Chem looked. "That's a moose. A vanilla--no, a chocolate moose. Harmless."
They went over, and Grundy questioned the moose. The animal looked up warily. "It wants to know if we're ducks," Grundy said with disgust. "It doesn't like ducks who nibble."
"Tell it to stop ducking the question," Irene said.
After a moment, the golem reported that the moose had seen a child of the proper description, but not here; she had been some distance to the east, going the other way.
"Farther along," Irene said. "At least we know she was all right then. We'll go there soon; right now I want to know why her trail is intermittent here."
They resumed the backtrack. Grundy narrowed it down to two blades of grass. The east one remembered Ivy and said she had come from the west; the west blade denied it. Soon the two were in an argument, and then in a fight. One blade slashed at the other but was parried and countered. In moments the surrounding blades chose sides and joined the fray. The field became a battlefield.
"This is getting us nowhere!" Irene protested, dancing about to avoid getting slashed on the ankles. "One of those gay blades must be lying."
"No, grass is inferior," Grundy said. "It doesn't have the wit to lie. It just stands tall and defends its turf."
"But their stories directly contradict! They can't both be true!"
Now Chem's fine centaur mind came into play. She suffered less distraction from the blades because her hooves were invulnerable. "They could--if a forget-whorl passed."
"A forget-whorl!" There was the answer, of course. It had blotted out the trail, for the plants it had affected had no memory of events preceding the passage of the whorl. "But that means--"
"That it could have touched Ivy, too," Chem finished. "I had hoped that wouldn't be the case."
"But without memory--" The prospect was appalling, though Irene had also thought of it before. She just hadn't wanted to believe it. "Not even to remember the dangers--"
"But the whorl could have passed after Ivy did," Chem pointed out. "So it didn't hurt her, just wiped out a section of her trail."
"Yes..." Irene agreed, relieved. "Or maybe it just grazed her, making her forget a little, such as how to get home, without really hurting her." That was stretching probability somewhat, but was a better theory than nothing. It was possible, Irene reminded herself fiercely.
"We shall trace her quickly," the centaur reassured Irene, cutting off the questionable speculations. They all knew how deadly the wilderness of Xanth could be, even when a person's memory was intact.
"Let me try one more thing," Grundy said. "That buckeye over there is to the east of the forget-line, and those bucks eye everything that passes them, especially if it's in a skirt. Maybe it saw Ivy come in and wasn't in the path of the whorl."
"Good idea!" Chem agreed. "Ask it!"
The golem sent out a mooselike honk at the tree. In the distance, the chocolate moose looked up, startled, then realized this call was not for it. The tree's antlerlike branches twitched. Eyelike formations in the trunk blinked. It honked back.
Grundy became excited. He honked again. The tree responded with a considerable passage of rustlings and wood noises.
The golem translated: "The buck says he eyed this region four hours ago and saw a magic carpet glide in, carrying a bag and a child."
"That's no way to refer to a woman!" Irene snapped.
"A bag of spells," Grundy clarified, and Irene blushed. She had waded into that one!
"A carpet!" Chem said. "That could only be--"
"Humfrey's carpet!" Irene exclaimed. "It escaped when the Gap Dragon attacked him!"
"It must have come down near Ivy," Chem said. "These carpets may spook, but they always return. They don't know what to do by themselves. But why didn't it return to Humfrey?"
"He was gone!" Irene said. "The Gorgon conjured him home. Hugo must have wandered away, so the carpet simply went looking for them. When it spied Ivy--"
"It dropped down to see if she was its owner," Chem finished. "And Ivy took a ride on it, just for fun."
"She would," Irene agreed grimly. "She has very little sense of danger when she gets interested by something. She inherits that from her father."
The centaur glanced askance at Irene, but did not comment.
"And she picked up a good-luck charm," Grundy added. "The buckeye saw that happen, too."
"Good-luck charm?" Irene asked. "Then how could she have gotten caught by the forget-whorl?"
"The tree didn't see that," Grundy said.
"Naturally not! The whorls are invisible!"
"But the whorl may have missed her," Chem pointed out. "We know only that it passed here, perhaps soon after she did, not that it got Ivy. The good-luck charm could have fended it off, or at least diminished its effect, depending on how strong the charm was. If her continuing trail remains purposeful, we can assume that she wasn't really hurt by the whorl."
"I don't know," Irene said, worried. "Things don't always happen the way they should, here in Xanth. Dor's father Bink--" But that was another subject; Bink had always been amazingly lucky, needing no charm.
"We do know a whorl got the zombie who carried her from the path of the Gap Dragon," Chem said, glancing at the zombie who patiently followed them now. This was a different zombie; the patterns of rot were dissimilar, not that it mattered. One zombie was very much like another. "There must be a number of whorls around, striking randomly."
"Probably the whorls followed the dragon from the Gap," Irene agreed. "The dragon should be immune to them, having lived in the ambience of the original forget-spell for centuries. There could be an affinity because of that long association. Anyway, we seem to have solved the riddle of Ivy's departure; she flew the carpet to this side of the castle. But she's on foot now; the carpet evidently took off again when she got off it, and is lost. We need to catch up to her before--"
"Before nightfall," Chem supplied diplomatically.
They followed the trail more quickly now, the golem eliciting a report from a lady-fingers plant that used hand signals to describe a human child and a huge animal.
"Animal?" Irene asked, alarmed.
"Perhaps the chocolate moose," Chem suggested.
Grundy conversed further with the local plants, while the lady-fingers wrung their hands in distress at not being able to identify the creature. But another plant recognized the type. "A yak," the golem finally reported. "They like to talk. They're generally harmless, unless they talk your ear off. Stroke of luck her running into that particular animal."
"The good-luck charm," Chem said. "Obviously she had it with her, though she may not have recognized its significance. It brought her a fortunate wilderness companion."
"After fending off the forget-whorl, or most of it. But those charms only last a few hours when used," Irene said worriedly. "They only have so much power, and each intercession of good luck depletes their charge. Ivy must have needed a lot of luck out here, so the charm will be exhausted by nightfall."
The centaur glanced at the sky. "We have another hour yet. We can move faster than she could. We'll find her."
"Fat cha--" Grundy started to remark with his normal calculated insensitivity, but was interrupted by a coincidental cough from the centaur that almost dislodged him. "Uh, yes, sure."
They went on, tracing the trail along a footpath and past a centaur-game region. "If only the centaurs had realized Ivy was lost," Chem said. "I know they would have carried her right back to the Castle Zombie!"
"The lucky charm was fading," Irene said grimly.
There was a warning rumble of thunder. A storm was headed their way. They hurried.
They passed a torment pine. Then, just beyond it, the trail stopped. No plant remembered anything.
"Another forget-whorl!" Irene exclaimed. "Or maybe the same one, rolling along. It blotted out everything's memory!"
"Those whorls don't seem to be large," Chem said. "We should be able to pick up the trail on the other side of
it. I'm sorry we didn't think to bring along some of that whorl-nullifying potion Humfrey gave you."
"Haste always does make waste," Irene said.
The thunder rumbled again, louder. It sounded like the cloud Irene had disciplined with the watermelon seeds, and that could mean trouble. The inanimate wasn't very smart, but it was very ornery. The cloud must have rounded up reinforcements and returned to the fray.
Soon they found the trail--but it was only the yak. "Do yaks leave their companions?" Irene asked.
"Not while those companions are still able to listen," Chem said. "A yak will never voluntarily stop talking."
"Yeah, you have to know how to shut it up," Grundy put in.
"How do you do that?" Irene asked.
The golem shook his little head. "No one knows."
"Ivy surely didn't know--and even if she did, she wouldn't. She likes conversation." Irene frowned. "I only wish she were willing to talk more herself. She listens to me, but she doesn't say much. Sometimes I worry about her being retarded, like--"
"Like Hugo?"
"Not that bad, of course," Irene said hastily. "I'm sure Ivy will talk when she gets around to it. She's only three years old, after all." But that tinge of uncertainty remained.
"Something must have happened to her," Grundy said.
"The forget-whorl!" Chem interjected before Irene could get more upset. "It must have touched the yak, and the animal forgot Ivy and wandered away."
Irene relaxed. "Yes, of course. We must backtrack, then cast about for Ivy's trail."
There was a detonation of thunder that made them all jump, then a stiff gust of wind, and the rain began. This was definitely the fragment of the King of Clouds, restored to power by the moisture of the evening and a host of satellite clouds. Now it was getting even with Irene, and she was not in a position to do anything about it. She ground her teeth in private ire--she didn't like being bested by water vapor.
"The trail will have to wait a little," Chem said. "We aren't going to be able to trace anything in the storm."
"Yeah, it'll be a real drenchpour," Grundy said enthusiastically. "I wonder who antagonized that cloud? They don't zero in like this for no reason."
With bad grace, Irene took out a seed. "Grow," she directed it, and an umbrella plant sprouted. Its broad leaves spread out in an overlapping pattern, creating a watertight shelter. Soon it grew large enough to protect the three of them.
Just in time, for this was indeed a drenchpour. Water came down in traveling sheets, doing its best to blow in sidewise. Oh, that cloud was angry! Irene had to grow a wallflower to wall it off, but they were soaked before the flower completed its growth. Rivulets washed across their feet. Chem excavated channels with her hooves to drain the water, but now the ground was so soggy that it was no pleasure to stand on. Irene grew rock-roses in lieu of chairs for herself and Grundy. But then itch-gnats swarmed in, as they did when people were vulnerable, and she had to grow a giant toad plant to snap them up. The trouble was, the toad also snapped at dangling curls of Irene's green hair and Chem's blond tail, mistaking them for flies or spiders dangling on threads. All in all, it was an uncomfortable situation.
The zombie stood just outside the shelter, having no need of it and knowing that its kind wasn't wanted inside. The sluicing rain carried bits and pieces of the creature away, but it never seemed to lose mass. That was the thing about zombies; they were forever shedding their spoiled flesh, yet always had more to shed. It was one of the less appetizing types of magic in Xanth. But Irene knew how loyally the zombies had defended Castle Roogna through many crises, freely sacrificing whatever sort of lives they had when any trouble came. They were the ultimate selfless creatures. And she remembered how a zombie justice of the peace--maybe that was "piece," because of the way he had been falling apart--had agreed to officiate when she married Dor. Zombies were good people, despite being rotten.
Still the rain came, settling in for a long siege. Obviously the storm meant to pin them down for the night. Hell had no fury like that of an angry cloud, she reflected, for Hell was full of fire, while the cloud was full of water. Irene didn't like being pinned down; the wilderness was especially dangerous at night. Maybe the king cloud hoped something bad would happen to her while she was pinned. But she couldn't go home as long as Ivy was out here alone.
Something had to be done; Irene's teeth were chattering with developing chill. That cloud had reached high in the cold sky to find icy water! She used the last remaining light of day to grow a candle plant, lighting it with a small flame-vine. That provided enough artificial light for her to grow a few staples. Most plants wouldn't grow in the dark; they required the energy of sunlight. But her talent could force the issue with a few, with the artificial light.
She managed to grow a towel plant, with fine dry towels for all, so they could dry off and abate the chill. Since Irene had to strip to use her towel, she grew a curtain plant to give her some privacy. Actually, she wasn't sensitive about being seen by Chem, as centaurs had little personal modesty; and anyway, Chem was female. She showed all the time what Irene was showing only now. But Grundy was another matter. He would make obnoxious remarks, not because he had any real interest, but because that was his nature. He would feel inadequate if he let such an occasion pass by without some observation about cheesecake or the erosion of birthday suits. And his big mouth would be active when he encountered other males subsequently. Irene knew it was foolish of her to pay any attention to such nonsense, but she did.
Once dry, she wrapped two towels about her and pinned them with pins from another pincushion plant. The towels would have to do as clothing till morning, when she could grow a sunflower to dry her regular clothing and a lady-slippers plant to replace her sodden footwear. She grew a cheese plant and a breadfruit and a chocolate plant before the last natural light faded; these would suffice for supper. It was a miserable situation, but they could endure it for one night.
Irene hoped her husband Dor wasn't worrying too much. He seemed to think she would not survive by herself; it was one of the halfway charming male notions he retained. She missed him already, there in snug Castle Roogna with the dry floor and friendly ghosts and the continuing entertainment of the magic tapestry.
But she missed Ivy more. That sweet, innocent, inexperienced child lost in this jungle! Her child! Irene touched the ivy plant she wore; only its continued health reassured her that her daughter remained well. Without that assurance, Irene would have been forging through the night, regardless of the danger, desperately searching for what she might never find. She was none too sanguine as it was, but the ivy made the situation bearable.
She saw the zombie at the fringe of the flickering candlelight. It looked miserable out there. Of course zombies were always miserable-looking, with one foot pretty much in the grave. A zombie would rest literally in the grave; some of them slept for centuries, quietly decaying, and only roused themselves to throw off their blanket of dirt when summoned by some strange awareness of need for their services. Still, the sight of this one bothered her. "Are you hungry?" she asked it.
"Hhunnggh?" the thing said.
"Hungry. Eat. Food." Irene extended a piece of cheese, not knowing whether such things ever ate.
The zombie reached a gangrenous hand to accept it. Irene forced herself not to flinch away from the contact. "Ffooodh," the creature said.
"Yes, to eat." Irene illustrated by taking a delicate bite of her own piece of cheese, though now her appetite had diminished considerably.
The zombie tried it. Three teeth crumbled, and a segment of lip fell off. The firm cheese was impervious to the creature's feeble effort at mastication.
"I suppose not," Irene said, controlling the roiling of her stomach. "I really don't know much about zombies."
"None of us do," Chem agreed. "They are not like us, if that is not a ludicrous understatement."
"Easy enough to find out," Grundy said, perceiving an opportunity for mischief. "I can talk to t
he things as readily as to anything else, though they aren't strictly alive. It's one place where King Dor's talent overlaps mine; he can talk to them because they aren't quite alive, and I can talk to them because they aren't quite dead." He smiled with happy malice. "What intimate girlish secrets do you wish to exchange with this one?"
"Well--" Irene discovered that she really wasn't very curious about zombies. They were such appalling things! Most of the horror was the thought that someday she could find herself animated as a similar creature if she happened to die in the vicinity of Castle Zombie. Death was never fun to contemplate, and this kind of half-death was worse.
There was a low hissing roar from the damp darkness beyond the shelter. "That's a bonnacon!" Grundy exclaimed with alarm. "I'd know that noise anywhere."
"Sounds more like a dragon to me," Chem said, swishing her tail nervously.
"The bonnacon is a dragon, horserace," the golem responded. "It has the horns of a bison--that's a mythical Mundane animal--and the posterior of--well, let's just say it's worse going than coming."
"Dragons eat people!" Irene reminded them. "And I can't grow many plants in the dark. We're in trouble!"
"You'd better grow something,, because the thing has winded us," Grundy warned. "The bonnacon is too big and fast for us to escape it; we have to fight it off."
"With pieces of cheese?" Irene demanded. "We need a weapon, and I doubt my knife will--"
Chem unslung her bow. "Pinpoint its location, and I'll shoot it," she said.
"No good, ponytail," the golem said. "Your arrows would only annoy it. We've got to have a tough plant, like a boxwood or tangler."
"Not at night," Irene said. "Right now all I can grow is night bloomers."
"Then grow the night bloomers!" Grundy cried. "The monster's almost upon us!"
Irene heard the most horrendous rasp of the dragon's breath.
She was not the most timid of women, but now she was terrified. Her mind numb, she tossed down a seed, "Grow!"
"Maybe we can make a lot of noise and scare it off," Chem said.
"No good," Grundy replied. "When the bonnacon retreats, it blows out its whole quantity of digestive refuse--in simpler language, its--"