Up In A Heaval (13 page)

Then they went into proper detail. Sammy explained how he had taken Jenny Elf as his associate, because she couldn't see well and constantly needed help finding things. They had resided on the World of Two Moons until Jenny had said she wanted a feather, so naturally Sammy had zeroed in on a good feather. That turned out to be in another realm, a feather from the wing of a flying centaur. Then of course they couldn't get home again so had been stuck here in the foolish Land of Xanth. So they had made themselves useful, keeping company with little Che Centaur and poor lame Gwendolyn Goblin. Eventually, with Sammy's guidance, Che Centaur had become the tutor for Sim Bird, who was destined eventually to know everything in the universe; he was very smart for a bird. Gwenny Goblin, with similar guidance, had become a goblin chiefess. Finally Sammy had guided his associate Jenny to marriage with a werewolf prince. That wouldn't have been his choice, but she had a thing about wolves; she liked to ride them. So now she was happy riding Prince Jeremy in his wolf form, and who knew what she did with his human form, it was disturbing the storks, and Sammy was taking some time off for himself. Since he couldn't find what was now his home, he was associating with Umlaut Human and Sesame Serpent, both of whom really needed guidance.

Claire had noticed. In fact she found Umlaut distinctly odd, because he wasn't really there.

Not there?

To explain that she had to clarify the nature of her own history and talent. She had dwelt all her life on the Isle of Cats, never feeling the need to wander elsewhere, and now had high status here. But her prior human associates had proved to be unsatisfactory—they had twice forgotten to warm her evening dish of cream—and had to be replaced. The new associates were of magician and sorceress caliber, which qualified them, and had had some experience with cats in Mundania, so Claire had decided to give them a chance and let them occupy her house. That had worked out well enough, so she had kept them. Their son Grey was a magician who married the Sorceress/Princess Ivy, who would someday rule the Land of Xanth. Overall, it was a satisfactory situation, but of course that was not coincidence, because of Claire's talent. Neither had she been surprised by Sammy's arrival, for similar reason: They were going to bat about fine catnip together.

Sammy did not like to confess ignorance—it wasn't feline—but needed a clarification of the nature of clairvoyance. Was it like seeing another place via a magic mirror?

Hardly. It was far broader than that and infinitely more subtle. By expanding her clairvoyance she became very aware of herself, her thoughts, and her beliefs. Most folk, animal, human, and feline, had lives constructed from thoughts that were not even their own. They were actually living other folk's expectations and desires for them. In fact most folk were defined in the past, and the definitions had become irrelevant. They no longer applied to who they were now. But those folk did not realize that and so remained captive of those outdated definitions.

Sammy was amazed. It was true; he had been defined as a routine cat, doing things for his human associates instead of for himself, and had never thought to break out of the pattern. He had guided any number of prominent human folk (Jenny Elf and Jeremy Wolf were human where it counted) to success and satisfaction, but only recently had he tried to guide himself.

And not very successfully, Claire pointed out with justified feline smugness. Instead of guiding Jenny and Jeremy, he was now guiding Umlaut and Sesame. Nice enough folk, surely (some of her best friends were humans or reptiles), but in the end defined by their irredeemable limitations: They were not felines. Therefore they could never even hope to achieve ultimate grace.

Sammy had to admit it was true. Their ultimate fault had no remedy. Still, he wished them no ill and wanted to help them achieve their peculiar mission of delivering mundane letters and somehow saving Xanth from the dread Red Spot.

Claire conceded that he was nice to feel that way. Then she resumed her clarification of her talent. As she had expanded her clairvoyance relating to others, she had seen the thoughts, beliefs, and games that were played out in the other folk's realities. As she saw them more clearly, she had also come to see herself more clearly. She had become aware of the aspects of her own existence that held similarly limiting beliefs. She developed tools of understanding that enabled her to surmount these negative patterns within herself that had been holding back her life. She had learned to restructure herself, to fill herself with her own positive energy patterns that could best support her in the present—her now. Today she had the full power of her talent available to apply to whatever she chose.

Thus she had known that Sammy was coming, because of his future impact on her own life. His talent of finding complemented her talent of knowing. Together they could perhaps accomplish the salvation of Xanth and, more important, their own uplifting to higher consciousness.

Sammy was impressed. She was correct; she had to be. Her understanding vastly surpassed his, but she was willing to share it with him. But how did this relate to the nonexistence of Umlaut Human?

Well, she hadn't had a chance to study the human carefully, but it was immediately clear that he did not relate. He wasn't really there. Oh, she conceded that maybe he thought he was there, but that was a function of his limited perspective. So much of what folk thought about themselves was erroneous, as she had explained. It was possible for them to ascend beyond their illusions, with proper guidance. But not for Umlaut, because there was no there there.

But Sammy had been traveling with the human man, and he not only seemed to be there, he had kissed two women and they had liked it.

Well, she explained, they thought he was there. That made the difference.

Sammy remembered what the twin princesses had said to Umlaut, about the state of his existence. Dawn, whose talent was to know anything about anything living, had said he was not living. Eve, whose talent was to know anything about anything that wasn't living, had said that he wasn't dead. He had said that he didn't understand, and they had said that they didn't understand either. That was all there had been to that dialogue. Of course, those princesses were only eleven years old, which was young for their kind. Still, they were both sorceresses and so should have known what Umlaut was.

So their judgment concurred with Claire's, she concluded. That meant it was correct. But there still was no answer. They would have to put it aside for a while, to gather more information and greater understanding.

But they would not be here on the Isle of Cats long, Sammy reminded her. The letter had been delivered, and they would be moving on.

True, and she had known their presence here would be brief. She would have to leave her house in charge of the human tenants and accompany him on the remainder of the mission, in order to fathom what had to be fathomed.

Sammy tried to mask his pleasure at that prospect, but of course she was aware of it. But she had something else to show him before they left this perch. She directed his attention to the other side of the Isle of Cats. There was another island there, overgrown by trees, looking pretty wild.

Sammy wondered whether that would be the Isle of Dogs. No, she clarified, that was beyond. This was the Isle of Dystopia, otherwise known as the Isle of the Damned or the Isle of Dread.

Damned?

Dystopia was the opposite of Utopia, she clarified. A miserable place.

Bad magic?

Worse: no magic at all.

But that was Mundania, Sammy protested.

No, Mundania had some magic. There was gravity, which also helped Xanth, and rainbows, and scattered instances of magical thinking, so it wasn't an entire loss. But the Isle of Dystopia had no magic at all. That was why it shunned contact with Xanth, lest its shame become known.

Sammy could appreciate why.

Of course others avoided it, further isolating its denizens. But there was a legend, she continued. It was that someday an inhabitant of that dread isle would manage to visit Xanth and turn out to have a most awkward magic talent. So it would be shown that the folk there did have magic, but not of any kind they wanted. A supreme irony.

That must be why the original people settled there, Sammy thought. They knew their magic was bad, so they fled to a place without magic and hid from Xanth.

But someday, Claire asserted, that person would escape to Xanth and spoil the effort of centuries.

What was the awkward talent? That she didn't know. But she intended to find out, someday when she had nothing better to do. To have her talent work she would have to set foot on the isle, and no one would help her do that. So that project was on hold for now. There was more immediate business.

They took a last lingering look at the Isle of Birds, then started down the tree. This was harder than climbing up had been, as it always was, but Sammy didn't want to appear incompetent, so he struggled felinefully along. But Claire knew that too and did not bother to mask her amusement.

Finally they reached the bottom. Sammy was afraid his stretched claws would never retract, but they did. He was getting old for this sort of thing.

Claire, still amused, let him in on a secret: She knew where there was some healing elixir—and some youth elixir. It was one of the benefits of her talent. He need have no concern about health or age.

Sammy had been halfway mesmerized by her from the outset. This only added to the effect. They had understood that the delivery of the letters would solve the problem of the Red Spot. They were coincidentally solving more than that.

Coincidentally, perhaps, Claire indicated. But not accidentally. It all was part of a larger pattern whose meaning even Claire did not understand. But she intended to, in due course.

The humans were wrapping up their long-winded discussion of inconsequentials, and Umlaut and Sesame were ready to go. Grey and Ivy would be continuing their visit, however. That might cushion the despair of Murphy and Vadne when Claire departed. Sammy didn't envy her the task of conveying her decision to them.

But meanwhile he had the task of telling Umlaut and Sesame that their party was expanding, and why. They decided to separate, each cat meeting with the appropriate folk, conveying the news separately but at the same time.

It was a job just getting the parties separate; they seemed determined not to comprehend. But finally they succeeded, and Sammy got Umlaut and Sesame outside the house to play nineteen questions, which was a clumsy but sure way to get something across.

Soon Umlaut was getting there; he wasn't entirely obtuse. “You want the other cat to come along with us? Why?”

Sammy tried to explain about clairvoyance, but this concept was beyond the human's intellectual means. So he pretended it was mere romance.

“Oh, she's the cat for you, just as Sesame's the serpent for Soufflé. Now I understand.” At least he thought he understood, not having the benefit of clairvoyance. It would have to do.

“But what about Magician Murphy and Sorceress Vadne? She's their cat. They may not let her go.”

Sammy suppressed his ire at this galloping ignorance. The man couldn't help it; he was human. Sammy just hoped that Claire did not pick up on this with her magic perception. He would have to caution her about this, so she didn't get too upset. Meanwhile, to Umlaut he simply indicated that Claire was explaining the matter to her residents now.

“Well, if it's okay with them, I guess it's okay with us,” Umlaut said, glancing at Sesame for confirmation. She nodded; she had been quicker to understand than he had. That made sense, because she was another animal, even if not a cat.

Soon the Murphys emerged from the house. “It seems Claire wants to accompany you,” Magician Murphy said. “If that makes her happy, we would not care to be the ones to deny her. We'll remain here and keep the house in good order. But we'll certainly miss her. She's some cat.”

The man was so girt about by his ignorance that it was painful, but he was right about the last of it: She certainly was some cat.

They set out immediately, as they understood that the isle remained in contact with Xanth but would separate in a half hour. If they did not leave it now, they would not be able to depart for several more days.

Para was waiting for them. Claire went up to sniff noses with him, and Sammy saw that he knew her and accepted her. That was probably a good recommendation, not that one was needed at this point.

They got in, and Para duck-footed it into the water. He was orienting to cross to the mainland Xanth when Claire suddenly stood with hair on end, hissing. Para halted immediately.

“What is it?” Umlaut asked, confused. “We need to cross, before—”

Then he broke off, staring ahead, as did the rest of them. There was a stirring in the water, deepening as it moved. The water was moving in a great circle, faster and faster. In fact it was a whirlpool.

“Charybdis!” Umlaut exclaimed. “She would have caught us and swallowed us whole!”

Indeed she would have—and Claire Voyant had known and stopped them before they got too far out to avoid it.

Slowly the whirlpool moved on, pushed by the current. It seemed to want to stay, in the hope that the boat might yet be foolish enough to venture within reach, but Para valued his life as much as anyone did. Only when Charybdis was well beyond their route did Para resume the crossing.

“But how could that whirlpool be here?” Umlaut asked plaintively. “It's on Zombie World.”

That was a pretty good question, for a human. Sammy looked at Claire, but she shrugged. She knew only what, not how.

It occurred to Sammy that there had been several problems interfering with the delivery of the letters. Could it be that some power did not want them to be delivered? What power, and why? The question made him unfelinely nervous.

Umlaut had not been too keen on adding another member to their little party, but after the way Claire Cat stopped them from going into the whirlpool he was more than satisfied to have her along. He was beginning to wonder whether the problems they had had on the way to delivering letters were not just coincidences. The way the Demoness Metria had tried to distract him from his mission and faded out in annoyance when it didn't work. Or when that girl Caitlin had lured him into the comic strip where there was the panty trap, and then it had seemed that Caitlin wasn't exactly where or what he had thought she was—could there have been a fake Caitlin trying to get him in trouble? And the appearance of the Dire Strait, getting them into trouble again—and the reappearance of the deadly whirlpool. There had also been the way Fracto Cloud had come; had he been looking for them, to mess them up? Umlaut didn't want to be paranoid, but he wondered. Suppose Metria had tried it herself, then emulated Caitlin, then talked Scylla and Charybdis into intercepting the party? She could certainly have talked to Fracto. How she could have gotten the whirlpool to come to Xanth he wasn't sure, but it did seem to have happened.

But there was one big problem with this idea: Why would Metria, or any demon, bother? Delivering letters was dull, harmless business, not worth interrupting. Except that it was supposed to show how to deal with the menace of the Red Spot. If one of those letters led him to that answer, and Metria didn't want him to find it, that might explain it. But why wouldn't she want that problem solved? She was a creature of Xanth too and would suffer if it suffered. So it made no sense after all, and probably his problems were just because he tended to bumble. Metria hadn't been paying any attention, after she learned how dull their business was. He had let his foolish imagination run away with his thoughts.

Claire Cat looked up and made a small hiss that startled Sesame. There was a swirl of smoke before his face. A feminine mouth formed. “Did I hear my gnome?”

“Your what?” he asked before he thought.

“Appellation, designation, classification, denomination, monogram—”

“Cognomen?”

“Whatever,” the smoke agreed crossly as it expanded into a voluptuous female form.

“No, Metria, I don't think you did, because I wasn't speaking.”

“But you were thinking of me,” she said. “I heard the thought.”

Oops. “You have me live to wrongs.”

“I have you how?” the dusky form asked, reaching for him.

“Dead to rights!” he said, getting it straight before she could lead him into another three-questions routine. That word confusion of hers was contagious.

“Then I'd better give you a nice embrasure.” She started to draw him in. It was surprising how solid her front was, considering that her backside still trailed off into curling smoke.

Again his mouth was too fast for his caution. “A nice what?”

“Crenel, battlement, parapet, merlon, turret—”

She was way off on the wrong track. “Hug?”

“Don't mind if I do,” she agreed, embracing him. “So nice of you to ask.” Her amazingly bouncy front squeezed against him.

He had indeed foolishly asked for it. He managed to avoid her attempt to kiss him by asking another question. “What do you want with me, Metria?”

“Well, now. I—”

He had bungled again. “Don't answer that. I don't want it anyway.”

“But you were thinking of me,” she reminded him. “What else could it be?”

Umlaut got annoyed. “I was wondering if you are trying to stop me from delivering letters, and if so, why?”

She gazed at him a moment, her mouth forming an O of chagrin. Then she faded out.

Astonished, he gazed at the spot where she had floated. His simple question had truly set her back. That implied guilt. But if she was trying to stop him, why hadn't she simply lied about it? Or tried harder to seduce him? He was becoming rather curious about exactly what seduction entailed.

He looked at Sesame, then at the two cats. It was Claire who had the answer, as about three questions determined; she was remarkably quick to catch on to his method. Yes, the demoness was trying to distract him from delivering the letters. But Claire again knew only what, not why.

Para reached the shore and waddled out on the beach. “Thank you,” Umlaut said and got ready to step out of the boat.

But Claire caught his eye. “I shouldn't get out?” he asked. She nodded. “Because there is danger?” She shook her head. Then he caught on. “Para wants to take us!”

For Para was a sociable boat and liked traveling with people who were doing things. Well, why not? Since the boat could go overland as readily as over water, he could be a real help. “Okay.”

Para did a little jiggle of joy that threatened to nudge them out of their places.

Umlaut settled back and brought out the bundle of letters. To whom should they deliver next?

The top remaining letter was addressed to Snortimer Bed Monster.

“Who?” he asked.

Sammy had to explain this one. It seemed that every child in Xanth who slept on a bed had a pet bed monster under it. Its job was to grab any convenient ankle and make the child scream, needlessly alarming the parents. The monster could not leave the shelter of the bed because direct daylight destroyed it, and at night it had to stay near enough to grab any unwary ankle. Some bad children teased their monsters by dangling their feet temptingly down and yanking them out of the way just before the monster could grab. But when the child grew up and joined the Adult Conspiracy, at about age eighteen, the bed monster faded sadly away, because it was part of the Adult Conspiracy not to believe in monsters under beds. It was an ongoing tragedy that occurred also in Mundania. Animals believed, but grown humans did not. Surely, Sammy suggested, Umlaut himself had a bed monster back home, so he knew how it was.

Umlaut considered that and drew a blank. He didn't remember any bed monster. Neither did he remember a bed. In fact he couldn't even remember a home. That was weird.

He saw Claire exchange a significant glance with Sammy. “What?” he demanded. “What do you know?”

They were reluctant, but he insisted that they tell him. But what they told him was not to be believed. “I don't exist?” he asked incredulously. “But obviously I do exist, because I'm right here arguing with you, and we're delivering letters.” But he remembered what Princesses Dawn and Eve had said about him being neither alive nor dead. They were sorceresses and could tell anything about anything living or unliving. How could they be wrong? But they had to be wrong.

Yet Claire was adamant, and Sammy agreed with her. Umlaut had no reality she could fathom. He might not be an illusion, since he seemed to have substance, but he wasn't real.

“Well, I sure don't feel like an illusion,” he said hotly. “And I'm not acting like one. I think Claire's voyance just doesn't apply to me. Maybe I'm under a deflective spell so she can't orient on me. Obviously I'm here in all the ways that count.”

Claire considered and yielded the point. But that did not fully reassure him. Claire wasn't a sorceress, just a cat with a special talent; she might have limits she didn't know about. But what about the two princesses? And what about the Demoness Metria, who was not only trying to stop him from delivering letters but also had faded immediately out when he accused her of it. Why had she had such a peculiar reaction? It was as if she had truly considered him for the first time and been really set back. And why couldn't he remember his home? Why couldn't he remember anything before he fled Sherry and wound up in the Castle Zombie dungeon? Had Sherry's kisses done more than wipe out his last date with her? Had they destroyed his other memories too? That seemed like too much, for she was no sorceress, just a girl with sweet kisses. He knew she didn't mean him any harm; in fact she wanted to marry him. And surely would have, if he hadn't fled.

Sesame nudged him. She knew he existed, because he had a talent like hers. She didn't care what others thought.

He hugged her neck. “Thank you, snake eyes,” he said.

Then he got back to business. “So what happened to Snortimer? Princess Ivy is now grown and adult. Didn't he fade away?”

No, it turned out that he was saved by an unusual development. Princess Ivy also had a pet dragon, Stanley Steamer, who had disappeared, so Grundy Golem went with Snortimer to find Stanley. They succeeded, but Stanley was protecting the fauns & nymphs from predation. So Snortimer took over that job so Stanley could go home with Ivy and later resume his job patrolling the Gap Chasm. That sacrifice of the bed monster had indefinitely extended his existence, because the fauns & nymphs weren't really adult, despite having adult bodies; they believed in Snortimer throughout. So he could receive a letter.

Umlaut realized that there was a lot of Xanth history in obscure bypaths. “So where are the fauns & nymphs?” he asked.

They were in the Faun & Nymph Retreat just south of Lake Ogre Chobee.

“And how do we get there quickly?”

Para, who understood both human and animal languages, made a quiver. He knew a way.

“But we don't want to make you carry us all that way through the jungle,” Umlaut protested. “That would wear out your feet.”

Para wasn't concerned. He carried them back to the sea and into it. Where was he going?

A human female head popped out of the water. “You called. Para?”

Para nodded, then settled into quiet. Since the swimming woman was human, Umlaut would have to negotiate. “Uh, hello,” he said, noticing that her long hair was the color of seaweed.

She eyed him. “Why, you're a young human man.”

“I'm Umlaut. And with me are Sesame Serpent, Sammy Cat, and Claire Voyant Cat. Para thought you could help us travel.”

“And I am Mela Merwoman,” she said.

“A mermaid!” he exclaimed, surprised.

“Merwoman,” she clarified. “We are a salt sea subspecies and better endowed.” She swished her tail and lifted her foresection out of the water.

Umlaut tried not to stare, but his eyeballs ignored his effort. She was indeed marvelously well endowed. Then she inhaled, and he almost fell out of the boat.

“The seas can get rougher than the rivers or lakes,” she explained helpfully, “so we need a bit more padding.”

He finally managed to wrench his eyes from the pads. “So can you help us?”

“That depends on where you are going.”

“To the Fauns & Nymphs.”

Mela considered. “Yes, we can reach that by water, though it's inland. We'll have to use the acqui-fur, which means a sand witch.”

“Aquifer? Sandwich?” But her tail was already flipping out of the water as she dived, on her way somewhere.

Then a crack appeared on the surface of the water. It broadened into a crevice. Umlaut watched it nervously. Was the whirlpool coming back? But Para did not seem nervous. What was going on?

Mela reappeared. “I sure found a fish,” she said.

“That looks more like a fracture,” Umlaut said.

“Or a fish sure.”

“Fissure?”

“Fissure Cutbait,” she said. “She's the best, for fast work.”

The break in the water became still wider and deeper. “What a cleavage!” Umlaut said, alarmed.

“Why, thank you,” Mela said, inhaling again.

The boat rode over the brink of the fault and tipped down into it. Umlaut hung on, and the cats dug their claws into the wood, while Sesame braced her coils against the sides. They slid down into the gap. Then the fissure closed, trapping them inside. It was like a giant mouth.

Umlaut held his breath as the water surrounded them, but he knew he couldn't hold it long.

“Oh, don't be foolish,” Mela said, swimming into the boat with them. She tickled Umlaut on the ribs, forcing him to burst out laughing, losing his breath. He was afraid he would drown but discovered he could after all breathe. But he was surrounded by water. What was this?

“Cutbait is a water fissure, evolved from a sand witch,” Mela explained, flexing her tail. It was certainly a nice tail. “You do get sandwiched between her sides when she submarines, but you can breathe.”

So it seemed. “A giant submarine sand witch,” Umlaut agreed weakly.

Now the huge fish, if that was what it was, oriented to the south and swam rapidly along the coast. Not only could all of them breathe, they could see the sand, shells, and seaweed of the bottom of the sea. It seemed that Cutbait, being made of water, was completely translucent.

“So what is it you want with the fauns & nymphs?” Mela inquired as she sat beside him. “What do those nymphs have that I don't?”

“Nothing,” he said. "I mean, I don't want anything with them.”

She frowned. “You spoiled my setup line. You were supposed to say 'legs.' ”

He was getting lost again. “Legs?”

“Nymphs have legs. I have a tail. A nice piece of tail.”

Oh. “Tail,” he agreed numbly.

“Because I'm not that kind of girl.”

“Uh, yes.” It was still hard to believe that a very full-bodied mermaid—merwoman—was sitting hip to hip with him. “You have to swim.”

“But then I say, 'I can become that kind of girl and I change, like this.” Her tail shifted and became a fine bare pair of legs.

Umlaut had been preserving his eyeballs by staring ahead instead of sideways, but this caught him by surprise. He had never before seen such legs, that far up.

Then the tail was back. “Are you recovered?” Mela asked.

“From what?”

She laughed, jiggling grandly. “You freaked out, and I'm not even wearing panties. That's a real accomplishment, at my age. So I changed back before your eyeballs fried.”

“Your age?” He seemed to be locked into brevity; one or two words were all he could get out at a time in the near presence of this splendid creature.

“I am forty-nine years old.”

He turned to stare directly at her. That was another mistake. He blinked, and suddenly she was wearing a piece of cloth over her bosom. He must have freaked out again, and she had taken another step to unfreak him. “I—I'm amazed.”

“We water monsters preserve well,” she said. “Still, it's nice to know our stuff still works. That way I know Naldo isn't just humoring me.”