“Thank you,” Kadence said, and faded.
Ula returned. She had always been there, of course, just mute. “Oh!” she cried gladly, and hugged them both.
“And I see no reason why Tata and the peeve can’t remain as custodians,” Nia concluded. “There will surely be uses for your special talents.” She smiled. “Even choice insults, on occasion.”
“Thank you,” the peeve said, and the dogfish’s screen brightened.
“Now you kids can run the boat,” Nia said. “Dell and I have private business.” She took him by the hand and led him into their bedroom.
“I wish I knew what it is that adults do that they like so much,” Win said.
“We’ll find out when we get there,” Squid said.
“Say—the sail is heart-shaped!” Ula exclaimed.
Then Nia closed the door behind them, and their further dialogue was lost.
“Uh—” Dell said.
She glanced sidelong at him. “You’re not having second thoughts?”
“No! I love you. Only—”
“Only?”
“I—I—never actually did it with a girl before. I knew the mermaid, robot, demoness and all knew how to do it, so it would be all right, but—”
“I assure you I am more than competent in that department. There will be no problem.”
“Yes. I know it will be great tomorrow and the day after, with the girl. But—”
She stood before him and gazed into his eyes. “Whatever it is, I can handle it, Dell, and I will not embarrass you. Tell me flat out what’s on your mind.”
“I always depended on you to know what’s best for me, so I don’t make a fool of myself. I trust you. I don’t really know the—the innocent granddaughter, but I’m comfortable with you, Nia. So please—”
“Anything,” she breathed.
“This first time I want it to be with the one I know. The—the grandmother. To lead me through it. So I can learn how to do it exactly right. How to treat the girl.”
“You want the grandmother?” she asked, amazed. “For this?”
“Yes,” he said, embarrassed. “The one I trust. Please. I really need you.”
She stared at him. Then something changed, somewhat the way Ula changed when Kadence took over. Slowly she metamorphosed into the old woman without actually changing physically. “You got it, Dell.” She took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. It was the old squeeze.
“Uh, thanks.” Had he utterly destroyed her opinion of him?
“No problem. Tomorrow the girl.” She smiled, and it was the old smile, with something added. He got the feeling that she was fundamentally flattered, immeasurably pleased with him. Then he knew it was all right.
“Thanks,” he said again, awkwardly.
“You know how you reassessed things when you realized you could have Anna via an accommodation spell? Then she reassessed when she had to make the decision that could make her real again? Well, I reassessed when I realized that I could have all three of my wishes: project, boat, and you. I thought about how we’re no longer spraints on the riverbank, and we no longer have to heed to the evil whispers of fear. Not as long as we have each other.” She paused. “What are your three wishes, Dell?”
“Uh, girl, boat, and to make something of myself.” He caught himself. “By girl I mean you.”
“So our wishes do align. I was always the woman you wanted to be with, but you couldn’t see it because of my age. Denial. Not a river in Africa.”
“Uh, you said that before. I still don’t understand.”
“Yes. And I will explain it fully. After we do what we are about to do. This will be a very thorough demonstration that will put our young bodies through their paces.”
“Uh, thanks.”
“First we’ll clean up,” Nia said. “And then I’m going to show you what else can be done in the shower. To start.”
It was the beginning of a most remarkable experience. Neither spraints nor fear had anything to do with it.
Author’s Note
When I pondered what next for Xanth, I checked my Idea file, where I store ideas that are waiting impatiently to become stories, novellas, or even novels, and discovered an array of prospective titles: Web Sight, Phantasy Pholk, Bone Arrow, Cubic Xanthonia, The Crock of Spit, Mnemosyne’s Mnemesis, Worse Coming, Vitamin F, Eeeeek Out, Bum Wrap, A Boy and His Basilisk, Tooth or Consequences, and one my wife suggested, Fire Sail. I wonder why I chose the last?
Sensible writers work out their novels, then develop sensible titles. Xanth is different; it may start with a ridiculous title, and devolve from there. This novel did. I don’t know what the next novel may be, but I suspect the small craft will not retreat entirely into obscurity. The marvelous magic flying skiff with the fiery sail, piloted by two rather young seeming ordinary people, assisted by a robot fish and an obnoxious little bird, and sometimes by children one of whom is actually a mollusk and another a princess from the near future—dull folk, I admit, but perhaps with potential. What other missions await them? Stay tuned.
But here’s a likely hint: on the last day of my writing the present novel, a reader suggested that I include a jester in the next one. That set off fermentation in my festering mind, and I believe the next title will be Jest Right, about a young woman no one takes seriously, so she becomes a jester. As she puts it: “I told my boyfriend I loved him and wanted to marry him, and he laughed his head off. Here it is.” And she brings out a model of a laughing man’s head. She will join with some of the lost girlfriends Dell left behind to form a female troupe that catches rides in Fibot.
Two things were occurring in my life while I wrote this novel. One was a search for a new publisher, as the old one was demanding life-of-copyright rights, which essentially means the author can recover his literary rights only seventy years after he dies. For reasons publishers find obscure, I am not willing to wait that long.
The other was dentistry. My teeth have troubled me all my life. No matter how carefully I treat them, they decay, crack, and generally misbehave. So finally I had them all out, and a total of sixteen implants put in. Those are artificial teeth set in the bone that will never rot. Then I planned to have the upper denture snap onto those implants so it would be secure when in use. A good, convenient system. Then after six months on the dread soft diet while my jaw healed, at age eighty-one, I discovered that that one denture would cost me as much as a new car. I just couldn’t see putting that much money into my mouth this late in life, if ever. It’s not that I don’t have the money; it’s that I simply can’t justify spending so much on half my mouth. I hate being considered a captive market without a choice. This is something that dentists don’t seem to understand. So I searched also for a more modest alternative. I even queried my readers in my HiPiers column, and got some interesting answers, such as how much cheaper such work is in Mexico. But I am old and my wife is infirm; international travel is out. I finally compromised on a cheaper variant, not as good, but hey, at my age I don’t really need one that will last a century.
Despite these distractions, the writing moved well, and I had the first draft essentially complete in two months. It is an irony that the commercial worth of my books is inversely proportional to their literary worth and time spent writing them. A serious six-month project may barely pay its way, while frivolous fantasy made me rich. So I do both kinds. This present novel is, as you may have suspected, the latter kind. But there is some relevance hidden in it. For example, the Fountain of Youth in real life is exactly where it is in Xanth. That is, near St. Augustine, Florida.
Now for the credits to my inventive readers. I have not used all the ideas they sent, but they will be on deck for following novels. I regret that I had to use some great ideas peripherally; there was simply not room in the novel to fully exploit them all. These are listed approximately in the order used in the novel, e
xcept that I try to group credits from the same readers.
Band saw playing music; Pair O Dice City; Uncertain Tea—Tom Pfarrer. Talent of changing color, texture, smell, taste, sound of things—Wiley Kohler. Electri City, Don Peyote—Misty Zaebst. Hand Kerchief—Tonya Wheeler. Cool Hand Lute, Meaner than a four-headed cactus in a drought—William Adams. Wet sense of humor; Keeping an eyeball on a person—Sara Cornelius. The spraint riddle—Arion Kheldar, who is no longer with us. David Kheldar knows the answer, at [email protected]. David also suggested Rasp Berries.
“Evil Whispers” poem—Anne White. Domin Ants—Avi Ornstein. Lie Brary; Zombie Prom; Sweetie Pie; Tickled Pink—Mary Rashford. Sky Scraper—Linnea Solomon. No Pants Subway Ride—Sean Dees, who says it’s an annual event in parts of Mundania. So Mundania is not always quite as dull as reputed. Reality Check that bounces—Joshua Viscioni. Gel-A-Sea—David Conley. Copy ’n’ Paste spell; Undoo—Keith Robinson. Facts Machine—Dan Scocchia. Wet Porpoise—David D. Stanton. Movers and Shakers—Karen Donovan. Sweat up a storm—Seth Garner. Prop her tea, prop his tea—Jestin Larson. Truth Berries—David Seltzer. Ron Chi—Kari Lambert. Lightening Bolt, Enlightening Bolt; Paths: psycho, socio, tele, ideo; angel of attack, angel of attach—Richard Van Fossan. Fan C; flashlight/heavy; Giant Tess; C Side Village; Ann Noy—Tim Bruening. Know-Ledge, Eve can learn about a living person by touching their hair; Nanny Goat babysits—Joshua Davenport-Herbst. Nan O’Tech, with its considerable detail—Andrew Fine.
“Why not speak for yourself, Dell?” adapted from Longfellow’s “The Courtship of Miles Standish,” where John Alden was required to speak a proposal of marriage for his commander and the lady suggested that he speak for himself, knowing he loved her. There was even a cigarette brand named John Alden, that spoke for itself. Jack Pot, with the maiden; D Saster—Kerry Garrigan. Hawthorne—Alan Story. D Bug—Bear Rollins. AC/DC currants—Tom Rutherford. D Mure—Douglas Brown. General Anna Sthesia—Rusty Burkett.
And my credit to my proofreaders, Scott M. Ryan and Anne White. If the latter name seems familiar, it’s because you just read it in the credits above, for the poem about Fear.
If you enjoyed this novel and want to know more of me, you can check my website at www.HiPiers.com, where I do a monthly blog-type column and maintain an ongoing survey of electronic publishers for the benefit of aspiring writers. I do try to help others in my fashion.
About the Author
Piers Anthony has written dozens of bestselling science fiction and fantasy novels. Perhaps best known for his long-running Magic of Xanth series, many of which are New York Times bestsellers, he has also had great success with the Incarnations of Immortality series and the Cluster series, as well as Bio of a Space Tyrant and others. Much more information about Piers Anthony can be found at www.HiPiers.com.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Piers Anthony
Cover design and illustration by Amanda Shaffer
ISBN: 978-1-5040-5873-5
Published in 2019 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
180 Maiden Lane
New York, NY 10038
www.openroadmedia.com
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