The Color of Her Panties Page 8

  In the morning they marched the rest of the way to the Good Magician's castle. None of them had been here before, so it was more daunting than Castle Roogna had been, despite being smaller and without the tree guardians. Well, technically Jenny had been here, but only briefly; she had been allowed to inquire about the way back to the World of Two Moons, but then had changed her mind before getting the Answer. She had decided that she wasn't ready to leave Xanth yet, to Che and Gwenny's relief. But since the Good Magician's castle was different each time anyone visited it, that hardly counted. Now it was just a somewhat dilapidated stone edifice surrounded by a small moat. It seemed undefended: there was no moat monster, and the drawbridge was down. No person was in sight.

  As they came closer, they saw that their first impression had been deceptive. This was not an ordinary castle at all. It was made of pastry and candy. The walls were not stone, but fruitcake with large stonelike sections of fruit. The roof seemed to be peanut brittle. The drawbridge was gingerbread, and the moat fizzed like pop from Lake Tsoda Popka.

  They managed to exchange a three-party glance. "Why don't I trust this?" Gwenny inquired.

  "Because it is not trustworthy," Che replied. "The Good Magician always knows when a querent is coming, and is always prepared."

  "Querent?"

  "Supplicant, petitioner, beggar, moocher, sponge—"

  "Oh, stop it!" Gwenny said, laughing. "You mean folk like us, who come to ask a Question."

  "Whatever," Che agreed, scowling. But he couldn't hold it more than a moment, and had to smile. At least it broke their tension, or dented it somewhat.

  "There must be something we don't see," Jenny said. "Since I will ask the Question, so that I can do the year's service, I might as well lead the way." She started toward the drawbridge.

  "Wait!" Gwenny protested. "There may be danger. I should go first, even if I'm not going to actually ask the Question."

  "No need to quarrel, girls," Che said, putting on a superior smirk. "First, we can be reasonably sure there's no danger, because the Good Magician wouldn't want to hurt us, and the winged monsters wouldn't allow it anyway."

  "But the winged monsters aren't watching at the moment," Jenny said, looking around.

  "Certainly they are," he said, maintaining his superior smirk.

  "Oh? Where?"

  Che pointed to a purple dragonfly perched on a nearby bush. "There."

  She looked. "But that's only a bug!"

  "That's a winged monster. He will report to the others if anything happens, or take care of it himself."

  "I don't believe it," Jenny said.

  "Ixnay," Gwenny murmured warningly.

  She was too late. The dragonfly had taken umbrage. It jetted into the air, leaving a trail of sparks and a contrail of vapor. It zoomed away. In a moment it returned, leading a phalanx of dragonflies. Now the sound of their wings was audible. They swung around in formation and oriented on Jenny Elf.

  "Duck!" Che cried. "It's a strafing run!"

  The three of them threw themselves to the ground. Little streaks of flame passed over them and burned the nearby foliage. The dragonflies flew on out of sight.

  They picked themselves up. "They weren't shooting for effect," Che said. "If we hadn't ducked, they would have held their fire. I think."

  "I guess they made their point," Jenny said. "I'm sorry I doubted."

  The purple dragonfly reappeared and perched on her shoulder. "He accepts your apology," Che said.

  Gwenny laughed. "But you don't have to kiss him."

  Jenny was serious. "Still, they can't help us with the Good Magician's challenge. It's not allowed."

  "Maybe Sammy can find a safe way in," Che suggested.

  Immediately the little cat bounded across the gingerbread drawbridge. Jenny ran after him, as she always did. "Wait for me, Sammy!" she cried.

  Gwenny rolled her eyes. "You're my two best friends, but sometimes I do wonder about both of you," she said. "You should know better than to suggest that Sammy find something, and she should know better than to dash madly into a strange castle."

  "We should," Che agreed apologetically. "But we don't."

  "I just hope there's not a mean witch in there."

  They hurried after Jenny, who was by this time across the drawbridge and coming to the main entrance gate of the castle. The drawbridge surface was slightly spongy, but solid. The gate was open, and the cat was scampering on in.

  They almost banged into Jenny, who had suddenly stopped just inside the gate. She was staring up.

  Che looked in that direction. There was a giant. More correctly, a giantess: a huge human woman.

  Sammy, no help in this crisis, had curled up for a snooze under the giant's chair.

  "Come in, children," the woman said, her voice boomingly dulcet.

  "She doesn't l-look like a witch," Gwenny said faintly.

  "No, I am not a witch, dear," the woman said. "I am the archetypal Adult. I am here to initiate you into the Adult Conspiracy."

  "No!" Gwenny cried, affrighted.

  "We're too young," Che protested in what he hoped was a reasonable tone.

  "Two of you are on the verge, and one of you is of a culture that recognizes another standard," the Adult said, gazing down at Che.

  "But I'm with those of human derivation who honor the Conspiracy," Che said. "So I honor it too."

  "I have a question for each of you," the Adult said. "Each will answer in turn. If any of you fail to answer, or answer incorrectly, none of you will be admitted to the presence of the Good Magician. Is that clear?"

  Che opened his mouth to protest that the rationale wasn't clear, but the Adult's gaze bore down on him with such severity that he was daunted. He realized belatedly that it had been a rhetorical question: one that allowed only the answer desired by the one who put the question. He scuffled his front hooves. "I guess so," he said reluctantly.

  The gaze moved across to the girls. Then they too fidgeted and mumbled their agreements.

  "You," the Adult said, fixing imperiously on Gwenny. "Identify yourself."

  "I—I'm Gwendolyn Goblin, from Goblin Mountain. I'm here to—"

  "That is quite enough. Gwendolyn, what is the Adult Conspiracy?"

  Gwenny was taken aback. "That's my question?"

  "No, dear. That is my question to you."

  Che clenched his teeth. This Adult was so adultish that it was painful. They were always so sure of themselves, and so obnoxious about it. But a child could never tell them that, because they always twisted it around to make it seem that the child was the obnoxious one. It was impossible to reason with an adult, because the mind of any adult was set, like old cement.

  "Well, everyone knows that—" Gwenny began.

  "No, dear. I do not want anyone's answer. I want your answer."

  Gwenny began to show a bit of righteous rebellion. "My answer is that it is a conspiracy by adults to make children miserable!" she said. "Because—"

  "No, do not tell why. Just what."

  "Anything that really interests children, the adults deny. Like all the good words that can make plants wilt and dry grass burst into fire, and the ones that curse-burrs respect. And anything about how to summon the stork. And they make children eat awful things, like castor oil and broccoli, instead of the good things like cake and candy. And they won't let any boy child see anyone's panties, even if they're really pretty panties. Or any girl child see what a boy's got instead of panties. And they make children go to bed early, when they're not sleepy. Things like that."

  The Adult nodded with distant tolerance. That reminded Che of another adultish annoyance: they seldom praised a child's efforts unless it was insincere, such as saying "Very good!" when the child succeeded in choking down a nauseating brussels sprout. She turned to Jenny. "Identify yourself."

  "I am Jennifer Elf from the World of Two Moons."

  "Jennifer, why is the Adult Conspiracy?"

  "What?" Jenny asked, startled.

&
nbsp; "Not what, dear, why." The Adult was insufferably patronizing, but that was normal.

  "I don't know why adults want to make children miserable!" Jenny exclaimed angrily. "Maybe they're jealous of our open minds and sunny dispositions. It's not that way where I come from."

  The Adult frowned. "You can do better than that, dear, I'm sure."

  There it was again, Che thought: the Adult was twisting things around, not accepting the obvious answer. Adults always preferred to be devious.

  But Jenny tried. "Well, I can tell you why it might be, if adults really cared about children. There might be something dangerous that might hurt children, so the adults try to keep children away from it. Like maybe those words of power: if a child said one in a straw house, it could set the house on fire, and the family would lose its home."

  Che and Gwenny looked at her, astonished. She was making sense! There might actually be reason for a small part of the Conspiracy, though of course that did not justify the rest of it.

  "And?" the Adult inquired in that uncomfortably prodding way they had.

  "And about eating the bad stuff—it's supposed to be nutritious," Jenny continued. "Candy—it tastes good, but after a while it can pall, and maybe it is not as good for the body as it seems." She was evidently remembering their tummyaches of last night. "So the adults try to keep children from getting into trouble by eating too much of the wrong things. And about going to bed early—I did feel better when I got a good night's sleep, instead of when I didn't get enough because of staying up late pillow-fighting." She looked apologetically at the other two. "And about not knowing how to summon the stork—I suppose there could be a problem if children started doing it, because they wouldn't be ready to take care of babies. I mean, it's fun seeing a baby once in a while, but I wouldn't want to have to take care of it all the time. And suppose a child got a baby, just for fun, and then got tired of it? That would be pretty bad for the baby."

  Che was amazed. Jenny's alien upbringing in the World of Two Moons must be telling; she had actually made it seem as if there were a sensible reason for the Conspiracy. Still—

  "And the panties?" the Adult prodded.

  "Well, I really don't know about them, but maybe they have something to do with the stork." Jenny paused, trying to work it out. "It seems that adults maybe really like summoning the stork, and they feel more like it if they see panties, and maybe children would feel like it too if they saw panties, and they might stumble onto the secret, so they have to be protected from that too."

  "That will do, Jennifer." Again that contemptuous dismissal. The gaze swung across to pin Che again. "Identify yourself."

  "I am Che Centaur, of the Winged Monsters."

  "Do you agree with the Adult Conspiracy?"

  Che knew that the correct answer was Yes. But he was tired of being browbeaten by adult attitudes. It was time to make a stand. So he ventured into dangerous territory. "No."

  "Elucidate."

  If the Adult thought he wouldn't know the word, she would be disappointed. She wanted his reasons? Well, he might as well get into a lot of trouble, as long as he was traveling that route. "Maybe the adults think they have a reason for keeping things from children and making them do things for their own good. But I think that's the wrong way to do it. Children should get good information and good experience, so they can grow to be responsible when they finally have to be adults. If saying a bad word starts a fire, then they should be warned about that, so they know not to set the house afire. And if too much candy makes a bellyache, they should be told, and allowed to try it, and after they see that it's true, they won't do it again. If not getting enough sleep makes children feel bad the next day, they should be allowed to try it until they find out how much sleep is best. They don't need to have adults deciding for them all the time."

  He paused, afraid the Adult was going to lift her monstrous foot and squish him to nothing. But she merely sat there listening. "And?" she prompted.

  "And about summoning the stork—well, I think that even a small child wouldn't want to hurt a baby. So if children were taught how to summon the stork, but also told how important it is to take care of the babies, and that they would have to do that instead of going out to play whenever they wanted to, I think most of them wouldn't do it. The few who did do it—well, my sire says that folk do have to take the consequences of their actions, and I think that's fair for children too. So I think children should be educated completely, about both actions and consequences, and then allowed to do what they wish. I don't think any Adult Conspiracy is needed—if adults take the trouble to teach their children properly."

  He stopped talking, waiting for the dread verdict that he had answered incorrectly, so that they would not be allowed to see the Good Magician. Yet it wasn't in him to falsify; it wasn't the centaur way.

  The Adult's gaze seared across the two girls. "Do you agree?"

  Gwenny and Jenny exchanged yet another glance. They fidgeted.

  "Well?" the Adult demanded in that warning tone.

  "Well, yes, I guess," Gwenny said with understandable reluctance.

  "You actually approve of giving such information to children?" the Adult said with that this-is-your-last-chance attitude.

  "Yes," Jenny agreed. "I don't care what you think, he's making sense."

  "And you too, Gwendolyn?" It was the verge of doom.

  "Yes!" Gwenny said recklessly.

  "And you are prepared to face the consequences of your attitude?" The gaze managed to transfix all three of them simultaneously.

  They were in too deep to escape. They nodded with foolhardy bravery.

  "Then you are about to join the Adult Conspiracy," the Adult said. She reached somewhere far away and brought back two dolls. Each was the size of one of the girls. She set them down on the floor before the three of them. "Show me how these figures would summon the stork."

  "But we don't know that!" Gwenny protested.

  "Don't you?"

  "Of course we don't!" Jenny said.

  "Are you sure?"

  The girls looked wildly at Che. "I think she wants us to figure it out," he said. "It's our punishment for agreeing that we don't agree with the Adult Conspiracy. My punishment, really, only since you support me, you must share it."

  They glanced up at the Adult, but she remained impassive. Somehow that was more frightening than whatever they had expected from her. They glanced at the dolls, which were male and female.

  "Well, if I want to be chief, I'd better learn how to figure things out," Gwenny decided. "I think I do have half a hint about it—maybe I mean half a brother. My little brother Gobble Goblin is—well, my father Gouty got together with a woman who wasn't my mother to summon the stork, and the stork brought Gobble. So from that I know that folk don't have to be married to do it; they can do it even when they're not married, and when it's wrong. They don't have to be in love, either; my father never loved anyone. Just so long as there's a male and a female. It must be a purely physical thing."

  "Yet there should be love," Jenny said. "I don't think the World of Two Moons is different from Xanth in this respect. We don't have storks bring the babies, but I never was clear on the exact delivery system. I just knew that if two people love each other enough, a baby could come. I think that if they can't love each other at least some, they can't get a baby."

  "I have of course seen centaurs mate," Che said. "Our kind does not use storks, I think because our foals are too heavy for them to carry. Yet we have partial human heritage. I wonder whether the human mode of summoning the stork could be parallel in any way?"

  Gwenny picked up the girl doll, who didn't have any clothes. "If these were centaurs, what would they do to get a baby?"

  Che picked up the similarly bare boy doll. "I think they would get close together, like this." He put the male doll beside the female doll.

  "But we were closer than that when we pretended to apologize," the goblin girl pointed out.

  "Not in one det
ail," he said.

  "What detail?" Jenny asked.

  He poked around with the dolls. "This one, I think."

  The two girls stared. "But—" Gwenny said.

  "But—" Jenny echoed.

  "Maybe it is different, with centaurs," Che said.

  "It's disgusting," Gwenny said.

  "Not to centaurs." But he was shaken. Could it be?

  They stared some more. "Maybe it is possible," Gwenny said. "But can that be all?"

  Che shrugged. "With centaurs, it seems to be enough."

  "No wonder they keep it secret!" Jenny said.

  "No wonder!" Gwenny echoed, giggling.

  Then they were all laughing. But it was the mirth of embarrassment tinged with shame. They had never suspected that the Adult Conspiracy concealed something like this.

  "I think we had better keep the secret, after all," Che said after they subsided.

  The two girls nodded. Both were blushing, which suggested that they were just as uncomfortable about this as he was.

  The giant Adult faded away. Where she had been was an open hallway leading into the main part of the castle.

  Sammy got up and stretched, his nap done.

  It seemed that they had surmounted the challenge, and could now meet with the Good Magician. But at what a price? Their innocence was gone.

  CHAPTER 5.

  Ida

  Ida was a foundling. She appeared as a baby one day near Faun Mountain, and a nymph carried her back to Nymph Valley. The other nymphs made a great fuss over her, and brought her milkweed pods to nurse on, and set her in a nice bed of leaves and flowers.

  But it was evident that she was not a nymph. She was a human baby that the stork must have misdelivered or lost. A neighboring otterbee spied her there, and swam back to his fellows. "She otterbe with us for the night," he said. "So she won't forget, the way the nymphs do."

  They agreed, for otterbees were good creatures who never shirked a task. So as dusk closed and the nymphs lost interest, they took the baby and swam with her across the marsh to their warm nest, and made her comfortable there. In this manner they protected her from the night magic of the nymphs and fauns, and allowed her to remember her prior days.