“But wouldwives don’t have donkeys,” Wenda protested. “Not even half ones.”
“I repeat,” Ida said with the remaining four-sevenths of the smile. “You remain delightfully innocent.”
There seemed to be something Wenda wasn’t getting. That annoyed her, but she didn’t want to admit it, so she changed the subject. “Now we have to plan our trip from here to the Gap Chasm. I fear it is a long walk.”
“Too long a walk,” Ida agreed. “We are near the Ever Glades, in southern Xanth, which would take ever and ever to traverse. Even those of us who fly, whether by wings or by carpet, might find it tedious.”
“And the wilds can be dangerous,” Meryl agreed. “Here there be dragons.”
“But you’re a winged monster,” Wenda said. “Why should you fear flying dragons?”
“It is true that there is a camaraderie of winged monsters when there is a crisis or a convention,” Meryl said. “But at other times, it’s every monster for herself. A dragon would eat me as readily as you.”
“We shall have to plan our journey carefully,” Ida said. “I suggest that we use the trollway.”
“But trolls chase nymphs!” Wenda protested, affrighted.
“There are trolls and trolls,” Ida said. “Wild uncivilized trolls are dangerous, but the trolls who run the trollway are civilized. They don’t molest travelers, as long as the proper fares are paid.”
“What’s a proper fare?” Meryl asked with half a trace of suspicion.
“They will accept tokens. Fortunately I have a supply, having anticipated such a need. They will work for a bus too.”
“A buss?” Wenda asked. “I do not want to be bussed by a troll.”
“It is a transport vehicle,” Ida explained patiently.
Wenda realized that she had spent too long in the forest and castle. There were words in the outside landscape that she had not collected. “A bus,” she agreed.
The males returned from their washup, bird, spider, and prince clean and clothed as required. “We have a long march ahead,” Hilarion said.
“We will take a bus on the trollway,” Wenda said.
It was evident that none of them knew what she was talking about. That pleased her.
Then Jumper figured it out. “A bus is for humans. I’d better change.” He assumed manform, and Wenda gave him his clothing.
Ida knew the way. They bid farewell to the nice otterbees and set out along the appropriate path. Ida floated ahead on her carpet, keeping a pace suitable for the others.
Soon they came to a sort of station guarded by a troll in a box. Ida put her carpet away. Wenda hung back, preferring to let Ida handle it.
Ida approached a big sign that said STOP. PAY TROLL. “Here are six tokens,” she said. “We’re going to the Gap Chasm.”
“You can’t get there from here,” the troll said gruffly. He looked typically vicious, but his voice was comparatively cultured. “The section crossing the Gap is currently under construction.”
“But the trollway has been in existence for decades,” Ida protested. “It traverses the entire length and breadth of Xanth.”
“Deterioration of infrastructure,” the troll explained. “Necessary repairs. The prior administrator was neglectful, paying too much attention to short-term advantage. We don’t want valuable customers to fall into the Gap Chasm.”
Ida considered. “How far can we get?”
“The link to Lake Ogre Chobee remains clear. That connects to river transport north. You can get an exchange.”
“Then we’ll do that,” Ida agreed. She presented six metallic tokens. The troll accepted them, bit each one once, then hauled on a rope that lifted a barrier.
They entered the trollway section and stood by a vast, long, paved road. Wenda had had no idea that such a thing existed in Xanth. For that matter, she’d had no idea that trolls could be businesslike, instead of ravening monsters. It was true: individuals differed.
Soon the bus arrived. It was a lumbering metal boxlike vehicle with four black wheels and windows all around. It lumbered to a halt, emitted a naughty hiss of air, and opened its side door. A set of steps dropped down.
They stepped up into the bus. Inside it were two rows of seats aligned with the windows, so that passengers could look out. The driver was another somber troll who paid them no particular attention. He simply made sure all were safely aboard before he raised the steps, closed the door, and resumed the drive while they were walking down the central aisle to find seats. The scenery beyond the windows passed smartly to the rear like a projected illusion. The ride was so smooth that it seemed as if they were still while the scenery was moving.
Wenda noticed a small sign as she passed. YOUR DRIVER: TREVORR TROLL: SAFE RELIABLE TRUCULENT. Wenda decided not to inquire further.
There were several other passengers of assorted types. Wenda noticed one immediately, because she looked like a lovely angel. She wore an encompassing dress that reached from her wrists to the floor, with bands of color in the skirt. There was a yellow halo on her head, below which her pastel-colored hair descended. Her wings were like soft knitted cloth, resting behind her in gentle waves. There was a sash of pure white beads wrapped about her tiny waist. She was an utterly beautiful creature.
What was an angel doing here? The place beside the angel was vacant, so Wenda went there. “May I join you?”
“You may,” the angel said. “I would like someone to talk with. I am not accustomed to this land.”
Wenda sat beside her, Dipper perched on her shoulder. “I am Wenda Wouldwife, and this is my Companion, Dipper.”
“I am Angela Angel.”
“You are not a Xanth native,” Wenda said. It wasn’t a difficult guess, as she had never heard of an angel in Xanth.
“I am from Heaven,” the angel agreed. “It is one of the Worlds of Ida.”
Wenda considered, and decided it was premature to mention that Ida was here, complete with the first moon orbiting her head. Her masquerade concealed that.
“Why are you here?” Dipper asked.
Angela glanced at him, surprised. “A talking bird!”
“I was given the gift of tongues so I could join with Wenda and be useful. I am searching for meaning in my life.”
“So am I, in effect,” Angela agreed.
“But you’re an angel!” Wenda said. “You already have the meaning the rest of us are searching for.”
“By no means,” Angela said. “Heaven is perfect. There is no challenge there. It is possible to find meaning only when there is something to achieve.”
“So you came to imperfect Xanth,” Wenda said. “That’s so noble.”
“Right now it’s mostly confusing. I have no idea what to do. I wish someone could tell me or show me.”
Wenda was developing a certain feel for the intricacies of the human condition. The angel’s story did not quite align. “Please, I don’t quite understand. You said you are searching for meaning, in effect. How can you qualify meaning? This makes it seem that this is not precisely what you seek.”
Angela looked at her. “I did not want to bore you with my dull story. Heaven already is boring enough.”
“Heaven is boring?” Wenda asked, surprised. “You said it was perfect.”
“Perfection is dull. That’s part of my problem.”
“Part of it?”
Angela’s eyes began to tear. “Please, don’t press me. I am liable to burst forth with my entire pseudo-life history. You surely have better ways to occupy your time.”
“I am not sure I do,” Wenda said, now suspecting that their meeting was not entirely accidental. In Xanth, things had ways of working out, particularly on Quests. She had seen it happen on Jumper’s Quest of the year before. A person just had to be alert to prospects, however obscure they might seem. “Jumper, Meryl, Hilarion, Ida—do you care to listen with us?” Because she wanted their confirmation of her suspicion.
The others came and introduced themselves to An
gela. Then they settled in adjacent seats and listened.
“I was an ordinary angel in Heaven,” Angela said. “We were all pretty much alike, differing only in minor details of feature or apparel. My friends Angel Gile and Angel Bull and I were part of the admittance team.”
Wenda worked it out: Angel Gile would be A Gile, or agile. Angel Bull would be A Bull, or able. It seems puns infested even Heaven.
“We catered to the souls that come constantly to Heaven,” Angela continued. “Providing them with harps and wings and little clouds to perch on, teaching them to sing hosannas, count their blessings, and so on. I was a tour guide, helping newcomers to orient. I am ashamed to confess that after an eon or two I got bored, and sought interest outside of Heaven. Hell was adjacent, an awful place where the d*mned souls go. I encountered a tour guide for H*ll who was similarly bored. His name was Beauregard—Demon Beauregard. Of course our association was strictly professional; we needed to do some sorting when lost souls arrived in groups, directing some to my tour, others to his tour. Some groups received both tours, so they could decide for themselves, and Beauregard would tag along in mine, and I on his. Sometimes this led to dialogue, and even debate about the contrasting lifestyles, as it were.”
Angela paused, her eyes misting. She blinked, and the mist floated away. “I preferred to drink nectar and eat ambrosia, while he preferred strong spirits and devils food. One day we were standing alone together by a spring, which we both thought was regular water, but it wasn’t.” She blushed. “It was a love spring. Our toes touched it, and suddenly we were each in love with the enemy, as it were. Naturally we didn’t do anything.” She blushed harder. “Not right then. But the urge was there. Beauregard’s former lover, D Lusion, was jealous, and said horrible things. I was finally goaded into—into doing the unspeakable with him.” Her blush became so hot that little wisps of steam rose from her face. “I showed him my p-panties. I let him t-touch them. Even l-look inside them. And I t-t-touched him where I shouldn’t. And I liked it.” She put her burning face into her hands, sobbing. That last was of course the worst of all. Innocent girls were supposed to never let a man near their panties, and to hate it if a man somehow touched them.
The listeners were silent. Angela was, after all, an angel. Angels were supposed to have no storkly interest. To do it with a demon was worse yet. It was her shame and her tragedy.
Soon Angela recovered enough to continue. “So now I am not welcome in Heaven, because I have … have … sinfully loved. So I set out to find somewhere where we can be together without being condemned by Heaven and H*ll for our association. Beauregard can’t help me; he’s in trouble with his devilish superiors for not utterly humiliating me. He refused even to reveal my identity to them, so they couldn’t harass me. I love him for that.” She took a shuddery breath. “So this is my private personal quest. If I achieve reality here, he will join me, and H*ll will not be able to bar the way. But there is a problem. I am not real here. I have no body. I exist only as a once-pure soul without substance. Xanth requires substance.”
“You look real to me,” Wenda said.
“I am not. You see only my clothing, which is more apparent than real. My face and hands are illusion, but there was not enough to cover the rest of my body. I will show you.” She lifted her voluminous skirt high, showing everything beneath it to the waistline.
Hilarion and Jumper in human body started to freak, then paused, confused. Because there was nothing there. Her skirt looked full from outside, but was empty inside. No feet, no legs, no panties. Just air.
Then Wenda realized that Angela’s legs must be invisible. “May I?” she asked, extending her hand.
“You may,” the angel said with a sad smile.
Wenda put a hand where there should be an ankle. Her fingers closed on air. She tried for a knee. Still nothing. Then for a thigh. Air. Finally she reached all the way up to where there had to be a juncture of the legs. No juncture.
“How can you walk?” Dipper asked.
“Like this,” Angela said. She got up from her seat, moved to the aisle, and walked along it. Her skirt flexed with the apparent motion of her hips and legs, but there was nothing below it. It was as if she were floating.
“Like a ghost,” Jumper said.
“Even a ghost is more real here than I,” Angela said. “Because I will not be able to remain here. I have only one month to achieve a legitimate presence here. Then I must either return to Heaven, where I will be purged of all my memories of Beauregard, or fade away into oblivion. Of the two, I think I would prefer the latter.”
“Purged of your memory of love,” Hilarion said, interested for a reason the angel would not understand.
“Yes. Heaven will take me back, provided I am purged. But I don’t think I want to return to that sterile existence.”
“Kiss me.”
Angela was startled. “I couldn’t do that. I love Beauregard.”
Wenda understood the prince’s request. He wanted to ascertain whether she could be his bethrothee, by which she would definitely have a place in Xanth. His kiss could save her. “Trust me,” she said. “Do it.”
Confused, reluctantly, Angela proffered her face to be kissed. Hilarion kissed her. Then he drew back. “You are not she,” he said with regret.
“Not who?”
“Not his fiancée,” Wenda said. “He will know her when he kisses her. But you are not she, so he can’t help you become real.”
“Oh. Thank you,” Angela said uncertainly.
“A month,” Meryl said. “How much of it have you used so far?”
“Three weeks.”
The six of them circulated a glance. The angel had only one week remaining to achieve her desire.
“This does not look good,” Dipper said. “But I have an idea.”
“That is one more than I have,” Angela said. “I have been traveling Xanth, hoping to find a way, but without even half a modicum of success.”
“Change places with me.”
She looked at the bird. “I could not perch on Wenda’s shoulder.”
“I have been looking for meaning in my life,” the bird repeated. “I think I can find it by giving you your chance. Take my place in our Quest. It is far more likely to help you than just riding the trollway.”
“It surely is,” Angela agreed. “Whatever the nature of your Quest. But I couldn’t ask you to sacrifice yourself in this manner.”
“Do they have birds in Heaven?”
“Actually, they don’t, apart from birds of paradise,” Angela said. “I’m sure you would be the center of attention there. But—”
“Then let me go there. It is something I want to do. Not because I care about Heaven—it obviously is not a birdly place—but because I think this is why I was sent to join the Quest. To reserve a place for you. Because you need that place more than I do.”
“If you’re sure—”
“I am. This is my destiny.”
Angela looked at Wenda. “Could you agree to this? I would love to join your company. You seem like nice folk.”
Another glance circulated, and landed hard in Wenda’s left eye. “Yes,” she agreed. “You may join us.”
“Oh, thank you!” Angela turned to Dipper. “Here is my ticket to Heaven. Hold it and will it to activate, and you will be there.”
The bird took the ticket in his beak. Then he vanished.
“But now you can’t return,” Wenda said belatedly.
“I didn’t want to anyway. I only hope that regardless of my fate in a week, I can help you achieve your goal.”
“We hope so too,” Jumper said.
Then they acquainted Angela with their Quest, quietly so as not to be overheard by other passengers in the bus, and she came to see Princess Ida as she was. “I thought you suffered from Crone’s Disease, but that’s not so. You are the connection!” she exclaimed. “I see the next world around your head!”
“You do,” Ida agreed. “Crone’s Disease can
only be reversed if a Bellyaching Old Crone discovers a young boy or two to fall in love with her.” She sighed. “I am not interested in youths. I might be able to help you return to Heaven, if you wish.”
The angel’s delicate jaw firmed. “No. I will not return. I must make it here, or not at all.”
“In that case, we all hope for the best,” Wenda said. “I hope that we are able to help you find whatever it is you need.”
The others returned to their prior seats. Wenda and Angela, now silent, couldn’t help overhearing their brief dialogues.
“That was very interesting,” the woman next to Meryl remarked. “I am Epi Nephrine. I stimulate hearts. But I don’t believe I could affect a nonexistent heart.”
“But it’s nice of you to consider it,” Meryl agreed politely.
“I am Prof Philactic,” the man next to Jumper said. “Storks avoid me. But stork attention does not seem to be the angel’s problem.”
“Not at present, Professor,” Jumper agreed.
Hilarion resumed his seat beside a robot, who issued a series of dots and dashes.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Morse code,” Hilarion said.
The robot looked disappointed, but apparently was unable to speak any other way.
Angela looked out the window. “The scenery is not at all like Heaven,” she remarked. “I see those animals eating those plants, but have no idea what either animals or plants are.”
Wenda looked. “Those are cereal killers feasting on wild oats,” she said.
“And that smart-looking tree, with all the people gathered around it?”
“That’s a Pundit Tree,” Wenda said. “It is full of wisdom.”
“What about that one whose fruit people are eating while trying to burn it? That seems like odd behavior.”
“That’s a Tree Sonus whose fruits are candied dates.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s because you haven’t been in Xanth long enough. Puns abound. Tree Sonus is Treasonous, and the candied dates are candidates. They stir up some fiercely negative emotions.”
“You really know trees!”
“I do,” Wenda agreed. “I’m a wouldwife. Would is my nature.”
Knot Gneiss Page 9
