Currant Events Page 5

  "Are there water-dwelling fire breathers?" Becka asked.

  "Certainly. All types are in all environments. We have the finest assortment of variations known."

  "Dear, you are missing her point," Drusie said. "How can land and water dragons be assembled in one place?"

  Drew considered. "There are mixed water and land sites. But yes, maybe it should be by environment, for convenience. We could start with the land dragons, and see how it works."

  They agreed to start with the land dragons. Drew shut down his mental image, becoming his real size, and flew off to see about it. Drusie, also her real size, perched on Becka's human shoulder. "I will be alert for other dragons," she said, maintaining just that aspect of mental presence; it sounded as though she was speaking to them both. "It will take Drew a while to locate the top land dragon and set it up. Meanwhile you can rest."

  "You are sure it is safe?" Clio asked. She found she was tired, though on this world she knew it was only a bit of her soul that formed her body. Much had happened, rapidly.

  "Oh, yes, I won't sleep until Drew returns, and I will spot any other mind in the vicinity."

  "Then I shall rest," Clio agreed, and sat on the ground with her back against a tree. She had to do what she hated: review the worst puns she knew.

  "May I question you about your nature?" Drusie asked Becka. "We have no dragon/human crossbreeds here; I didn't know it was possible."

  "Anything is possible in Xanth," Becka said. "My father, Draco Dragon, was diving down to snap up a tasty nymph by a pool, not realizing it was a love spring. They both got doused, and instead of eating her he summoned the stork with her. He was most embarrassed and never talked about it after. I grew up with my mother, then sought my father, and he came to accept me. But such events are rare; I'm the only dragon girl I know."

  "Fascinating. I really appreciate the way you scared off that small dragon and saved us from getting crunched."

  "It was Clio who made it possible."

  "Yes. We both owe both of you. Will we be accepted as a couple in Xanth?"

  "I think so. Xanth dragons are not as particular about types; a fire breather can date a smoker and no one thinks anything of it. In fact I date a brassy boy."

  "That is so wonderful. If we hadn't had to be secret, we wouldn't have needed to meet far from our homes, and wouldn't have been vulnerable."

  "But you'll still need to watch your tails in Xanth. There are many predators besides dragons."

  "Tell me about them."

  "For example, ogres. They like to crunch bones, twist trees into pretzels, and teach young dragons the meaning of fear. Then there are nickelpedes. They are five times as bad as centipedes, gouging out nickel-sized disks of flesh."

  So there was much about Xanth dragons did not know. That should be helpful. Clio drifted into sleep.

  She woke when Drew returned. "It is arranged," he said. "The land dragons will gather on the Belly."

  "The belly? You said they wouldn't eat us immediately."

  "The belly of the beast," Drusie explained. "Our world is in the form of a dragon."

  Oh. She should have realized. "Of course. How do we get there?"

  "I can fly there, and carry you," Becka said. "If I have guidance."

  "I will guide you," Drusie said. "At your cruising rate, there should just be time."

  "I will watch out for hostile forces," Drew said. "Do you have a convenient spot for me to perch?"

  "My shirt pocket?" Clio asked.

  "That's right—you wear clothing. That will do." He flew up to her, landed on her shirt, and disappeared into her breast pocket. In half a moment he poked his head out. "This makes a fine temporary nest. It's well cushioned."

  "Thank you," Clio said, slightly embarrassed for no discernible reason.

  At that point an elderly human man walked into sight. "I thought you said there were no other humans here," Becka said.

  "It's true," Drusie replied. "He must be a stray from some other world."

  "We'd better help him," Clio said. She hailed the man. "Hello! I'm Clio."

  He saw her. "I am Faxon from the future. Is this contemporary Xanth?"

  Clio was taken aback. "That depends on your perspective. Why are you here?"

  "Xanth is about to come to a significant crossroads, so I am traveling back in time to see that it is not thrown into a bad alternative."

  Clio wasn't sure whether this was legitimate, or the confusion of a man whose brain was suffering atrophy. But she didn't have time right now to figure it all out. "No, this is not Xanth proper. It is a subordinate world. I think you need to travel a bit farther back."

  "Thank you." Faxon vanished.

  "Was he for real?" Becka asked.

  "Yes," Drew said. "I read his mind. He's from about a century hence."

  "I hope he doesn't change our past," Clio said a bit nervously. "But meanwhile we have our own job to do."

  Becka turned dragon. Drusie flew up and perched on the top of her head. Clio mounted her back, as before.

  Becka spread her wings and ran forward, soon taking off. Clio didn't hear Drusie's instructions, but the dragon girl did seem to know where she was going. She circled up over the eye, then flew out over the tip of the tail and up toward the belly. At one point there was a storm; they rose above it and went on. This was after all a planet; it had weather.

  It was a fairly long flight, even at dragon speed, but in due course they arrived at the site on the belly. There were many dragons there, ranging in size from giant to tiny; Clio could not distinguish between the smaller giants and the larger large dragons, but presumed the categories were clear to their complements.

  "They are," Drew said. "The leader of this assembly is the largest giant land dragon, who is a black smoker, indifferent and rational, which is to say, smart. He will bargain shrewdly, but is very curious to see Xanthly flesh, so will enter the contest. I will translate, as neither of you are telepathic."

  "Thank you," Clio said. This was exactly the kind of scene she would have preferred to write about, rather than participate in. But she hardly had a choice.

  They came in for a landing. A monster dragon lifted his snoot and sent a warning jet of fire. "Halt! No flyers here." That was Drew's translation; it was a telepathic challenge.

  "Cower down, rotten chops," Drew replied similarly from her pocket. "We're here for the pun contest, per the truce." He gave their identification. The guardian dragon nodded, withholding his fire.

  Clio got the impression that Drew liked having a pretext to address a giant that way.

  "Don't tell," Drew told her privately.

  They landed safely, and were immediately surrounded by dragons of every size and type as Clio dismounted and Becka resumed girl form. There were hundreds of them. Technically, six hundred and twenty-five, she realized. All the variants of land dragon. They were all colors, but none of them had functional wings.

  Before them was the biggest of them all, a black dragon the size of a youthful mountain. Curls of smoke issued menacingly from his nostrils as he gazed down at them. "This better be good," he said, in Drew's rendition.

  "Your turn," Drew told her privately. "Just speak naturally. I'll translate your thoughts, with the appropriate names and titles, and their telepaths will relay it to the others. They won't read anything I don't relay; Drusie is seeing to that with a mental privacy cloud."

  Clio appreciated how the two tiny dragons were coordinating. They really were quite helpful.

  "Thank you," the two said together. "But get on with it," Drew continued. "Giants aren't known for their patience."

  "Greetings from Xanth, Giant Dragon," Clio began somewhat uncertainly. "I have a matter to broach with you—"

  "I won't listen to this," the giant interrupted. "Are you going to show some tasty flesh?"

  "Only if you win the contest," Clio said. "And if I win, you must listen to my pitch."

  He nodded cannily. "First the rules of the game. We take turns s
howing puns, my turn first. If I win one, I choose what item of your coverage to remove."

  He was bargaining. "And if I win one, I am one step toward making my pitch."

  "Five steps," he said. "First one to win five, wins. When you lose, we get to eat you and your halfbreed friend."

  Clio's knees felt like damp noodles, but she held on. "When you lose five, you listen."

  "Granted."

  So they were on, ludicrous as the arrangement was.

  The black dragon twitched an ear, and a smaller dragon came forward. "Their telepath," Drew explained.

  Several long metallic objects appeared in a mental scene. They were projecting from a board. A dragon walked past the board, his tail happening to twitch across it. Suddenly the black spikes sprouted teeth and chomped the tail. The dragon screeched and emitted a cloud of steam as it flew away. The scene faded as a wash of humor spread across the watching dragons.

  "Want to see it again?" the black dragon inquired.

  Clio recognized the pun; she had encountered a variation a century back. But she didn't want to seem too competent, so she hesitated as if uncertain. "Yes."

  The scene played again. This time Clio realized that this was a flying dragon; they were poking fun at one that was not of their type, these all being land dragons. Becka and both tiny dragons were flying dragons, so this was a pointed if oblique teasing.

  It was time to answer. "Nail biting," Clio said.

  The humor dried up. The dragons had lost one. "One for you, morsel," the black dragon said grudgingly. He fetched a cup of tea and sipped it as another dragon set up a billboard with the score:

  DRAGONS 0 MORSELS 1

  Now it was Clio's turn. She knew a similar pun. Maybe it would stump them. She thought an image for Drew to animate.

  A human man walked into the scene carrying a bucket and a brush. He came to a palm tree with a number of palm fronds that resembled human hands. He dipped his brush and slopped paint on the extremities. That was it.

  The dragon struggled. "Painting claws? Skipping palms?"

  "Want to see it again?" Clio inquired sweetly, making an obliging gesture with her hands.

  The dragon's eye fixed on her hands. "You have fingers instead of claws. That's it: finger painting."

  He had it. "One for you," she agreed. Now she would have to take off a piece of clothing. She was wearing a hat, shirt, shoes and socks, and underwear. She was afraid the dragon would ignore the extremities and focus on the middle, which was exactly where she didn't want to be exposed. But she was stuck for it.

  But he surprised her. "I like to eat feet. Remove a shoe."

  She obliged, not fully relieved. The black dragon gazed at her sock-covered foot and licked his lips. Well, it could have been worse.

  It was his turn for a pun. A scene appeared with a demon floating into view. So they did have demons on this world. It was in dragon form, but was floating rather than flying, and slightly translucent. He looked unhappy. He drifted before a dragon. "Demon, you look miserable," the dragon said, or perhaps thought. "I am Feat, unlucky in love," the demon said. "I would kill myself, if I were alive. As it is, I must continue to suffer." He drifted on out of the scene.

  Clio considered. Most demons had punnish names, like D. Molish or D. Sire. This one would be D. Feat. But what kind of feat was he accomplishing? He seemed more like a failure. In fact he was almost in agony. Was this a foot pun, because the dragon liked feet?

  Then she had it. "The agony of D. Feat!" she exclaimed.

  "Curses, foiled again," the black dragon muttered. Now it was 2 to 1 in her favor.

  And her turn for a pun. This time she selected a tricky one. The picture was of a bridge over a river, with a woman gazing at it. Then the woman turned away—and the bridge faded out. That was all.

  The black dragon pondered. "What is that structure?"

  "There are no bridges on this world," Drew explained to her. "I grasp the concept only because I have it from your mind. Dragons fly across rivers, or swing or wade through them, or tunnel under."

  "It is a bridge," Clio explained. "We morsels can't always risk our tender flesh in the water, so we make bridges across." She modified the scene to show human people walking across the bridge as the woman on the shore watched. But when the woman looked away, bridge and people disappeared.

  The dragon finally admitted he was stumped. "Where's the pun?"

  "It's an attention span," Clio said as the billboard chalked up another for her side. It was now 3 to 1.

  The dragon audience groaned. Their unfamiliarity with the bridge had distracted them from its related pun.

  It was the dragon's turn, and she knew this was going to be a tough one. A scene appeared with a dragon marching onstage. "I have all mental powers," he proclaimed. "I can do anything!"

  A smaller dragon appeared. "Then can you copy yourself?"

  "Certainly." The dragon huffed and puffed, then spun around so rapidly that he split into two identical dragons. "Now we can both read your mind, you despicable doubter," the second one said as he diminished his spin so he could stand still. "I am a perfect copy of my originator. It's all done through the mind."

  "That's amazing," the small dragon said. "What are you?"

  But the scene faded out before the copy could answer.

  Clio pondered. She had not encountered this one before, perhaps because she had had no truck with dragons. A dragon with mental powers had copied himself, complete with those powers. Where was the pun? He had done it by spinning, but that seemed to be a mechanism, not a pun. Was it a false claim? Was he spinning a tale? Yet for the purpose of the contest, it had to be assumed that what was presented was true.

  She watched it again, and finally asked. "Is he telling the truth?"

  "Yes. He is really copying himself, complete with mental powers."

  It was beyond her. She had to give up. "What's the pun?"

  "He's a psi-clone."

  Clio groaned. "Oh, I should have gotten that one. A whirling copy of mental powers. What an awful pun."

  "Puns are best when they're worst," the black dragon said smugly. The billboard was marked 3 to 2. "Now remove your sock."

  Feeling vaguely unclean, she drew off her sock, exposing her tender foot to his hungry gaze. She knew he was crunching that foot, in his imagination. Ugh!

  But it was her turn again. This was tougher than she had expected, as the dragon was coming up with some puns that were new to her, but the contest did seem to be fairly run. It was time for her to come up with a tough one of her own.

  Her picture formed: a huge barrel, a cask, sitting on the ground. All around it were odd creatures and things: silly-looking demons, weird plants, unlikely animals. Beyond were human people and dragons who approached the region, saw the oddities, held their noses, and turned away, obviously disgusted. Sometimes they accidentally stepped on something, and it stuck to their feet and evidently smelled bad. Nobody could stand the things. Then a crew of people came with nets. They caught the odd things and dumped them in the barrel and jammed the lid on. The scene was clear at last, and now the people were satisfied.

  The black dragon viewed the scene several times, mystified. "Those things look like bad puns, but they are cleaned up, so where's the pun?"

  "In the barrel," Clio answered. "All of the unruly puns are there, so people can live in peace."

  "Puns in a barrel."

  "In a cask," she agreed.

  Then suddenly he got it. "Puncheon! A cask for unruly puns!"

  He had indeed gotten it, just when she thought she had won. Now the billboard was 3 to 3. "Remove your other shoe," he said.

  She hated this, but had to do it.

  She removed her other shoe, and stood with one foot bare, the other socked. The black dragon licked his lips.

  It was his turn. A scene formed, showing a group of centaurs. That surprised her; she had thought that the dragons didn't know about other types of creatures found in Xanth.

  "We
know about some, when they travel through," Drew explained. "Centaurs are smart, and we learned to respect their archery."

  The centaurs formed a circle. One of them stepped into the center. The others were silent, listening while he spoke. Then he stopped out and another went to the center, and was accorded similar respect.

  That one was easy. "The centaur of attention," Clio said. The dragon snorted a puff of black smoke, resigned. The billboard showed her ahead, 4 to 3.

  Her turn. She showed a young human woman surrounded by demons. They were not making mischief for her in the way demons normally did; instead they were acting like servants, doing her chores for her, bringing her cake and eye scream and other delicacies. Extremely obliging demons.

  But just as the dragon's supposedly tough one was easy for her, her tough one was easy for him. "Demons are a girl's best friend!" And the board went to 4 to 4.

  Clio had to remove the other sock. One more loss, and she was done. And it was the dragon's turn.

  The scene formed: a wooden stake had little legs and was running around, almost jumping, the feet making clip-clop sounds as they landed, approaching a mixed crowd of humans and dragons. "What is the nature of ultimate reality?"

  "Get out of here, you crazy stick!" a human exclaimed, and a dragon snorted steam. But the pole was undismayed. "I must have your answer." And it kept after them, until they gave answers, however irrelevant.

  Clio pondered. What was the pun? Running something up the flagpole? But there was no flag. Answering a stick—getting stuck? No. Getting shafted? But the pole wasn't hurting anyone, it was just demanding answers. It was a really funny pole, running around like that.

  A running pole. Suddenly she had it. "A gallop poll!"

  The black dragon heaved so much smoke he disappeared in the cloud. "And those feet look so delectable," his disgusted voice emerged.

  The score was 5 to 4. She had won. Now they had to listen to her pitch. At this fleeting moment, she almost liked puns.

  4

  Dragon Net

  "Make your pitch," the black dragon said with resignation. "Then get out of here before my hunger overwhelms me."