Dragon on a Pedestal

  Neither boy nor dragon was quite certain of the logic--but this, too, was typical of such situations. Ivy wanted it that way and she perceived them to be friends, so that aspect of their psychology was enhanced, and they were friends. It would not be fair to say it was a completely tranquil friendship, but it would do. Sorcery, as always, was a marvelous thing.

  "Now we must go home," Ivy decided. "Where are your folks, Hugo?" She had never been to Humfrey's castle and indeed did not know Hugo was the son of the famous Magician of Xanth.

  Hugo considered. "My father's a big baby, and my mother's face turns people to stone," he announced.

  "Mine too," Ivy agreed. "Especially when I've been bad.

  Where's your home?"

  Hugo pondered again. He wasn't used to being as smart as this, so it took some reorientation. He did have a fair sense of direction, when he thought to use it. "That way," he said, pointing roughly northeast.

  "Okay. We'll go that way." Ivy faced northeast, getting it set in her mind. She had not thought to ask how far it was. It did not occur to any of them that they would have been better off proceeding west to Castle Zombie.

  Ivy started marching, and so Stanley and Hugo marched with her.

  They entered a deep, dark section of forest where the sunlight did not penetrate and the wind was chill. Ivy felt nervous, since she did not like dark, cold places, but she forged on. The others forged with her.

  They soon tired, for they were all young, and rested on a sodden log in the gloom. "I'm hungry," Ivy said. "How can we get food?" She believed she didn't need to be smart now, because, of course, Hugo was smart and he could do the thinking. He was, after all, the Night in Shiny Armor.

  "Well, I can conjure some fresh fruit," Hugo said.

  "But--"

  "Oh, goody! I like fresh fruit!" That was quite different from the squished fruit she hated.

  "But it isn't very good."

  Ivy refused to believe this. "I just know anything you do is good, Hugo, because you're such a handsome, wonderful, talented person. You'll bring perfect fruit. Not that squishy stuff grown-ups use to punish babies with."

  She did have a point. But Hugo had less confidence in his ability than she did. "You won't like it," he warned and conjured an apple.

  The apple appeared in his hand. It was a fine, large, red, fresh, firm fruit, and looked absolutely delicious. Hugo gazed at it with amazement. All his prior apples had been more like applesauce enclosed in wrinkled bags formed of peel. What had gone wrong?

  "Goody!" Ivy exclaimed, accepting it while Hugo stood frozen. She opened her little mouth and took a big bite. The apple crunched wholesomely.

  "Scrumptious!" she pronounced around her mouthful. "Bring some more!"

  Hugo shook his head as if clearing it of dottle. Disbelievingly, he conjured a banana. It appeared in his hand, big and firm and yellow. He made a motion to peel it, but his belief failed, so he offered it to the dragon instead.

  Stanley had only learned to like fresh fruit since encountering Ivy, and this was the first banana he had met. He set it on the ground and steamed it. The fruit cooked and split open, smelling delicious. The dragon decided he liked it and he slurped it up complete. The skin wasn't as chewy as bone, but would do.

  Hugo conjured a plum, taking courage. It seemed as good as the other fruit. He nerved himself and took a small bite. The fruit was juicy and tasty. "I can't understand it," he said. "Usually my fruit is as rotten as a zombie."

  "Zombies are fun," Ivy said. "They know all kinds of games, like hide-in-the-grave and yuch-in-the-box."

  Hugo hadn't thought of it quite that way before, but realized it was true.

  "You're a good conjurer," Ivy continued confidently. And of course, in her presence, he was. His talent had been enhanced into competence.

  After that, reveling in his newfound power, Hugo conjured fruit freely, so that all of them could feast. He produced a whole pile of beefsteak tomatoes for the dragon, as Stanley preferred meat when he could get it. For the first time in his life, Hugo felt competent.

  They resumed their travel, more slowly now because of darker and more scary terrain and their tiring legs. None of them had ever realized just how big Xanth was. Always before, they had been carried from place to place on carpets or on centaurs, so that long distances seemed short. Walking was a different matter. But they were confident they would arrive where they were going if they just kept at it.

  Ivy's mind wandered, as there certainly wasn't much for it to do around here. She thought of her nice room in Castle Roogna, with the magic tapestry that showed scenes of the fabulous history of Xanth. She thought of the nice cherry trees of the castle orchard, with the exploding red fruits. She thought of the friendly ghosts of the castle. She did not think of Millie as a ghost, for Millie had returned to life long before Ivy was born, but fun-loving Jordan was still there. Jordan had helped save Xanth from the NextWave, she had been told, so he was now in excellent repute and was sometimes allowed to baby-sit her when her folks were out. It was amazing how much more interesting home became when she was far away from it!

  Ivy paused in her thoughts. Was that the ghost-centaur she had glimpsed? Maybe not, since there was no sign of it now. But Hugo paused too. "Hey--Imbri's here!" he exclaimed.

  "Who?"

  "The day mare. She brings me daydreams all the time, back home."

  "Is she a centaur?"

  "No, she's a horse, of course. A mythical animal with the front end of a sea horse and the hind end of a centaur. She used to be a night mare, and would carry bad dreams to sleepers. But now she is a day mare and she brings good daydreams. I like her because she visits me a lot when I'm lonely and she never says anything bad to me--to clean up my room or wash behind my ears. But I didn't think she could find me out here in the jungle."

  "Oh, I guess it was me she found. Can we ride her?"

  "No, dummy. She's a phantom horse."

  Ivy had not heard the term "dummy" before, as it was not used in her home, and she took it to be an endearment because that was the kind of term Nights in Shiny Armor used on rescued damsels. She formed half a flush of pleasure. "Can she tell our folks where we are?"

  "My father, maybe. He can talk to mares when he uses a spell. But he's a baby."

  "Oh." Ivy didn't quite understand this figure of speech, so she ignored it.

  "But I can talk to her a little, because she brings me so many dreams. Sometimes I spend whole days alone in my room, and Imbri keeps me company. She's a great companion."

  "Can she show us the best way home?"

  "I don't know. Her job is to bring dreams; she gets sort of invisible any other time."

  Hugo concentrated. "No, she says she's not allowed to show us where to go. But she says be careful, because there's something awful bad ahead."

  "Something awful?" Ivy asked, worried. "Oh, I don't like awful things!"

  The dragon had another opinion: he loved awful things! He perked up his ears and fired up his steam.

  "That's right--Stanley will protect us," Ivy said with happy revelation. "He can fight anything!" She patted the little dragon's hot, scaly head, and because she said it, it almost seemed possible.

  They went on. Sure enough, something awful appeared. At first Ivy thought it was the monster under the bed, but its hands weren't big, horny, or callused, so it couldn't be that. It had multiple bug-legs and wings and feelers, and a huge, horrible mask of a face.

  "A bugbear!" Hugo cried, appalled.

  If this monster was related in any way to the other bug they had encountered, the bed bug, it certainly wasn't letting that show. It wasn't large, as monsters went, but it didn't need to be, for it specialized in snatching children, especially naughty ones. Since naughtiness was part of the definition of childhood, every child who ever existed was vulnerable.

  The bugbear advanced on Ivy, who knew she was naughty because she had gotten herself lost. Its bug-eyes glared malevolently at her, and its bug-mandibles gaped slobb
eringly.

  Ivy screamed, and not merely because that was what a damsel in distress was supposed to do. She wasn't really afraid of dragons; they were distant adult creatures, except for Stanley, who was her friend. But the bugbear was her size, and it was close; it knew exactly how to terrify her. It grew larger and worser as it tromped toward her.

  Hugo conjured a ripe tomato and hurled it at the monster. His aim was better than usual, because Ivy believed Nights had good aim, and the fruit splattered on the bugbear's face. This made the face only slightly less ugly than before. Still the thing advanced, hairy bug-arms reaching.

  "Bug off!" Hugo cried, throwing an even riper tomato. But the monster merely sloughed the squish from its nose and grabbed for Ivy.

  Now Stanley acted. He aimed his snout, pumped up his pressure until his safety valve whistled, and let fly a searing jet of superheated steam. His steam had become much fiercer since he had started associating with Ivy.

  The steam struck the horrible mask-face and ricocheted off. But the heat and moisture were so intense that the bugbear's face began to melt. Dripping different colors, the thing retreated.

  Stanley pursued, pumping up another burst of steam. The bugbear turned tail and fled. Its tail was not fearsome at all. Such monsters had all their fear in front and became next to nothing when retreating. Indeed, this one shrank visibly with each step it took, and soon it vanished entirely.

  "Oh, Stanley, you're so wonderful!" Ivy exclaimed, hugging his neck. She polished up the pedestal, which was higher and prettier now, though still invisible. The dragon discovered again that he liked getting hugged by a cute little girl, and the pedestal was actually a pretty comfortable place to rest on his laurels. He made a low, purring growl. It was fun saving damsels from bug-eyed monsters.

  Hugo was not entirely satisfied, however. He felt that more attention was being lavished on Stanley than the dragon warranted. In fact, he was a mite jealous, which was odd, because it was the dragon who was green.

  They ate some more of Hugo's conjured fruit, and proceeded with greater confidence. They had met and conquered an enemy!

  The jungle thinned as the land rose. Soon they were climbing a fairly hefty hill. The dragon puffed naturally, but now Hugo and Ivy were puffing, too. "Oh, it's hot!" Ivy complained. Actually, the air was normal temperature; it was Ivy who was heating.

  Then the air cooled as they came to a region of mist. The wet air brushed by them, coating them with moisture. The dragon didn't mind, for he was a steamer and drew on mist to replenish his water supply. Mist was rather like cold steam. True steam, like true water vapor, was invisible, so it could hide magically; but water droplets tended to form from it, giving its presence away. Had the mist been able to maintain its invisibility, Stanley would not have been able to tap it for his own purpose. But the two children did not appreciate this advantage and were uncomfortable.

  "Oh, let's rest," Ivy said. "My legs are like noodles!" Indeed, they seemed to bend under her, forcing her to flop on the ground. The others were glad enough to rest.

  But they were not fated to rest long. There was something in the mist behind them, and it was not pleasant. They couldn't see it, or hear it, yet they were aware of it. Stanley fired a jet of steam back in its direction, but with no effect. The problem with steam was that its range was limited; if a thing was out of sight, it was also out of reach.

  Then thunder rumbled, increasing their nervousness. Ivy and Stanley were not safely ensconced in the coven-tree this time; they could get wet. That bothered Ivy more than it did Stanley.

  A bolt of lightning scorched into a rock nearby. "Oh, I don't like this at all!" Ivy said, jumping up.

  They hurried away from the thunder and lightning, going on up the hill. This was just as well, for the thunder continued to rumble behind, punctuated by more shafts of lightning. Breathlessly, they scrambled toward the top of the hill.

  At last they broke out of the top of the mist. It was, in fact, a sunken cloud. There were other clouds above, but the intervening layer was clear.

  They looked around. The top of the hill was like an island in the nether sea of cloud, poking up through it. As far as they could see in each direction, there was the wavy, white surface. The effect was rather pretty, in its fashion. Ivy was quick to appreciate prettiness wherever it occurred. That was the way she had been raised.

  "Do you think Imbri will bring us a daydream of being carpet-wrecked on this island, and we can't leave it until the fog goes down, so we have to stay here forever and just eat fruit?" Ivy asked.

  Hugo shrugged. "I doubt it," he said. There was the merest flicker of something disappearing, like a black horse's tail; the daydream had been canceled at the last moment and the mare had to depart.

  But now a small gray cloud floated down from the upper layer. It formed a malevolent face under its pointed crown. The mouth opened, and a small roll of thunder came out.

  The day mare reappeared. This time Ivy could see her clearly. She was a black equine, hardly more than a shadow, with flaring mane and tail.

  "It wants to know who on earth you are," a centaur said in Ivy's mind.

  Surprised and confused by this development. Ivy did not answer.

  "That's how Imbri talks," Hugo explained. "She gives you a dream, and the dream figure speaks. Imbri can't talk herself, 'cause she's a horse. But the dream figures can. Just answer it back."

  Ivy was glad Hugo was so smart and knew all about such things. "The centaur?"

  "No, dummy, the cloud! Imbri's translating for it."

  Ivy blushed again with pleasure at the endearment. This was all new to her, but she decided it was all right. It was nice of Mare Imbri to help out like this.

  "I'm Ivy," she said to the cloud. "Who are you?"

  The mare must have projected a talking dream to the cloud, for it paused a moment, then scowled darkly and blew out another piece of thunder. Ivy was a little frightened when it did that, but tried not to show it because she wasn't sure Stanley could make this thing go away.

  "He says you're supposed to recognize the King of Clouds when you see him and perform abject obeisance," the centaur-dreamlet said.

  Ivy looked at the ground and dug a toe in the din, trying to fathom what "abject obeisance" meant.

  "That's better," the centaur said. "The cloud sees you are bowing and/or curtseying. He says he is his Majesty Cumulo-Fracto-Nimbus, the Lord of the Air. He says you remind him of someone he doesn't like--a female with green hair."

  Ivy realized that would be her mother Irene. She was about to ask where the cloud had seen her, but Hugo spoke first. "Aw, Fracto's just a bit of scud," he said depreciatingly.

  The cloud heard that, and evidently needed no translation. He swelled up and turned purply-black. Lightning speared out of his Majesty's nose, followed by a belch of thunder and a smattering of rain-spittle. Hugo had to jump to avoid being scorched. It seemed clouds were sensitive about name calling.

  "How dare you refer to the Lord of the Air as 'scud'!" the dream centaur translated. "He wants you to know he hails from a long and foggy line of lofty meteorological effects, from Cirrus through Stratus. His relatives process the water that grows all the plants of Xanth and fills all the lakes! He advises you that, without his kind, the whole land would be a dust bowl and you would be ashes! He is Fracto the King, a real Thunderhead!"

  "Dunderhead," Hugo agreed, with uncommon wit. Nights were noted for that.

  The cloud turned so black he was almost a Black Hole. He blew out such a blast of fog mixed with thunder that he nearly turned himself inside out.

  "Oh, now Hugo's done it," the dream centaur said. "The King of Clouds is very volatile and tempest-headed. Flee before he strikes!"

  "But there's more thunder down there!" Ivy protested, looking at the roiling layer of fog below.

  The Fracto-King shaped himself up enough to take good aim at Hugo. Now he looked like a towering anvil. But before he could hammer out a devastating thunderbolt, Stanley stepped f
orward and shot a fierce jet of steam into the spongy nether region.

  This would have sent any ordinary monster sailing high with a youp of pain, but the steam had little visible effect on the cloud. Clouds were composed of water, as was the dragon's steam; the jet only added to Fracto's strength.

  Then Ivy had a bright-bulb notion. "Hugo!" she cried. "Conjure some fruit!"

  Hugo conjured a watermelon and heaved it at the cloud. Cumulo-Fracto-Nimbus recoiled, but then saw that this was only a fruit, not a plant, and surged back. When the melon passed harmlessly through the cloud and splatted against the ground, the moisture only added to the cloud's strength. "No, Hugo," Ivy clarified. "A pineapple!" Hugo caught on, for Nights were very quick to grasp battle strategies. "Yes, I can do it now!" he cried. A huge, firm, potent pineapple appeared in his hand. Just before Fracto spat out his next lightning bolt, Hugo heaved the fruit.

  The pineapple disappeared into the mouth of the cloud just as the lightning bolt emerged. The two collided--and the pineapple exploded. The blast was phenomenal. It blew the King apart. Fragments of Fracto fog shot out in an expanding sphere, jags of sundered lightning radiated out like a sunburst, and thunder crashed into the ground, bounced, and lay quiet.

  "Ooo, you destroyed him!" Ivy exclaimed, nervously chewing on a finger. She wasn't accustomed to such violence.

  "You can't destroy a cloud that way," the dream centaur said. "Fracto is somewhat like a demon. He will recoalesce, worse than before, in a few minutes. Flee!"

  Ivy saw that it was so. Already the mean little scud-clouds were globbing together, forming larger fragments, each with a single spike of Fracto's crown. This was no safe place!

  "Conjure some fresh cherry bombs!" Ivy cried to Hugo. "We'll beat a strategic retreat!" She almost surprised herself with that word "strategic"; it had been beyond her comprehension before, though she had heard her father use it when discussing the ancient War of the NextWave, which had happened two years before she was born. But now she was in a battle situation, and the meaning of the term was manifesting clearly enough.