Ghost Writer in the Sky Page 9

  “Well, if you put the full name to ABS, you get ABS ORB. Absorb. Maybe—”

  “That just might be,” she agreed.

  Tartan went up to the sphere, which was like a beach ball, and spoke to it directly. “Abs Orb, do your thing.”

  The sphere floated up to the one beside it. There was no sound, but the other sphere disappeared into the first one. Then it floated to the next, and took it in also. It was absorbing them.

  Soon the path was clear. They hurried along.

  “ABS must be getting pretty full,” Tara said.

  Tartan glanced back. “Okay, ABS, you can belch now.”

  And suddenly the sky was filled with sailing spheres as Abs let go.

  They had to laugh, but it was relief as much as humor. Another pun solved, another Challenge navigated.

  They resumed their walk along the path. And came to an old-fashioned train station. “My grandfather used to speak of these,” Tara said. “He said trains were once the main mode of travel, both far and near. They were powered by big hot steam engines that drew anywhere up to a hundred railroad cars behind them. It sounded so romantic.”

  “My grandparents too,” he agreed. “Almost made me long for the old days.”

  “What, before television?”

  “Well, maybe not that old,” he said wryly. “I understand they still have scenic tourist train tours through the mountains. I always thought if I ever got married, we’d honeymoon there. Nothing to do but see the sights, outside and in.”

  “Outside and in?”

  “Well, I love mountain scenery, but I also love looking at—I mean, we’d be newly married.” Had he gone wrong, speaking too candidly?

  “It’s a date.”

  Had she just proposed to him, indirectly? He was at a loss for words.

  Then she laughed. “I’m teasing you, Tartan.”

  Oh. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Marriage was way beyond his present horizon, yet it had considerable appeal. They had known each other so briefly, yet already experienced so much together.

  “I shouldn’t have. I apologize.”

  “No, no, I just—it’s a new horizon, is all.” He was being clumsy.

  If she was disappointed, she handled it gracefully. “I understand. Let’s tackle the Challenge.”

  They entered the station. But Tartan remained in a turmoil of emotions. There was so much more here than just a magic land.

  There was a train track, and on it stood a train. There were several cars, with an engine at the front. A real old-fashioned locomotive, with jets of steam puffing from near the wheels. It was impressive.

  “The track leads on right across the drawbridge,” Tara said. “Obviously we must ride this train.”

  They approached the nearest car. Its steps were invitingly down. They mounted them and entered the car. It was long, clean, and nice, with plush seats. They sat beside each other in the middle of the carriage, Tara taking the window seat.

  Nothing happened.

  “Oh, I just remembered,” Tara said. “You have to have a ticket!”

  “That’s right. We need to buy tickets for our destination.”

  She laughed. “Which would be the Good Magician’s Castle.”

  “Close enough.”

  They left the car and walked to the station ticket office. But it was empty.

  “I guess we can’t buy tickets,” Tara said. “If we even had Xanth money for them.”

  “But there must be a way.”

  They stood on the platform and looked around. “What’s on those trees?” Tara asked.

  He looked. “Square leaves?”

  They checked more closely. “Tickets!” she said. “They’re even printed GM CASTLE.”

  “Just pull off two, and ride the train,” he agreed. “In Xanth you don’t buy so much as harvest, like with the shoe trees.”

  But the ticket leaves refused to be picked. They clung tight to their branches.

  “We’re still missing something,” Tara said.

  “The pun,” he agreed.

  They walked around the front of the train. There on the engine was a plaque with the word SELF. “That’s its name?” Tara asked.

  “Odd,” Tartan agreed. “I could see a locomotive called CHARGER or INVINCIBLE. But SELF doesn’t make sense.”

  “A steam engine named SELF. Not like a streetcar named Desire.”

  Something hovered near Tartan’s head, just out of sight. “Incipient pun . . .” he said.

  “I see a vague bulb forming. You’re getting an idea.”

  Then the bulb flashed brightly. “A Self steam locomotive. Self esteem engine.”

  “Self—steam—engine. Oh, that’s almost enough to make me retch,” Tara said. “I can’t even groan fully.”

  “Let’s find out.” He walked to the ticket tree and picked two tickets without difficulty.

  “Oh, I could kiss you!”

  “Not if you’re retching!” he said with mock alarm.

  She kissed him anyway, with a laughing groan.

  They boarded the train again, flashing their tickets. There was a double beep of acceptance. They sat on the seat and gazed out the window. The train started to move.

  “We’re on our train ride,” Tara said. “Too bad there are no mountains.”

  Something overflowed. “Oh, Tara!”

  Then they were kissing, as the train chugged slowly across the moat. If it wasn’t love, it was a fellow traveler.

  The train slowed and stopped. They stepped down off it.

  There before them was a woman. “Hello, Tartan and Tara. I am Wira, the Good Magician’s daughter in law. Welcome to the Castle.”

  “She’s legitimate,” Ted said. It seemed he could speak, now that the Challenges had been navigated.

  “Thank you,” Tara said a bit faintly. She was evidently being similarly reassured by her host.

  “This way. Dara is eager to meet you.”

  “Dara?” Tartan asked blankly. “We came to see the Good Magician.”

  Wira smiled. “Your hosts will clarify that.”

  They did. “Designated Wife,” Ted said. “Wife of the Month. She’ll send you to meet the Magician, in due course. She’s a dusky beauty.”

  Soon they were ushered into a comfortable living room. An elegantly robed woman greeted them as Wira faded into the background. “We’re so glad to have you here,” Dara said. “The Ghost Writer has to be stopped, and you’re the ones to do it.” She glanced at Tara, smiling. “We almost match, my dear: Dara and Tara, though I may be a few hundred years older than you.”

  “She is,” Ted said. “Demons are pretty much immortal. She’s unusual in that she has a soul, so she treats people fairly. That’s more than my mother does.”

  “But you know, we can’t serve a year,” Tara said. “We’re Mundanes, here only by proxy.”

  “That won’t be a problem, dear. Your Service will be to take Prince Dolin on the Quest with you. In fact, he will be able to help you.”

  “Prince Dolin?” Tartan asked. Ted was drawing a similar blank, and a glance at Tara indicated that Monica had no information either.

  “He is necessarily anonymous at present,” Dara said. “His aunt brought him here in the form of a ring. The ring contains his soul. If the ring should get lost, the Prince will be lost. We have provided him with a host, who has donned the ring. So Prince Dolin is in effect the same as you: a ghostly visitor animating a local man.”

  “We understand how that works,” Tara said. “But what’s in it for the man?”

  “Prince Dolin has about a month left to find a local princess or the equivalent to marry,” Dara said. “If he succeeds, he will remain in Xanth, an honored prince with some extremely apt connections. In that case, his host, who has only gar
den variety weed prospects on his own, will become his permanent body, and be effectively a prince. He likes that prospect.”

  “He would,” Ted said. “Taking a princess to bed.”

  “Naturally you see only the sexy side of it, Ted,” Dara said.

  “Oh, bleep!” Ted said. “She heard me. I forgot this is the Good Magician’s Castle.”

  Dara smiled with a fair modicum of smugness. “While Monica appreciates the romantic side. I appreciate both, and they are certainly integral. So help Dolin in what ways you can, and he will help you, and with luck all of you will benefit. As well as Xanth, when the Ghost Writer is dealt with. Now here he is.” She lifted her voice half a modicum. “Prince.”

  A handsome young man appeared, well constructed and muscular, wearing a small crown and of course a ring. His flowing yellow hair trailed behind his head. “I am here, Demoness.” His voice was low and vibrant.

  Tartan could tell by Tara’s expression that both she and Monica were highly impressed. If Tara had been jealous of the mermaid’s physical appeal, now it was Tartan’s turn. The man practically oozed masculine appeal.

  “Dolin, these are Tartan and Tara, Mundanes who are hosted by local residents much the same way you are. They understand your position, and you will join their Quest.”

  “That is good to know,” Dolin said. “Thank you, Tartan and Tara, for having me along. I know it is an imposition.”

  “Not at all, Prince,” Tara breathed.

  “We also have with us Prince Dolin’s aunt, Princess Merari, or Mera for short.” She raised her voice another quarter modicum. “Princess.”

  A young woman appeared, surely no older than eighteen. She was beautiful, with soft brown hair, brown eyes, and a small crown. There was another round of introductions.

  “But—” Tara said.

  Merari smiled. “I am Dolin’s aunt, but complications of spaced delivery make me eighteen, while he is twenty-five. It happens on occasion.”

  “Oh, of course,” Tara agreed somewhat lamely.

  “That is only the beginning of the complications,” Dara said. “These folk are from an alternate reality that is accessible via Ptero, the moon that circles Princess Idea’s head and contains all possible characters. Your hosts will verify this. I will pause three moments while your hosts verify this.” She paused three moments.

  “It’s true,” Ted said. “Ptero looks like a tiny moon, but it’s a complete world in itself, far more populous than Xanth.”

  The moments expired, and Dara resumed. “Because there are so many residents on Ptero and its associated moons, all of whom would like to come settle Xanth, there are severe immigration restrictions. Folk can normally visit Xanth only briefly, and via spirit, taking hosts the way the two of you have. Dolin is with a local host, as I explained, and will be able to remain here only if he marries a local princess or the equivalent. But that is not the end of it. He is indubitably a prince, but is under the standard geis.”

  “Standard what?” Tartan asked. “Geese?”

  “Geis,” she said, pronouncing it geesh or gesh. “It is a magical obligation that a person can’t avoid. In this case, not only is Dolin required to marry a princess if he is to remain in Xanth proper, he is not permitted to be told his own background. He has no knowledge of his past, and will not know it until he figures it out for himself. That means that some local princess may have to love and marry him blind, as it were.”

  “But what princess would do that?” Tara asked. “He’s handsome, but he could have serious hidden faults.” She might have been thinking of the pretty but deadly mermaid who had accosted Tartan. Indeed, appearance was not to be trusted.

  “Exactly,” Dara said. “It is his host who is handsome; we know nothing about Dolin himself. It is a similar case with Princess Mera, except that she does know her situation, but can’t tell it. That is why I am doing the talking. Very few folk manage to immigrate from or via Ptero, because of the geis.”

  “I can see why,” Tartan said. “The restrictions seem unnecessarily severe, just as they are in Mundania.”

  “Um, Prince Dolin,” Tara said. “What does your host think of all this?”

  The man’s expression changed, becoming distinctly less princely and more ordinary. “I’d rather be anonymous,” he said in a lowbrow tone. “I’m just an ignorant country boy on my own, not smart or skilled, and my magic talent is just one thing: to know when to keep my mouth shut. I came here to ask how I might better myself, and this is how: being the Prince’s host. So leave me out of it.” He shut his mouth firmly.

  “And what’s your talent, Prince?” Tara asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dolin said, surprised.

  “It is to do the right thing,” Mera said. “Whatever it may be. That much I am permitted to tell.”

  “Mera brought Dolin here, and will remain long enough to learn his outcome,” Dara said. “Then she expects to return to her reality and report to his mother, Princess Taplin.”

  “So she’s joining our party too?” Tara asked.

  “No,” Mera said. “I will track you from here via a magic mirror. It will be silent, but I will know from the pictures when Dolin finds a wife.”

  “You’d be welcome to come too,” Tara said.

  Mera shook her head. “I do not wish to further complicate your mission. The Good Magician has been kind enough to lend me a host and allow me to stay here for the occasion, and that suffices.” She smiled a bit sadly. “I would indeed like to explore Xanth more personally, and possibly remain here, but the geis makes that unlikely.”

  “A lovely princess like you could surely attract a prince,” Tartan said. “If you got out in the field, as it were.”

  “Thank you, no. It is my host you see here, who is lovely. It is Dolin I must secure. His need is greater than mine.”

  “You know more about him than he does,” Tara said shrewdly.

  “Yes. But I can’t tell. Not until the time comes when he no longer needs my input. He must make it on his own.”

  “I have no idea how,” Dolin said. “But I find I do have a feel for the right thing, and that is to travel with the two of you and do whatever I can for you.”

  “We’ll surely find something,” Tara said.

  “What foolishness,” Ted said. “Just because he’s handsome, they’re all goggle-eyed.”

  “Not that you men are ever that way in the presence of an attractive female,” Dara said, as her robe turned translucent, showing her remarkable outline complete with dusky panties.

  Wira reappeared, snapping them out of their freak. “The Good Magician will see you now, Tartan and Tara.”

  “Thanks,” Tartan said. The two of them got up and followed her out of the room.

  “Why do I suspect this is more complicated than we yet know?” Tara whispered to Tartan.

  “Because it is,” Wira answered.

  That shut them both up.

  They went up a narrow winding stone staircase and came to a room filled with books. In the center an old gnome pored over a huge open volume. “Good Magician,” Wira said. “The querents are here.”

  “What did she call us?” Tartan asked Ted.

  “A querent is a person with a question,” Ted replied. “It’s Good Magician speak.”

  The gnome looked up. “Yes it is, Ted, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, GM,” Ted said silently, laughing.

  “You have his attention,” Wira murmured. “Ask.”

  “Uh, Good Magician,” Tartan said. “How can we solve the problem of the Ghost Writer in the Sky?”

  “Go to the Goddess Isis. Only she can resolve it in a suitable manner.”

  “Oh-oh. That’s mischief,” Ted said. “And not just because she’s the Goddess of Sex.”

  “But will she help?” Tara asked, evidently prompted by Moni
ca.

  “No,” the Good Magician said. “You will have to persuade her. That will be more difficult than finding her.”

  “And how do we find her?” Tartan asked.

  “Ask the maid Amara. Only she can locate the Goddess.”

  “And will she do that?” Tara asked.

  “Perhaps.”

  “And how do we find Amara?” Tartan asked.

  “You won’t. She will find you, if she wishes. Simply make yourselves available.”

  Tartan exchanged a look with Tara. Neither of them was quite satisfied.

  The old eyes returned to the tome. They had been dismissed.

  Wira ushered them out and down.

  Back in the living room they rejoined Prince Dolin. “Are things in order?” he inquired politely.

  Tara laughed. “They’ll have to do. Let’s be on our way.”

  Mera hugged Dolin in an auntly manner. “Be careful, dear.”

  “I will, Aunt Mera,” Dolin agreed dutifully.

  Then they were back on the enchanted path. “Where to?” Tartan asked.

  “I have no idea,” Tara said.

  Tartan got an idea. “Prince Dolin—can your talent guide us?”

  “I don’t know. I learned of my talent only when Aunt Mera spoke of it.”

  “Maybe we can give it some practical choices. Such as how to find the maid Amara.” He pointed. “This way or that way?”

  “This way,” Dolin said promptly.

  “So be it.”

  They walked this way, which was back the way they had come. And there was Emerald, watching hopefully for them. “We forgot her!” Tara said. “Had we gone the other way, we would have missed her.”

  “After we promised to take her along,” Tartan agreed, almost chagrined.

  “This is a friend?” Dolin asked.

  “She’s a dragon princess who has to marry a human prince to make peace between humans and dragons,” Tara explained. “But she can’t, emotionally, because she’s a lesbian. She was in tears of frustration when we met her, facing awful alternatives. We don’t know how we can help her, but we’re bound to try.”

  “That’s too bad. I need a princess to marry, and I’m not sure she has to be human, as long as she looks human.”