Up In A Heaval (8 page)

The Ida here was as helpful as the others had been, and soon they were on their way to her moon, which was shaped like a cone filled with water. After that the worlds tended to blur in Umlaut's mind; each was distinct and original in many ways, but there was only so much he could assimilate on one trek. The Ida on Cone lived under its huge sea, inside its pointed end. Somehow they were able to breathe down there. There was a lot going on at the rim of the sea, but Umlaut didn't catch its nature.

They went on to Dumbbell, which was shaped like its name; everyone there was a fitness freak, even a supremely muscular Ida in the center of the bar. Then Pincushion, with huge pins stuck in it. And Spiral, like a grandly whirling galaxy. And Tangle, like knotted spaghetti. And Motes, a swirling collection of blobs of rock. Trapezoid, Shoe, Implosion, Puzzle, Octopus, Tesseract, Fractal—he simply could not hold them all in his mind, though each was surely deserving of plenty of attention, because each had a world full of plants, creatures, and odd people living there.

Then at last one registered: Zombie! They had finally reached Zombie World. It looked like a spoiled tomato from space, but it was real and whole on its own terms. It was so impossibly tiny, in the scheme of derivative worlds, that it pained his mind just to consider the matter, yet it loomed now as one more complete planet. It had sickening slime-covered seas and rotting vegetation and creatures who shed putrid gobs of flesh as they walked, but it was home to refugee zombies, and they surely loved it.

“I hope our business here is done soon,” Umlaut muttered. Both Sammy and Sesame nodded.

The tracks ended at the surface of the planet. They were just to lead zombies in, not to bring visitors all the way to the Zombie Master. Umlaut's party would have to locate him on their own.

Fortunately they had Sammy. He bounded ahead, and they followed, hoping soon to come to a replica of Castle Zombie.

Then Sammy halted. There was a swarm of bees ahead, buzzing dangerously. It wouldn't be smart to challenge those. But they blocked off Sammy's route.

“Maybe they're not as dangerous as they look,” Umlaut said hopefully.

Then a road hog rushed through. It seemed that such swine were everywhere, even here, and didn't give way to anybody or anything. Umlaut wondered whether they were related to the speed demons. The boarish creature ran right into the swarm of bees.

The swarm pounced. A bee stung the hog on the tail, and it squealed with outrage. But already it was changing. Now it was coming to resemble a zombie hog.

“Those are zom-bees!” Umlaut exclaimed. “Their stings make creatures resemble zombies! Naturally that would be the kind for this world.”

That answered his question: These bees were indeed dangerous, more so than the regular kind. They would have to go around the swarm.

They tried, but the jungle was thick. They did not want to touch the slime-coated trees or the sludge-coated ground. Sammy's route had avoided such things, but now they were stuck with the regular zombie terrain.

Umlaut saw the shine of water in the distance. “That looks like a clear lake,” he said. “Maybe we can make a raft or boat and cross the worst of it.”

The others agreed. They picked their way cautiously to the edge of the lake. There was a black shack with a boat tied nearby. That looked ideal. Maybe they could borrow that boat.

A black man reclined outside the shack. “What can I do for you?” he inquired as they approached.

“We'd like to borrow your boat,” Umlaut said.

The man eyed them. “You don't look much like zombies.”

“We aren't. We have to deliver a letter to the Zombie Master.”

“Is it an emergency?”

Umlaut exchanged a glance with his companions. “I wouldn't call it that, but we think it is necessary.”

“In that case, I'll take you there. I'm Preston Black.” He held out his hand.

Umlaut took it. “Thanks. You don't look much like a zombie either.”

“That's because I wasn't dead long before I was zombied. There's no rot on me. I even kept my talent.”

“What's your talent?”

“You'll see.”

They went to the boat. It was larger than it had looked from a distance; there was room for them all, including Sesame.

Umlaut looked across the water. “What is the name of this lake?”

“It's not a lake, it's a sea. The Emergen Sea. It is not safe to use it unless there's a real need.” Preston lifted a pole and pushed it against the water. The boat moved out.

“You pushed the water!” Umlaut exclaimed, surprised.

“That's my talent. I can move whatever I press on.”

“But it was the boat that moved, not the water.”

“It was the water that moved,” Preston said. “And the whole sea with it, and the rest of the planet. I pushed them away.” He pushed again.

Umlaut decided not to argue, since they were getting where they were going. The man could be right.

While they were moving, Umlaut had nothing to do, so he brought out the letter to read. That way he wouldn't have to embarrass himself by reading it in front of its recipient.

It was from HELPMASTER, UNIVERSAL AID, in Mundania, and the date was classified.

Sir:

For an extended period of time I have been monitoring events taking place in your land. How this has been accomplished is of no importance to yourself.

It has been brought to my attention that in the near future you intend to turn over the care of your castle to two living humans. Do you deem this a wise move? Are these humans to be trusted? You must keep in mind your esteemed position. All the zombies look to you for guidance and protection. If they have placed valuable objects with you for safekeeping, will said belongings be concealed from these humans?

I realize you well know your business; you would not have attained your place of authority otherwise. However, from personal experience with “people” I must advise you to exercise extreme caution.

With kind regards, Zombie.guard.inc

Umlaut considered that. The letter was obviously well out of date; that snail was a terror in that respect. The Zombie Master had turned over the castle to Justin Tree and Breanna of the Black Wave a year ago. So it was way too late for him to exercise caution of any kind.

Well, at least it seemed to be a harmless letter. Umlaut folded it and put it away. He would have no concern about delivering it.

“Uh-oh,” the boatman said.

Umlaut didn't like the sound of that. “What's wrong?”

“We're coming to the Dire Straits. That's where everything goes wrong.”

Umlaut saw that there was an ominous ripple in the water ahead, where the lake narrowed. “There isn't an alternate route?”

“Not today. Usually the straits are elsewhere, but they must have moved in overnight. We'll have to chance them.”

Umlaut wasn't easy about that but saw no alternative. In any event, the craft had already been caught up by the swift current of the straits. Maybe today would be the exception, when things didn't go wrong.

“Oh, no!” Preston Black groaned.

That did not sound unduly promising. “What is it?”

“Scylla and Charybdis are on duty today.”

“Silly and Charitable? They don't sound too bad.”

Preston glanced at him as if he were the zombie. “I gather you don't know your mythology.”

“I guess I don't,” Umlaut agreed.

“Scylla was once a pretty nymph, but she annoyed a god, who turned her into a six-headed sea monster with a taste for live meat. She was a terror for passing ships because she would snatch six crewmen off their decks and eat them. So they learned to avoid her. Then she teamed up with Charybdis, who was a whirlpool that liked to swallow ships whole. When a ship tried to avoid Charybdis, it got too close to Scylla, so she still got her meal.”

“But couldn't ships simply sail around them both?”

“Not in narrow passages.”

Umlaut was beginning to get a glimmer of the problem. “They're here? How did that happen?”

“In the course of time they got old and died. They appealed to the Zombie Master, who zombied them on condition that they not bother regular Xanth folk. So they joined him here on Zombie World.”

And now this boat faced zombie monsters. Things were certainly going wrong in the Dire Straits. It was too late to turn back; the current had a firm grip on the boat.

Umlaut gazed ahead. There just to the right was a huge whirling depression in the ooze covering the water. That would be the zombie whirlpool. To the left were six snakelike heads projecting from the water. “Why, she's a serpent!”

Sesame took an interest. She gave Umlaut a Leave this to me glance and slithered to the front of the boat, building an emulation as she went. Soon she seemed to have several ugly zombie sea monster heads. She was good!

The boatman steered the boat left, as there was no point in feeding the whirlpool. Scylla's heads loomed close, ready to pounce, each more rotten than the others. But they were met by Sesame's heads. The two monsters held a brief twelve-headed dialogue. Then Scylla backed off and disappeared under the slime.

“I never saw the like,” Preston said. “What did she do?”

“I think she invoked professional courtesy,” Umlaut said. “One sea monster doesn't intrude on the domain of another.”

“I could get to like a monster like that,” Preston said as Sesame dissolved the emulation, her heads coming together and merging into one. “She just saved us from a bad chomping and swallowing. Of course a zombie can't be killed, and neither can a resident of the soul worlds, so I would have been back on duty after Scylla finished digesting me, but I wouldn't have enjoyed it much.”

It occurred to Umlaut that the three travelers would have enjoyed it even less, since they weren't zombies or residents and could be killed. He gave Sesame's foresection a hug. “Thanks, monster.” It was no insult to call her monster, because that was what she was. Most monsters were justly proud of their heritage.

She turned her head and kissed him on the ear, momentarily emulating a human girl. His ear tingled pleasantly.

“Funny thing,” Preston said. “Usually trouble comes in threes. We just got past two monsters, but there should have been something else.”

They were through the Dire Straits. Umlaut looked around. Where was Sammy?

Then he spied the cat. Sammy had one paw jammed into a knothole in the hull. The boat had sprung a leak, and Sammy had plugged it. “Found it. A leak.”

Preston went to the cat. “Right you are. That could have sunk us while we were distracted by the monsters.” Sammy pulled out his paw, and a jet of water appeared. The boatman jammed a plug into the hole. It was fixed, except for a little bilge water.

Soon they came to a dock. Beyond it was Castle Zombie, just like the one in Xanth. “Thank you,” Umlaut said as they disembarked.

“Thank you” Preston replied. “That was a fine little spot adventure. Things get dull around here.”

They walked up the path to the castle. The drawbridge was down across the scummy moat, so they walked and slithered across it. Sesame gave Umlaut a This is eerily familiar look, and he agreed.

A zombie met them at the front gate. “We have a letter for the Zombie Master,” Umlaut told it.

The zombie just stood there, dripping rot. After a moment Umlaut realized that he had not told it to do anything, so it wasn't doing anything. “Please tell the Zombie Master he has visitors.”

The zombie shuffled into the castle. Soon an old woman came out to meet them. There was something interesting about her. “I am Millie the Ghost,” she said.

“I am Umlaut, and these are Sesame Serpent and Sammy Cat. We are visitors from Xanth with a letter for the Zombie Master.”

“From Xanth!” she exclaimed, pleased. “We don't receive many living visitors from there. Jonathan will be pleased. Come this way.” She turned to lead them into the castle. There was still something interesting about her. Maybe it was just her clothing; both her blouse and skirt fit very nicely.

When they entered the Zombie Master's private suite, things changed. There was no rot or slime here, and no odor of decay. It was just like Castle Roogna, with carpets on the floor, tapestries on the walls, and clean brightness throughout.

The Zombie Master appeared. He was a dourly handsome old man who reminded Umlaut of a funeral director, though he had never met one of those. After introductions, Millie went to fetch refreshments, and Umlaut gave him the letter. “I read it first. It's not that I want to snoop, but when we forwarded a letter to the Demon Jupiter without knowing what was in it, he hurled the Red Spot at us.”

“I understand,” Jonathan said. “It is best to be cautious.” He glanced at the letter. “This seems to have taken some time to reach me.”

“It was delivered by a giant snail.”

“Ah, the Mundanian snail mail. No wonder. There were going to be some deliveries from Mundania, but nothing came of that before we left.”

“The snail was slow to get it started,” Umlaut said. “But why deliver to Castle Zombie?”

“It was convenient to the coast and a river. Apparently they wanted a private route.”

“They found one,” Umlaut agreed. “There's something else: Did you know that a monster got locked in the dungeon?”

“Why, no. The last time I was down there was just before a storm, to secure the dungeon door. I thought it was empty.”

And Breanna had thought the monster belonged there. It had all been an accident of timing.

Millie returned with some pastries. They looked good, but Umlaut hesitated.

“Don't be concerned,” Jonathan said. “That is not zombie food. Millie makes only normal food.” He patted her on the bottom. “And she's no longer a ghost, despite the name. Her talent is sex appeal. Perhaps you noticed.”

“Jonathan!” Millie protested, pleased.

So that explained what was interesting about her. It had never occurred to him that an old person could have such a talent. Umlaut covered the awkwardness by changing the subject. “We almost got swallowed by a six-headed sea monster on the way in. We were relieved not to become food for it.”

Jonathan smiled. “Ah, you met Scylla. The consequence would not have been as bad as you might think. This is a derivative world, populated only by tiny fragments of souls, however solid it may appear. You would not have died but merely lost your places here. You would have awakened back on Xanth and had to start the process over. An inconvenience, of course, but not a lethal one.”