He flew back the way he had come, ducking down whenever anything threatening seemed about to lurk. Once he almost landed in the middle of what appeared to be a Mundane family: a father, a mother, a three-year-old boy, and his little brother of only about a year and a half. They looked somewhat bewildered, and Hugo wanted to say something reassuring to them, but couldn’t talk their language and suspected that the sight of a large bat would just spook them.
But then a young woman happened along a path. “Oh, hello,” she said. “May I help you?”
“Hello,” the man said. “I am Thom, and this is my wife Lauryl, and my sons Noah and Jacob. We seem to have suffered a sudden change of setting.”
“I know how that is. I’m looking for—well, I’m Mike’s girlfriend, and—”
“You say you’re ‘my ex-girlfriend?’ ” Thom asked. “Your gender preference is your own, of course, but how can you be your own ex-girlfriend?”
The woman shook her head. “It is my talent to be misunderstood. I—never mind. Are you folk lost? There’s a castle not far from here, and—”
“Thanks, but we prefer to find our own way.” The family had evidently misunderstood her offer of help. That was the way of it, when a person was cursed. Hugo couldn’t help either; he flew on.
Not far beyond he spied a young man walking toward the family. That must be Mike, looking for his not-ex-girlfriend. She must have given him directions where to meet her, which of course he had misunderstood.
Soon he spied the castle, which was a suitable marker in this wilderness region. Well, not entirely wilderness; there was the couple he had overheard by the unpleasantree. But maybe they were castle servants, sneaking out for a quick kiss. Maybe fraternization between servants was forbidden. So maybe it wasn’t completely utter sheer random coincidence that they had given him information he needed. But he wondered.
When he thought of it, it had been pretty coincidental that he had gotten transported to the locked cell. All he had wanted was a bottle of Rhed Whine, and suddenly everything had changed. Had he walked into a forget whorl or some other kind of whorl that did something weird to him?
He found the bat cave, which was behind the castle. That meant that the cell was in the castle, next to the cave.
“Halt, stranger!” It was a bat sentry at the cave entrance, calling out in bat talk, which Hugo understood in this body. There had been no sentry before; this must be a nocturnal thing.
Hugo halted. “I am Bathos Bat, returning to my niche.” The guard surely would not understand about the exchange of minds.
“You’re too late,” the sentry retorted. “The cave is closed for the night.”
“But I need to get back,” Hugo protested.
“You should have returned on time. Now go away.”
He was stuck. He couldn’t get back to exchange with Bathos. What was he going to do?
He flew back to the forest and landed beside a deserted monument, because he was having trouble focusing on a solution while flying aimlessly.
“What ho, bat!”
Oops, it was a demon. The next-to-last thing he wanted was trouble with a demon. “If I trespassed on your territory, I’m sorry and I’ll move out immediately,” he said in bat talk.
“Demons don’t have territories, dumbbell. I just happen to like tombs. What’s your excuse?”
This seemed friendly enough, as demons went. “I’m Bathos Bat, or rather, a man borrowing this bat’s body. I’m trying to find a way out of a dungeon cell.”
“And I’m DeCrypt. I decode things.”
Hugo tried to smile, but the bat face wasn’t right for it. “Demoness Metria could use your help, because she’s always getting the wrong word.”
“But she gets cross when you provide it,” DeCrypt said.
“So you know her.”
“Who doesn’t? She’s halfway crazy.”
“She is,” Hugo agreed.
“Now stop molesting my tomb.”
So much for demons not having territories. He would have to find another place to roost until morning. When the bats cleared out by day, he would be able to reenter the cave.
He flew to one side of the cave entrance and the other, seeking some suitable temporary niche, but there seemed to be none.
Then another bat voice called to him. “What’s your problem, Batbrain?”
Someone was contacting him! “I need a place for the night,” he said. “I stayed out too late, and the sentry won’t let me back in.”
“I have a spare niche,” the bat said. “But it will cost you. What do you have that I want?”
He realized as he approached that this bat was female. “I don’t know. What do you want?”
“Fruit, of course.”
Aha. “Let me join you, and I will tell you a story you may find hard to believe, but it can lead to all the fruit you want.”
“What a line! But know, O stranger, that I am a warrior female and will rip your wings off if you make one false move. Come on in.”
This did not seem entirely promising, but he seemed to lack options. He came to land beside her in her niche. Actually he caught hold of the niche ceiling with his clawed feet and swung to hang upside down beside her; his body did it automatically. “No false moves,” he agreed.
“I am Brunhilda Bat, warrior and feminist galore. Who the hang are you?”
“Well, I’m not exactly who I seem to be,” he said cautiously. “That’s part of my story.”
“Then who are you really? You look like a bat to me.”
“I am Hugo Human. I exchanged minds with Bathos Bat, which is who I seem to be.”
“You’re right: I find this hard to believe. Tell me your whole story. Then I’ll decide how big a liar you are.”
So Hugo told her the story, up to the present.
“Well, you’re certainly a liar,” she said. “I know of that cell. It has been occupied by a human since before we colonized this cave. So you couldn’t have arrived here only two days ago. How do you explain that?”
“I must have—” Suddenly a dim bulb flashed. “I must have exchanged bodies with the prisoner, just as later I exchanged minds with Bathos. So that person is now at the Good Magician’s Castle—” He broke off. “Oh, no!”
“Oh, what?”
“He may be chasing after my dear wife Wira. That’s a horrible thought.”
“Not if she likes him better than you.”
Hugo felt a surge of anger, before he realized she was teasing him. “She wouldn’t give him as much as a stink horn. But she must be really worried about me.”
“Maybe so. You seem like a decent sort.” She swung over and kissed him, upside down.
“Why did you do that?” Hugo asked, startled.
“Why do you think, dimbulb? To make you desire me.”
“But don’t you hate males?”
“I’m a feminist, not a male-hater. I just haven’t found the right male yet. All I want is a talented independent operator with excellent prospects who knows his place.”
“His place?”
“As my subservient love slave.”
“But he wouldn’t be independent then.”
“Independent of everything else,” she clarified.
“But I’m human!”
“That makes you independent of the bat hierarchy, doesn’t it?”
“But I’m married!”
“Separated.”
“But I don’t love you.”
“What’s love got to do with it? Your passion will completely govern you, and only I will have the power to sate it.”
She had certainly worked it out. Now he understood why the other male bats avoided her. “It’s not right!”
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll kiss you again, like this.” She kissed him again, harder, and she was right: it did make him desire her. She was all the bat woman any bat man could ever want. He could not afford any more of those kisses.
He shut up. He had no choice.
“So what do you say you can offer to make it worth my while to help you?” Brunhilda was nothing if not practical. She had spelled out her agenda, but had not yet decided whether to take him. That might be his salvation.
“Fruit galore. Because my talent is to conjure fruit. But I have to get back to my own body to do it.”
Brunhilda considered. “Very well. We’ll go now.”
“But the sentry—”
“Leave the sentry to me.” She let go and dropped, then spread her wings as she sent out her echo sounds to locate herself in the dark.
Bats could fly in the dark! Hugo had known that, but somehow not thought to try it himself. He sent out his own sonics, and heard them echo from the wall, telling him exactly where everything was. He dropped and spread his wings, following Brunhilda.
She flew up to the sentry. “Two passing through, piddle-brain.”
“But it’s night,” the sentry protested. “The cave is closed.”
“Get out of my way, or I’ll stuff your snoot up your tailgate,” she snapped.
The sentry got out of the way. Hugo followed Brunhilda into the cave. “You certainly bluffed him,” he said.
“Bluff?” she asked, surprised. “I am not familiar with that word. I just didn’t want to have to kiss him; he falls below my threshold for prospects.”
As would Hugo, with luck.
They flew past rows of hanging, sleeping bats to the farthest reaches, where Bathos’s niche was. They landed, their claws gripping the rough stone.
Bathos! Hugo called mentally.
There was no answer.
“Oh, for pooping on flowers,” Brunhilda said. “The idiot’s stupefied on ripe fruit. He’s dead to the world.”
So it seemed. His echoes through the crevice indicated that a human body was lying on the floor amidst piles of intensifying fruit. Bathos had overdone it.
“I guess I can’t honor my promise yet,” Hugo said. “We’ll have to wait until he recovers.”
“That’s all right. We’ll return to my niche.”
“But we should wait here, to catch him as soon as he wakes.”
“He’ll just puke a while. Better to wait until that clears.”
Hugo considered that, and concluded she was right. They returned to her niche and hung up again.
“Well, I’m satisfied that your human form can conjure fruit,” she said. “The bat with you will never go hungry.”
“Yes. Tomorrow I’ll supply you with all the fruit you can eat, though I hope you don’t go to that extreme.”
“I have excellent self-control. I will merely stuff myself to just beneath the bursting point.”
“That does make sense.” Apart from everything else, Hugo liked the way the bats truly appreciated his talent.
“Where were we?” she inquired. “Oh, yes, here.” She swung across and kissed him again.
Hugo opened his mouth to protest, but that wasn’t smart, because it allowed her to intensify the kiss in a way he had not imagined. The potency was overwhelming. He no longer even wanted to protest. Being her love slave did not seem such a bad fate. Dominant kissing was evidently her talent.
A slice of stone flaked off. His feet loosened and he fell, banging his head against the rock below before he managed to spread his wings and get airborne. But that accident restored some sense of his identity and situation. He did not want an aggressive female bat to seduce him.
“Oh, puckernuts!” she swore. “That ruined the mood.”
It was best to agree. “Yes.”
“Those kisses take something out of me, especially when I put some oomph into them. I’ll have to recharge before starting over in the morning.”
That was a relief to know, though a guilty part of him regretted it.
As a result, Hugo got a good night’s sleep hanging beside Brunhilda in her niche. Because of the sheer coincidence of the flaking stone at the key instant.
“You know,” Brunhilda said in the morning. “There have been quite a number of odd coincidences around here. Some good, some bad, most just weird. Last night was an example. That stone flaked off at just the wrong time. But we can pick up now.” She swung toward him.
“We have to go see about the fruit,” he said quickly. “You must be famished.”
“As it happens, I am,” she agreed. She dropped and flew toward the cave.
He followed. The other bats were gone, out foraging for fruit, and the cave was empty again. They were also in luck with Bathos: he had awoken and was looking droll. He should be more than ready to change minds back.
Bathos!
“You’re back!” And just like that, they exchanged identities. Hugo found himself back in the cell, surrounded by overripe fruit verging on rotting, admixed with vomit. His brain felt twice the size of his skull, pressing to burst out.
Oh, yes, his body had had a night of it. It would take him days to sleep this off.
But right now he had business. “Bathos! Brunhilda!” he called. “I have to get some fruit through for you.”
I won’t be hungry for fruit for two years, Bathos thought back, green-gillishly.
“But Brunhilda is hungry,” Hugo insisted. “Tell her to put her snoot up to the crevice. I’ll conjure whatever she wants. What does she want?”
There was a pause for translation. An assortment.
So Hugo conjured a banana—and was amazed. It was perfect, neither green nor overripe. He had hardly ever managed that, and probably wouldn’t do it again for another year. He peeled it and poked the end through the crevice.
She’s gobbling it down, Bathos reported. Sickening!
Hugo conjured a bunch of grapes. These also were perfect. How could this be? He pushed them juicily through.
Those too. My stomach is roiling.
He conjured an apple. It was ripe and firm and lovely, another ideal specimen. It was too big for the crevice, so he fished for his pencil knife and made several thin slices to poke through. Brunhilda gobbled those too.
Finally she had had enough. Hugo had made good on his promise. But the scene wasn’t finished. Something I have to tell you, Bathos thought. I found a seed stuck in your ear. It came out when I got too violently sick.
So that was when the vomit had splashed against the far wall, leaving a smelly smear. The effort must have popped wax and whatnot out of the ears, and any other orifice available. He wished he had a good change of clothes; these ones were soiled beyond redemption. Wira would have a fit when she smelled them; she was a very sanitary woman. But it was pointless to discuss that with bats. “That’s all right,” Hugo said. “I didn’t even know it was there.”
I’m a fruit bat; I know seeds. That was a seed of the mediocritree. It makes things mediocre. I think that was your problem. It’s gone now.
It was as though a great light was dawning, burning away the horror of his confinement amidst his own filth. “I carried a seed—all my life?”
I think so. It was pretty well lodged. But I was pretty thoroughly sick. Sorry about that.
“And you accidentally fixed my problem!” Hugo exclaimed. “Oh, thank you, thank you! It was worth it!”
Glad to have been of help. There was a surprised pause. Brunhilda! What are you doing?
“Oh, I forgot to warn you,” Hugo said. “She kisses. If you don’t get away soon, she’ll make you desire her.”
Too late!
“Well, you are a bat, as I am not, and you’re not committed elsewhere, as I am. But maybe you should clarify for her that I am trying to escape this cell, and when I do, there’ll be no one to conjure endless fruit for you. That may cool her ardor.”
I think I’ll wait on that clarification for a day or so. There’s no sense in being hasty.
Hugo smiled. Bathos was not a fool. Why should he turn off a very impressive female who sought to rouse his ardor? “Suppose we relax this night, and exchange minds again in the morning, so I can try to fathom my location and alert someone of my species to my situation? By then Bru
nhilda may be hungry again, and you may even be also.”
Seems good to me. Oh, Brunhilda, where did you learn to do that? It makes my ears tingle.
And not only his ears, Hugo thought. Bathos might be well off as her love slave.
Why yes, I will join you for some bat tea. That drives me wild.
Hmph, Hugo thought. She hadn’t offered him bat tea. Maybe that was just as well; it might have made him batty.
The bucket of water was back in the alcove, along with the bread. Hugo had no appetite for the bread, after the bat’s gorging with his body, but used the water to clean himself up somewhat. He returned the empty bucket to the alcove, where it disappeared. Obviously the prisoner was not supposed to go hungry or thirsty.
Hugo found a halfway clean spot on the floor, with a battered old pillow, lay down, and closed his eyes. His body definitely needed recovery time.
But he didn’t sleep. The discovery of his full talent excited him. What was its limit, now that it was no longer mediocre? He conjured a cherry bomb, and it seemed potent. He flipped it into the corner, and it exploded with a force that shook the walls. Well, now!
He conjured a pineapple. It too seemed fully formed and ready. With this he could blow out a wall and escape without further delay.
But he hesitated, because there was a problem. He was in the cell too, and a blast sufficient to blow out the wall might injure or even kill him. Also, the obvious wall to blow was the outer one, next to the bat cave, and that would destroy much of the bats’ home. He didn’t want to do that. So it would be better to seek some more peaceful way out. If that quest wasn’t successful, then he could try the hard stuff.
As he drifted to sleep, another thought returned. Coincidence: his father the Good Magician really didn’t believe in it. He said there was always some underlying connection to what might seem coincidental, and that much of the Book of Answers was devoted to fathoming such connections. Well, there were some giant coincidences here, and Brunhilda had even commented on them. Was this more than chance?
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