The Color Of Her Panties (11 page)

The dragon squinted down at her.  “Oh?  Why not?”

“Because I have a charm that guards me.”

“You are surely most charming,” Dragoman agreed.

“But as it happens, I collect winsome maidens.”

“No, I didn't say that I was charming, though that may be true.  I meant that I wear an amulet.”

“Hm.” The dragon considered.  “That does require some interpretation. May I see it?”

“Certainly.” Ida removed the bracelet and handed it to the dragon.

Dragoman inspected it closely.  “You are correct.  This charm is effective against all comers.  No creature can harm she who wears this.”

“Yes, so I was informed.  May I have it back, now, please?“

The dragon puffed a small puff of smoke.  “There is something I feel constrained to clarify for you.  You are not wearing the charm now, so I may do what I wish with you.  If I return the charm to you, I will not be able to harm you.  Somehow I doubt that my interests would be well served by giving you back your charm.”

Ida realized that she had made a mistake.  But she had an idea how to proceed.  “It is true that I am unprotected now.  But I was protected when you asked for the charm.

This means that it was protecting me from you.  If you now were to harm me, that would mean that it failed to protect me.  That would be what my centaur tutor would call a paradox.  A paradox is not a good thing.

Dragoman puffed more smoke, pondering.  “I enjoy problems in logic,” he admitted.  “I shall have to think about this.”

“Certainly.  May I have my bracelet back while you ponder?

“As you wish.” The dragon handed it back to her, distracted by the intellectual problem.

“Thank you.” Ida placed the bracelet firmly back on her wrist.

After a moment Dragoman came to a conclusion.  “I think you are correct you would not have been able to give me the bracelet had I intended to harm you.  Since I have no harmful intent, there was no problem, and no paradox.

“That's nice,” Ida agreed.

The dragon reached out and grabbed her.  “However, I never did tell you what it is I do with delicate maidens.”

“Eeeek!“ Ida screamed, for that seemed appropriate at this stage.

Dragoman picked her up.  “So nice of you to inquire.  I collect them.  I take very good care of them; in fact I keep them perfectly preserved.

So, you see, I intend no harm to you, and your bracelet has no need to be concerned.”

He spread his wings and lofted the two of them into the air.

He took her to a crystalline cave.  It was beautiful.  All around it were giant crystals, and in each crystal was a lovely young woman, frozen still, looking exactly like a life-sized doll.

“But I don't want to be preserved in stone!” Ida protested.

“You don't have a choice,” Dragoman said.

“I don't?”

“You don't.  You are destined to be preserved in all your prettiness until someone happens to rescue you.  With luck it will be a prince, but it's as likely to be nobody of interest.  Now change into your nicest raiment.”

“What?“

“Raiment is clothing.”

“I knew that.  It's the kind of term centaurs use.  What I meant was an exclamation of indignity.  Why should I cooperate with you?”

“Because you are less likely to be rescued if you look like half-chewed dragon bait.”

Ida considered that, and realized he was correct.  So she changed into her best dress, the blue chiffon, and donned her display sandals so that her dainty clean feet showed.

Meanwhile the dragon was fretting.  “I'm going to have to enlarge this chamber,” he said.  “It is getting too crowded.  I'll just have to stack you in the shed, for now, until the renovation is complete.”

“The shed!” Ida exclaimed.  “Don't I deserve better than that?  “

“Of course you do,” he said consolingly.  “And I promise I'll move you to a better place, the moment I can.”

She was not as satisfied by this as perhaps she should have been.  But since she didn't have much choice, she did not complain.  Anyway, she noticed that the shed wasn't really a shed, but a shed door leading out to what looked like a nice garden.  At least she would have a nice view there.  She brushed out her hair, and was ready.

“Ah, you look divine,” the dragon said.  “Step right up here on this pedestal, please.”

Ida stepped, resigned to her maidenly fate.

Dragoman breathed a cloud of thick vapor at her.  It coalesced, encasing her, and suddenly everything changed.

Dragoman was gone, and a voluptuous merwoman wearing legs was yelling at her.  “Get out!”

What had happened?  Where was the dragon?  Ida shook her head, confused.

Then someone charged in from the side, picked her up, and carried her out of the shed before its door swung closed.

The second person, who turned out to be a big young woman, set her down.

“What's your name?” the merwoman demanded.

Name?  She had never had a name.  None of the Fauns, Nymphs, otterbees, or monsters had names.  Only Cerebral Centaur and Dragoman Dragon.  “I don't know,” she said, having difficulty speaking.

“Well, let's just call you Ida, then,” the woman said.

“I am Mela Merwoman, and this is Okra Ogress.”

An ogress!  Ida gazed at her in surprise.  Then she realized that she had never seen a female ogre.  It was possible that they were much less ugly than the males, as was the case with goblins.

Mela continued to question her, but Ida was at a loss for answers.  She had sought her destiny, and her destiny had turned out to be crystallized.  Apparently that had occurred, and these were the folk who had rescued her.  She had no idea how much time had passed or where the dragon was now.  But the name they had given her was settling in, and now it seemed that she had always been Ida, and that anyone who might have talked or written about her would have been calling her that.  The centaur would have alluded to it as retrospective nomenclature, but probably it was just back-dating the text.

The folk who had rescued her seemed nice enough.  Possibly they were on a mission of their own.  It would be really nice if they were going to see the Good Magician.

It turned out that the merwoman and the ogress were indeed going there.

So Ida decided to join them.  It seemed that their path led through the garden shed, and was closed off when they removed the crystal block containing Ida, so they had to find another way.  She was sorry to have interrupted their journey, but had not been aware of what was going on until they freed her from the crystal.

Mela led the way, and Okra was last, with Ida safely in the middle.  They reached a health spa spring and had a drink.  Then Okra picked up a red boat she had evidently left there before, and carried it over her head with the strength of her kind.  They finally came to a big lake.  This was, it turned, out, Lake Kiss-Mee.  They got into the little boat, and Okra rowed them vigorously across to an island.

“It isn't really safe on the shore,” Mela remarked.  “It's not safe on the island either, but we know what the dangers are, so we're more comfortable here.

Indeed it was comfortable, for there was a wonderful hot pool.  Mela explained that she was not at all partial to fresh water, but had learned to appreciate this pool, as it was firewater.  She had a set of firewater opals that seemed to glow more brightly as they neared this pool.  The three of them soaked in it and compared histories.  Ida told her story up to this point; and Okra told hers, and how she hoped to become a Main Character and maybe lose her asthma; and Mela said that her story was too long to cover, as she was older than she might appear, being one of the long-lived sea monsters, but that she was now in search of a suitable husband.  She really was not choosy; any handsome, thoughtful, intelligent, gentle, and manly prince would do, especially one who happened to like well endowed merwomen.

Ida was not conversant with the tastes of princes, but she suspected that any who were manly would like Mela's endowments, which were trying their best to float to the surface of the hot water.

Okra had a question.  “How is it that you understood the speech of the dragon?” she asked Ida.

Ida was taken aback.  “Wasn't I supposed to?”

“But human folk don't understand the languages of other creatures, do they?  I mean, they understand creatures of human stock, so you can talk to the two of us, but dragons are different.  To us, their speech is just roars and growls.”

“Oh, I didn't realize that,” Ida said, chagrined.  “I have been talking to animals all along, never realizing that I wasn't supposed to.  The otterbees are friendly furry animals who like to swim and eat fish.

Shouldn't I have talked to them?”

 “Of course you should have,” Mela said.  “We are- just surprised that you have that ability.  Maybe it's your talent.”

“My talent?”

“Every human person has a magic talent.  Didn't you know?  “

“No, I didn't.  The fauns and nymphs didn't.”

“They aren't quite human enough, I think,” Mela said.

“Some of us part humans have built-in magic, such as being able to breathe water.”

“I never thought of it as magic.  I just spoke to anyone who spoke to me.”

“Well, we can check it the next time we meet a dragon or other monster,” Mela said.  She went off to find some ripe pies for supper.

Ida hurried to help her, for she had always been used to finding her own pies.

After supper they discussed their plan of travel.  Mela had a map, which indicated that the Good Magician's castle was to the west.  It had shown a path that went that way, but that was the one now blocked off, so they had to find another.

They pored over the map, and discovered what Mela had not seen before there was an invisible river flowing from Iron Mountain through Poke country to Lake KissMee.  The only way to find the river was to spot the faint reddish flecks of rust in it, from the mountain.

Heartened, they decided to try that in the morning.  Then they settled down for the night.

But Ida had one question.  “Do you happen to know why this is called Lake Kiss-Mee?”

“It was once a very friendly lake,” Mela explained.

“So was the Kiss-Mee River which flows from it.  But then the Demon Corps of Engineers pulled the river straight, and it lost all its charm and became the Kill-Mee River.

They finally had to put it back the way it was, but neither the river nor the lake has yet fully recovered from the shock.  That may be just as well, because we don't want to be compelled by their magic to be forever kissing them and each other.”

Ida had to agree with that.  She had never kissed anyone herself, but had seen the fauns and nymphs doing it all the time.  They had never stopped at kissing.  So if kissing was one step in an ongoing process, Ida was not yet ready for it.

In the morning Okra rowed them back across the lake.

Ida wore her dull ordinary dress, for she was no longer on display.  This time they explored the shore, looking for the invisible river.  It occurred to Ida that she might be able to spy it if she squinted, because that changed the way things looked.  Sure enough, soon she spied a faint wave pattern of air with flecks of reddish brown.  Only if it was what she hoped it was, it wasn't air, but invisible water.  The water was invisible, but not the sediment it carried along.

“I think I see it,” she announced pointing.

Okra was facing back so she could row, but since Ida was in the rear end of the boat, the ogress could see her.

So Okra guided the craft in that direction, and soon Mela also spied the specks of rust.  “It looks just like wind,” Mela said doubtfully.

But Okra's oars made splashes as they encountered the invisible water.

So she rowed right into the river, leaving the lake behind.  The current was slow, so there was no trouble going against it; still, Ida was impressed with Okra's strength and endurance.  This river flowed not in a regular riverbed, but across the varied landscape.  Apparently (despite invisibly) it did not disturb the land it passed over, and kept to itself until it reached the lake.  It maintained its elevation, winding back and forth to avoid hills and holes, so they got a fair tour of the surrounding land.

It was mixed countryside, with trees of many kinds and bushes of a few kinds and herbs of one kind.

A swirl of vapor appeared above the boat.  Curious, Ida stared at it.

Was it another branch of the invisible river?

But it didn't seem to be flowing, just hovering.

Then a mouth formed.  “What are you staring it?” it demanded.

“It talks!” Ida cried, affrighted.

“Of course it talks,” the mouth said.  A pair of eyes formed, focusing on her.  “What did you expect, a belch?”

“But you're a cloud!” Ida protested.  “Clouds don't talk. Do they?”

“Of course clouds talk.  Just not in a language humans understand.

“Oh, you mean the way dragons do?”

“Cardinally.”

“What?”

“Intrinsically, inherently, fundamentally, elementarily, primarily.

“Essentially?”

“Whatever,” the vapor said, clouding up.

“That's the Demoness Metria!“ Mela exclaimed, looking back.

“However did you know?” the cloud asked, forming into the shape of a woman almost as shapely as Mela herself.

“It was a lucky guess.  There's nothing of interest going on here, Metria, so we shouldn't waste any more of your time.”

“But isn't this Ida?” Metria asked.  “She's the most interesting person in Xanth.”

“I am?” Ida asked incredulously.

Mela asked.  “Why is that?”

“Because of her destiny.  There's never been one quite like it before.”

“But my destiny was to be crystallized by the dragon,” Ida said.

“That may have been what the dragon claimed,” Metria said.  “But dragons are notorious liars.”

“I didn't know that.”

“Well, you haven't had much experience with dragons.”

“That's true,” Ida agreed.  “I didn't even know that humans couldn't talk to dragons.”

“That's what comes of an isolated upbringing,” the demoness said.

“Unless maybe my magic talent is to talk to monsters.