Yon Ill Wind

by Piers Anthony

  Nimby nodded toward his legs. This required some interpretation. He was going to climb down? He shook his head, and she remembered—again—that he could read her mind. So all she had to do was think the right thought.

  She put her bright mind to work. She must have something to do with his feet. Take them out of the cloud? But then it would float away with her. Unless she hung on to them. Aha! She could swing down on his legs; that would get her low enough so she could drop the rest of the way without harm. She saw that the ground was soft there, piled with pine needles, surely by no coincidence; Nimby always knew what he was doing. But how would he get down?

  He must be strong enough to handle the drop. And he nodded.

  “Okay, Nimby,” she said. “I'm trusting you with my safety. I guess I might as well, having already shown you my panties, for all that they bombed out.”

  She leaned into him and grabbed him around the thighs.

  “I hope I don't pull your pants off,” she said. But she knew that wouldn't happen. Nothing ever went wrong with Nimby. That thought made her regret for one or two instants that she hadn't continued her script in the cloud, at least up to the point of getting his pants Off. She was curious about—but that was an unmaidenly thought—and what was he thinking of it now?

  She refocused and scrambled off the cloud. She dropped down, seeing his legs release the cloud, which quickly floated on downwind, in a hurry to get where it was going.

  She swung back and forth like a pendulum, her body sliding down past his knees and feet, until she was just about all the way beneath him. Then she dropped, landing neatly on the needles, which were rusted and crumbly, not still sharp, fortunately. She was surprised by how readily she had done it, then realized that it was her good health that accounted for it. The health Nimby had given her. However, she still lost her balance and sat down; health did not give her perfect judgment on a landing.

  Someone laughed. It sounded like the voice of an ass, but it wasn't Nimby, who was still hanging above, waiting for her to clear the landing site. She looked around.

  There was a man emerging from the forest beside the road. He wore dirty clothes and had a large rusted metal can for a hat. “Do it again, sister!” he brayed. “Maybe this time I'll see something interesting.”

  Chlorine knew his type. He was a junk male—who traveled around to take up the attention of people who didn't want him, and acted like trash. There were way too many of his kind cluttering up the space of decent folk. She knew exactly how to handle him.

  “Is this interesting enough?” she called sweetly as she got to her feet. When she was sure he was watching, she turned around and flipped up her skirt and slip.

  There was silence. She let her clothing fall back into place and turned around. The junk male was lying on his back, staring at the sky, not moving a muscle. He was absolutely stiff. He would remain that way for some time.

  Because he had Freaked Out.

  Chlorine smiled. She had now proved the potency of her panties.

  Then she remembered Nimby, who was still hanging by the branch. She hastily got out from under. “You may drop down now,” she called sweetly. “I have disposed of the trash.”

  He dropped, smiling. He understood. That was one of the things she liked about him. He was strong, silent, helpful, and understanding.

  They walked past the freaked-out male and into the forest toward Sending's lair. Nimby knew the way without hesitation, of course, despite the darkness. When she stumbled, he took her hand and led her securely along firmfooted paths. They didn't need to worry about dangers, because Nimby avoided them automatically, and knew how to deal with them anyway. Chlorine realized that she felt safe with him, and she liked that, too.

  Soon they came to the dastardly device's cave. Nimby walked right in without fear, so she did too. But it was even darker here, until Nimby found a glow fungus that served as a lamp. He just always could put his hands on the right thing.

  In the central chamber the two halves of the reverse wood ball still lay on the floor, nullifying Sending. Nimby picked them up and put them together again. He handed her the ball.

  “But—” she said, almost dropping it in her nervousness. Then she realized that it was safe, as long as she kept it together. So she held it excruciatingly carefully. It wouldn't do her harm anyway, because if it reversed her magic, she would be able to sweeten water instead of poisoning it. But she wondered how Nimby himself was able to handle reverse wood without getting reversed.

  The glassy screen lighted. A picture of a man appeared, with a big question mark over his head. Evidently the malignant machine was confused after being knocked out by the reverse wood.

  Nimby glanced at her. Oh—she had to do the talking.

  “Sending,” she said firmly, “We have come to make a deal with you. You can't change our reality because I have this ball of reverse wood, and if anything happens to me, I'll drop it and the two pieces will fall apart and stop reversing each other and resume reversing you, as they did before. You will become an unmagical collection of junk. Do you understand?”

  The screen blinked. The question mark faded out.

  “We want to obtain the windbreaker,” she continued. “I understand you have it, and we can get it from you if we answer your twenty questions. Is that correct?”

  The screen brightened. The man figure smiled. Then the screen split, with the upper section showing an icon of a pretty young woman holding a jacket, and the lower section showing the young woman and a young man in chains.

  “If we answer all the questions correctly, we get the windbreaker,” she said, interpreting. “If we don't, we both become your slaves for life.” She paused, glancing a bit apprehensively at Nimby. Was he sure—?

  But Nimby nodded. So she took her courage in one trembling hand and proceeded. “That seems fair. We agree. The two of us will consult on each question, and decide on the answer; only when I address you directly, Sending, will it count. Agreed?”

  A smiley face appeared on the screen.

  “Very well,” she said briskly, just as if her heart weren't palpating her gizzard. “Proceed.”

  Now print appeared on the screen. So Sending could print, when he chose to; he wasn't limited to icons and pictures. FIRST A SAMPLE QUESTION, TO BE SURE WE AGREE ON THE MANNER OF THE QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS. THIS IS FOR DEMONSTRATION PURPOSE ONLY.

  “Agreed.” Chlorine suspected that there were rules about such things, and Sending didn't want his prospective victory to be nullified by a technicality.

  QUESTION SAMPLE #1, REFERRING TO THE THIRD OF THE MUSE'S HISTORICAL TEXTS OF XANTH: WHEN MAGICIAN DOR, THEN AGE TWELVE, TRIED TO STOP THE FORGET SPELL'S COUNTDOWN IN THE YEAR 236, IT DID NOT RESPOND. SINCE IT WAS ABLE TO SPEAK ONLY BY HIS MAGIC, WHICH ENABLED HIM TO, SPEAK TO THE INANIMATE AND HAVE IT ANSWER, WHY DID HE NOT SIMPLY WITHDRAW HIS MAGIC SO THAT IT COULD NO LONGER SPEAK?

  Chlorine read the question, and quailed. She remembered from her centaur history classes (before she flunked out) that Prince Dor had traveled eight hundred years into Xanth's past and detonated the Forget Spell, making the Gap Chasm be forgotten for eight hundred years until the Time of No Magic broke up the enchantment, but the logic of this was beyond even her enhanced intelligence. If this was typical of the questions to come, she would be doomed before she started.

  But Nimby was writing a note. He gave it to her, and suddenly the answer was clear. “ 'He did not do that because it would not have been effective,' “ she read. “ 'The Forget Spell would merely have counted silently, and detonated anyway. The countdown could not be stopped, once started.' “

  The screen went blank for a moment. Sending had evidently expected her to get it wrong, and was disconcerted.

  But in another moment it recovered. CORRECT. THAT WAS AN EASY ONE, OF COURSE. THE REAL QUESTIONS WILL BE MORE DIFFICULT. ARE YOU PREPARED TO ADDRESS THEM?

  Chlorine bit her tongue to get some saliva in her dry mouth, and responded with fake confidence. “Of course.
Let's see a nice challenging one.”

  But the machine wouldn't be bluffed. QUESTION #1:

  WHEN MAGICIAN TRENT FIRST ATTEMPTED TO CONQUER XANTH IN THE YEAR 1021, IT WAS SAID THAT HE CHANGED MEN INTO PISH AND LET THEM EXPIRE ON DRY LAND. HE DENIES IT. WHAT IS THE TRUTH?

  She quailed again, worse. How could anyone ever know what had happened seventy-five years ago?

  But Nimby was writing a note. She took it and read it aloud, knowing that if it wasn't the correct answer, she would not be able to do any better on her own. “ 'Magician Trent did transform men into fish, but he did it by a river, where they fell in and swam. Then he walked away.

  But some of the fish, thinking that they were still men, scrambled back onto land and perished. Magician Trent never saw those ones, so did not know.' “

  If Sending was impressed or disconcerted, he did not show it. His screen flashed the next one. QUESTION #2:

  MAGICIAN BINK'S TALENT IS THAT HE CAN NOT BE HARMED BY MAGIC. THUS THE GAP DRAGON, BEING A MAGICAL CREATURE, COULD NOT HARM HIM DESPITE MAKING THE EFFORT. YET HE WAS CHOKED BY CHESTER CENTAUR AND ALMOST SUFFOCATED BY A TANGLE TREE, BOTH OF WHICH ARE MAGICAL CREATURES. HOW CAN THIS BE SO?

  Chlorine was amazed. “That's Bink's talent? I always thought he had no magic!”

  SO YOU WILL THINK AGAIN, FOR OTHERS ARE NOT ALLOWED TO KNOW. YOU WILL FORGET THIS QUESTION AND ITS ANSWER AFTER THIS SESSION IS OVER.

  Meanwhile Nimby was writing again. She took the paper and read it: “ “This is a deceptive question. You implied a connection that does not necessarily exist. Bink can not be harmed by magic, but can be harmed by magic creatures if they do not employ magical means. That is, a dragon could chomp him mechanically, but could not enchant him magically. His talent does not regard threats or even bruising to be harm, only permanent physical damage. So there is no conflict.' “

  The screen faded for a long instant or short moment, she had set the disreputable device back again. Rather, Nimby had; her respect for his intellect was verging on awe. How could a funny dragon know so much? Sure, it was his talent, but so was the way he changed the two of them into a lovely human couple. How could he have two magic talents?

  Nimby passed her another note. Only the form changing is magic; the knowledge is inherent in my nature.

  Oh. Of course. But he was still one supremely remarkable creature!

  The next question was on the screen. QUESTION #3: THE FORGET SPELL CONTROLLED THE GAP CHASM UNTIL THE TIME OF NO MAGIC IN THE YEAR 1043, SO THAT ONLY THOSE ACTUALLY WITHIN IT COULD REMEMBER IT. YET WHEN MAGICIAN TRENT RETURNED FROM MUNDANIA IN 1042 HE REMEMBERED IT. HOW CAN THIS BE?

  Chlorine whistled inwardly. These weren't mere questions of who did what when; they were crafted to require extraordinary comprehension of all Xanth history. Only the Good Magician Humfrey could possibly know all the answers—and Nimby. She could almost have suspected that Nimby was the Good Magician, if she hadn't seen them together. Maybe they were related, and Nimby was performing a service for Humfrey, just as she was. For the good of Xanth.

  The next note came. “ 'The magic of Xanth has little effect in Mundania,' “ she read, “ 'and Magician Trent had been there twenty years. It took time for the Forget Spell to reassert itself with him. In due course he did forget it again.' “

  QUESTION #4: WHEN BINK AND CHAMELEON, IN THE GUISE OF SMART UGLY FANCHON, LEFT XANTH THAT SAME YEAR, THEY WERE ABLE TO UNDERSTAND THE MUNDANES THEY ENCOUNTERED. HOW COULD THIS BE, AS MUNDANIAN IS UNINTELLIGIBLE TO XANTHIANS?

  She simply read Nimby's answer, because as usual, she had no idea. “ 'This is another trick question. Bink and Chameleon never heard Mundanian; they remained in the fringe of Xanth magic, and the Mundanes were automatically talking Xanthian.' “

  So it continued. How could Girard Giant know of Magician Murphy, who had been banished over seven hundred years before Girard was delivered by an exhausted stork? Because Girard did know some history. Why did the Ghost Writer write, “Never (such) a cleavage” when he saw luscious Nada Naga, when the Gorgon and Irene and any number of buxom nymphs and centaur fillies had similar figures? Because the Ghost Writer had not yet encountered those others, and in any event he was speaking hyperbolically, as writers do. Why didn't the centaurs teach Prince Dolph how to spell? Because they had tried with his father, Dor, and failed spectacularly. There had to be some learning ability in the student, or even a centaur couldn't make much of an impression. Why did Prince Dolph sometimes change form slowly, instead of instantly?

  For variety. Why did Magician Humfrey take Lethe elixir to forget Rose of Roogna for eighty years, but forget everything else in that period too? Because there was too much of her in their time together; to remember the rest without her would have led to Lethe-nulling paradox.

  Chlorine's head was reeling with all this arcane information. But Nimby had all the answers, no matter how devious the questions, and Sending's efforts were all blocked.

  She read off the answers, hardly assimilating their details, until she came to #19. It wasn't that it was any less devious or difficult, but that she realized that they were reaching the end; this one, and one more, and they would win! That gave her sudden shakes.

  IN ONE OF THE MUSE CLIO'S VOLUMES OF THE HISTORY OF XANTH WE ARE TOLD THAT THE NIGHT MARES ARE CONFINED TO THE LAND OF XANTH. IN ANOTHER WE LEARN THAT NIGHT MARES ALSO SERVICE MUNDANIA. HOW CAN THIS BE?

  Chlorine dreaded that seemingly innocent query, knowing that it wasn't innocent at all, it was a challenge. Had the malignant machine caught the Muse herself in an error?

  Then how could the question be answered definitively?

  Her knees felt like noodles in heating water.

  But Nimby never paused. He wrote his note and gave it to her. She read it and was delighted with the simplicity and clarity of the answer, so obvious in retrospect.

  “ 'Mundania, like Xanth, changes over the years. Sometimes the borders are closed and the night mares are confined to Xanth; at other times the portal at No Name Key is opened and the mares go through unimpeded. The Muse notes the situation at the time of that particular volume.

  There is no inconsistency when time is taken into account.' “

  The screen dimmed. The surly system had thought he had a winner, and had not. Only one more question, and it was bound to be the worst.

  QUESTION #20: HUMAN COLONIZATION OF XANTH DATES FROM THE YEAR ZERO, DEFINED BY THE ARRIVAL OF THE FIRST WAVE, 1,096 YEARS AGO. YET THE SEA HAG IS KNOWN TO BE THOUSANDS OF YEARS OLD, HOW CAN THIS BE?

  Now Chlorine's knees definitely softened. She knew of the wicked Sea Hag, who had indeed lived for thousands of years by taking over the bodies of young folk and using them until they were old and worn-out by her awful lifestyle and degraded attitudes. Where could she have come from, if she was older than human colonization of Xanth?

  She couldn't have been Mundane, for Mundanes had no magic; she had to have been delivered in magical Xanth.

  She was, despite her haggishness, definitely human. Could Nimby answer this one?

  Nimby could. She cursed herself for falling into another neat little trap as she read his answer. Sullen Sending had played it sneaky right to the end. “ 'The Sea Hag dates not from the First Wave, which signaled the beginning of continuous human occupation of Xanth, but from the first lost human colony of Xanth, circa minus 2200. That colony faded out three hundred years later, having been careless about love springs, and crossbred with other creatures, forming harpies, merfolk, naga, sphinxes, ogres, goblins, elves, fauns, nymphs, fairies, and other species.

  So the Sea Hag is approximately three thousand, two hundred and ninety-six years old, normally simplified as thousands.”

  The evil entity's screen turned furious red. Roils of smoke crossed it. Lightning jags flickered. Sending was not a good loser. But he had lost, and knew it. TAKE THE WINDBREAKER. A panel opened in the cave wall behind the screen, revealing a closet where a motley white jacket hung.

  “Thank you ever so much,” Chlorine said su
persweetly. “You have been excruciatingly nice.” And of course, the conflagration on the screen just got Worse, as she had hoped.

  She stepped up to the closet and took the windbreaker.

  It seemed entirely ordinary. But she knew it wasn't. It was the key to the solution to Xanth's current crisis.

  MAY I ASK ONE QUESTION OF A PERSONAL NATURE? the screen inquired over its burning background.

  Chlorine glanced at Nimby, who shook his head. “No,” she answered with deep satisfaction, and walked out of the chamber. She knew the destructive device wanted to know how Nimby knew so many answers, so Sending could nullify that ability if they ever met again.

  The cave exit became a blank stone wall. Sending was changing reality. “Nu-wA,” Chlorine said, lifting the reverse wood ball she still held in her other hand. She could drop it and nullify the mangy machine at any time. And would do so the moment any untoward print or picture started to form on the screen.

  The exit reappeared. They used it, and emerged into the night of Xanth proper. Chlorine was about to set down the ball, but Nimby shook his head, so she put it in her purse.

  Then she donned the windbreaker. It was very comfortable.

  So their part of the mission had been successful. She wondered how the Mundane family was doing.

  Chapter 10

  PRINCESSES

  Trenita Imp sat beside Karen, because it had turned out that she couldn't see anything from in front, and Karen was thrilled. David was asleep, but she was wide-awake and bored. Now that the accommodation spell no longer affected them, she could appreciate just how small the imps were. Trenita was thirty-seven years old—the same age as Mom—but only nine inches tall. The seat belt looked monstrous on her, and was surely a heavy weight, but she didn't complain.

  As the RV moved down the trollway, right through the increasingly realistic phantasms formed by the thickening madness brought by the ill wind, Karen questioned her companion. “Do you travel often?”