Golem in the Gears Read online

  “What good would it have done her, anyway?” Grundy exclaimed. “She’d be as well off dying of exposure, as being gobbled by you!”

  “What?” the Monster honked, perplexed.

  “Why euphemize? You may call it liberation, but it’s their lives and your hunger you are liberating!”

  “My dear insignificant golem!” the Monster honked. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “It’s true, isn’t it? You consume only damsels in distress?”

  “I consume only plankton,” the Monster honked, affronted. “Do you think there would be enough damsels in all Xanth to feed me, if your heinous charge were true?”

  Grundy contemplated the enormous bulk of the creature, and realized it was true. A thousand damsels would not sustain that mountain of flesh. “Plankton?”

  “It’s a magic food found only in the sea. Very tasty. I strain it through my teeth.”

  “But those tusks—”

  “Are for self-defense, of course. There are some pretty bad creatures out there.”

  “Uh, I guess I was led astray by your reputation,” Grundy said, embarrassed.

  “You shouldn’t credit hearsay,” the Monster reproved him. “Now why is this mock-damsel here?”

  “I set it up,” Grundy confessed. “It was the only way to summon you.”

  “You perpetrated this indignity?” The saucer-eyes reddened alarmingly.

  “I need your help! It isn’t only damsels that get in distress, you know.”

  The Monster considered. “I suppose that could be true,” he said, relenting. On a scale often, his orbs declined from a bloodshot factor of eight to six. “In what manner?”

  “I need to get to the Ivory Tower.”

  “The Ivory Tower!” the beast honked, his eyes shooting up to nine. “I never go near that accursed device!”

  “Oh? What do you have against it?”

  “Look at these tusks!” the Monster honked, waving them in the golem’s direction alarmingly. “Of what do you suppose they are made?”

  “Uh—ivory?”

  “Precisely. And that Tower—”

  “I see your point. Someone wants your tusks for that tower.”

  The orbs ameliorated. “Actually, no. The Tower has been complete for centuries. But it was fashioned of the ivory of many innocent monsters like me, and every time I hear about it I think of the sacrifice of those poor creatures to the greed of the Sea Hag.”

  “The Sea Hag?”

  “She who crafted the Tower. A horrendous witch, the scourge of the sea.”

  “I’m not sure I like this,” Grundy said. “I have to ride the Monster Under the Bed to the Ivory Tower, if I am to rescue a banished dragon.”

  “A dragon-damsel in distress?” the Monster inquired, intrigued.

  “No, this is Stanley Steamer, a male dragon, formerly of the Gap Chasm.”

  “Oh, that dragon! I wondered why he had been replaced by a female, recently. Still, if he’s locked in the Ivory Tower—”

  “I’m not sure that’s the case,” Grundy confessed. “I understand that Rapunzel is actually at the Tower, and maybe she will know where Stanley is.”

  “There’s a damsel in that Tower? She must be in distress!”

  “Well, I don’t know anything about her, except that she corresponds with Ivy, the daughter of the human King.”

  “If she’s in that Tower, she’s captive to the Sea Hag, and she’s certainly in distress!”

  Grundy realized that this could be a useful interpretation. “That might be the case. Perhaps she needs rescuing.”

  “I hate the Ivory Tower, and I hate the Sea Hag,” the Monster honked passionately. “I shall have to rescue that damsel!”

  “Well, since I need to go there anyway—”

  “Yes, yes, to be sure,” the Monster agreed. “We must be instantly on our way. There’s no telling what horrors the Sea Hag visits upon that damsel daily!”

  “To be honest, Ivy didn’t say anything about horrors,” Grundy said. “Ivy sends boxes of junk to Rapunzel, and Rapunzel sends boxes of puns. I don’t think it’s an even exchange, but I wouldn’t exactly call it horror, either.”

  “Are they good puns or bad puns?”

  “Is there such a thing as a good pun?”

  “Of course not! They must be bad puns. If that’s all she has to send, she must be living in horror.”

  Grundy nodded. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. You’re right, of course. We’ll have to rescue her. But we can’t start till evening, because I have to bring Snortimer along, and his bed.”

  “Impossible!” the Monster honked.

  Grundy thought fast. “A night start would be better, to fool the Sea Hag.”

  The Monster considered. His blubber paled. “We’ll wait.”

  Grundy had won his point. Somehow he did not feel reassured. What was there about the Sea Hag that put such a tremendous monster in fear, when she wasn’t even looking for ivory anymore?

  Grundy wanted to return to the bed and continue his daytime nap, but was afraid the Monster would change his mind and depart without them if he gave him too much leisure. So he decided to keep the Monster’s mind occupied. The best way to do that, he knew, was to get him talking about himself.

  “Where did you get the reputation for consuming damsels in distress?” he asked.

  “Now that’s a long and sad story, replete with irony,” the Monster honked, trundling down to the water.

  That was exactly what Grundy wanted: a story that would distract the creature for a significant period. “I’m interested in learning the truth,” Grundy said encouragingly.

  “Well, let me get settled comfortably, and I’ll tell you.” The Monster completed his trundle to the water, excavated sand with his flippers, formed a comfortable cavity, and commenced his narration:

  It all started (the Monster narrated), back in Mundania perhaps five thousand years ago, give or take a few hundred. It seems there had been a number of storms in the region of a land called Ethiopia (Mundanes have strange place names) and the superstitious natives believed that, if they sacrificed their King’s daughter to the sea, the storms would stop. That was nonsense, of course; any self-respecting storm would simply take the damsel and continue unabated. So they chained the beautiful virgin named An-dro-meda to a rock by the sea and left her there.

  Now it was sheer happenstance that I was in the area, and heard about it from the local fish. They said that this truly luscious morsel of mortal distaff pulchritude was exposed near the shore, with no one to help her. That bothered me; I don’t have any particular brief for land creatures, and less for those of the human persuasion; but, though the males can be troublemakers, the females can be rather innocent. They should have chained out a man in armor, not a harmless damsel. There wasn’t even any storm in the area at the moment. So I went to look—and do you know, she was indeed a luscious creature, ripe and succulent and fully packed. The tide was rising, and a peculiar Mundane fish called a shark (I warned you about those names!) was circling, waiting for the water to rise enough to enable it to swim to her and tear off some of that tender flesh. Even if the fish didn’t eat her, the rising water would drown her, so she was obviously doomed.

  Well, I decided to do something about it. I wasn’t limited to the water the way the fish was, though I do prefer it; it offers a useful support, for one thing. So I hauled myself out and approached her. Oh, she was a lovely creature! If I had any taste for flesh, I would have slavered over her attributes. She had more meat on her rib-cage than I had seen in decades, and her hams were plush indeed!

  She saw me and ululated, I presume with pleasure, for it was obvious that I had come to help her. I inserted a tusk into a link of the chain that bound her hind foot and wedged it out of the stone. That freed her—but I knew it would be useless to return her to the savage folk who had chained her so cruelly here. I tried to tell her that if she would just climb on my back, I would carry her safely to some more equitab
le culture, but of course I could not speak her language. So I tried to signify my intent by gestures, and I think she was beginning to understand.

  Then this idiot wearing winged slippers came flying by. He had a sword in his right front appendage and a circular shield on his left, and without waiting to ascertain any part of the situation he dropped down and pricked me in the snoot with his weapon. Now my snoot is very tender, and he happened to strike a vein; blood welled out and spread across my face, splattering into my eyes. Had I realized his intent, I would never have permitted him to approach; I could readily have knocked him out of the air with a tusk. But I have ever been slow to appreciate the malice of strangers, until too late.

  Temporarily blinded by blood, and still unwilling to appreciate the magnitude of his calumny, I plunged into deeper water to wash off my snoot. That was effective, and the cut closed in a moment, for we monsters are of hardy stock.

  But in that time, the light-footed man, whose name was something stupid like “Per-see-us,” made off with the maiden. He just carried her away! I dread to think of her fate at the hands (if that is the correct term) of that lecherous brute. But I could do nothing; they were already airborne when I broke the surface again.

  I learned later that Per-see-us had vilely slandered me, telling the damsel that I had come to consume her, and that he had killed me. He was of course wrong on both counts; I had come to rescue her, and the story of my demise was greatly exaggerated. It was only a pinprick, after all, and a treacherous and lucky one at that. But the credulous humans thereafter chose to believe that I was the villain of the episode. I, who had broken the chain that bound her to the sea! I had a lower regard for the human kind after that, you may be sure!

  Still, I perceived that there was a need to protect other such maidens from similar atrocities, so I constantly patrolled the shores, ready to rescue any that I spied. This led to certain altercations with other idiots of the Per-see-us stripe, as you may imagine. I remember one of them, called Ja-son; he had some foolish notion of locating the Golden Fleas that resided on a dragon. What right he thought he had to such elegant fleas I’ll never know, but he got himself a boat called the Arrgh or some such and came pestering me. Evidently he presumed I was the dragon. Only the very stupidest of idiots could fail to perceive the distinction between a dragon and a sea monster, but he fitted the description. He stabbed at me with his pinpricker. Annoyed, I simply gulped him down whole.

  Now I am not a flesh eater, and this carrion had a foul taste. Revolted, I soon regurgitated him, but the damage was done: the foul taste remained in my mouth for weeks. I understand the fool finally found the right dragon and stole the fleas from it, carrying them on a motley yellow sheepskin. There seems to be very little justice in Mundania!

  Disgusted by episodes like these, I finally migrated to Xanth. Unfortunately, the calumny of Per-see-us pursued me, and folk here, too, believed that I was looking for damsels to harm rather than to help. But I refuse to be dissuaded by ungratefulness; still I range the coast seeking damsels who require aid. And that is my sad story, and the reason for the misunderstanding that surrounds me.

  The Monster fell silent, his tale done. Grundy wasn’t quite sure whether to believe him, but decided the more expedient course was to accept the Monster’s version of historical events as factual. “I’m certainly glad to get the story straight,” he said.

  “It’s good to get my side of it spread about,” the Monster honked. And, strangely, he no longer seemed as ugly as he had. His appearance was the same, but Grundy just didn’t perceive it as unpleasant.

  “This Sea Hag,” he asked. “Just how bad is she?”

  “Ah, the Sea Hag,” the Monster sighed. “I really wish she weren’t involved in this! I don’t like the notion of tangling with her one bit!”

  “But you’re a Monster, the scourge of the sea!” Grundy protested. “What have you to fear from her?”

  “Let me tell you about her,” the Monster said. “She is a Sorceress, and no mortal creature can oppose magic of that level except another of that level.”

  “A Sorceress? There are only three in all Xanth today,” Grundy protested. “Iris, Irene, and Ivy. The Sorceresses of Illusion, Growing, and Enhancement. There aren’t any more.”

  “There aren’t any more living in Xanth,” the Monster honked. “But the Sea Hag is off Xanth, and she’s not exactly living. That may be why she has escaped your notice.”

  “But the Good Magician knows everything!” Grundy said. “He would have told us, if—”

  “I have heard of your Good Magician,” the Monster honked. “Does he provide information for the asking?”

  “Not exactly,” Grundy admitted.

  “And is he in full command of his faculties today? I understand he is getting old.”

  “He’s young, not old—or was when I saw him last.”

  “Young? How can that be?”

  “He’s been sneaking nips of Youth Elixir. He OD’d.”

  “Youth Elixir! Wouldn’t the Hag be a terror if she got hold of that!”

  “No one but the Good Magician knows where the Fountain of Youth is,” Grundy explained. “And he’s not about to share his secret with anyone else.”

  “I hope not! It’s just about the only thing that could make the Hag more dangerous than she is.”

  “Just what is her talent?”

  “Immortality.”

  “But you said she wasn’t exactly alive!”

  “Precisely. She occupies a body and lives till she tires of it. Then she kills it and takes a new body, usually a younger one. A fairer one. Of course it doesn’t stay young or beautiful after she’s used it a few years; her Haggish nature gradually transforms it to hideousness. That doesn’t bother her; she can always change it for another.”

  “But how—?”

  “It’s her talent. When her body dies, she is a ghost for a few hours—I don’t know how long she can remain discorporate, but it isn’t long—and then invests a new host, which she controls until its death. She can do this as often as she wishes, and she can invest any host.”

  “Any host?” Grundy asked, appalled.

  “Any host that agrees to let her in,” the Monster qualified.

  “But who would do that?”

  “No one—in his right mind. But she has ways of clouding minds. That’s why I’m afraid of her; she might trick me into accepting her.”

  “Trick you? How could she do that?”

  “You can never be sure what her form will be, because she can take over any living creature who lets her. She’s had centuries to practice her nefarious wiles. She could be a damsel in distress …”

  Oh. And when the Monster of the Sea agreed to liberate her, the agreement might constitute more than intended. Grundy appreciated the danger. But he had another concern. “Why would she keep someone locked up in the Ivory Tower?”

  “You haven’t perceived that?” the Monster honked.

  “Why would I ask, if I had?”

  “The Hag has been in this vicinity—the eastern coast of Xanth—for centuries. People are catching on. Mothers warn daughters about her. I’m sure it’s getting harder for her to take over healthy human hosts. Animals, too, may be alert, as I am. She can take over any creature, male or female, though I believe she prefers female for long-term use. That doesn’t mean males are safe; it means she’ll use them only temporarily, killing them off when she finds a better host. So it makes sense for her to cultivate a perfect host—some young woman who can’t get away, and who doesn’t even know what the Hag contemplates.”

  “But everyone in the area must know!” Grundy protested.

  “Yes. Except a person raised in an isolated tower, who never talks to anyone else.”

  “Rapunzel!” Grundy exclaimed, finally catching the Monster’s drift.

  “That is why the Hag built the Ivory Tower,” the Monster agreed. “To enable her to raise a girl, in each generation, who was completely innocent, yet healthy and i
ntelligent and beautiful. In the Ivory Tower there is no chance to learn about the real world, yet that person can be quite intellectual. The Hag has fine taste in women, since she likes to have the most attractive and useful bodies. Inevitably those bodies age and uglify under her influence, but if they are outstandingly beautiful at the outset, that process takes longer.”

  “Obviously Rapunzel knows something,” Grundy said. “That has to be the reason the Good Magician sent me to the Ivory Tower. But if she’s completely shut off from the rest of Xanth, how could she know where the missing dragon is?”

  “She would know anything the Hag told her,” the Monster pointed out “And the Hag would need her to know the general geography and cultures of Xanth, because once the Hag takes over that body, the Hag is restricted by the limitations of the host. Obviously she knows she’s the Hag, and remembers what she’s done, but her physical and mental abilities are defined by those of the host. That’s another reason to have a substantial period of training. Just so long as the captive doesn’t learn about the real nature of the Hag herself. So probably Rapunzel knows where just about everything is, so that the Hag can find it when she has that host.”

  “Yes, that makes sense,” Grundy agreed. “From Ivy’s description, Rapunzel is a nice person, and a pundit.”

  “Who sends her puns,” the Monster agreed. “But she won’t stay nice, once the Hag takes over.”

  “She is definitely a damsel in distress,” Grundy concluded. “And we’ve got to rescue her.”

  “Agreed,” the Monster honked. “But this will be no easy task. I believe others have tried to get into the Ivory Tower in prior centuries and all have come to grief.”

  “I can imagine,” Grundy said glumly.

  “It is an interesting coincidence that your Good Magician should send you on this mission just at this time, when the damsel surely needs rescuing.”

  “Not coincidence at all!” Grundy said, half angrily. “The Good Magician must know about the Sea Hag after all and has dispatched me to break up her foul mischief!”

  “Undoubtedly the case,” the Monster agreed.