Stork Naked (7 page)

“I doubt I would do any better,” Che said. “Pyra, what is your purpose?”

“Take me with you. I will operate the Mask.” She picked up the frame and folded it so that it became a mere stick, and tucked it into her belt.

Surprise quailed. They had barely avoided having Azalea accompany them, and here was another. “The Good Magician said that only two adults could go on this mission. The rest had to be children, animals, or crossbreeds.”

“You have only one adult human,” Pyra said. “The centaur is a crossbreed.”

“We're an established species!” Che protested.

“An established crossbreed species. But I suppose I could use the Mask to seek the man with the Numbers Validity talent.”

“I don't understand,” Surprise said, nettled.

“He works with numbers. He can make a limit of n work for n+1. If we consult him I'm sure he will validate the mission for three adults.”

Surprise was blank, but Che, being a centaur, understood about n and n+1. It seemed it was indeed possible to make numbers perform. They would have to find some other way to dissuade the fire woman.

“But we expect to be going into unspecified danger,” Che said. “The Good Magician indicated that aspects could be extremely ugly. Why would you want to face that?”

“Because I am tired of being cooped up here alone except for monsters,” Pyra flared. They had to step back from her heat. “I want to get out and see Xanth, live life, find a good man to be with, and become a family woman. I don't know in what reality there may be someone for me, but I may find out if I visit several.”

“Oh, I understand,” Surprise said. “You're a woman.”

“I'm a woman,” Pyra agreed. “I need to act while I remain young enough.”

“Can you not use the Mask to orient on suitable prospects?” Che asked.

“I can and have, often. But they are far away, and don't know I exist, and have girlfriends of their own. Most are in other realities, which I can see with the Mask but can't go to in person. You folk, I gather, have the means to cross realities.”

“We do,” Che said.

“That makes a difference, obviously. In any event, how can I know a man is right just by looking at him? His personality counts a lot. And even an ideal one may be turned off by my talent. What man desires a woman as hot as I am when aroused?” Now her whole body glowed with fire.

“Personal interaction counts considerably,” Che agreed. “I believe you have made your case. Surprise?”

He was asking her agreement to bring Pyra along. The fiery one's plea was reasonable, and they did need her, but Surprise had trouble responding. This was a talented, shapely, mature woman. The last thing Surprise wanted was such a creature constantly near Che. She had turned Azalea down; Pyra was worse.

That brought her up short. Was she jealous of Pyra's possible influence on Che? As if they were rivals for his attention? He was married elsewhere and not interested in any such dalliances. She was letting the love elixir influence her unrealistically.

They were waiting for her answer. What else could she do? “Yes, she should come with us,” she agreed.

“You agree,” Pyra said, amazed.

Surprise did not care to elaborate on the reason for her hesitation. “It does make sense.”

“But you are in love with Che, because of the elixir.”

“In the centaur manner,” Che said. “Which differs from the human manner. In addition, you are not seeking a centaur.”

“I am seeking a suitable male. If that turned out to be a centaur, I would take him and find an accommodation spell.”

“But not one who is married elsewhere.”

“No, of course not,” Pyra agreed. But it seemed to Surprise that there was an element of doubt. This could become complicated.

“What about your garden?” Che asked.

“The monsters will care for it. They like pretty things. They are ugly only to others; inside they can be beautiful. Those who have come and married some of them have fared better than others expected. The grounds and garden will be all right until my return.”

“Return?” Surprise asked. “I thought you wanted to get away from here.”

“Not exactly. I want to have a full life. I can do that here, with the right man. I simply need to go out and find him.”

Che nodded. “Then you can ride one of us across the marsh so as not to touch the elixir. Thereafter we will repair to the Stork Works, where they have the ability to transfer across realities. We can use the Mask there to locate the one we require, then enter it personally. But I must warn you again that there may be danger. There are elements of this situation we do not understand.”

“In short, you expect to have an adventure,” Pyra said. “I think I will enjoy that.”

“Perhaps.” But he was grave. What did he know that he wasn't saying?

Before long they were on their way back across the lake. Surprise carried Pyra, who kept her feet well up clear of the water. They waded carefully so as not to splash.

“I confess I am impressed by the way you handle the elixir,” Pyra said. “All others have been besotted by it.”

“We must be your first centaur visitors,” Che said.

“As a matter of fact, you are. That surely explains it.”

Surprise kept silent.

They reached the outer bank. Pyra carefully jumped off so as not to touch any wet skin, and stood well clear as the two centaurs shook themselves off.

Surprise looked around. “Where are the children?”

They checked the area with increasing misgiving. Azalea, Stymy, the three children, and the peeve were inexplicably gone.

“They wouldn't have gone voluntarily,” Surprise said. “They knew they were supposed to stay here.”

“I wonder,” Che said. “First Azalea's sister Lotus disappeared in this area. Now Azalea herself and the children have done so. Another remarkable coincidence.”

“And we don't trust coincidences,” Surprise said grimly. “I think we need to use the Mask already.”

“Of course,” Pyra agreed. She drew out the stick and unfolded it into the frame. “I shall focus on the recent past of this area. We'll surely run it down.”

They watched anxiously as the picture formed.

Azalea kept a careful eye on the children, especially the smallest one, the waif. She wanted to be the best possible babysitter, not just to uphold her part of the bargain but to prove that she was on the very verge of social maturity, fit to join the Adult Conspiracy. Fit to take care of children of her own, soon. Once she learned how to order them from the storks.

“I don't suppose you would care to enlighten me about—” she said to Stymy Stork.

“Certainly not. You have to be at least sixteen, preferably seventeen or eighteen, maybe even older.”

The little obnoxious green bird flew across to perch on the stork's head. “For shame, you prying twit,” it admonished her, using the stork's voice.

She wasn't really surprised. Storks were bound to enforce the cruel code. “If you don't mind telling me, then, how is it that you got stuck with this group, instead of delivering babies?”

“I followed the rules. That turned out to be a mistake. Now I am required to—” He paused, his birdly eye glancing past her.

“Well, now,” the pet peeve said enthusiastically. That was a sign of trouble; she had already learned that it never did anyone any verbal favors.

Someone must be in trouble. Again. These children were distressingly naughty, obviously possessing demon parentage. She turned to look. And stared.

A portion of the flower garden was rising, carrying the flowers with it. The three demon children were watching, interested. Was this dangerous?

Azalea did what came naturally: she asked the flowers. “What is this?”

“It's the door to the Punderground,” they chorused. She was the only one who could hear them, but there was no doubt of their dialogue.

“Is it safe for children?”

“We don't know,” the flowers replied. “But we don't think so. Folk who go down never came back up.”

Azalea hurried toward the forming mound. “Children! Get away from there! It's not safe.” Unfortunately they were slow to obey, interested in the phenomenon.

A door opened in the mound, shedding hapless flowers. A goblin garbed in a clown suit appeared. “Welcome, children! Come into my parlor.”

“Who are you?” Azalea demanded as she arrived on the scene.

“I am the Hobgoblin of Little Minds,” he answered grandly. “I am very consistent. And lo, here are several little minds to usher into my realm.” He smiled at the children, who smiled back.

“Oh no you don't Hobgoblin! These are my charges. They're not going anywhere.”

The goblin gazed at her with a certain muted contempt. “You are still technically a child yourself, nymph. You can come too. As can the birds. The Punderground welcomes all little minds.”

“Not at all,” she protested. “Ted, Monica, Woe—get away from him.”

“Today we have fresh hot punapple pie,” the Hobgoblin said. “Right this way, children.”

The children stepped toward the door.

“Don't do it!” Azalea cried desperately.

But the Hobgoblin had their little minds mesmerized. They walked past him and started down the stairs that went down into the ground.

“This isn't right,” Stymy Stork said.

“You bet your sorry tail it isn't,” the peeve agreed. “What a dirt bag!”

The Hobgoblin glanced at them. “You odd birds become annoying. But you are children at heart, are you not?” He made a gesture. A sparkle of magic flung out and bathed the birds. They fell into line behind the children.

Azalea realized that she was up against a serious threat. She ran to intercept the children. In the process she passed through the dissipating cloud of magic. Her head seemed to spin and she lost control of her feet.

By the time the effect wore off, she found herself marching down the steps, following the children and birds. She turned to try to block the door open so she could help the children escape, but the Hobgoblin was already drawing it down behind them. She heard the click of a solid lock. They had all been taken prisoner.

She thought of charging the Hobgoblin, trying to make him let them go. But she realized that he would simply sprinkle her with more sparkle magic, nullifying her will. So she decided to play along, waiting her chance. There had to be some way out of this trap. She had to believe that.

They came to a large cavern with many colored stalactites. The Hobgoblin reached up to break off a point. “Candy canes,” he said, handing it to Ted. “Eat your fill. And here is the pie.” Indeed there was a table loaded with pies of all sizes. “All for you. Stuff yourselves.”

Azalea wanted to protest, but knew that would be futile. So she watched the children grab pies and bite happily into them. The stork followed suit, and the peeve jumped onto a small pie and pecked at it. Then, so as not to seem reticent, she took a pie herself and nibbled daintily on it. It was delicious. But she did not trust this at all.

“This is the thought screen,” the Hobgoblin said, showing a large square screen behind the pie table. “If you have anything urgent inside you, you can squeeze it out here.” He faced the screen. “For example, Stopwatch.”

A group of people appeared on the screen, all watching a young woman who was just about to take off her clothes for a shower. Annoyed, she held up a small object. Immediately everyone stopped watching her.

It took only half a moment for the pie's effect to manifest. The children lined up eagerly before the screen. “Square Meal!” Ted yelled, and a pile of pies appeared, shaped into a square.

“Baby Shower,” Monica said, and a cloud appeared, from which pelted hundreds of babies.

“Werehouse,” Woe Betide cried, clapping her little hands with glee. The picture showed a den where several werewolves prowled.

“Ironies,” Stymy said, and a huge set of metal legs appeared, focusing on the iron knees.

“Ire!” the peeve said, and an enormous angry eyeball appeared, looking at the woman who had used the stopwatch before. He was the eyer.

“Stop it!” Azalea cried. “This is horrible.” But then, against her will, a pun erupted from her. “Hair Die.” On the screen a huge woman's head appeared, with her hair wrinkling, turning gray, and falling out in clumps. Everyone laughed, but Azalea was mortified. How could she have emitted such a foul pun? She wished she had never nibbled the punapple pie.

Ted stepped up again. “Kidnapper,” he said, and the screen showed a sinister figure approaching a roomful of children. The figure made a gesture as of casting a spell, and suddenly all the children fell asleep. The figure had made them nap.

It was Monica's turn. “Olive Yew,” she said. The picture showed two trees, one roughly masculine, the other daintily feminine. The male wrapped several of his branches around the female, and little hearts surrounded them.

Azalea groaned. The words sounded like “I love you.” An awful pun.

“Infantile,” Woe Betide said. The picture showed a tiled floor. The tiles were very small, obviously not yet grown to full size. On each was a picture of a baby, and each baby was screaming. They were very noisy tiles.

“Pendants,” Stymy said. The picture showed a young woman leaning over a small pen confining several colored ants. Penned ants, Azalea realized, stifling a groan. The girl picked up the ants one by one and set them on her ears, where they dangled prettily.

“Congenial Tea,” the peeve said. The picture showed a friendly bar where special teas were being served.

“This nonsense must stop,” Azalea said. But then the urge overwhelmed her, and she emitted another awful pun. “Juvenile.” The screen showed a day care island filled with children, its name posted on a big sign: Juven Isle.

“No!” she cried despairingly, trying to push the screen aside. Instead she fell into the scene, scrambling it with the prior scenes, and her foot landed in a pot of tea. She tried to pull it off, but the pun fell apart, smearing both her foot and hand, smelling foul. She tried to throw the stuff away, but it stuck, and fragments landed all over her arms and legs. She had stepped in a pun, the last thing any self-respecting person would do, and now the messy pieces were all over her. It would take a shower and disinfectant to get it all off her. The children were laughing so hard they were literally rolling on the floor.

“Let me help you,” the Hobgoblin said.

“Don't you dare!”

But she was too late, as he was already uttering the words. “Age Spots.” Suddenly the dirty splotches of puns sank into her skin, making it look old. In fact her whole body was old; the spots had aged her.

She struggled to get out of the picture, but only blundered into the ant pen. Immediately several fetching female ants with exposed bellies started a seductive dance that hypnotized the males: they were bellied ants.

“Belly Dance,” Azalea groaned helplessly.

But one male ant resisted the allure. “You can't snare me that way,” he said gruffly. “I am Adam Ant.”

Azalea groaned again: adamant.

This was so awful she couldn't stand it any more. She couldn't get out of the pun screen without making it worse. She fell to the floor and curled up, closing her eyes tightly as if asleep.

An insistent voice spoke near her. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

She tried to ignore it, but it persisted. “You can't sleep, lazybones. You have to get up, you fallen woman.”

That did it. She opened her eyes. “I'm not a—” And broke off, surprised and disgusted.

There before her stood an ugly buzzard. The terrible pun smote her: a bird that annoyed her until she had to get up. She screamed.

The screen vibrated with the piercing sound, then shattered. Azalea was back in the regular Punderground, and the pun screen was gone.

But during her distraction the others had been swept up into another game. It was a set of circles of fauns and nymphs, the fauns on the inside, the nymphs outside. They seemed to be couples, with each faun gazing at a nymph. There was one extra nymph, who looked around, then winked at her choice of fauns. Catching her wink—it bounced off his forehead—he spied her and ran to join her. But his partner didn't like that, so ran to intercept him. She was too late; the faun had a new partner, and fell back into place exchanging gazes with her. The old partner was now “it,” ready to wink at someone else's partner.

Azalea did not trust this half a whit. Fauns and nymphs were notorious for their “celebrations” which were well into the Adult Conspiracy. Azalea did not know exactly what it was they did, but was sure that there would be the very mischief to pay if any of the children were to see it. She had to get them away from here. But how?

Ted and Monica had already joined the game. A nymph winked at Ted, and he ran gleefully to join her.

“No you don't!” Azalea cried, and ran to tackle him before he could reach the nymph. She collided with DeMonica, who was trying to hang on to her partner, and they both fell in a tangle on the floor.

Demon Ted, of course, made it safely to the nymph. She kissed him on the forehead, and he swayed visibly, spared the full impact of the kiss because of his age. Still, Azalea knew she had to get him and the others out of here in a hurry; there was no telling what would happen if they remained longer in this supposedly innocent game.

“Monica, you're a girl,” Azalea said desperately. “You know we can't let the nymphs have Ted.” She was gambling that there was at least half a smidgen of responsibility in the half-demon child.

Monica considered. “Yes, a nymph is more fun than he deserves.”

That would have to do. “We have to haul him out of the game and out of here.” She looked desperately around, and saw an open hole in the wall. “Through there.”

They ran to Ted, each taking an arm. “Hey!” he protested. “I'm not through with my nymph.”

“Yes you are,” Azalea said, hauling him along. As they broke out of the circle she looked around. “Woe! Stymy! Peeve! This way!” She had to hope they would follow.

They did. In perhaps two and a half moments, certainly no more than three, they were in the next chamber.

But now the Hobgoblin was organizing the pursuit. “Don't let them escape,” he cried. “They haven't eaten enough pie yet.”

That was interesting. Pie prevented escape? Because of the puns? Maybe it was addictive.

“Can we kiss any we catch?” a faun asked.

“Yes! Kiss them, and feed them pie while they're stunned. Then they'll be ours forever.”

Azalea felt a chill. The ugly side of the Punderground was being revealed. But that also suggested that they could escape, if they avoided capture and didn't eat any more punapple pie. But where could they go? In another three moments they would be overwhelmed by the fauns and nymphs.

The next cave had two men talking to each other. They weren't fauns or nymphs, so maybe they would help. “Please, is there any way out of here?” she asked them.

“Any way is way out,” one man said. “Hello, pretty girl; I am Gent number One.”

“Anyway, weigh out,” the other man said. “I am Gent number Two.”

“I don't understand.” Neither man seemed to be properly addressing the question. Neither man smelled very good either; her nose was wrinkling.

“Then don't stand under,” Gent One said.

“Stand over,” Gent Two said.

“Pun Gents,” Stymy remarked distastefully. “Naturally they reside in the Punderground and stink of puns.”

Azalea tried again. “Are there any flowers here?” Because a flower would help her. “A rose, maybe?”

“A rose by any other name would smell,” Gent One said.

“And the smell arose,” Gent Two agreed.

Azalea gave up on the Pun Gents and not just because of the smell. For one thing, she saw fauns and nymphs coming. “This way, children,” she said, hurrying them on through the next passage.

“What have we here?” Gent One said, grabbing a nymph, who screamed fetchingly and kicked up her feet as she swung her hair around, not at all dismayed.

“Hear, hear!” Gent Two said, catching a foot and sighting up a leg. “This swinging creature calls for a celebration.”

“Move on!” Azalea urged the children, who were trying to hang back and watch.

The next chamber had several exits. Which one should they take? Azalea had no idea, but was sure that if they took a wrong one, they would be doomed. She needed good advice. Maybe if she found the right flower it would have an escape root they could use.