Yon Ill Wind

by Anthony, Piers

  Tweeter agreed emphatically. He wasn’t a creature of Xanth, but he was affected by Xanth, because what would happen if the Baldwin family blundered into it, and there was no Chlorine to help them get through it? No Nimby to know the spot answers? They could be in much worse trouble, and Xanth itself might be doomed without their help. He had never seen Nimby nervous before; now he understood how justified the dragon’s attitude was.

  And he, Tweeter, had somehow to get that thread. Without doing any harm. Or getting caught. So he could help save Xanth from the resurgent ill wind. It seemed to be altogether too tall an order for one little bird.

  He realized that Chlorine and Nimby were looking at him. Well, Nimby was; the woman’s eyes were trying to see him, but he remained perched on top of her head, so her gaze was missing him by about a wingspan. But she was trying. They wanted to know his reaction.

  What else was there to do? “Cheep!” he said boldly.

  “Well, I’m glad you have confidence,” Chlorine said. “You’re the one who needs it most.”

  For sure. Tweeter tried to control his unconfident shivering.

  “But I’ll help all I can,” she continued. “Maybe I will show him my panties, because that should distract him somewhat without actually freaking him out—which is what we want. But I’m not going to let him near my tender neck.”

  Tweeter appreciated that.

  “So I guess we’d better go find the vampire,” Chlorine said halfway briskly. “And I guess we’d better play damsel and dragon, so as to be as distracting as possible. While Tweeter goes after the thread.”

  Nimby assumed his dragon form, and Chlorine got on him. Nimby knew exactly where to go, as always, so in only a moment and an instant, or perhaps two instants and a trace, they arrived at the lair of the dread vampire.

  Tweeter was halfway disappointed. It wasn’t a big spooky old ancient castle, but merely a hut formed of bloodroot roots, all tangly and red, with a thatch of bloodroot leaves. The sagging door was closed. The hut was in deep shade, because vampires weren’t especially keen on sunshine.

  “He must be asleep,” Chlorine said. “I understand they sleep a lot in the daytime.” Nimby nodded his donkey head. “So I’ll just call him out,” she decided.

  She paused, as if hoping someone would tell her no, but no one did. So she adjusted her blouse and skirt to show just so much and no more, while Tweeter flew to a nearby tree, hoping to be able to approach the vampire from behind.

  “But I wonder whether you couldn’t just fly in and get it while he’s asleep,” she said, suffering a moderate afterthought.

  But Nimby shook his head no.

  So Chlorine completed her adjustments, which really weren’t necessary, as she was equally lovely regardless, and lifted her chin and her voice. “Oo-oo, Vampire Gestalt,” she called without a lot of volume. “Are you in there?”

  In a moment the door opened, and a dark figure appeared. “Who calls me?” it inquired in a sinister tone or two.

  Now Tweeter saw why the sleep approach wouldn’t have worked: the cloak was just unkinking from a tight wrap, and the button on the side was just coming into sight. It would have been inaccessible while the vampire slept. Probably he slept in a closed coffin box anyway, making the chore even more difficult. So it had to be while he was up, and preferably outside, for a more ready escape.

  “I called you,” Chlorine said in a somewhat quavery voice. “I understand you—you like succulent young maidens.”

  The dark vampire brightened. “Indeed I do. Come into my den, succulent damsel, and we shall share a rare delight.”

  Tweeter moved closer. The button was now fully exposed, and he could see a strand of thread behind it. There was his target!

  “But I don’t like dingy interiors,” Chlorine said. “I prefer the bright outdoors.” She moved in her saddle, so that her skirt sort of accidentally fell askew, revealing a well-fleshed thigh.

  “But the delights I offer are best savored in shadow,” the vampire said. His eyes seemed to play about her neckline more than her skirtline.

  “Well, maybe if we meet halfway,” she suggested, adjusting herself again. This time her blouse got accidentally disarrayed, so that some of her fair white column of a neck showed.

  “Maybe so,” the vampire said, licking his thin lips thirstily. He walked out toward them—and coincidentally past Tweeter’s hiding place.

  Tweeter nerved himself with what little nerve he had—he was a small bird, so it wasn’t much—and flew around and behind the figure, coming in on the button. He landed on it, snatching for the thread with his beak.

  Unfortunately, the thread did not give way. The vampire felt the tug. “What’s this?” he demanded, glancing down.

  “This is a tender panty!” Chlorine cried, snatching up her skirt to show it. Then, remembering, she reversed course and snatched open the front of her blouse to reveal her pulsing neck, and somewhat more. “I mean a silken bos—uh, neck!” Old habits died hard.

  But she was too late. The flash of silken panty hadn’t stunned the vampire, just as Nimby had warned it wouldn’t, and by the time her tender neck showed, the vampire’s gaze had departed her body.

  His hand was no slower. It dropped down and closed about Tweeter. “We have an avian creature,” he exclaimed, surprised. “Someone is giving me the bird.”

  “Pay no attention to that bird,” Chlorine cried desperately. “He doesn’t have more than a drop of blood, while I have half a slew, uh, wash, uh, jug!” She ripped open the rest of her blouse, showing her entire delectable front, which indeed had not one but two ample jugs.

  But the Vampire Gestalt, canny in his fashion, would not be distracted. “All in good time,” he told Chlorine without looking. “What were you after, bird? My button? Are you a button hooker?” He held Tweeter up before his face, helpless.

  “No he’s not!” Chlorine screamed. “He’s just a stupid little bird, while I’m a delectable heaving-bosomed maiden girl damsel with a stunning pair of pan—uh, breas—uh, I mean, soft tender neck!”

  But all her valiant efforts were for naught. “I think you are up to something, bird,” the vampire said. “Things always occur as aspects of wholes, and I don’t understand your part or your whole.”

  “Stop talking dirty!” Chlorine cried. But it was a fading ploy. The vampire ignored her, turned around, and swept back into his hut.

  Inside, he closed the dismal door, checked the dirty windows, and let Tweeter go. “You can’t escape this horrendous hovel, bird, so you might as well confess,” Gestalt said. “What were you really after, and why?”

  Tweeter thought fast. Maybe he had half a chance, if he used his little noggin well. Should he tell the truth? No, because the vampire wouldn’t believe it. Nobody would believe that a stupid little bird came from the future, on a mission to save Xanth from destruction. But what else was there?

  “Did someone send you?” Gestalt demanded. “Understand, bird, I really don’t care much about you; as the damsel says, you have only a drop of blood in you, while she is relatively luscious. But I like to understand the big picture. Tell me, and I’ll let you go.”

  Tell him what? That they had to have his reverse thread, to fashion a new story line before the old one broke? He wouldn’t believe that either. None of this was really believable.

  “Come, come, bird,” Gestalt said impatiently. “I don’t have all day. My last several victims have escaped, and I’m really pretty hungry. If that luscious damsel is gone by the time I settle with you, I shall be most displeased.” He stretched his mouth, showing his fangs.

  Then a little light flashed over Tweeter’s little head. It was only a faint light, not at all matching the lights that flashed over Chlorine’s head when she got good ideas, but it did illuminate his little mind. Suddenly he knew what to tell Gestalt.

  “Ah, I see you have decided to cooperate,” the vampire said. “Then let’s get on with it. One nod for yes, two for no, three for further definition. A
greed?”

  Tweeter nodded once. Gestalt did seem to grasp the whole of things readily.

  “You came for something?”

  Nod: yes.

  “The button?”

  Nod nod: no.

  “Surely not my cloak!”

  Yes—no.

  Gestalt understood. “Bad phrasing. But what else could—the thread?”

  Yes.

  “But this is a very special thread. It reverses—”

  Yes.

  “Ah, so you know its qualities. I need this thread to hold my recalcitrant button.”

  Nod nod nod.

  “There’s more? How could you persuade me to part with this magic thread?”

  Nod nod nod.

  Gestalt smiled. “True. I need to get specific. Can you honestly say I would benefit from—”

  Yes.

  “Yes? Parting with this thread would do me good?”

  Yes.

  Gestalt stroked a fang. “This intrigues me. It would do me good with my cloak?” He saw Tweeter’s negation. “My house? No. My sleep? No. My food? Yes.” Then the vampire did a double take, or at least a one and a half take. “Are you telling me that this thread interferes with my feeding?”

  Yes.

  Gestalt stroked his other fang. “Let me see whether I can figure your rationale. This thread was made by Joshua, the famed Reverse Magician, with whom I share a reasonable portion of a friendship. It reverses things. It reverses the contrary nature of my button. Are you saying it does not stop there?”

  Yes.

  “So what else would it reverse? My fortunes? My—” Then a big bulb flashed over his head. “My prey! When I get close, it reverses the nature of my victims, and they become unamenable. Instead of being lulled by my aura, so that I can sip of their blood without their resistance, they become alarmed, and flee. Since all they have to do is step into the sunshine, I am unable to pursue them far. And so my fortune is changed—by the presence of this reverse thread.”

  Yes. He had fathomed it with marvelous precision, once given the clue. That was exactly the thought that Tweeter’s little bulb had illuminated.

  The Vampire Gestalt smiled. “We made a deal, and you have de livered. You have shown me why I do not want to retain this thread. You need it, I do not. Accordingly I will give it to you and let you go, on one condition.”

  Nod nod nod?

  “That you take it so far away that it will never be near me again. Agreed?”

  Yes!

  The vampire unwound the thread, releasing the button, which promptly became balky again. He extended the thread to Tweeter. Tweeter took it in his beak. It gave him a funny feeling. He spread his wings and tried to fly, but just sank down against the table.

  “It is reversing you, now,” Gestalt said. “I think you will have to walk out of here, rather than fly.” He opened the door. “I trust you can make it on the ground.”

  Tweeter tried to nod, but shook his head instead. He walked unsteadily out the door.

  Nimby was there, with Chlorine. The dragon extended the tip of his tail, and Tweeter climbed up on it. Then without giving him a chance to scramble up to Chlorine, Nimby trundled rapidly away from the hut.

  “Wait!” the vampire cried. “I have business with the succulent damsel!”

  “Not anymore,” Chlorine cried back. “I showed you my almost everything, but you spurned me. I’ll take my pan—bos—jug—my whatever elsewhere, thank you all the same.”

  “Ah, well,” Gestalt said philosophically. “I should have no trouble, now, finding a replacement.” He headed purposefully in the other direction.

  Another little bulb flashed over Tweeter’s head. He realized why Nimby was not letting him approach Chlorine. He had the reverse thread, and it was reversing him to a degree; if he took it to Chlorine, it would mess her up too. So he had to stay here far from the main action, to carry the thread without doing any damage to the others. Well, that was what he would do. He had succeeded in his mission. Now all Nimby had to do was get them back in time. Or forward in time, before their time ran out.

  16

  DEMON

  The Demon X(A/N)th was half-satisfied. He had enabled Chlorine and Tweeter to fetch back the reverse story thread, which had taken effect the moment it reached the present time. Now Sending’s ploy had been reversed, and the story was back to normal. Happy Bottom was confined in the Region of Air, and Hurricane Fracto was romancing her, or taming the shrew, as Jim Baldwin put it in his Mundanish way. Xanth had been saved from one threat.

  But the other threat remained. If Chlorine did not shed one tear of love or grief for Nimby, the bet would be lost, and then X(A/N)th would be demoted to the least of Demons, and the Land of Xanth would be forfeited. That meant it would probably be destroyed. That would be too bad, because X(A/N)th had recently come to know this land well, and it had grown on him. He had largely ignored it for millennia, but he would do so no longer. Becoming a character within it had entirely changed his outlook.

  “What are you thinking of, Nimby?” Chlorine inquired brightly, interrupting his reverie. What a delight she had turned out to be! But she would not shed her last tear for him, because then she would be blind. That was the ultimate cost of his inattention that had allowed him to choose the wrong companion: defeat.

  Of course, he couldn’t answer her, but he twitched an ear in acknowledgement. That satisfied her; she patted his hide and rode on. He liked it when she did that, which was a signal of how his attitude had modified.

  Now they were nearing Castle Roogna for the big celebration of victory over the Ill Wind. Everyone was to be there—everyone who cared to be. Including Chlorine and her silent companion Nimby.

  They came to the Mundane RV, or moving house. The child Karen spied them first and dashed out. “Hi, Chlorine! Hi, Nimby!” She threw her arms around his donkey head and kissed him on the striped pink and green snout. He liked that, too. “Glad you could make it!” She dashed back in to notify the others.

  “That little girl belongs in Xanth,” Chlorine remarked, dismounting. “With her own dragon.”

  True. Karen had not yet properly learned the arts of dissembling; her actions mirrored her thoughts. She liked Xanth, and she liked Nimby, not caring half a whit how odd he looked. Her greeting had been sincere. Which was why he appreciated it.

  The others came out. “Glad to see you again, Nimby,” Jim Baldwin said. “We’ll be going tomorrow, but we wanted you to know that we couldn’t have done it without you.” Of course, he knew that Nimby already knew that, but his Mundane protocol required him to make a formal statement. That, too, he liked.

  Mary approached. “But perhaps it would be better if you attended the festivities in your human form,” she murmured.

  “Yes,” Chlorine agreed immediately. “In formal clothing, too. And I hope you know how to dance.”

  Of course he could dance; he had learned that in the course of his survey of the land and people and things of Xanth. So he changed to human form, in a royal robe.

  Sean and Willow emerged. They were somber; they had not resolved their impasse. They were in love, and could not bear to be separated, but they were of different realms, neither suited for the other realm. In Sean’s mind was a notion of separating from his family to remain in Xanth, but he was held back by the knowledge that this would so greatly hurt the other members of the family as to mire him in perpetual guilt. In Willow’s mind was the thought of going with him to Mundania, where she thought she would die, but at least she would have a little more time with him. But she realized that this would be worse for Sean than separation. So she would bravely bid him farewell, and when he was gone she would do what she should have done at the outset, and fly to Mount Rushmost were they had reunited, tie her wings together so she could not fly, and throw herself off the precipice. Then she would be at peace, and Sean would never know, so would suffer no additional grief.

  Nimby knew these things, but could not speak them and did not care
to write them. He also knew that good news was on the way for them. So that affair would have a happy ending, and perhaps that was best. Just as it was best that all the folk of Xanth be happy this day, not knowing …

  “Very well,” Chlorine said, not knowing the nature or velocity of his thoughts. “Put me in a lovely party gown and hairdo for the party.”

  “Gee, are you going to change right out here?” David asked, his twelve-year-old pupils dilating. The presence of Chlorine accelerated his race toward maturity, especially since Big Brother Sean had lost interest.

  “Right out here,” Chlorine agreed, smiling. Suddenly her complete outfit shifted, as Nimby changed her according to her wish, in somewhat less than an eye-blink. Naturally David had blinked in that moment, so saw none of what he had hoped to.