Dragon on a Pedestal (15 page)

Ivy and Stanley woke together. They did not yawn and stretch, as they had not been asleep. To them it seemed that no time had passed. They had not aged even ninety-three minutes, since the thyme did not affect all things identically, especially not Sorceresses and their companions. They didn’t notice how the sun had jumped an hour and a half ahead in the sky, for it happened to be behind a cloud at the moment.

“Hey!” Ivy complained. “I was just going to get a pretty disk—and it shot up out of reach! That wasn’t nice of it!”

The dragon snorted steam, agreeing. He didn’t like to see his friend distressed. He tried to climb the flower-stalk, in order to fetch the disk for her, but the stalk was too narrow for him to get a proper grip, and too tough for him to pull down.

“Oh, never mind, Stanley,” Ivy said, disgruntled. “I didn’t really want it anyway.” This was known as the sour grape ploy, and it was adequate for the occasion. “I’m tired of these big trees; let’s go back down to the ground.

Stanley happened to be a ground creature himself, so was glad to oblige. They made their way cautiously out of the century plant, which was now larger than it had been, though they hadn’t seen it grow. Stanley steamed the spines soft, as he had done before. Then they paused to eat some fruits. Finally they climbed down the big branches of the pagean-tree until they were able to poke their heads below the foliage and see the ground.

Now there was a problem. They were too far from the ground to jump down safely, and the massive trunk of the tree was vertical—too difficult for them to climb.

But Ivy remained a reasonably smart child, just about as smart as she thought she should be, and she soon came up with a notion. “We must call for help. Someone always comes when a damsel calls for help.” Someone always had come before, at any rate. “A Night in Shiny Armor, I think.”

Stanley wasn’t sure about this, but since his specialty was not rescues, he let Ivy handle it.

Ivy took a deep, small breath and screamed: “HELP!”

In a moment something stirred below. It was a person, obviously coming to the rescue. Ivy was delighted.

She peered down, favorably disposed toward her benefactor, whoever or whatever he might be. Sure enough, the Night was a handsome young man with an intelligent face. He seemed to have left his shining armor behind, but perhaps it had been too hot for this warm weather; that didn’t matter. She fell instantly in love with him, for this was what rescued damsels in the company of dragons did.

Now it was time for introductions. These things had to be done according to protocol. “Hello, Night-out-of-Armor, what’s your name?” she called.

The rescuer looked up. “Hugo,” he said after a pause for reflection.

“I’m Ivy. This is Stanley. He’s a dragon,” she said, completing the formula. “Help get us down, handsome.”

Hugo pondered again. The truth was, he had never been considered a bright boy, and certainly not a handsome one, so he wasn’t certain what this meant. He looked down at his clothes, which were dirty and ragged. But somehow they didn’t seem as disreputable as expected. What he didn’t realize was that Ivy’s talent was working on him already. She considered anyone who came to rescue her to be a model of intellect and appearance and courage, by definition, so he was assuming these attributes, like them or not.

Indeed, his dull wit was brightening and beginning to function as never before. He needed to help them get down. What was the best strategy? A light bulb appeared above his head, shining its light all about before fading out. “Something to fall on,” he said. “Something soft. Like a pile of squishy fruit!”

But Ivy wasn’t quite sure about that. “I don’t like squishy fruit.” Her mother had fed her that when she was a baby, not long ago, and Ivy had made a horrendous face, spat it out, and disliked it instantly and permanently, exactly as any sensible person would.

“Oh.” Hugo considered again. He didn’t really like squishy fruit either. Unfortunately, that was all he was able to conjure. He looked around.

He was in luck. “A bed bug!” he exclaimed, spying one sleeping nearby.

Ivy remembered that the friendly yak had said there were bed bugs in this neighborhood. “Oh, goody!”

Hugo hurried over, gripped the bug by the headboard, and hauled it across to the pagean-tree. The bug dragged its four little roller-feet but was otherwise passive; it really wasn’t constructed for exercise. This was a good one; it had excellent springs and fat pillows.

Ivy approved. She dropped down and bounced on the mattress with a little squeal of joy. There was hardly a more enjoyable pursuit for a child than bouncing on a really soft and springy bed, though the monster under the bed complained about the noise and vibration. But this bed didn’t have a monster, so it was all right.

She bounced a few times, then got off so the dragon could come down, too. He did, following her lead. But Stanley had never bounced on a bed before and wasn’t as good at it as Ivy was. He flipped tail-over-snout and missed the mattress on the rebound. But that fall was from a lesser height, and he was a tough breed of creature, so he wasn’t hurt. One scale did get knocked off, though. Well, he would grow a new one in due course; that spot would be tender for a while, but a dragon learned to cope with such discomfort.

Hugo gazed upon the dragon with a certain dismay. He had spent a day and a night hiding from monsters, and this was certainly a monster, albeit a small one. He was sure he had seen it before.

The dragon for his part, did not really appreciate the appearance of a human being. He had had Ivy all to himself until now. Obviously she liked this boy, and that meant Hugo was a rival for her attention. Once Stanley had come to accept Ivy’s attention, he didn’t want to share it. So he growled, turned a deeper shade of green, and heated up some steam. One never could tell when a good head of steam might be useful.

Hugo, in turn, got ready to summon some really squishy fruit; the one thing that was good for was throwing it at monsters. Dripping pineapple was especially nice.

Fortunately, in the way of women of any age, Ivy realized there was a problem. She acted with instinctive finesse to alleviate it. “Don’t quarrel!” she cried. “You two must get along together, for you are both my friends. Hugo is my boyfriend—” At this, Hugo was freshly startled. “And Stanley is my Dragon friend. So you’re friends to each other, too.”

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.