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  Jenny dreaded the thought of singing at all in such company, let alone loudly, but if it was that or their lives, she had to consider it. "I suppose—I suppose we should find out if that's it. Because otherwise they may cook us anyway."

  "Yes. Sing to me now, and I will see whether I can break out of the vision. If I can, probably the goblins can. But if I can't—"

  "Yes!" She was excited too, for now they had a hope of escaping on their own.

  She set herself, then began to hum. She just couldn't start singing cold; her throat balked. It was like plunging into cold water; she had never been able to do that and always had to go in gradually. But the humming got her in, and soon she was singing. It was easier than it had been outside, because there was only Che here.

  Che watched her alertly. He did not go to sleep or even relax. He stood waiting to see what would happen, ready to break out of the vision when it came, if he could.

  Her fancy formed, the castle and the Princess. But there was no dragon in it and no dark cloud. Just the Princess picking her flowers. It wasn't working! Che was not getting into the picture at all.

  Then there was a sound outside. Che was distracted by it, probably afraid it was a goblin coming; they did not want the goblins to know what they were doing! Jenny kept singing, though ready to stop if it really was a goblin.

  The dragon appeared. Now it was working! Then a small dark cloud appeared. That, she realized, must be the goblin outside; it must have come close enough to hear her singing.

  Now it was time for Che to break out. She did not stop singing, because if she did the fancy would fade. That didn't count. They had to know whether others could break out while she maintained the fancy.

  Che did not break out. He didn't even seem to be trying to. Finally, worried that some other goblin might come and discover what they were doing, she stopped, letting the vision dissipate.

  "What happened?" she asked. "Didn't you try to get out?"

  "No," Che said, abashed. "First I couldn't get in. Then suddenly I was in, and I just never thought of getting out. I just wanted to stay there and be part of it."

  "But you were supposed to try!" she said. "So we'd know if this can hold the goblins."

  "I know. Somehow I just lost interest."

  "Well, we'll just have to try it again and this time make sure you try," she said severely.

  "I certainly shall," he agreed resolutely.

  She hummed, then sang again. But again the fancy formed without him. He was watching her, paying close attention, but it wasn't working.

  Then the cloud formed. The goblin was back in, but not Che! How could that be, when the goblin surely didn't care and probably didn't even know about this?

  Then she realized what it was. She stopped singing.

  "But I wasn't in!" Che protested.

  "I know. The goblin outside was."

  "But—"

  "You were paying attention," she said. "The goblin wasn't. And before—you only got in when you were distracted."

  "When I was distracted!" he echoed. "I heard something, and looked away, and suddenly I was in the vision!"

  "So maybe it only works when you're not paying attention!" she concluded. "And maybe you can get out only when you are paying attention!"

  "That must be the case! But how can I not pay attention, when we are experimenting?"

  "When you are distracted," she said.

  "But that depends on chance events."

  "I think so. But if that's the way it works, we must find a way to use it."

  "Yes. We must try again, to verify this—and to ascertain whether I can leave it when I am in."

  She sang again. He watched her at first, then deliberately turned away. He banged his hand against the wall hard enough to hurt, shook it—and the dragon appeared in the vision, limping.

  There was no doubt that it took a distraction to get in! Now could he get out? Jenny kept singing.

  But the dragon seemed to have no interest in getting out. Neither did two goblin clouds nearby. The peaceful, nice scene continued as long as Jenny sang.

  Jenny stopped again, and the scene quietly departed.

  Che was abashed. "I know I was supposed to try to get out, but I just couldn't bring myself to try. It was so nice in your fancy."

  "But how can we find out, if you don't—"

  "I think we have the answer," he said. "A person can not accomplish anything if he doesn't try—and the folk in your fancy don't try. They just enjoy it."

  "But then how can I leave it?" she asked.

  "Your situation is different. You are not just in it, you are generating it with your song. You have to keep singing, making your scene, and if you don't, the scene goes. The others are passive, while you are active, so you have control."

  Jenny found that a little complicated to understand, but she was coming to respect the centaur's power of reasoning, so she accepted it. "So then the others can't leave it, because they don't want to—but they can be jogged out of it. But since we can't get them into it unless they are close enough to hear the song but aren't paying attention to it, it won't work on them when we need it to."

  "Perhaps it will work. Grotesk was distracted when someone asked him about the wood, and he joined the vision before another goblin jogged him out of it. So if you are singing, maybe you'll catch the goblins anyway, the moment they aren't paying attention."

  Jenny thought about how hard it was to pay attention to something steadily, even when it was important. Her mind was always drifting into other fancies, and sometimes she had gotten in trouble for it. Goblins didn't seem any better than other creatures in this respect. So maybe it would work.

  Except that if there were constant distractions, there were also constant reminders. Grotesk had been distracted, then reminded, so his presence in the fancy hadn't lasted. "I don't think it will work well enough when there are many goblins," she said. "Some of them will always be paying attention."

  Che nodded. "That is true. I wish we could do it when they are asleep. Then any who heard us departing would join the vision, and any who did not hear us would continue sleeping."

  "Why can't we?" she asked, her hope rising.

  "Because we can't get out of this hut. The mud is too tough for us to break, and the door is barred from outside."

  Her hope sank again, to land with a silent thud on the floor. He was right. They would have to wait for a goblin to come to open the door, and then it would probably be morning.

  They pondered a while. "Perhaps when the next goblin comes," Che said, "you can sing and lead me out, for I will not be doing anything of my own volition. If we are lucky, the others will not be paying attention, and we can escape before they realize."

  "It's worth a try," Jenny agreed doubtfully. She had nothing better to offer.

  Then she sang them to sleep. They had learned a lot, and saved themselves from hating and boiling; now all they could do was catch up on their rest.

  The sound of the bar being knocked out woke them in the morning. Jenny wiped the sleep from her eyes, trying to orient; where was she? But all too quickly she remembered: she was in trouble.

  It was Grotesk himself. "Are you two going to eat now?" he asked, waving a cold awful chunk of meat at them.

  "Sing!" Che said.

  "Oh no you don't, gamin!" the Chief exclaimed. He evidently thought she was a boy, and she was not inclined to correct him. No, he had called her a wench before. Maybe he just didn't care. "Gag her!"

  Oops! Jenny tried to sing, but it was so hard to start. Especially when the goblins were charging in and grabbing her. Before she could do anything, there was a dirty cloth tied around her face, blocking her mouth.

  "When I saw you had magic, I knew it wasn't safe to let you be," Grotesk said. "So now you two will eat or you'll run. The centaur will eat first."

  Jenny knew that Che wouldn't eat that meat. They would have to race, and the result wouldn't matter, because the goblins would cook them anyway.
r />   She couldn't sing, but maybe she could hum. She didn't know whether that would accomplish anything, but it was all she could do while gagged.

  She hummed, starting faintly, then getting louder. She pictured the nice scene, with the Princess and her flowers. It was there for her, but could it extend to the others?

  Grotesk looked around. "What's that?" he asked.

  Unfortunately, it wasn't a distraction he heard; it was Jenny's humming. That meant he was paying attention, so he remained alert.

  "Ha!" the Chief said. "The elf's trying to sing. Well, we'll stop that!" He drew back his huge gnarly fist.

  Che lurched forward and yanked Jenny's gag down. Suddenly she was singing—but Grotesk was concentrating on her, swinging his fist at her face.

  Jenny ducked, and the fist sailed over her head. But immediately the other goblins dived in, grabbing her arms. They hauled her up straight.

  "Hold her," Grotesk said grimly. "This time I won't miss." And Jenny knew he wouldn't. She opened her mouth, trying desperately to sing, but her throat was so tight that not even a scream could squeeze out.

  "Look at that!" a goblin cried, peering to the side.

  "Don't bother me now," the chief said. "Wait till I punch in this elf's face."

  "But she's—" the goblin said, amazed. Now others were looking there, their ugly faces going slack.

  "I told you—" Grotesk snapped, finally glancing in that direction.

  Jenny seized her moment. She forced the air through her throat and began to sing. If she could catch the goblins during their moment of distraction, maybe she and Che could still try to escape. It was, she knew, their last chance.

  Chapter 7. Nada's Notion

  Their hands linked, the two girls stepped into the huge peephole of the huge gourd. Nada led, for she had been in the gourd before. Actually, so had Electra, but that wasn't the same; Electra had been asleep all those hundreds of years.

  It awed Nada to think of just how old Electra was, if her age were measured from the time of her birth. So she generally didn't think of it; she accepted Electra as she was now, which was just barely under eighteen, though she looked fifteen. In appearance she was a good match for Prince Dolph, who really was fifteen, going on sixteen. It was too bad that she lacked the qualities that would turn such a teenager on, such as a buxom torso and freckle-free face. Electra was a good girl, without doubt, but men of any age were more interested in appearances than in qualities. Maybe if Nada worked with Electra to make her more interesting—

  Her thought was interrupted by the scene inside the gourd. They were in the middle of a village—no, a town—no, a city—of plants. Plants rustled along the streets and climbed up steps to buildings, while assorted animals and human folk stood decoratively in planters.

  "Plant City," Electra said, letting go her hand, now that they were safely in the same scene. "What fun!"

  Nada envied her that quality of delight in odd things. Nada would rather have been back at Castle Roogna reading one of the romance novels from the castle library. One of the ghosts had shown Zora Zombie that section of it, and Zora had told her, as they both liked such books. There, romance was always fresh and wonderful; the men were always handsome, strong, and older than the women. But Electra hardly cared about reading; she was always out and about, doing things, making new friends, and in general being a buzz of innocent activity. Part of it was because she wasn't a princess, so didn't have to uphold princessly standards. She could wear blue jeans and pigtails and play tag with the moat monster and ride Donkey Centaur at an indelicate gallop through the orchard and use slang expressions, and never get in trouble for it. She could flop down in the dirt and make mud pies. Nada had to pretend she wasn't interested in such juvenilia, but if she had ever had a secret place where no one would ever know what she did, she would have made mud pies. Most important of all, Electra didn't have to be constantly on guard against anyone seeing her panties; there was no risk, in blue jeans, and no one was interested anyway. She had such a carefree life, because of what she wasn't.

  Except that in another week she would die, if she didn't get what Nada would gladly give her: marriage to Prince Dolph. One would never know Electra's tragedy by looking at her or watching her constant activity, but it was there and looming closer every day. Now Nada wished she had had the courage to break her betrothal to Dolph, when given the chance to do so without hurting her folk. But she hadn't realized that there was a time limit on Electra. She had thought something would happen, eventually, that would settle the matter. Now she knew it wouldn't. Dolph would have to choose between the two of them, and neither of them trusted that.

  If only there were some way to force the choice! To take it out of his grubby hands. But that seemed impossible, while both of them lived.

  While both of them lived. Suddenly Nada had a notion.

  "There's a cookie!" Electra exclaimed in her enthusiastic way. She had been doing what Nada should have, looking all around to find their way. "See, there by that greenback buck."

  Nada looked. Sure enough, there was a big male sheep with green wool on its back, standing in a planter, and beside it was a sign with the picture of a chicolate chop cookie. There was another thing: Nada didn't dare eat such a cookie, because it was Fattening, while Electra could eat anything she pleased and remain athletically slender. Consequently Electra had far more joy of appetite than Nada ever did.

  They walked down the street in the direction of the buck. So far this seemed all right; there was no threat to them, and no horrible sights were inflicting themselves on them. But Nada didn't trust this; the realm of the gourd usually would not let strangers through without trying to get at them somehow. Something unpleasant, or at least strange, was bound to happen sometime.

  Nervously, Nada looked back at the buck as they passed it, fearing it would act like its cousin the battering ram and charge them. But the scene remained placid. Nothing had changed. Except—

  Except that the cookie picture was gone.

  Was this a one-way path? If so, they had better not deviate from it, for once they lost it, they would not be able to backtrack to pick it up again.

  The plants ignored them, perhaps from politeness, or perhaps simply because plants noticed animate folk no more than animate folk usually noticed plants. They were just there. Soon they came to an intersection, where something with three round little windows hung. The top window seemed red, and the bottom one green, and the middle one yellow. As they reached it, the red one brightened, becoming a rose.

  "Do you know what that means?" Electra inquired brightly.

  "I have no idea," Nada said.

  "I think I have a notion. When Grey and Ivy and I went to Mundania, there were similar boxes hanging above the roads. They always flashed red as anyone came near, and that meant that everyone had to stop. After a while they would flash green, and then it was all right to go. Maybe this works that way."

  "What happens if we go when it is red?" Nada asked.

  "I don't know. Something awful, I think, because we always stopped and cursed at the red light."

  Nada pondered briefly, and decided it was best not to risk it. She hoped there wouldn't be trouble if she didn't curse; that was another unprincessly thing.

  After a minute the rose abruptly faded and a bright green lime flashed. Nada was ready to proceed, but Electra held her back. "We haven't seen the cookie," she explained. "I wonder—"

  Sure enough, after only a few seconds the yellow window brightened, and it was a big vanilla cookie.

  They hurried on before it could change its mind.

  Nada glanced back, choosing her moment when Electra was proceeding eagerly ahead, for a notion was percolating through the reptilian aspect of her mind. Sure enough, the next time the light flashed yellow, it was no longer a vanilla cookie, but a lemon. The marker was gone.

  This was a one-way trail, or at least a one-use trail. The moment a marker was used, it disappeared.

  Now they were on a
spiraling path that Nada somehow hadn't noticed before. It squished as they walked; in fact it felt swampy. But there was nowhere else to walk. So they followed it around and down, squishing all the way.

  "It's a corkscrew swamp!" Electra exclaimed, catching on. She enjoyed squishing, of course.

  The thing seemed to continue interminably. Nada's royal slippers were getting horrendously soiled. "I've had enough of this," she declared at last. "I'm changing."

  She looked around to make sure no one was watching, then quickly got out of her clothing and handed it to Electra.

  It would be devastating if any man were to catch a glimpse of prin-cessly panties, but Electra would guard them with what was left of her life. Then Nada assumed her natural form: a serpent with her human head. Now she could slide along the muck without any problem.

  "I saw! I saw!" someone cried just behind them. It was a man in an eerie cloak with hair standing straight out from his head. "I saw your pan—"

  Nada shifted to full serpent form and whipped her head back, striking at the awful man. But her jaws passed right through him. Her momentum carried her on over the edge of the spiraling swamp path, and she started to fall.

  "Nada!" Electra cried, diving to catch hold of Nada's tail. But too much of Nada's body was over the edge, and Electra was hauled along with her as she fell.

  "You shouldn't have done that," Nada reproved her, returning to her natural form. "Now we're both falling to whatever horrendous fate awaits us below."

  "But I couldn't let that stage fright do that to you!" Electra protested. "Especially when I know he didn't see your panties. I was facing that way all the time, and he wasn't there until he yelled."

  "That's a consolation," Nada said. "But what I meant was, if something happened to me Dolph would have to marry you. But it's no good if we both—"

  "That's horrible!" Electra protested. "I don't want you to die instead of me!"

  "Look," Nada said reasonably, "we can't both marry him, and I don't even want to. But it's his choice, not ours. Since we know he'll make the wrong choice, it behooves us to make the choice for him."