Their bus was late, but they hardly noticed. They went right on practicing, their dialogue becoming increasingly proficient, though nowhere close to Henry's proficiency.
When the bus came, they took seats beside Henry so they could keep practicing.
Then their bus broke down. They had to wait for three more hours for a “relief bus” to resume their journey. It didn't matter. The other passengers, bored with the delay, gradually joined in, and Henry became the teacher of a class. It was evidently a game for some, using signs instead of gibberish, but it was a game that several children took up with great enthusiasm and aptitude.
The new bus came, and they all transferred to it, and their journey resumed. Most of the Mundanes lost interest in the class, but a number stayed with it. For the first time Ivy was able to talk, in a limited way, directly with Mundanes! They turned out to be folk very like herself and Grey, traveling to visit friends or family or to new types of work or just for the fun of it.
Night closed, and finally they returned to their padded chairs and rested, and Ivy slept. It had been a long day, but a good one. She was glad, now, that the Flatfoots had picked them up; she had gained far more than she had lost, if she had lost anything at all. This sign talk—it was making Mundania far less frightening, and she was no longer in as big a hurry to leave it. Of course she realized that only a few Mundanes used the sign talk. Still, it was a great discovery.
They came at last to the nearest large village to No Name Key. Here they had to change buses again. They bid farewell to their newfound friends and went to the waiting room, where they slept on benches until morning. This was like trekking through the jungle in Xanth: it had its inconveniences, but really wasn't bad when one got accustomed to it.
In the morning they rode a smaller bus down toward what in Xanth would be Centaur Isle, but here was a group of a squintillion or so islets. They got off at No Name Key and walked to the region which Dolph had described.
Though the key was small, it turned out to be a fair walk.
At length they came to an ornate gate. This is it! Ivy signed. Where my brother was!
Grey's face was studiedly neutral. She knew he still didn't believe in the reality of Xanth, and was wary of what they might encounter here. But he had agreed to bring her here, and he intended to see it through. She understood that determination in him and liked it; Grey wasn't much of a believer, but he was a decent person who kept rumbling along on whatever course seemed most nearly right to him.
We must go in, she signed. Turn key is there.
Grey walked to a box mounted beside the gate and pressed a button. Evidently this was a magic bell to signal those inside. Sure enough, a voice sounded from nowhere, speaking in gibberish. Grey responded.
Tell him who I am. Ivy signed.
Grey paused. Sure? he signed back. Actually he used the sign for “agree,” touching his forehead and then aligning his two forefingers together, because they didn't know the proper one, but she understood well enough.
Yes. Princess Ivy of Xanth. There was no sign for Xanth, so she used “home.” She actually signed “Prince Me Join Home.” Some adaptation was necessary until their vocabulary of signs expanded.
Grey grimaced, but evidently said it.
There was an abrupt silence from the box. They waited nervously, knowing that Grey's last statement had had an effect—but what kind?
Then the words came again. “If you are of Xanth, speak now.”
Ivy jumped. She understood! Com-Pewter must be here!
“I am Princess Ivy of Xanth,” she said clearly. “My brother, Dolph, was here three years ago. He was nine years old. You helped him; now you must help me.”
There was a pause. “With whom was Prince Dolph?”
“He was with Nada Naga, his betrothed. She is my age.”
There was another pause. “Describe Nada.”
Ivy remembered. “Oh—she was in the form of a snake, because she couldn't keep her natural form here.”
Then the gate swung inward. “Enter, Princess Ivy.”
They stepped in. Grey gaping. It was obvious that he had never expected this to work.
Turn Key came down the path to meet them, holding something in one hand. He was a big fat older man, just as Dolph had described him, only more so. He spoke gibberish; then from his hand came words for Ivy: “What are you doing here in Mundania, Princess Ivy?” Apparently he had a box that could speak both languages.
“The Heaven Cent sent me, but it was a mistake.”
“Ah, so Prince Dolph found the Heaven Cent!” the box exclaimed, after a pause for gibberish that Grey evidently understood. This did not seem to be the same as Com-Pewter after all; the box was a golem that translated the man's Mundane speech. That was a relief; Ivy did not trust Com-Pewter. “But why didn't he use it himself?”
“He's grounded until he decides which girl to marry,” Ivy said. “So I used it instead, only Magician Murphy's curse must have interfered, because I got sent to Grey Murphy in Mundania.”
They entered Turn's house, which was very nice, with carpets on the floors and windows looking out on the Key.
“My understanding of such magic is limited,” Turn said.
“But I doubt that an eight-hundred-year-old curse could have such a far-reaching effect. Certainly it would not confuse a Mundane Murphy for the Magician Murphy or cause the Heaven Cent to go completely haywire. There must be some better rationale for what occurred.”
Ivy remembered that Dolph had mentioned the convoluted way that Turn Key expressed himself. She put up with it. “Anyway, I have to get back to Xanth so we can try again, and I promised to show Grey what Xanth is like. You see, he doesn't believe in magic.”
“You told a complete Mundane about Xanth?” Turn asked, appalled.
“It's all right. He doesn't believe it.”
“He will if you show it to him!”
“But I have to show him! I don't want him thinking I'm crazy.”
Grey spoke gibberish. In a moment the golem box translated. “I'm listening to all of this, you know! I'll concede that you two know a strange language, but you haven't shown me any magic.”
“A skeptic,” Turn said. “That's good. If he returns to his home now, there should be no problem.”
“No!” Ivy said sharply. “I want him to see Xanth!”
Turn gazed at her. “Xanth is no place for Mundanes; you know that. He'd get eaten by the first dragon he encountered.”
“I'll protect him,” Ivy said. “I know my way around in Xanth. Anyway, I have the magic mirror, so I can get right in touch with Castle Roogna.”
“You intend to take him all the way to Castle Roogna?”
“Of course! So he can meet—”
“Why?”
This brought her up short. “Why?”
“Why would you want a man from Mundania to meet your folks?”
“Well, if I—he—I mean—” She fumbled to a halt, confused.
“Because you like him?” Turn asked.
“Well—”
“Do you have any idea how your folks might react, if—”
Grey looked perplexed. “What are you two talking about? Even in translation it sounds like nonsense!”
Ivy found herself beset by a storm of indecision. Turn had seen right through a notion she had not even known she had. She knew very well what he was talking about, and knew he was right. She should send Grey home to his college right now.
She looked at Grey. He was absolutely nondescript in appearance and abilities. He was a nice person—but Mundania was not a good place for nice people. He would have to go back to what he called Freshman English, and it would slowly grind his life into mud.
“And if you take him in and he becomes a believer, I will not feel free to let him pass this portal again,” Turn warned. “We can not allow—”
“I know,” Ivy said. “Still—”
“You're a princess; you can do as you like,” Turn said gravely. “
But you are young and impetuous, and may bring incalculable mischief to others.”
“I know,” Ivy repeated almost inaudibly.
Turn shook his head grimly. “I wash my hands of it.”
“What's going on?” Grey demanded via translation.
Ivy took a deep breath. “Grey, I—I like you, and you helped me a lot, and I promised to show you Xanth. But-”
He assumed a look of understanding. “But of course you can't, because it doesn't exist. Look, Ivy, why don't you come back with me, and—”
That did it. “And I will show you Xanth!” she concluded. “Only, once you are in it, you may not be allowed to leave. So I really have to warn you—”
Grey shook his head tolerantly. “Let's assume for the sake of argument that Xanth exists and you take me into Mundania it and I can't return. What is there for me in Mundania, as you put it?”
“Freshman English,” she said with a smile.
“Right. A fate marginally worse than death. So show me your Xanth; I'll take my chances. Actually, it would be sort of nice to be in a land like that, where pies grow on trees and magic works.” He grimaced. “There I go again, getting foolish. The truth is, I just want to be with you. Ivy; I don't care where you go, as long as I can be by your side.”
He liked her, as she liked him, without doubt. But he had no notion of what he was asking for, and she was wrong to bring him into it. Probably she should send him back to his dull home. But she knew she wasn't going to.
“Send us through. Turn,” she said. “Both of us.”
Turn nodded, having expected this. “I must warn you that the route is not direct. You have to proceed through the gourd—and that is different for each person. The Night Stallion will know your identity, so you won't be harmed, but he does not like having solid folk trespass in the gourd, so he won't help you either. You will have to find your own way through, and it might turn out to be a significant challenge.”
“I've been in the gourd before,” Ivy said.
“But never with a Mundane companion.”
She knew that changed the whole picture. But she was committed. “We'll do it anyway. Just take us to the gourd.”
Turn sighed. “As you wish. Princess.”
Chapter 4
Mountain
Grey and Ivy followed the fat man out to the rear garden. This was a thoroughly fenced exotic jungle with pleasant byways and even, by the sound of it, a trickling stream in the background. Then they came to a monstrous watermelonlike thing, with a stem on one side and a hole in the other. This was evidently the “gourd” they had mentioned that was the route to Xanth. He was sure there wasn't any more inside that gourd than pulp and seeds.
Ivy faced him and made signs. Inside talk.
There was another translator box in there? Why not!
Hold hand, she continued.
Gladly! He took her hand. Ivy climbed into the hole, and he climbed in right after her.
Suddenly they were in a cave that seemed larger than the gourd itself. Oh—the gourd was merely a faked-up entrance to this new chamber. Clever!
“This is merely an aspect of Xanth,” Ivy said. “It is where I thought I was before.”
“You thought you were in a big gourd,” he agreed.
Then he realized that the language barrier was gone; they were talking directly again! No wait for the translation computer. This was an improvement.
“We don't have to hold hands, now that we're past the threshold,” she continued. “But stay very close to me, Grey, because the world of the gourd isn't like regular Xanth. It has funny rules, and it can be pretty scary.”
“Scary? Like an amusement park horror house? I'm not worried.”
“The gourd is where the bad dreams are made,” she said. “Then the night mares carry them to each sleeper who deserves them. Nothing here is really real, but it can terrify almost anyone.”
Not really real. Was she coming to her senses and admitting that Xanth was just a state of mind? That she wasn't really a princess in a magical land but just a girl who liked to dream? “Thanks for the warning,” he said.
“Also, it is set for each person who enters it, though usually that's not physical,” she continued. “That's why I entered first, so that my presence would fix it. You had to be in physical contact with me at the time; otherwise it would have put you into a separate dream sequence, and we might never have gotten together again.”
“That would have been bad,” he agreed. She seemed to make so much sense! She had really worked out this fantasy pretty thoroughly. Of course it was modeled on the Xanth novels, which she must have read a lot more carefully then he had. Now he wished he hadn't skimmed parts.
“Just remember: nothing here is really going to hurt us, as long as we keep to the proper path and don't spook. But we may be terrified before we get through.”
Grey remembered one scene in Xanth, where a party had made a harrowing trip along the Lost Path where assorted punnish things abounded, and Prince Dolph had gotten lost in a modern airport: the innocent Xanth idea of horror. If this horror-house setting was modeled on that, he had little to worry about. “I'll keep that in mind.”
There was light ahead. They proceeded toward it, and soon the cave opened out into a breathtaking landscape.
It was a mountain, projecting up from gloomy mists into the sunlight, its curious outlines showing in starkest relief. It was stepped vaguely like a pyramid with crude terraces set off by vertical drops, and abrupt cave entries, shining crystalline spires, and a flying buttress or two. At the very top, perched at what seemed a precarious angle, was a turreted palace or castle, so far and high it looked tiny. The whole effect was of fairyland beauty and challenge.
Beside him. Ivy was silent, gazing as raptly as he at the mountain. Then she came to life. “I had hoped it wouldn't be this bold, this soon,” she murmured.
Grey walked forward to gain a better view of the fascinating structure. Suddenly he stopped. He had almost banged into a glass barrier! Then he looked again. “Why it's a picture!” he exclaimed. “Just a picture of a fancy mountain! We can't reach it.”
“I don't think that's the case,” Ivy said. “This is the gourd, remember, where dreams are real. We shall have to enter the picture.”
“Enter the—?” But he remembered that there had been just such a scene in one of the books, so naturally she believed it. “Okay, you make the scene, and I'll follow.”
“Yes.” She stepped forward and through the barrier.
Grey gaped. She was standing on the painted path that led down into the painted valley that contained the painted mountain. She was inside the picture!
Then he realized that it was an optical illusion. There was an entry there, or something. He moved over to where she had stood, then forward, cautiously. He put out a hand.
He touched the surface of the picture. He passed his fingers along it. The thing was definitely a painting, done in slight relief; he could feel the edge of the terraces and of each of the steps on the stone stairways circling the mountain. No way to walk into that scene!
Yet there was Ivy, part of the picture. She had walked down the path a way, perhaps assuming that he was right behind her, and perspective made her look smaller. Was it really her? He stroked her backside with a finger—and she jumped.
While Grey stared, the pictured Ivy whirled around, a mixed expression on her little face. She was alive—yet painted! He had felt the material of her skirt, the firmness of her tiny bottom, yet also the flatness of the painting.
Ivy was saying something, but he could not hear her, of course. How could a figure in a painting speak?
Then she started making signs. Grey, she signed, using the signs for white and black, which they had agreed would be his name: mix white with black and you got gray.
Her name was Green Plant. He made that sign, answering her. Suddenly they had a new use for the language of the deaf.
Come here she signed.
I can not
he signed back, hardly believing this. How could she be part of a picture, yet still alive and moving?
She walked back toward him, growing rapidly larger as the perspective changed. Finally she was his own size, standing in the foreground of the picture. Take my hand.
Grey put forth his hand. He set it against the painting, beside her, having learned caution about touching her image directly. She put her hand up to match his.
The texture of the painting changed under his fingers.
It became warm and yielding, like flesh. Then his hand clasped hers, their fingers interweaving.
She tugged, and he fell forward. He had the impression of stepping into water, the surface tension crossing his body. He blinked, and tried to recover his balance.
Then Ivy was holding him, steadying him. “Don't worry. Grey, you're in,” she said.
It was always nice being close to her, but he was too distracted to enjoy it properly. He disengaged and looked back. There was the cave: a picture mounted in a huge frame.
He looked forward. There was the mountain—larger and sharper than before. The air was cooler here, and smelled slightly of ocean; a sea breeze ruffed his hair and Ivy's tresses, making the green flicker.
Green?
He snapped back to look closely at her. Her hair had a definite green tint! He took a hank between his fingers, inspecting it. Blond and green.
“My mother's hair is much darker green,” Ivy said, understanding. “Because of her green thumb, you know. She has green hair and green panties, and she turns other women green with envy. But I'm only a shadow of her, so I'm less green.”
“Green panties?” Grey echoed.
Ivy's hand went to her mouth. “Oh, I shouldn't have told! No man outside the family is supposed to know the color of her panties! Promise you won't tell!”
“I, uh, won't tell,” Grey agreed numbly. He had better concerns than anyone's panties, at the moment! How could he be within the picture, and the place he had come from converted to a picture?
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