sister Afro is very interested," Peter said. "She's something else."

  "Who?"

  "Afro Disiac. She makes anyone interested."

  "Oh." Thesis was learning too.

  A weird cylindrical creature in curved metallic plates approached them. "Hello," it said. "My name's Dillo. Armored Dillo." Then it tripped over a rock and dented its armor. "Oh, my rumpled steel skin!" it moaned.

  This time Ciriana groaned. She too was learning.

  Meanwhile Clio was moving on, still holding Ciriana's hand. The far side couldn't be much farther. But she encountered a swarm of buzzing insects. They formed a cloud around her head, alarming her. "Get away, you bees!"

  A big one hovered before her face. It was in a tiny royal robe, and wore a miniature crown: the queen. "We're not B's," she buzzed severely. "We're As, the superior ancestors of B's."

  "Ugh," Sherlock said.

  "We're the very best of our kind," the queen continued. "The B's are second-rate descendants, and if you do business with C's or D's or any of the lower grades, you'll really get stung."

  "We'll avoid them," Clio said.

  Still the A bee hovered before her. "And be sure to mind your own bee's wax hereafter," she admonished.

  "By all means," Sherlock said.

  The queen, satisfied, flew on to address Zaven and Thesis.

  But they weren't through with the letter bugs. A swarm of G's appeared, wearing stringlike clothing. "No thanks," Clio said.

  "But you need us," a G protested. "I am Biolo-G."

  "And I'm Geolo-G," another said.

  Indeed, they were all different: Effi, Ecolo, Chronolo, Proctolo, Apolo, and others. And all wearing their G-strings.

  "We certainly do need you," Sherlock said. "Congratulations on a fine job."

  Satisfied, they buzzed on. Clio made a mental note: Sherlock had a certain touch with Psycholo-G.

  "Groan," Drew told her.

  Now there was a sign: SLOW—SCHOOL ZONE. The sign was in the shape of a lightbulb.

  Clio paused to let the others catch up. "Do I have to go to school?" Ciriana asked, concerned.

  "No, dear. This is just another pun of some sort."

  "I don't get it," Sherlock said.

  Zaven and Thesis caught up. "We've seen about enough," he said. "We're ready to leave the strip now."

  Annie reappeared. "Oh, but you must see this. It's a school for our brightest. This way."

  There seemed to be no choice but to follow her. She led them to a tall, thin, round building.

  "But that's a lighthouse," Thesis said.

  "Yes, it's our school for lightbulbs," Annie said.

  Clio suppressed her groan. "But a lighthouse is supposed to be to warn ships in the sea."

  "What sea?"

  And of course there was no sea.

  They came to the lighthouse, and saw the children. They were all lightbulbs. "We have all the best and brightest," Annie said proudly. "They are very enlightened. When they get light enough, they float off into the sky. They are real stars. You can see them twinkling at night."

  Sherlock did not quite manage to hold his groan in.

  "And of course when you get a bright idea, one of them is there to flash over your head," Annie continued.

  "Thank you for that illuminating information," Sherlock said. Clio wanted to kick his ankle, but realized that wasn't the most brilliant idea.

  "Oh!" Annie said, flattered. She glanced halfway appraisingly at him.

  "Perhaps we'll meet again," Sherlock said.

  What was he doing? He had been ensorcelled into love with Morgan le Fay. Was he trying to set up a little something on the side? That hardly seemed like him, but there was no telling how much the spancel had scrambled his feelings. Maybe he was simply trying to charm Annie into getting them out of the strip faster.

  They moved wearily on. Clio had the dubious satisfaction of knowing that the others were just as turned off as she was. Of course they weren't lightbulbs.

  Clio saw the edge of the comic strip, but there was one more thing in the way. It was a table with a small cake on it, and a sign BITE ME. "No thanks," she said, trying to go around the table. But it extended to bar her way, and the cake slid toward her. It seemed she couldn't avoid it.

  Then someone else blundered up, a fat woman, evidently a tourist. "I'm hungry." She took the cake and bit into it.

  And turned green. Then red. Then blue. Her clothes went baggy. "I'm dying!" the woman exclaimed.

  "No, you're dyeing," Clio said, catching on. "That's a dye-it, turning you different colors."

  "And diet," Thesis said. "Making you thin."

  "Groan!" the woman said, and blundered on.

  Clio finally managed to get around the table and lunged for the edge. But Ciriana tripped and fell, scratching her arm, and causing Clio to fall too. "Owww!"

  A little cat ran up. It produced medical instruments, cleaned off the scratch, bandaged it, and put away its equipment. Then it scampered away. The child was satisfied; her arm no longer hurt.

  "What was that?" Clio asked, dazed.

  "A first-aid kit," Sherlock said, helping her up. "Annie told me."

  Evidently he had spent a bit more time with Annie Mae. Clio realized she had no business feeling jealous; his love was no longer hers anyway.

  They crossed the border and the puns were gone. So was the bandage on Ciriana's arm; it was mere pun stuff. In another moment Zaven and Thesis emerged, looking disgusted. "Point made," Zaven said. "Stay out of comic strips."

  "Dear, let's go home now," Thesis said. "We have seen more than enough here."


  "Well, actually—"

  She stepped into him and kissed him ardently. Little hearts orbited them. "And there's a child present. Let's get alone." Some of the hearts bore an odd resemblance to storks.

  "Oh. Of course."

  They embraced and dissolved into vapor. It expanded rapidly, diffusing through the area, and faded out.

  All that, simply because each had passed through the spancel. As had Sherlock, unfortunately.

  A young man approached. "You folk look as if you got caught in a comic strip," he said.

  "We did," Clio said. "We'll recover."

  "Do you need to go anywhere? I can guide you."

  "But if we wanted to go east, you'd soon get too young," Clio said.

  "No, my talent is immunity to the time change. I can go anywhere on Ptero. That's why I'm a guide."

  That did make sense. "It was a good idea."

  "Yes. Prince Anomie thought of it. His talent is bad ideas, but he got some reverse wood, and now he gets good ideas."

  "Anomie," Clio said, remembering. "The one who married Princess Melody, after he stopped being the Dastard?"

  "Melody's only eight years old!" Sherlock protested.

  "Not here," she told him. "She's any age she wants to be, and surely adult. Remember, time is geography."

  "I would like to meet them," Clio said. "But as it happens, I'm on a special mission."

  "That's all right. Where are you going?"

  Clio looked at the compass. "West."

  "That's toward Castle Roogna, about fifteen years."

  "Thank you."

  The man moved on, and they walked west. But Sherlock paused. "I realize that geography is time, but isn't fifteen years a pretty far distance?"

  Clio halted. "Yes, it is. We don't want to have to walk it."

  "Maybe I can arrange something." He walked back to the comic strip.

  "What are you thinking of?" Clio demanded.

  "Annie may be willing to help." He stood at the edge and put his arm across the line. "Annie!"

  Annie Mae appeared. "You want me to strip?" She put her hand to her dress. "This is a comic strip, of course, but you'll have to come inside."

  "I must be candid," he said. "Much as I might like to see you strip, my love belongs to another. But I'm willing to trade for help."