The Color of Her Panties Read online

  However, some damage had already been done, and the baby did not remember very much anyway. But after several years her memory improved, and as she grew through normal child and girl and young woman stages she was able to remember most of her life back to about the age of three or four. Now she understood that she must not stay the night in Nymph Valley, though she enjoyed spending her days there. Of course because she was not a nymph she did not indulge in nymphly activities with fauns. She was satisfied just to watch them having their fun. She did however swim with the otterbees, who were creatures of the water and shore who also were happy in their fashion.

  "She otterbe educated in the human fashion," the otterbees decided. So they prevailed on an itinerant centaur named Cerebral to give her lessons in the human mode. (For some reason centaur scholars did not wander, they were itinerant, but it meant much the same thing.) In this manner Ida learned to speak human speech, and to don human apparel, and to brush her hair. She no longer ran around bare the way the nymphs did. She regretted that, but the centaur tutor was very firm about the importance of maintaining the conventions of one's kind, and he knew more than all of the fauns, nymphs, and otterbees combined, so she had to do it.

  She came to appreciate the liabilities of nymphly status. Some other creatures preyed on fauns and nymphs. Sometimes an ogre would stomp by, pick up a screaming nymph, and bite off her head. That stopped her screaming, and he would then carry her away for a more leisurely repast, chewing as he went. Nymphs did not like that very well. Sometimes a dragon would slither through, chomp a faun in half, and swallow the pieces. If it happened to be a fire-breathing dragon, it would toast the faun first. Fauns were not too keen on that. But the following day it was as if nothing had happened; the fauns and nymphs frolicked as before, never missing the chomped ones. Ida tried to tell them about such events, but they did not believe her, because they could not remember anything beyond the one day. After a while Ida realized that they were perhaps better off that way. What was the point in moping about bad memories? Still, it bothered her. "There otterbe a better way," she muttered.

  "There is a better way," Cerebral informed her. "The human way. Fauns and nymphs are chained to the present, as are animals, creatures of the moment. But humans remember and reflect, almost in the manner of centaurs, and are therefore superior. Remember that, for there will be a pop quiz."

  Thus did Ida learn what set her kind apart from other creatures. She did remember, and she passed the quiz, and was duly rewarded with some pop from Lake Tsoda Popka. Cerebral believed in the salutary effect of incentives. This meant, in normal terms, that good things came for learning. Ida would never admit it, of course, but she found learning fun for its own sake. There was just so much to know, and it was fascinating.

  When she came to be twenty-one years old, according to the judgment of the centaur, who had looked at her teeth, the otterbees decided that she otterbe on her way to find her destiny. "We love your company," they told her, "but we are only animals, while you are a human being. You deserve better things."

  Ida wasn't sure about that, for the otterbees seemed like very deserving creatures to her. So she asked Cerebral. "Unfortunately it is true," he replied. "You are no more an otterbee than you are a nymph, and you must not allow your horizons to be limited by theirs. You must seek your destiny among your own kind."

  "But I don't even know where my kind are!" she protested. "Where is there a Man Mountain or a Woman Valley?"

  "I know of no such artifacts of terrain," the centaur admitted. "Perhaps you should seek instead the castle of the Good Magician, who I understand is back in business at this time, and inquire about your destiny."

  "He was out of business?" she asked, slightly curious.

  "For several years. But then the castle became active again, under new auspices. Of course there may be a certain difficulty locating and entering it, and you may be required to do a year's service for the Magician in return for an Answer to your Question. However, there are those who believe this to be worthwhile despite the difficulty and cost."

  Ida had learned that the Cerebral was not necessarily expressing the opinions he seemed to be. He had the didactic manner she assumed was common to his kind. Didactics never spoke directly and simply. "Do you believe this to be worthwhile for me?"

  He considered, for he was never so incautious as to express a thoughtless opinion. He had once suffered a bout of hoof-in-mouth disease, and been exiled from centaur association. That was why he was available for tutoring her. He no longer put his hoof in his mouth, but remained excruciatingly careful. "Yes, other things being equivalent, I suspect it is."

  So Ida set out for the Good Magician's castle. She carried with her a small magic purse the otterbees had given her, which contained her formal clothing, a hairbrush, and a change of unmentionables as well as a magic sandwich in case she got hungry. She wore a bracelet which protected her from harm by any other creature. These were things the fauns and nymphs had found, and the otterbees had rescued from being forgotten. The otterbees were not covetous; they merely saved things until they could be used as they otterbe.

  She bid a sad farewell to the otterbees, fearing that she would never be as happy away from these good creatures as with them. She knew she would always have a liking for ponds and mudflats and sandy shores. Then she set foot on the path leading to unknown Central Xanth.

  At first the way was reasonably familiar, because she had poked all through this region during the past two decades or so. She knew which side paths to avoid because they led to tangle trees or dragons' lairs, and which fruits not to eat, such as choke cherries. But the farther she went the less familiar things became, until she was in strange territory.

  She came to a fork in the path. Which way was best? She couldn't decide, but she didn't want to dawdle. She was no longer in Nymph Valley, where dawdling was a way of life. Furthermore, she needed to pause for an unmentionable function and wasn't sure whether that counted as dawdling. One of the odd things about the centaur tutor was that he handled his own functions in a completely open manner, yet insisted that she as a human being should pretend that no such functions existed. This was the human way, he said, and she had to emulate human ways so as to be able to associate with her own kind, in due course.

  Then a goblin came down one of the forks. Ida had an idea. Goblins were not the nicest of folk, but they could be helpful if approached in just the right manner. Maybe she could ask him where the best place for the unmentionable was, and if he gave a good answer for that, she could ask him which fork was best.

  "Hey, burp-nose, where's the worst place to do something unmentionable?" she asked.

  The goblin looked at her, then around at the scenery. "Over behind that bush," he said, pointing.

  So Ida went behind the bush. Then something happened. "Eeeek!" she screamed in the manner the centaur had prescribed for maidens, which was how he classified her.

  She marched angrily back to the path, where the goblin stoically waited. "That bush tickled me!" she said.

  "Naturally. It's a tickleberry bush!"

  "But I asked you the worst place to go. You were supposed to lie," she said indignantly.

  "I did lie," he replied. "The worst place is that gooseberry bush over there."

  Ida thought about that, and decided that the goblin had after all been true to his nature. "Then what's the worse path of these two?" she asked, indicating the fork.

  The goblin considered. "That's hard to answer."

  "Why? All you have to do is lie about the better path."

  "But they are equally bad."

  That meant equally good. "Very well, I withdraw the question. Get lost, snot-head."

  The goblin, evidently charmed by her courtesy, resumed his walk down the path.

  So her idea had worked out. Often they did. But probably she owed most of whatever success she achieved to Cerebral's apt instruction. She had had the idea that he would be the best possible instructor when she first saw
him, and that had been amply vindicated. In ordinary words, that meant he had been good.

  She set off down the right path, because she didn't want to take the wrong path. She had confidence that it would take her where she was going.

  Indeed, it took her to a quaint little old cottage, just as dusk threatened to overtake her. Maybe there would be a sweet little old housewife inside who had a room to spare for the night and a warm pot of stew on the hearth.

  Ida knocked on the door. It opened, and there was the grandmotherly woman. "Why, I was hoping for a nice young traveler to use my spare room tonight," the woman said. "Come in, dear, and have some warm stew."

  Ida came in, gratefully. "Your house was in just the right place," she said. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to sleep out in the forest."

  "Are you a quiet sleeper?"

  "No, I toss and turn all night. I'm hyperactive." That was the centaur's word for her restlessness.

  "Wonderful!"

  It turned out that the old woman's old husband had gone on a trip to the market, and would be back with a basket of beans on the morrow. Meanwhile the house was quiet, and the old woman wasn't used to that. She wanted to be able to hear that there was someone else in the house with her, especially when it was dark.

  After supper they sat by the fire and exchanged news. Fortunately the old woman never left her house and yard, and Ida had never been away from her home vicinity before, so neither of them had very much news to exchange. Ida was tired and the old woman never stayed up late, so they both went to their rooms to sleep, contented.

  But as Ida changed into her nightdress and lay down, she suffered a qualm. Qualms were clamlike thoughts that lay at the watery bottom of consciousness and only showed up when the water got very quiet and clear, as happened when a person was trying to drift off to sleep.

  Suppose, the qualm inquired, all was not quite as it seemed? Could the nice little old woman have some unnice secret she wasn't telling that would make mischief for her guest? Ida didn't like that notion, but couldn't quite expunge it. (Expunge, in human terms, meant to get rid of something. Sometimes she mopped up spilled milk with an old expunge.) She was concerned about what the darkness might reveal.

  Sure enough, the moment she blew out the candle a ghost loomed up. "Hoooo!" it cried airily, flapping its sheet tails.

  Ida squirmed down under the covers. "It's only meeee," she replied apologetically.

  The ghost seemed embarrassed. "I beg your pardon! I mistook you for the dirty old man."

  "Dirty?"

  "He never washes his feet. They get the sheets all messed up. I can't stand to see sheets abused. So I haunt him." The ghost reflected for a moment, before the mirror. "How are your feet?"

  "My feet are clean," Ida said. She poked a foot out from under the sheets. "Maidens are supposed to have dainty feet, so I try to conform."

  The ghost examined them. "You're right. Those are very clean, dainty, maidenly feet. When will the dirty old man be back?"

  "Tomorrow, I think."

  "Then until tomorrow—" The ghost faded out.

  Relieved, Ida settled down to sleep. She was so glad it had turned out to be a nice ghost.

  In the morning she mentioned the matter to the old woman. "Did you know you have a ghost?" "A ghost? I thought it was a hussy! He's a dirty old man, you know."

  "Yes. His feet get the sheets dirty, and the ghost doesn't like that."

  "Well, I'll make him wash his feet!" the old woman said. "I don't like dirty sheets either."

  After a nice breakfast of beans porridge, Ida resumed her walk along the path. She wondered what she would have encountered along the other path. She was almost tempted to go back and take the other one, just to find out, but restrained herself. After all, the sooner she found the Good Magician's castle, the sooner she would know her destiny. She hoped it was a nice one, for she was a nice girl.

  The path did not lead directly to the castle, however. It led to a dragon's lair. Ida almost stepped into it before she realized.

  She backed away. As a general rule, dragons' lairs were not good places to be, for those who were not of the dragon persuasion. Now she would have to return to take the other path, though it was a rather long walk. At least she would satisfy her curiosity about it.

  Then the shadow of a dragon fell, and after it the dragon himself. He had coincidentally cut off Ida's escape. "Well, now," the dragon said. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dragoman Dragon. What have we here?"

  "Nothing but a delicate maiden," Ida replied truthfully.

  "And do you know what I do with delicate maidens?"

  Ida had a notion, because of her memories of the dragons who had poached nymphs from Nymph Valley. But she knew that her magic bracelet would protect her from harm. "I think you shall have to let this one go, for you cannot harm me."

  The dragon squinted down at her. "Oh? Why not?"

  "Because I have a charm that guards me."

  "You are surely most charming," Dragoman agreed. "But as it happens, I collect winsome maidens." "No, I didn't say that I was charming, though that may be true. I meant that I wear an amulet."

  "Hm." The dragon considered. "That does require some interpretation. May I see it?"

  "Certainly." Ida removed the bracelet and handed it to the dragon.

  Dragoman inspected it closely. "You are correct. This charm is effective against all comers. No creature can harm she who wears this."

  "Yes, so I was informed. May I have it back, now, please?"

  The dragon puffed a small puff of smoke. "There is something I feel constrained to clarify for you. You are not Wearing the charm now, so I may do what I wish with you. If I return the charm to you, I will not be able to harm you. Somehow I doubt that my interests would be well served by giving you back your charm."

  Ida realized that she had made a mistake. But she had an idea how to proceed. "It is true that I am unprotected now. But I was protected when you asked for the charm. This means that it was protecting me from you. If you now were to harm me, that would mean that it failed to protect me. That would be what my centaur tutor would call a paradox. A paradox is not a good thing."

  Dragoman puffed more smoke, pondering. "I enjoy problems in logic," he admitted. "I shall have to think about this."

  "Certainly. May I have my bracelet back while you ponder?"

  "As you wish." The dragon handed it back to her, distracted by the intellectual problem.

  "Thank you." Ida placed the bracelet firmly back on her wrist.

  After a moment Dragoman came to a conclusion. "I think you are correct: you would not have been able to give me the bracelet had I intended to harm you. Since I have no harmful intent, there was no problem, and no paradox." "That's nice," Ida agreed.

  The dragon reached out and grabbed her. "However, I never did tell you what it is I do with delicate maidens."

  "Eeeek!" Ida screamed, for that seemed appropriate at this stage.

  Dragoman picked her up. "So nice of you to inquire. I collect them. I take very good care of them; in fact I keep them perfectly preserved. So, you see, I intend no harm to you, and your bracelet has no need to be concerned." He spread his wings and lofted the two of them into the air.

  He took her to a crystalline cave. It was beautiful. All around it were giant crystals, and in each crystal was a lovely young woman, frozen still, looking exactly like a life-sized doll.

  "But I don't want to be preserved in stone!" Ida protested.

  "You don't have a choice," Dragoman said.

  "I don't?"

  "You don't. You are destined to be preserved in all your prettiness until someone happens to rescue you. With luck it will be a prince, but it's as likely to be nobody of interest. Now change into your nicest raiment."

  "What?"

  "Raiment is clothing."

  "I knew that. It's the land of term centaurs use. What I meant was an exclamation of indignity. Why should I cooperate with you?"

  "Because you are
less likely to be rescued if you look like half-chewed dragon bait."

  Ida considered that, and realized he was correct. So she changed into her best dress, the blue chiffon, and donned her display sandals so that her dainty clean feet showed.

  Meanwhile the dragon was fretting. "I'm going to have to enlarge this chamber," he said. "It is getting too crowded. I'll just have to stack you in the shed, for now, until the renovation is complete."

  "The shed!" Ida exclaimed. "Don't I deserve better than that?"

  "Of course you do," he said consolingly. "And I promise I'll move you to a better place, the moment I can."

  She was not as satisfied by this as perhaps she should have been. But since she didn't have much choice, she did not complain. Anyway, she noticed that the shed wasn't really a shed, but a shed door leading out to what looked like a nice garden. At least she would have a nice view there. She brushed out her hair, and was ready.

  "Ah, you look divine," the dragon said. "Step right up here on this pedestal, please."

  Ida stepped, resigned to her maidenly fate.

  Dragoman breathed a cloud of thick vapor at her. It coalesced, encasing her, and suddenly everything changed. Dragoman was gone, and a voluptuous merwoman wearing legs was yelling at her. "Get out!"

  What had happened? Where was the dragon? Ida shook her head, confused.

  Then someone charged in from the side, picked her up, and carried her out of the shed before its door swung closed.

  The second person, who turned out to be a big young woman, set her down. "What's your name?" the merwoman demanded.

  Name? She had never had a name. None of the Fauns, Nymphs, otterbees, or monsters had names. Only Cerebral Centaur and Dragoman Dragon. "I don't know," she said, having difficulty speaking.

  "Well, let's just call you Ida, then," the woman said. "I am Mela Merwoman, and this is Okra Ogress."

  An ogress! Ida gazed at her in surprise. Then she realized that she had never seen a female ogre. It was possible that they were much less ugly than the males, as was the case with goblins.