Up In A Heaval (9 page)

Oh. “It made us nervous at the time.”

“We shall be happy to give you a tour of Zombie World,” Jonathan said. “We have many delightfully rotten things and creatures here.”

“Thanks, but we have other letters to deliver,” Umlaut said quickly.

“That is unfortunate. In that case, you had best be on your way. Merely close your eyes and concentrate on Xanth, and you will soon be back there.”

That seemed almost too simple. But Umlaut saw Sammy Cat close his eyes and disappear, followed by Sesame, so he bid farewell, closed his own eyes, and concentrated.

There was a remarkable swirling shifting, as if he had been swallowed by Charybdis the whirlpool. When he opened his eyes, he was back in Princess Ida's chamber, lying on Sesame's coils. They were indeed back.

Sesame Serpent watched as Umlaut checked the pile of letters. There was one addressed to Queen Irene. She should be right here in Castle Roogna. That was the sensible one to deliver next.

“Unfortunately, she is away today,” Princess Ida said. “Queenly duties, you know; a person's time is not necessarily her own. You will have to wait until tomorrow. But I'm sure there is room for you here in the castle for the day and night.”

“But we're not royal,” Umlaut protested. “We're just—us. Nobody special.” He was right about that, Sesame thought, though somewhat klutzy in other ways.

“Every person is special in some way,” the princess reassured him. “I will see to it immediately.” She departed.

Umlaut checked with Sammy and Sesame. Sammy had been here before and wasn't concerned. Sesame herself did not feel at home in a castle, especially after her long stay in the dungeon, and she indicated that.

“Maybe you could stay in the moat,” Umlaut suggested. “You could emulate a moat monster.”

She liked that idea. It was an easy emulation, as she was more at home in the water than on land.

The three little princesses appeared, cute enough to eat. Not that Sesame would, of course; that would be a breach of guestly protocol. “Oh, goody!” Princess Melody exclaimed, clapping her little hands.

“You're staying the night,” Princess Harmony added, playing half a note on her harmonica.

“We'll have lots of fun with you,” Princess Rhythm concluded, bonking a single bonk on her drum.

Sesame saw Umlaut try to exchange a wary glance with his companions, but a princess intercepted it and diverted it to the ceiling. The three were little bundles of mischief. Staying at Castle Roogna no longer seemed like such a good idea, but the princesses were not about to let them get away.

“We were about to go out to the moat,” Umlaut said desperately.

Little Melody clapped her hands again. “Goody! You can meet Soufflé!”

Sesame froze: She was wary of male serpents. They had forgotten that the moat was occupied.

“Right this way,” little Harmony chimed in.

“He should love you,” little Rhythm concluded, glancing at Sesame.

Now what were they to do? Sesame tried to think of something suitably clever to get them out of this, as the trio of princesses hustled them along through the hall, but her mind was numb. She turned a pleading look on Umlaut. He had to say something but probably could think of nothing but the truth. Sure enough, desperately, he tried that.

“Wait! We have a problem with this! Two or three problems, in fact.”

“We love problems,” Melody said.

“We love double problems better,” Harmony agreed.

“We love triple problems best of all,” Rhythm finished.

It certainly was difficult to turn them off. “We don't want to meet Soufflé,” Umlaut said. “Yet.”

“But he's a nice serpent,” Melody said.

“The nicest,” Harmony agreed.

“He baby-sits us,” Rhythm explained.

A moat monster baby-sat children? That was a new one. Sesame managed to exchange a glance with Umlaut, indicating that she remained wary. It might be that Soufflé had a side that children did not see. How could that be explained to children without violating the dread human Adult Conspiracy? Umlaut seemed to be only barely conversant with it himself, being at borderline age, but Sesame knew enough to be assured that the princesses were way too young for any smell of it. Naturally, being human children, they neither understood nor accepted the restrictions.

Umlaut tried, in his sweetly clumsy fashion. “A—another serpent chased Sesame, and she didn't like that.”

“We chase each other all the time,” Melody said. “It's called tag. It's fun ”

“This wasn't exactly a game chase. She had to hide.”

“Maybe it was hide-and-seek,” Harmony said. “That's fun too.”

“This wasn't fun. She was afraid he would—would do something to her.” What a struggle! Sesame was glad for the moment that she didn't have to try to handle it.

They looked at him. “Is there something we don't understand?” Melody asked.

“Maybe. She just doesn't want to meet him.”

“There's only one thing that makes someone fudge like that,” Harmony said grimly.

Sesame did not like the sound of this. “So maybe we'll stay inside after all,” Umlaut said hopelessly. He really wasn't very good at this.

“And that is the Adult Conspiracy,” Rhythm concluded triumphantly.

They had caught on. Now the blubber was in the blaze. “We'd better leave now,” Umlaut said.

“Oh, no you don't,” Melody said.

“You're going to tell us exactly what—” Harmony added.

“Exactly what?” Princess Ida inquired. She had returned just barely on the edge of the nick of time. Sesame wondered whether that was really coincidence; adult human women seemed to have ways of knowing things.

“Oh, nothing,” Rhythm said innocently. Little halos appeared over all three heads.

“That's nice,” Princess Ida said, hardly fooled. She turned to the visitors. “Let me show you to your room.”

Their room was upstairs, and very nice. There was a huge tub big enough for Sesame to curl up in so she could sleep in water after all, and a lovely sandbox for Sammy. There was a fine soft bed for Umlaut; humans did seem to prefer such things, being sort of bony and angular. But the most remarkable thing was a huge tapestry on the main wall, showing a detailed picture of the Land of Xanth. It was so well done that the scene seemed almost real.

Princess Ida saw them looking. “I hope you don't mind sharing the room with the Magic Tapestry,” she said. “It is harmless and can be entertaining if you like to look around or review history.”

“History?” Umlaut asked blankly. Sesame shared his blankness.

“The Magic Tapestry shows anything you wish it to, if you are qualified to see it. For example, you could view your own past experiences.”

“We could?” He was astonished, as was Sesame.

“I will demonstrate.” She glanced at the tapestry, and the picture shifted to show Sesame slithering rapidly o'er hill and dale, carrying Umlaut, following Sammy Cat. When they reached the castle, it showed them meeting the three little princesses, then Princess Ida herself. Sesame was amazed.

“This is amazing,” Umlaut said, voicing her thought.

“Merely magic,” Princess Ida said. “I will come for you when it is time for supper.” She departed, leaving them to the wonders of the tapestry.

“If she thought this would fascinate us, she was right,” Umlaut said. “What shall we watch?”

Sammy had a notion. He tried to convey it by gestures, but Umlaut was unable to figure it out. Sesame understood him, of course, but that was because she wasn't human and didn't have the human physical or mental limitations. “Can you make it orient yourself?”

The cat concentrated. The scene shifted. There was a young male serpent slithering contentedly along.

“Who is that?”

Sammy bounded to the window and pointed down toward the moat.

“Soufflé? But this is a young serpent. I haven't met Soufflé, but he must be much older.”

But soon Sammy clarified that: This was Soufflé when young, several centuries ago, and he hadn't changed much since. Sesame marveled at that, because serpents did age, though they remained suitably sinuous.

“Centuries ago?” Umlaut asked, dumbfounded. “He can't be that old!”

Sesame was of course interested. This was a way she could learn about Soufflé without having to meet him. She might be able to judge whether it was safe.

They settled down and watched. Gradually Sesame seemed to be getting into the scene, like an invisible observer, and she knew the others were also. The tapestry had that effect; maybe it was part of its magic.

Soufflé slithered along without a care in the world other than finding a new puddle to splash in. He was near great Lake Ogre Chobee, where the ogres and chobees coexisted at the fringe of land and water. He was steering clear of both, because a chobee might have a vicious chomp and an ogre could squeeze juice from a stone with just one ham-hand.

He heard a human cry. That interested him, so he slithered toward the sound. Soon he came to a remarkable scene. The ground was sooty and smoldering, with licks of fire interspersed by jets of steam and roiling clouds of smoke. In fact it looked like hell.

A man ran by. He was the one who had screamed. He was naked and barefooted, wincing as he ran over hot coals. But he couldn't pause to avoid them, because a pack of werewolves was chasing him. They were huge and slavering, their teeth gleaming white, their eyes gleaming red. Their paws seemed to have no trouble with the burning ground. They were gaining on the fleeing man, and he knew it; his terrified glances back showed them coming ever closer. Soon they would have him.

Soufflé slithered into a crevice, concealing himself. He wanted to understand what was going on before he got involved. He could handle a werewolf or two, but not a whole pack. He watched as they charged by.

Then it got worse: The ground rose into a ridge, and the ridge ended in a cliff. Beyond it was a dusky lowland that might offer an escape, but it was too far below to risk. The man sheered away, terrified anew.

The werewolves' teeth snapped at the man's heels. Now they had him cornered. He was caught between them and the cliff.

Teeth nipped his bare butt. The man screamed again and leaped off the cliff, his scream descending with him. The wolves milled about at the brink, frustrated. He had gotten away after all.

The fall was surely enough to kill him, but somehow it didn't. He bounced on a rocky ledge, fell again, bounced again, and finally landed in a heap at the base. Was he dead? No, not quite; a finger stirred, then a toe.

Soufflé slithered down the cliff, bracing against its numerous cracks and crevices, following the more precipitous route of the man. Perhaps he would be able to help.

But this gloomy region was not empty. Shapes loomed horribly. They were zombies! Not nice sanitary ones, but awful rotters with sagging eyeballs and dripping goo. The stench was appalling.

The man dragged himself up and staggered onward. The zombies followed, reaching for him. He tried to run but could not move much faster than they did. He was barely staying ahead of their slimy fingers.

Soufflé followed, staying mostly behind cover, observing. He still wasn't quite sure what was going on.

The zombies were just about to catch the man. But he came across a steep upward rocky slope. He scrambled up it, just managing to elude the grasping hands. The zombies could not mount the slope; their own goo defeated them, causing them to slide down as fast as they climbed up. The man had won freedom again, somehow.

But now a new threat appeared: grotesque shapes in the sky. “There he is!” one screeched. They were harpies—gross half-human birds. “There's Slander! Get him!”

Slander? What kind of a name was that? Soufflé slithered on, watching and listening, trying to keep under cover so that the dreadful harpies would not spy him. How could the poor man escape these dirty birds?

Slander tried. He ducked under the cover of spreading trees so that the harpies could not dive-bomb him. But some of them flew low, under the foliage, and came at him from the sides. “Corner him! Corner him!” they screeched. “We've got him now!”

Almost. Slander spied another drop-off. He lunged for it and hurled himself into a heaving sea. The waves rose up to slap his face and try to drown him, but somehow he bobbled to the surface, surviving.

Soufflé slithered quietly down the slope and into the water, still watching. The end had to be near.

There was a roiling in the water, as of something huge stirring in the depths. Slander saw it and tried to swim for shore, but the current sucked him back toward the roiling. He could not escape. Meanwhile the harpies circled overhead, and both the wolves and zombies were making their way down toward the sea, just in case. The deck was really stacked against the fugitive. (It wasn't clear how the top floor of a ship could be stacked, but the saying had to come from somewhere.)

The only possible escape seemed to be to reach a tiny isle set in the sea, where a lovely maiden with large eyes, small ankles, and flowing hair watched anxiously. She lifted a delicate hand to beckon. The man struggled toward that isle.

A tentacle reached out of the water, followed by three more. It looked like gross seaweed but had more animation. Soon a veritable garden of them sprouted from the waves and oriented on the thrashing man.

Soufflé recognized it now: It was a kraken, one of the most fearsome sea monsters. The floundering man was absolutely done for. There was little or no way he could reach the isle before the monster caught him.

The maiden, seeing this, heaved her fetching bosom and screamed. It was an excellent scream, resounding across the waves and echoing from the rocks and cliffs. Even the wolves, zombies, and harpies paused to savor it with admiration. Only the kraken ignored it, having more important business at hand.

Soufflé slid into the water and swam toward the man. He wasn't all that partial to human folk and didn't even know this one, but something about this scenario bothered him. Maybe it was the evident alarm of the maiden. He had always been intrigued by damsels in distress, even the human variety. He reached the man, then placed himself between him and the oncoming kraken. “Back off!” he hissed in serpentine.

The kraken lifted an eyeball on a stalk and looked at him. “Who the bleep are you?” It spoke in Tentacular, but Soufflé could understand that well enough. After all, the various sea monsters needed to have some means of communication with each other, so that they did not intrude on each other's territories unless they meant to.

“I am Soufflé Serpent.”

“And I am Krakatoa Kraken.”

“I am sorry to know you,” Soufflé hissed politely. “Now go away, or we will tangle.”

“We certainly will!” the kraken agreed. “You have no business here.”

“I am making it my business to save this wretch from a horrible fate.”

“Horrible fate!” the tentacles signaled. “You have no idea what's happening.”