Dragon on a Pedestal

by Piers Anthony

  But now he was traveling toward a hypotenuse who was basking in shallow water. The hypotenuse was enormously fat, with a huge mouth that opened into a triangle. When Stanley had turned and proceeded at an angle, and then turned to proceed at another angle, he had taken a line right toward the hypotenuse.

  "Poor Stanley," Ivy cried. "Hugo, you must do something!"

  Hugo obediently cudgeled his brain again. "I don't know what fruit can stop monsters like these!"

  To make things worse, the drake had now recovered. He took off and circled, ready to fire down at Stanley's head. Stanley would be able to duck under the water, but he would not be able to stay down long, and the moment he came up that lance of fire would be coming at him. Ivy was not at all sanguine about the situation. After all, it was her dragon on her pedestal who was at risk. What would she do if anything really awful happened to him?

  "Hurry up!" she cried at Hugo. "Only you can save him!

  Do something fantastic!" She knew he could, because that was the nature of Nights in Shiny Armor.

  Prodded by that, Hugo concentrated and produced--a bunch of grapes.

  Ivy had terrific confidence in Hugo, but even she had to harbor a small and unfortunate doubt about this. "Grapes?"

  "These are the grapes of wrath," Hugo said proudly. "I never was able to conjure them before. But they're dangerous to use. Are you sure--?"

  The drake was diving toward Stanley, and the allegory and hypotenuse were closing in. "Use them! Use them!" Ivy cried.

  "We may be sorry," Hugo said and hurled the bunch of grapes into the lake just as the drake was starting a lance of fire toward Stanley's nose.

  Stanley ducked his head, avoiding the jet. But the fire passed through one of the bands of mist. The mist ignited, converting to flame.

  The flame jumped to another patch of mist, then another. In a moment, there were columns of flame all across the lake.

  The drake flapped awkwardly, trying to avoid the flame that appeared in front of him. The dragon breathed fire, but his wings were not fireproof. He dodged the nearest flaming cloud but had to continue swerving to avoid the other flames. The drake was no longer concerned with Stanley; he had his own hide to protect--

  The other creatures were now in trouble, too. The hypotenuse quickly submerged, hiding from the fire, and the allegory swam swiftly away. The relevant trumpeted in fear and charged away from the lake.

  A parody was just flying in. It had green wings and a squat, down-curving beak. "Wots this wots this?" it squawked and retreated in haste. "Polly wanna crackup!" This was not parody country at the moment.

  But the rage of the mists was only the beginning. As the grapes of wrath sank into the water, the water became furiously agitated. It seethed and boiled. The surface became rough, ripples of emotion traveled across it, and soon it was making waves. The waves slapped at the fiery mists, and the mists heated the waves, turning their fringes to steam. This interplay only disturbed both forces further, and their angry efforts increased.

  "Those are strong grapes," Ivy remarked, impressed.

  "They come from a mean vintage," Hugo agreed. "I had to be sure to get the right ones, because if I conjured sour grapes by mistake, it wouldn't have worked out very well."

  "Stanley's in trouble!" she said. "The waves--"

  "I told you it was risky! I don't know any fruit that would help."

  "Then find something else!" she cried.

  Hugo looked around. "Ah--there are some string beans growing on the bank. We can use them."

  "You're brilliant, Hugo," she said. And of course he was, now.

  They harvested a number of beans and unraveled them. Each was formed of a balled length of tough string--too tough to be cut by any normal knife or bitten through by any normal teeth. They twined the strings into a longer, even sturdier cord and paid it out into the water. Hugo used a beanpole to push this cord toward Stanley, who clamped his teeth on it. Then they reeled him in, and the fierce waves couldn't interfere.

  Stanley was all right, for he had been able to duck under most of the fires, but he was very tired. The day was now hot, because of all the fire, so they retreated from the raging, burning lake and sought shade beyond the next hill to rest in.

  It was comfortable here beneath the spreading acorn tree, and no immediate threats manifested, so Ivy didn't even need to suggest a rest break. They all simply lay down and snoozed. Ivy lay with her head against Stanley's warm side, feeling most secure there. "You're a wonderful dragon for my pedestal," she told him. "You're just perfect." And Stanley got all steamed up with pleasure--Ivy was only echoing the kind of sentiment she had been exposed to in her own family, but her power extended it in a rather wonderful way.

  Time passed quietly, like the calm before the storm.

  Zzapp! Ivy woke with a start. Something had passed close by, disturbing her, but she didn't see anything.

  She got up. She knew there had been something, probably only a buzzing bottle fly, but she couldn't rest until she had placed it. This was her childish curiosity in operation, perhaps foolish, but quite compelling. After all, some of those flying bottles could be very pretty.

  Zzapp! The sound was near the tree. She hurried to it--and discovered a small hole through its trunk. Odd--she didn't remember that! She could see daylight through it, for the hole was perfectly straight, or at least only a little wavy.

  She went to the other side. There, an arm's length beyond the trunk, hung a little, loosely spiraled worm. She had seen similar things before, usually in the ground or in spoiled fruit, so she passed her hand above it to intercept the invisible thread on which it hung. But nothing happened. She checked all around it, to see if there were sidewise strands suspending it, but there were none of these either. What held it in place?

  She poked the worm with her finger. It was medium-hard and fixed in place, not moving from her pressure. This was more curious yet! She got down to put her eye near it.

  Zzapp! The worm was gone. She looked where the sound of it had seemed to go, away from her, and in a moment found the little worm again, hovering in midair farther out from the tree.

  Ivy went back and woke Hugo, "You're smart," she said. "Come and tell me what I found."

  Hugo grimaced. He would have preferred to sleep a little longer; being intelligent was not all that much fun when he had to keep using his brain to solve difficult problems. That was very much like work. But he got up and followed her to the place the worm hovered.

  Zzapp! The worm was gone.

  Hugo stared. His irritation ripened into horror. "My father said they were extinct!" he exclaimed.

  "That cute little worm!" Ivy asked. She identified with cute things, quite properly.

  "That's no cute little worm!" he said emphatically. "That's a wiggle! There must be a swarm."

  "A wiggle?" Ivy asked blankly, wiggling her torso experimentally.

  "The most terrible menace in Xanth," Hugo explained. "They destroy everything. See, this one has holed the acorn tree already! Don't stand in front of a wiggle, or it will hole you, too. We've got to get rid of it!"

  "Stanley can steam it," Ivy said, unworried

  Stanley was now awake and had joined them. He sniffed the wiggle in its new location. The thing looked like no more than a tiny, twisted piece of stem, difficult to see at all from any distance.

  "Steam it!" Hugo cried. "Destroy it!"

  The little dragon shrugged and jetted out hot steam. The vapor surrounded the wiggle, cooking it in place. After a moment, the worm dropped to the ground, dead.

  "That's a relief," Hugo said. "My father says it's been thirty years since the last wiggle swarm, and he hoped there would never be another. He says if the wiggles ever get out of hand, it won't be safe for any other creature in Xanth. I've got to tell him--" He paused, crestfallen. "But he's a baby now! He can't do anything!"

  "But what do wiggles do?" Ivy asked, not quite understanding. She had not been around for the last wiggle swarming.

&
nbsp; "Nothing. I mean, all they do is swarm. They just travel until they get where they're going, and then they swarm again, and everything has holes in it."

  "Oh." Ivy didn't want her friends to be holed. "But we killed it, so it's all right."

  "I don't think so," Hugo said "Wiggles always come in swarms, and--" He paused, listening.

  Zzapp! It was the sound of another wiggle.

  There was a swarm, all right. Xanth was in trouble.

  Chapter 15

  Lady Gap

  "Does your husband swear?" Chem asked Irene as they walked on toward the Cyclops' cave.

  Irene was glad to take her mind from the goblin and harpy action just finished. "Dor swear? As in bad words? Of course not! Why do you ask?"

  "Something the Muse mentioned. Clio is in charge of history, and she told me how she writes the official history books that cover all of what goes on in Xanth. But she said there's a lot to do, and because history doesn't remain still, she can never quite catch up. So when the time came to proofread the volume on Dor's visit to the time of King Roogna, she had another Muse do it. Then, later, when Clio looked at the book herself, she discovered errors--typographical mistakes that weren't obvious, so the other Muse hadn't realized. Only Clio, who was conversant with the material, perceived those errors--but by then the volume had been finalized, as she put it, and it was too late. Once a volume has been finalized in Parnassus, it can never be changed, even if it's wrong."

  Irene had not realized that such a volume existed; Dor had never spoken of it, though she had known about his visit to Xanth's past. "And the book said Dor swore?"

  "Not exactly. It was on--I think she said page sixty, about ten lines from the top--she's very fussy about such details--where Dor was talking to his sword. He was using this big Mundane body, you know--that was how he got into the past, by entering the tapestry-figure that was there--"

  "I know about the tapestry," Irene exclaimed. "I'd like to see that book!"

  "Why, there's a copy of it at home," the Gorgon said. She had at last removed the hood and was using her regular veil again. "Humfrey keeps a complete file. I read it when it was new. Fascinating story, full of barbarian violence and sex and gross stupidities. I love that sort of book!"

  "Hmm," Irene murmured. "I begin to comprehend why my husband did not tell me about this. I believe I'll visit you after our search is over, so I can read that story."

  "Dor's in trouble!" Grundy singsonged gleefully.

  "I read them all as they appear," the Gorgon continued. "There was one about your journey to Mundania, and another about the ogres, and of course there was one about Mare Imbri. I can hardly wait to see how this present business is written up! And Humfrey mentioned getting an advance notice about a future volume that tells of Jordan the Ghost and his own visit to the tapestry, or something--"

  "Hey, I know Jordan!" Grundy said. "He helped Imbri beat the Horseman in the NextWave siege."

  "What about Dor's swearing?" Irene asked, faintly nettled. She had thought she knew most of what was important about her husband.

  "As I said," Chem resumed. "On that page, it is reported that his sword tells him he is undoubtedly crazy, and Dor says, 'Well, you're in my hand now. You'll do as I direct.' Or words to that effect."

  "That's not swearing," Irene said. "You have to have a firm hand with the inanimate, or there's no end of mischief. Dor was simply establishing who was boss."

  "But the text recorded it as 'Hell, you're in my hand'--an

  H instead of a W."

  Irene grimaced. "You mean everyone who sees that text will believe my husband swore at his sword?"

  "I'm afraid so," Chem said apologetically. "It seems a gremlin got into the works, and changed it the way gremlins do, and because of the circumstances of proofreading--"

  "Oh, bother!" Irene said, irritated--and wondered whether that would be recorded as an obscenity, as the gremlin generated more mischief. But then she took heart. "Maybe not too many people will see it, so it won't do Dor's reputation too much harm. After all, I never saw it, so probably--"

  "Oh, yeah?" Grundy cut in. "I happen to know that someone leaked copies of several of those texts to Mundania, including that one, so a whole bunch of people must have seen it!"

  Black rage clouded Irene's vision, but she controlled herself so as not to give the golem satisfaction. "Not too many people who count," she amended.

  "Oh," Grundy said, disgruntled. It was true that no one with any sense cared much about the antics of Mundanes.

  "Maybe I shouldn't have brought it up," Chem said apologetically. "It was only one of a number of cases--"

  "A number of cases!" Irene cried, outraged.

  "They don't all involve Dor," the centaur said quickly.

  The party marched on in silence. When they were about half an hour away from the Cyclops' lair, something else interposed. Some large creature was whomping through the forest toward them.

  "If that's a monster, I'm going to grow a tangle tree!" Irene said, fed up with delays.

  "If I didn't know better," Chem remarked, "I'd suppose that was the Gap Dragon. It's the only creature I know of that moves by whomping along."

  "I saw what happened in the magic mirror," Irene said. "The Gap Dragon definitely OD'd on a Fountain of Youth water and became tiny. This is far too solid a whomping for that."

  "Yes," the Gorgon said, remembering as she was reminded. "Humfrey and the dragon--both infants now. Lacuna is baby-sitting--"

  "Well, it sure sounds like the Gap Dragon," Grundy said. "Better be ready to remove your veil, Stonestare, just in case."

  The creature came into sight.

  "The Gap Dragon! Irene exclaimed. "It is it!"

  Indeed it seemed so. The dragon was full-sized, with bright metallic scales, three sets of legs, vestigial wings, and plumes of steam. It spied them and charged, shaking the ground with its whomping.

  No time now to marvel at impossibilities! Irene fished for a seed. "I'd better sprout that tangle tree!" she said. "Or a strangler fig."

  "No, wait!" the Gorgon protested. "I remember now! Humfrey said the Gap Dragon must not be hurt! It's needed in the Gap!"

  Irene paused. "That's right. He did say that. It made precious little sense to me at the time, but now we know the Gap Dragon helps keep the goblins and harpies apart. Even if that wasn't the case, Humfrey always did know what he was talking about before, so we'd better heed him this time. But how can we stop that monster if I don't use my most devastating plants and you don't show your face?"

  "That question makes me feel very insecure," the Gorgon admitted.

  "Grow defensive plants," Chem suggested, worried herself. It was one thing to conjecture on the theoretical value of the Gap Dragon to the society of Xanth; it was another to watch that monster steaming down on the group. "Until we can slow the dragon down enough so it can listen to Grundy. Then maybe we can find out how it reversed the Fountain of Youth effect."

  "Reversed the Youth!" the Gorgon exclaimed. "Oh, yes, we must learn that! I can get my husband back to normal!" She paused, considering. "Or maybe partway back. I'd like to know him at a comfortable age of forty or fifty, instead of over one hundred."

  "The baby dragon was with the children," Chem said. "Now that it has reverted to adult status, I hope it didn't--"

  "The children!" Irene exclaimed. But then her hand found the ivy plant she wore. It remained healthy. "No, the children are all right. At least Ivy is, and surely that means Hugo is, too, since they were together."

  "Surely," the Gorgon agreed, relieved.

  "Get on with the defensive plants, girls!" Grundy cried, seeing the dragon bearing down on them. It had been making progress all this time but had had some distance to go. Now it loomed excruciatingly large and fierce, the plumes of steam sweeping back along its long body.

  Hastily Irene selected and threw down a seed. "Grow! Grow!" she cried. How could she have stood here talking while the monster was charging?

  Impelle
d by the double command, the seed fairly burst into growth. Irene was aware that her power had been slowly fading during her separation from her talented daughter Ivy, but she still had enough zip for this. The plant took firm root, developed a thick, gray-white stem, and spread out a globe of whitish leaves. Overall, it was not large or impressive; it was squat and low and showed no thorns or threatening flowers.

  "The monster'll crash right through that!" Grundy said nervously.

  "I doubt it," Irene replied. "Stand directly behind it."

  The four of them placed themselves behind the bush. The dragon whomped right at it, shooting out a sizzling jet of steam. But the steam bounced off the leaves, coating them with moisture; they did not wilt.

  Surprised, the dragon slowed. Ordinarily it would simply have crushed the bush underfoot, but it had learned caution about unusual plants. Some plants could defend themselves quite adequately. It moved into this one at reduced velocity.

  And bounced off it. The dragon was shaken; the bush remained undented.

  "Something odd about this plant," Chem said, understating the case somewhat.

  "What is it?" the Gorgon asked, impressed.

  "One you should recognize," Irene said. "A cement plant."

  "No, I don't know anything about cement plants," the Gorgon said. "Plants don't have eyes, so can't see me, so can't be turned to stone by the sight of my face. Otherwise we'd have a handy way to foil the dragon; we could hide behind any bush and turn it to stone."

  Meanwhile, the dragon had figured out that there was something funny about the plant and was circling around it, steaming angrily. Irene quickly tossed down several more seeds. "Grow!"

  Ferns sprouted. "What can ferns do?" Grundy asked.

  "These are chain ferns," Irene explained.

  In moments the ferns developed metallic links, hooked up to each other, and formed a sturdy chain barring the dragon's progress.

  But the chain was too low; the dragon sniffed it, pondered for a reasonable interval, then simply whomped over it.

  However, Irene had already started more plants growing. Several amazon lilies lashed at the dragon's feet, striking with their small spears of leaves. But the reptile's feet were too tough to be hurt by these, and progress was hardly impeded.