Air Apparent (30 page)

“I didn’t,” Hugo protested, climbing back to his feet. “I just put them on, and suddenly I was flat.”

“Let me see those.” The Factor took the sandals, removed his shoes, and put his feet into the sandals.

And flipped entirely over, landing on his back.

“I see you tried on the flip-flops,” a man said. In their distraction they had missed his approach.

“Flip-flops,” Hugo said, disgusted. “I was looking for more sedate footwear.

“There’s a pair of lady slippers,” the man said, halfway stifling a smile.

“At this point, I’ll take them,” Hugo said. He picked the slippers and put them on his feet. “These are light, soft, and comfortable.”

“Who are you?” the Factor asked the man gruffly.

“I am Bill,” the man said. “Bill Fold. I can fold anything, living or dead.”

“Thanks, we don’t need folding,” Hugo said.

“I’m looking for my girlfriend, Besanii, so I can enfold her. She makes me feel so great, and I love it when she jumps. Have you seen her?”

Hugo started to answer, but the Factor stifled him with a gesture. “We may have,” he said. “Suppose we trade information?”

“Sure. What do you want to know?”

“There’s some sort of malign entity that—”

“Forget it,” Bill said, quickly retreating.

“There’s definitely something,” Hugo said. “Maybe we need to be more subtle.”

“Very well. You tackle the next traveler on this path.”

That traveler was already appearing, as if the path was providing him. He looked like a perfectly ordinary man, but at this point the Factor didn’t trust that.

“Hello, stranger,” Hugo said. “I’m Hugo. I wonder if you could direct me to the nearest monster?”

That was as subtle as a coconut bouncing off a head and spilling cocoa all over.

“In a manner,” the man said. “I’m Troy. My talent is invoking monster qualities, such as ogre strength or nymphly grace. But unfortunately I can’t control the quality summoned. So I’m apt to get ogre stupidity or nymphly shallowness instead.”

“That’s fascinating,” Hugo said, evidently emulating Besanii’s flattering technique. “But I was thinking of approaching a monster more directly.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t want to do that,” Troy said. “Not without my brother’s help. His talent is to confuse monsters, so they can’t aim well. You know, a dragon’s blast of fire will miss you, or a werewolf’s teeth will bite your shoes instead of your leg.” He glanced at Hugo’s lady-slipper clad feet. “Speaking of shoes—”

“Sore feet,” Hugo said quickly. “We sense some sort of monster in the vicinity, and would like to locate it more specifically. Would you happen to know—”

“Oh, that monster. I would not.” And Troy abruptly departed.

“I think we have a problem,” the Factor said. “Obviously there is a monster, but the locals are in some sort of denial.”

“I wonder,” Hugo said. “Suppose it left them alone on condition that they not tell travelers about it?”

The Factor nodded. “We had better hope that Princess Ida is not similarly intimidated.”

They gave the path their destination, and followed it from mote to mote. It turned out to be an extended trip, winding sinuously about.

“I thought the path went directly to the destination,” Hugo said.

“There’s a qualification,” the Factor reminded him. “We asked for a safe route.”

“That does make sense,” Hugo agreed. “But somehow I don’t find it wholly comforting.”

They came to a section of small motes. Some were hardly larger than fossilized men and women. In fact they were statues of people and animals, their faces forever fixed in expressions of utter horror. There was also a bad smell associated with them.

“I’ll be glad to get beyond this stinking region,” the Factor muttered.

“This makes me even more nervous, for some obscure reason,” Hugo said.

The Factor was nervous too. Why would anyone make a statue of a horrified person, coat it with smelly mud, and leave it to float free amidst the swarm?

As sunless morning dawned, they were approaching a large mote in what seemed to be the center of the swarm. There was a nice house with feminine curtains at the windows. The path wended its way directly to its door.

They knocked. The door opened. There was a woman whose head seemed somewhat lumpy, in the manner of an irregular mote. About her head orbited a tiny planet. This was definitely Ida. “Why hello, travelers,” she said.

“We are Hugo, son of the good Magician and the Gorgon,” Hugo said immediately. “And the Random Factor, beset by a deadly curse. We’re in each other’s bodies. We think we need your advice.”

Princess Ida nodded. “Of course you do, with all that and the Mote Monster on your trail. Come in.”

They entered her house and made themselves comfortable in her padded chairs. “Moat monster?” the Factor asked.

“Mote. We’ll get to that in a moment. Describe this curse.”

“It’s a bra. I don’t dare touch it.”

Ida kept her face straight. “Time and experience are normally effective in abating male freakouts by bras and panties. There is no need to struggle.”

Hugo stepped in. “He has no problem with ordinary bras. This particular one is cursed to instantly transport him into confinement the moment he touches it. And he has an urge to touch it.”

“Men do. Perhaps he needs to develop a relationship with a woman whose undergarments are not cursed.”

“I love her,” the Factor said simply.

Ida nodded sympathetically. “Then you do have a problem. But this is out of my bailiwick; I don’t have the ability to abate curses.”

“That’s not really the problem,” Hugo said. “Since we are in each other’s bodies, and the curse applies to the body rather than the person, he can approach her in my body without danger. I’m the one who must not touch her bra. Since I am married, I am happy to stick to Wira’s bra, which is not cursed.”

She nodded again. “That leaves the Mote Monster. This is a thing who consumes motes, digests them, and ejects them somewhat the worse for wear. It likes the taste of new things better than old excreted things, so pursues travelers who happen by this region. Naturally travelers don’t wish to be consumed; it is bad for their health.”

“Naturally,” the Factor agreed somewhat weakly.

“We saw some statues,” Hugo said. “I wonder—”

“They are coprolites. The compacted remains of digested people who failed to escape the monster.”

“We felt foreboding,” the Factor said. “As if something were stalking us. But the natives refuse to talk about it.”

“The natives avoid the monster by moving from mote to mote when it comes by. But they prefer not to aggravate it by warning travelers, because the monster can catch them if it really tries. It’s a kind of truce. They know that it will ignore them as long as there is fresh meat to pursue.”

“And we are fresh,” Hugo said, shuddering.

“Yes. It seems there is something about newcomers. Perhaps they have exotic flavors. Naturally you wish to escape consumption.”

“We do,” the Factor said.

“You must move on. Either by diffusing back to your source world—”

“We can’t,” Hugo said. “Another curse limits us to upworld travel.”

“Then by traveling upworld,” she agreed.

“We can’t,” the Factor said. “We must wait here for our women to catch up.”

Ida shrugged. “My mote alone is protected, because I am part of a larger chain. The monster can’t consume it or me. You can be my guests until your women arrive.”

The Factor exchanged most of a glance with Hugo. “I don’t think we can do that,” Hugo said. “The women will arrive where we did. They will be vulnerable to the monster there. We shall have to be there to protect them.”

Ida shook her head. “There is no protection against the Mote Monster! It can swallow entire motes of any size, together with whatever is on them. You must avoid it.”

“And let it eat Debra and Wira?” the Factor asked. “This is out of the question.”

“Then I am unable to help you,” Ida said regretfully.

They departed her house and headed back the way they had come, crossing from mote to mote. “What now?” Hugo asked.

The Factor’s mind was in turmoil. He had never before really cared about anyone else, but since love had invaded his being, he couldn’t stand to let Debra be hurt. “Maybe we can become decoys.”

“Decoys?”

“Tempting the monster with our fresh flesh, leading it away from where the women will arrive.”

“I see,” Hugo said. “But what’s the point, if it eats us?”

“Maybe we can fight it. Really big pineapples might daunt it.”

“Might,” Hugo agreed. “Now that my body can conjure perfect fruits, some really potent pineapples are feasible. If we can blow it up, then the women will be safe.”

“Then that seems to be our program. In fact, if we can destroy it, we won’t have to worry about it bothering the women. We can go after it immediately.”

“We’ll stalk the stalker,” Hugo agreed. “Conjure me some clusters of cherries; I can use them to distract it while you heave a pineapple into its maw.”

The Factor conjured several cherry clusters. Hugo accepted them carefully, fastening the stems to his belt. Then the Factor conjured large pineapples, and carried one in each hand. They were ready to tackle the monster.

Then they saw it, coming at them from dead ahead. It was a huge floating thing vaguely resembling a thundercloud. Black bulges were on its heaving surface, like blisters filled with smoke. It was about as ugly as the eye could handle.

“Where’s the maw?” the Factor asked nervously.

“That seems more like a demon—a big one,” Hugo said, as nervously. “It may not need a maw. The Good Magician’s Book of Answers lists some really strange monsters.” He pondered half a moment, trying to remember. “Pyroclast—something like that. Huge and burning hot, formed of gases and floating ashes. Its mere touch will burn a person to death.”

“That must be why Ida said we couldn’t protect ourselves from it. We can’t fight it in any ordinary manner.”

“Well, we have to try.”

“I will try,” the Factor agreed. He wound up and hurled a pineapple as high and far as he could. The fruit sailed into the looming cloud and disappeared into it. “Well, so much for that.”

Then there was a muffled boom as the pineapple exploded from the heat, and a puff of smoke gouted back toward them.

“We need a bigger bomb,” Hugo said.

“What is there?”

“I never conjured one, but I understand there’s a fruit-like mushroom that can pack a monstrous explosion.”

“That’s what we need,” the Factor agreed. He concentrated, made a supreme effort, and conjured a large ball-shaped mushroom. He looked at it, disappointed. “That’s it?”

“Throw it!” Hugo said. “It’s radioactive!”

The Factor didn’t know what radioactive meant, but he hurled the fungus into the monster. There was a pause.

Then there was an explosion like none he could have imagined. The monster was blown apart, and where it had been there formed a whirling new cloud in the shape of a giant mushroom, rapidly expanding.

“Don’t look at it!” Hugo cried. “Get under cover!”

The Factor trusted the man’s judgment in this respect. The two of them dived behind a boulder just before the mushroom cloud reached them. That was just as well, because there was a fearsome blast of heat and light. It was like being in a thunderstorm made of fire.

Finally the effects faded. They picked themselves up and looked around.

“That’s some bomb,” the Factor said shakily.

“I never dared conjure it,” Hugo said. “For one thing, most of my fruits were imperfect, because of that mediocritree seed in my hair. The thing might have detonated in my hand.”

“You have a good talent. It did the job. Now let’s go intercept the women.”

They had forgotten the winding route, but that was no problem; the Tell-A-Path reappeared when needed and guided them there.

But there was a problem along the way. “What’s that?” Hugo asked.

“What’s what?”

“That,” Hugo said, pointing. “It looks like a mini–Mote Monster.”

The Factor looked. It was an unshapely blob floating across the path before them. He poked a finger at it. It opened a mouth just a bit larger than its body and snapped at the finger, almost catching it.

“It is a mini–Mote Monster!” the Factor said, alarmed.

“Maybe it had offspring,” Hugo said. “I’ll feed it a cherry.” He perched a cherry on the end of a stick and poked it at the thing. The cherry was the same size as the monster.

The monster snapped up the cherry, doubling its size. Then it exploded, smoky shrapnel flinging out in every direction plus a few additional directions. The two men had to shield their faces from the blast.

“Cherries don’t agree with it,” the Factor said.

“There’s another.”

Sure enough, there was a pea-sized monster floating by; as they oriented on it, a slightly larger monster floated in from the other side. The larger one opened its maw and gulped down the smaller one, expanding to one and a half times its former size in the process.

“This makes me nervous,” the Factor said.

“We may have blown the big one into smithereens,” Hugo said. “But now each smither is merging with others, growing larger.”

“That is my thought. That may be why there is no real defense against the monster; it is a form of demon, and can reconstitute when fragmented. We may simply have rejuvenated it.”

“And the little ones are hungry,” Hugo said.

They looked warily around. In the near distance was a churning cloud of sand and pebbles. The sand was getting eaten by the pebbles, and the pebbles eaten by larger pebbles. The process was proceeding entirely too rapidly for comfort.

“At this rate, we’ll have the original monster back within hours,” the Factor said.

“We could blow it up again, but never actually destroy it,” Hugo said. “That means—”

“That means we can’t stay here.”

“We had better get to the women before the little monsters do.”

They hurried, but so did the monsters. By the time they reached the spot in the motes where they had arrived, they were being pursued by a dozen head-sized monsters. By six double-head sized monsters. By three quadruple-heads.